by Jade Lee
"But... but—"
"Good Lord, just because men are blind does not mean women cannot see these things. Why, there was nothing of my sister in her features whatsoever. And if that hair did not come from my brother-in-law, then it must have been the maid's."
"But... but—"
"Please, Stephen, try to clarify your thoughts."
Stephen took a deep breath, reached for his brandy, then pushed it away untouched. "Do you mean to tell me, Mother, you have known from the very beginning and yet you still pushed a... a—"
"Your uncle's by-blow," she supplied helpfully.
Stephen glared at her. "You mean you still outfitted her? And sponsored her Season?"
"Why, of course! Just because she was born on the wrong side of the blanket does not mean she is not family."
"But—"
"Really, Stephen, you are becoming quite tedious. Do you remember little Rebecca? The friend of the family I brought out when you were still in leading strings?"
He nodded, his thoughts stumbling back to a quiet little mouse of a girl, three years older than his oldest brother.
"She was your father's by-blow," the countess commented blithely. "Conceived before he and I ever met. My goodness, if I can bring out your half-sister, then I certainly can do the same for Gillian."
Stephen gripped the edge of the desk as if it were an anchor holding him to reality while the rest of the universe spun out of control.
"Goodness, Stephen, I had no idea you were so correct. Surely you realize half the ton consists of bastards and by-blows pretending to a nonexistent heritage?"
"Half?" He gasped.
"Well"—she shrugged—"perhaps not half. At least two now."
Stephen pressed his fingers against his temples, trying to hold back the headache already throbbing behind his eyes. "Do you mean to say you knew about Gillian and did not tell me?"
"Well, I assumed you were more clever."
He let his hands fall onto the desk as he regarded the woman he thought he knew. "Mother—"
"The question now is, do you love her?"
"What?" He nearly roared the word, but his mother did not so much as blink.
"Come now. You cannot pretend this"—she waved at the empty brandy bottles—"is simply because she lied to you. I lie to you all the time, and you never go to these extremes."
Stephen stared at his mother, then abruptly closed off those thoughts. He did not want to know what she meant. He could only focus on one thing at a time. "Gillian committed a fraud. On all of society!"
"Yes, yes, we established that. I want to know if you truly love her."
Stephen felt as if his world were narrowing in on him, cutting off his air. He pushed out of his chair and went to the window, shoving it open until he felt the night air caress his heated skin. "She pretended to be my cousin."
"And you pretended to believe her."
Stephen tensed, unable to deny the truth. He had known. Perhaps not as soon as his mother, but he had realized Gillian's identity more than a week ago.
"She is illegitimate," he said through stiff lips. "I am an earl."
"Does that truly matter?"
Stephen was silent, considering. Of all his worries and thoughts, the difference in their birthrights was the least important of all.
"No," he finally said. "It does not signify." All his heart cared for was her smile, the open-hearted way she embraced the world, and most of all, the way he felt when they were together. She brought out the laughter within him, and a joy he never thought he could possess.
"Do you love her?" his mother pressed again.
That answer, at least, was painfully clear. "Yes."
"Then why let her marry another man?"
"I..." Why was he letting her go? he wondered. "Because she does not love me."
From somewhere behind him, his mother released a disgusted sniff. "Men! Stupid to the bone."
Stephen whirled around. "She wanted to marry him! He proposed, and she accepted right there in front of me."
The countess crossed her arms, staring at him just as she had the time he turned the front parlor into a battleground for his toy soldiers. "I already explained, Stephen. Two minutes after hearing of your mother's death is not the time to make life decisions."
"But—"
"Gillian will marry another man in less than ten hours. If that is what you want, then I bid you good night. But if that is not what you want, then I have already ordered the carriage brought 'round. Do you wish to take it or your stallion?"
Stephen stared at his mother as his world finally, irrevocably fell into an obvious order. He was in love with Gillian. He had, in fact, been in love with her from the first moment she had called him the most generous man in the world and then ordered him to hire Tom. He could not let her marry Geoffrey. Though a decent man, Tallis was nevertheless not the one for Gillian.
Tallis would probably teach her to brawl.
Suddenly he felt his world brighten as it expanded enough to admit a willful, disobedient, and thoroughly delightful by-blow. "My stallion, Mother."
The countess sighed as her stubborn son strode from the room. "Men," she said as she drained the last of her brandy. "Stupid to the bone, but at least you can kick them."
* * *
"I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride."
Gillian trembled slightly as Geoffrey lifted her veil. His lips descended, and she felt the warm pressure of his mouth against hers. Then his lips were gone, and she was married.
Married.
She gave a tremulous smile to her new husband. Did he look the slightest bit pale? No, it was merely the difference in his coloring. He was fairer than Stephen.
Taking her arm, Geoffrey turned her to the small audience of servants and family gathered as witnesses. Except for Lady Sophia and his mother, they were all strangers to her. But she smiled at them nonetheless. After all, they were her family now.
"Come, Amanda. Cook has been slaving in the kitchen since before dawn. We cannot disappoint her."
"Of course." She did not think she could swallow a single bite, but knew she must find a way. She was the lady of the manor now, and she needed to be gracious.
The lady of the manor.
Lady Tallis.
She moved mechanically, her poise deserting her as she forced herself into the dining room. Geoffrey had barely seated her when they heard a crash at the front door. Beside her, she saw Geoffrey's spine stiffen as his eyes darted toward the vestibule.
What could it be?
But before she could voice her question, Geoffrey interrupted her.
"Look at me."
"What?" She still frowned at the hallway, trying to gaze past the other people who also twisted around to see the front door.
"I said, look at me!"
Gillian shifted her gaze.
"Kiss me."
She obediently tilted her head, and with startling speed, Geoffrey took possession of her mouth. He was masterful in his touch, strong and demanding, but her thoughts were scattered, her mind numb from the events of the last few hours. She opened her mouth beneath his insistent pressure, but there was no heat in her motion, no thought other than simple compliance.
Then he broke it off, his expression incredibly sad. Then, when he spoke, the emotion echoed in his soft words. "Oh, Gillian, what have we done?"
She looked into his eyes, frowning as she saw regret, tenderness, and, most of all, the flat acceptance of a man resigned to his fate. She saw it, but she could not understand it.
Then all thoughts fled as a familiar bellow cut through the air.
"Tallis!"
Gillian spun around, scanning the room for Stephen. She had not thought to see him for months. Years, if she could manage it. Yet here he was, bursting into her new life, ruining everything even before it began.
Suddenly she felt anger burn through her soul. She pushed out of her chair with more animation than she had felt in the last twenty-
four hours. She rounded on the dirty and disheveled man who shoved his way into the room, insisting on meddling in her life. "Stephen!" she said in a hiss. "How dare you burst in like this?"
Beside her, Geoffrey was more resigned in his greeting. "Mavenford. Fancy meeting you here."
Stephen looked exhausted and dirty, but his eyes betrayed an inner desperation, and Gillian stepped forward instinctively, only to be brought up short by her new husband as he grabbed her arm and pulled her back.
She glanced at Geoffrey, feeling her face heat with shame. "I am sorry," she stammered. Then she looked down at the floor while Geoffrey's hard voice cut through the tense air.
"I trust you have a reason for bursting into my house like this."
Gillian raised her gaze, unable to keep from looking at Stephen's chiseled features. A dull flush colored his cheeks as he cleared his throat. "Tallis," he said, though his eyes were trained on her, their blue depths dark with some intense emotion she did not dare label. "I, uh, I would like to speak with—"
"My wife?" interrupted Geoffrey as he lifted up Gillian's hand. There, glinting in the early morning light, was the elaborate Tallis ruby-and-gold wedding ring.
Stephen stopped, his gaze suddenly riveted on their hands. "Wife?" he echoed in a hoarse whisper. "You have already married?"
"Yes," Geoffrey answered, his pose casual as he pulled Gillian into the circle of his arm. "Amanda and I were pronounced man and wife not more than ten minutes ago."
It was as though the life went out of him. Stephen's shoulders stooped, and his breath seemed to catch on the barest shudder. The sight hurt something inside Gillian, and despite her best intentions, she stepped forward again, needing to comfort him.
"Amanda!" Geoffrey's sharp voice broke through her abstraction, and she froze. She felt as if she were torn in two, pulled between the man she loved and the man to whom she had promised herself.
"I..." Her voice faded. What could she say? Then she looked at Stephen and all thoughts drained away at the sight of his anguished features.
Time seemed suspended as the three stood frozen in what could have been an Arthurian tapestry of love and betrayal. Then abruptly Geoffrey sighed, and again Gillian recognized his resignation. "It appears I must go speak with the minister," he drawled.
Gillian blinked, not understanding, but apparently Stephen did. His eyes slowly widened as he looked first at her, then her husband. She followed his motions, trying to fathom the undercurrents between the two men. Some secret message passed between them, and suddenly Stephen smiled.
"Thank you, Geoffrey," he said, his voice low and hushed. "I am forever in your debt."
"Yes, you are," returned her husband in an almost cheerful tone. Then he turned to her. "My dear, would you be so kind as to show our guest to his room? The first to the right at the top of the stairs."
Gillian turned in confusion. "But—"
"I am afraid I must speak to the minister."
"Surely your housekeeper—"
"Please, Gillian. It will take only a moment."
"Gill...?" Had Geoffrey spoken her true name? She frowned in frustration. She did not wish to cause a scene in the middle of her wedding celebration, but she had the distinct feeling she had lost control of the significant events of her life. Stephen had taken over, and once again everyone danced to his tune. It was all so very odd, and yet there was absolutely nothing she could do about it.
So she sighed, giving in with as much grace as possible. She would escort Stephen to his room. Whatever needed to be said between her and her former guardian was best done up there. In private.
"Please, my lord," she said to Stephen with icy politeness, "follow me."
With as much hauteur as she could muster, Gillian stepped past the ogling servants and her silent in-laws and preceded Stephen up the stairs. Then, with deliberately abrupt movements, she shoved open his bedroom door and pointed inside.
"Your room, my lord."
Stephen grinned, suddenly looking more self-assured as he stepped inside and shook his head in mock horror. "I am sorry, Gillian. I fear this will not do."
"What?"
"Just come inside and look. There is no window, no trellis."
With a muttered curse, she stepped inside, only to spin around as he quickly shut the door behind her.
"Open that door," she ordered. "This is not proper."
She did not think his grin could grow, but it did indeed spread a little wider, giving him a boyish look that set his eyes dancing. "Ah, yes, the proprieties."
"Stephen—"
"You look beautiful in white, Gillian. Sometimes I cannot sleep at night just thinking of you surrounded by white satin, your hair tumbling free." He reached out to touch her, but she jerked away.
"I am a married woman now," she snapped, her heart nonetheless beating unaccountably fast at his passionate words. "You cannot treat me like a silly child, and you certainly cannot say those things barely ten minutes after my vows."
He eased his hand away from her face, but his eyes still held a longing that somehow called to her despite her anger. How could he be so handsome? Even disheveled, clearly exhausted, and coated with half the dust in England, he still had the power to make her heart ache with a hunger that could never be fulfilled.
Stop this! she ordered herself. She was married now, and she would not betray Geoffrey no matter how much she wanted to fly into Stephen's arms.
"You are not married, Gillian," he said softly.
"Of course I am."
"No, Amanda is married." He took a step forward, clearly intent on touching her.
She backed up, her thoughts hopelessly confused. "Amanda is dead. I am Amanda now." She shook her head, knowing she was not making any sense, but powerless to sort through her thoughts in the face of his determined advance. "Stephen," she said, his name breaking on a sob. "Please stop."
The pain in her voice halted him as nothing else could. She saw him hesitate, his hand halfway to her face; then he drew backward, his eyes clouded with his own torment.
"I rode all through the night to get here, Gillian. And for every mile, every moment, I kept thinking of the things I would say to you."
"It is too late, Stephen." Gillian wrapped her arms across her bodice, trying to hold back the tears. How could it be so hard to see him? She thought she was at peace with her decision, and yet here he was making her hurt for him all over, making her want him again.
"I wanted to be eloquent for you," he continued, his voice infused with a burning intensity. "I wanted the words to be perfect, but now that I see you, nothing seems right."
"Stephen—"
"I have been such a fool. I love you, Gillian." He ran a hand through his hair as he struggled to express himself. "I do not know how I missed it. You have run me in circles since you first arrived. No one else could make me hire a pickpocket or wander around an ancient crypt looking at centuries-old skeletons. I have even finished my speech for the House of Lords." He looked up at her, his face bemused, his eyes filled with love. "I adore you. Please marry me."
"Oh, Stephen." Gillian bit her lip and turned around, unable to bear the sight of her strong and correct guardian looking so vulnerable, his heart in his eyes.
What could she say? She felt as if her soul were being rent, inch by inch. To finally hear the words she longed for, to have Stephen say he loved her, and yet to know it all came too late. Ten minutes too late.
She pressed her fingers against her mouth, but a sob broke through anyway. Then she felt his hands touch her shoulders, brushing aside her hair so he could caress her neck.
"Tell me you share my feelings, Gillian. Tell me I am not alone in this longing." He gently turned her around until they were face-to-face, his breath heating her skin, which was still wet from her tears. "Do you love me?"
She could not say it. It would betray everything she had just said to Geoffrey.
"Yes," she whispered, unable to stop herself. Her sight blurred as the tears s
pilled from her eyes. She had thought she was accustomed to pain, that the misery of unrequited love was the worst her world could bear. Now she knew she had been wrong.
How much worse it was to finally share her feelings, to learn her love was returned, and yet still have it be impossible.
"Shhh, my love. Do not cry." Stephen pulled her close, his heartbeat strong as he enveloped her in his arms. "This is a time for joy, not tears." He tightened his hold on her, dropping little kisses on the top of her head. "You love me," he whispered. Suddenly he lifted her high in the air, spinning her around. "You love me!"
"Stephen!" She gasped, shocked and confused by his gleeful display.
"I was not sure. Good Lord, but you are constantly provoking me. I could not know if it was out of hatred or if you were merely contentious."
"Contentious! Why, I will have you know you are the most overbearing, egoistical, arrogant—"
"Yes, yes!" he said, finally setting her down on her feet. "And I love you, too, my beautiful, wonderful Gillian."
She felt her face softening into a gentle smile, her pain melting away as the words finally slipped easily from her lips.
"I love you, too, Stephen."
"Then will you marry me?"
She shook her head, her gaze drifting to the closed door and the people, her new family and her husband, waiting for her downstairs. "I am already married."
"No, you are not. I wish to marry Gillian Ames, not Amanda Wyndham."
"But we are the same—"
"You have never been the same. Gillian ..."
She pressed her hands against her temples, trying to understand this bizarre turn of events. Had Stephen gone insane? Was she asleep and this another one of her twisted fantasies? "None of this makes any sense!"
He brought her fists away from her face, kissing each knuckle until her hands unclenched and her mind relaxed enough for her to hear him. "Geoffrey is already annulling your marriage, probably on the grounds of mistaken identity."
She took a deep breath. "You mean fraud."
Stephen shrugged. "It hardly matters. What is important is that I can marry you. I can marry Gillian Ames."
"But..." She shook her head. "What will people say? What will your mother say? You will be marrying a bastard."