‘You have heard of this man?’
‘Aye,’ said Wolf quietly, ‘I’ve heard of him.’ And something of the hatred and steel was back in his eyes.
‘Then the dowager…’ She stopped, un willing to criticize the woman who had helped her so much. ‘For some years now she has been haunted by something from her past, imaginings of a man that distress her greatly, a man she calls Robert. I think that it must be this Robert Veryan…the Lord Keddinton from the letter.’
‘No doubt.’
She reached across and touched his hand. ‘Does this matter remind you of…of the circumstances of your own birth?’ She thought she understood why the letter seemed to have had such an affect on Wolf.
‘I am hardly on a par with Evedon,’ he laughed bitterly, and in it she heard his pain. ‘But, yes, it reminds me of things I would rather forget.’
‘Would it help to speak of them?’ she asked gently.
‘I have gone a lifetime and never spoken of them. What good are words? They cannot change the past.’
‘They can help release you from its binding. I told you of Elizabeth and the horse, and just in sharing the memory, the pain and fear begins to heal.’
‘It is not the same thing.’
The curtness of his words stung her. She dropped her hand from his and looked away that he would not see the hurt in her eyes.
‘Rosalind,’ he sighed and raked a hand through his hair. ‘Forgive me, I do not mean to hurt you.’ She nodded.
He glanced away and then back at her. ‘Do you really want to know? Shall I tell you the sordid truth of my parent-age?’ Through his despair and torment, she could hear the edge of bitterness.
‘Only if you wish it, Wolf.’
There was silence, and then Wolf turned back to the window, staring out into the darkness beyond, as if he could see his past there, and he began to speak.
‘My mother was the daughter of a rich gentleman. She was courted by a young man of good standing, a man with a promising future, a gentleman. He told her that he loved her, that he meant to marry her. And then he seduced her before abandoning her to marry another girl whose father was richer and had more influence.’
‘How dreadful,’ she whispered.
‘That is not the best of it,’ he said with a bitter smile. ‘When her father discovered that she was with child, he disowned her and threw her out of the house. She went to her lover, my father—’ he spoke the word with so much hatred that Rosalind shivered ‘—to ask for his help, but he sent her away without so much as a farthing, to whelp on the streets. We travelled to York in hope of a better life, but there was none to be had.’ He did not tell her what his mother had been reduced to for survival. ‘She died when I was ten years old, but she had raised me to hate—as she hated—all of those who call themselves gentlefolk.’
‘I am so sorry.’ She understood now the anger that burned in Wolf, the anger that had been as much a part of his life as fear had been in hers. ‘What happened to you when your mother died?’
‘I survived,’ he said simply, and Rosalind knew those two words hid a lifetime of suffering. He looked round then at her, and she saw that his face was wet with tears. ‘So you see what I am, Rosalind, the whole ugly truth of me.’
She felt his pain resonate through her own heart. ‘I see,’ she said softly and slipped her hand around his.
She drew the curtains again, then led him to one of the armchairs and sat him down upon it. With gentle fingers she wiped away his tears. ‘I see all of you, Wolf,’ she said, and she stroked his hair and kissed his scar. ‘And I love you.’ Then she moved her lips to him and began to kiss him, and in that kiss was all of her love, all of her acceptance, everything in her heart. She kissed him until he wrapped his arms around her and kissed her back. Her heart felt as raw as his. And she understood at last that they were the same, him and her. Each a broken half, together a whole. The blanket slipped from her shoulders.
‘I need you, Wolf,’ she said quietly, ‘and I think that you need me too.’
‘Aye, lass,’ he whispered, ‘more than life itself.’
Their eyes stayed locked as he carried her to the bed. He laid her beneath the covers and stripped off his trousers before climbing in by her side. There was no need for words. He kissed her, and stroked her and touched her, until her breath was ragged and there was an ache between her legs that she knew was all for him. And when his body moved over hers, nothing had ever seemed more right. She was his woman, and he, her man.
The rigidity of his manhood probed at her woman’s place and she opened her legs to him, wanting him and all it was that he could do to her, trusting him, needing him.
He moved in a slow rocking rhythm, rubbing against her sensitivity just as his mouth had done earlier that evening, until she was pressing herself to him, rocking with him in this dance that would unite them. His manhood stroked and slid, and her breath was hard and heavy as she rocked faster and faster against him. And then something changed, the slightest adjustment of his angle and there was a hard pressing sensation and a sudden pain. He caught her cry with his kiss. And then the pain was gone, and their bodies were as one in truth.
And after a while, he began to move again. They moved together, their skins slick with sweat, the hard muscle of his chest stimulating the flushed sensitivity of her nipples, his manhood working such pleasure within her. Her fingers closed over his buttocks pulling him all the harder to her, panting with exertion, groaning with needful delight, until she felt him withdraw quickly and suddenly and his manhood convulsed against her thigh, flooding her skin with the warm wetness of his seed.
He collapsed down to lay by her side, eyes closed, pulling her to him, and kissing her forehead.
She lay in his arms, her cheek against his chest, listening to his heart beat. Nothing could undo what had passed between them this night. She loved him and he loved her. Nothing else mattered, in comparison to that. Not Evedon, or her fear of horses, or even what they had done to her father. There was only love.
Sunlight was creeping into the room when Wolf awoke, its bright light turning the dark curtains a glowing rich red to cast the whole room in a subtle rosy light. He glanced down at the woman by his side and felt his heart expand with tenderness. She knew the truth of him and yet she had shown nothing of hate or revulsion. Instead she had accepted him for who he was and what he was, as if all of the darkness of the past made no difference. And now, in truth, he felt its power wane. She had given herself to him with such gentle love as to draw out the poisons from his soul. Her love healed his heart. The pain and darkness had gone. And all because of Rosalind. He wanted this time to last for ever, wished with all his heart that they might stay here together, away from the world, and never leave.
She stirred as he watched her, opening her eyes to look up at him and smile.
He smiled back, and for the first time that Wolf could remember, life felt good.
He dropped a kiss to her lips and showed her all over again just how very much he loved her.
It was midday by the time they were dressed and eating the tray of food that Wolf had ordered. Bread, cheese, cold ham and a bottle of the finest red wine the innkeeper had in his cellars.
‘Last night…’ Rosalind started, and stopped as a rosy blush spread over her cheeks.
Wolf glanced up from the wine he was pouring into two glasses; he smiled in very wicked way.
She blushed all the harder. ‘Are we celebrating?’
‘I hope so.’ And he truly did.
‘And what of Evedon?’
‘Leave Evedon to me.’
She bit at her lower lip, and he saw the concern that crossed her face. ‘He will be livid with you. I do not trust that he will not harm you.’
He could not stop from smiling. She was worried not for herself, but for him! ‘There’s nothing to worry over,’ he said and smiled again. He reached across the table and took her hand in his. His heart began to race and there was a dryness in his mou
th. Before the fear could take hold, he said the words he had never thought to say.
‘You have stolen my heart, Rosalind Meadowfield. Will you marry me? Will you be my wife?’
‘Yes,’ she cried in joyful surprise. ‘Oh, yes!’ And she was across the table, on his lap and in his arms, laughing and crying at the same time.
He kissed the tears from her face. ‘Now we are celebrating, sweet lass.’
He held his glass to her mouth, and she lapped at it; some of the wine spilled down her chin, the ruby liquid sensual in its trickle over her skin. He caught the droplet with his finger, before kissing her again.
He wanted to marry her. He loved her and she would be his wife. Rosalind had never felt such happiness. Her joy was such that she felt dizzy with it. They would live together for ever more in happiness. There would be no more Evedon, no more running. Her past would stay where it was. Far away. No more hiding. Soon she would be Mrs Wolversley and there would be nothing left of the shame she had left behind. There would be only Wolf and their love. The bright spring sunshine bathed them in its light, and when Wolf began to kiss her in earnest, she thought she would melt with the utter joy of it.
A knock sounded at the bedchamber door.
Wolf ignored it and carried on kissing her.
She disengaged her mouth from his, smiling and still stroking her fingers through the hair above the nape of his neck. ‘There is someone at the door.’
‘There is,’ he said, and kissed her again.
She pulled away, laughing. ‘You cannot just ignore it. We have to answer it, Wolf.’
‘If you insist.’ One last quick kiss and he let her up from his lap.
Wolf moved to open the door, while Rosalind fixed her shawl in place and tidied her hair. She was smiling, wondering if Wolf would make love to her again this afternoon. From where she stood she heard the mumbled words.
‘For the lady, from the gent outside,’ said a boy’s voice.
‘Which gent?’ asked Wolf, but the boy was already gone.
The door closed.
And through her whispered a foreboding so strong that she feared to look round. She turned then and saw what it was that he held in his hand: a rolled-up newspaper tied with a black silken rope, just like the rope she had seen in Evedon’s study on a night from a lifetime ago. All of Rosalind’s joy shattered in that instant. She froze, unable to think, unable to act, unable to do anything save stare at that terrible object.
‘No!’ And she did not know whether she cried the denial aloud or whispered the word in her head.
‘Rosalind?’ Wolf was already walking towards her, concern upon his face.
She moved then, ran to the window, staring out wildly, searching for Kempster. But it was not Kempster that she saw.
There, on the road before the inn, was a man dressed all in black astride a black stallion. A gentleman. The dark stranger of whom Kempster had spoken.
He saw her quite clearly, and it seemed to Rosalind that he had been waiting for her. He smiled, and even across the distance she could see his straight, white teeth and his eyes as black as the devil’s. His gaze held hers boldly, almost flirtatiously. Rosalind stared and could not look away.
In two strides Wolf had reached Rosalind’s side. He watched as the horseman tipped his hat at him and galloped off down the road. Unease weighed heavy on him, for Wolf recognized the man from years back…a Gypsy gem trader who, like Wolf, had often operated beneath the law. Why should such a man have sought out Rosalind? He did not want to think about the obvious implication: that Rosalind had taken the jewels. And even if she had lied, what did it matter when he loved her?
Rosalind’s face was ashen. She still stared across at the empty road. ‘The man that Kempster said paid him to steal Lady Evedon’s jewels,’ she whispered.
‘You never told me that of Kempster,’ he said.
‘If I had, would you have believed me?’ Her gaze swung round to meet his own before dropping to the newspaper in Wolf’s hand. ‘This is his work.’
‘Kempster’s?’
‘The dark stranger’s.’
‘The man is a gem merchant.’ Wolf slipped the newspaper free of its binding, before unfurling the paper and flattening it out so that it might be read. ‘Do you wish me to read it first?’
She shook her head. ‘I have to read it, even though it cannot be anything of good news.’
He passed the newspaper to her, and stood there while she scanned through its pages, until she found the one that she wanted.
He had thought her pale before, but as she read her skin seemed to bleach a bloodless white. The paper trembled within her hand. She read and read, until Wolf thought he could bear the tension no longer. And then, at last, she raised her eyes to his and in them was such pain that it made his heart ache.
‘Here.’ She held the newspaper out to him. ‘Take it and read it. You may as well, now that all of London knows.’
Dread clenched his stomach tight, but he took the paper and began to read. And as he read, he could scarcely believe the words printed upon the page.
We can exclusively report that there is a scandal of immense proportions within Lord Evedon’s household. For it can be revealed that a certain gentlewoman, posing these past seven years as the dowager Lady Evedon’s companion, is a liar and a thief. Indeed, this newspaper has learned the shocking truth that she is not Miss Rosalind Meadowfield, as purported, but Miss Rosalind Wardale, eldest daughter of the in famous Earl of Leybourne, who, as some of our readers may remember, vilely murdered his friend and fellow peer, Lord Framlingham in the year 1794. It was indeed a most dishonourable crime. By Act of Attainder Lord Leybourne was stripped of his peer age and lands and was thus executed by hanging with a silken rope on account of his noble station.
Not only has Miss Wardale hoodwinked Earl Evedon and his mother, but she has foully exploited her position with the dowager to steal the lady’s most exquisite and costly jewels and has fled with them to Scotland. It is believed that Lord Evedon has made his own private arrangements to have this most shameful daughter of a murderer retrieved.
-The London Reporter, 19th May 1815-
‘Is it true? Was Ley bourne your father?’ He was expecting her to deny it, to say that it was all lies and nothing of truth.
‘Yes, he was my father.’ Her voice was soft, the words barely louder than a whisper.
He did not know what to say, what to think. ‘You are an earl’s daughter!’
‘You read what they printed—my father was stripped of his title and lands.’
‘That makes no difference,’ said Wolf. She was still of noble birth. The words whispered through his head. ‘Why did you not tell me, Rosalind?’
‘I…’ She shook her head.
‘Did you not think that I had a right to know? I asked you to be my wife, for pity’s sake!’ He, a whore’s bastard, and she, an earl’s daughter. And she had known the truth of him, and let him fall in love with her and believe in happiness. He could have laughed with the absurdity of it, had his heart not been breaking.
‘I could not tell you.’ The breath shook in her throat. ‘Had you known who my father was, it would have changed everything.’
‘Yes,’ he said, unable to lie to her. An earl’s daughter could not marry a bastard from the back streets of York, regardless of what her father had done.
She seemed to still, as if her very heart had paused. ‘If you wish to withdraw your proposal of marriage…’
‘Rosalind…’ He sighed and raked a hand through his hair, forcing words he did not wish to say to his tongue. ‘There can be no marriage between us…not when our stations are so very distant. You are an earl’s daughter, and I am…well, you know exactly what I am.’
‘I…I understand.’ Her head was held high, but her hands gripped together so hard that her knuckles shone white.
‘Rosalind…’ He reached for her, but she stepped back.
‘I said that I understand.’ Her voice was tight w
ith emotion yet she did not weep, and he was glad of it. He did not know if he could have borne her tears without weeping himself.
He cleared his throat, gathered his strength. ‘Kempster said you were an orphan…’
She shook her head, con firming the lie. ‘My mother made me sever contact with her and my sister so that my position with Lady Evedon would be safe. Had anyone learned my true identity…I need not tell you of the con sequences.’ She swallowed. ‘It was a decision made of necessity, not choice. We had little option; there was not enough money to support us all, and my brother had disappeared. So when she learned that the dowager Lady Evedon was looking for a ladies’ companion, my mother wished for me to apply. I kept the details from my sister at my mother’s insistence; she thought it better that Nell did not know of my whereabouts in case she sought me out and our secret was discovered. I consoled myself with the thought that the money would go further with one less mouth to feed.’
‘Where are they now?’
‘I do not know. Our old lodgings were the first place I went when I ran from Evedon. It was the address to which I had always sent my forbidden letters, and the only one I had for them. The tenants told me that my mother and Nell had long since left.’ She turned her gaze to look directly into his eyes. ‘What happens now? Do you take me back to Evedon?’
How could she ask such a thing when he loved her? Yet he could not tell her, he must not tell her; it would only make their parting all the harder. Better that he leave her with the fire of hate in her heart than sadness.
‘I’ll sort matters with Evedon over the jewels and letter. Then I’ll find your mother and sister and take you to them.’ He switched off his emotions, the part of him that felt hurt, just as he had learned to do such a long time ago. It was for the best, he told himself. She deserved better than him. And because he loved her, he would do what was best for her, not for himself. He would sacrifice his heart, give up his happiness, for Rosalind’s sake.
She nodded, her jaw tight. ‘If that is what you wish.’
‘I have money—’
‘I do not want your money, Wolf.’
Unlacing the Innocent Miss Page 18