Razeen couldn’t stand up by himself, let alone unzip his pants to relieve himself. If John hadn’t been there . . .
Meg had sat in the grass several dozen yards away from the car and kept an eye on the two men, trying not to watch too closely. While John had Razeen, she had custody of the car keys. No way was she going to risk John loading Razeen into the car, jumping in, and driving away without her.
Still, there was no doubt about it. She was not ready for a full-time career in hostage taking. She was worried about Razeen—about that blow to the head he’d received back in the motel room, about the amount of sleeping pills she’d already given him. It was probably time to give him more, yet he’d seemed so out of it.
John sprawled beside her, reclaiming the car keys and putting them into the front pocket of his coveralls. “Mind if I take a quick combat nap? I just need twenty minutes. . . .” His eyes were shut and his breathing steady almost before he hit the ground.
He was out. Sound asleep. Just like that.
That was impossible. Wasn’t it? He couldn’t really be asleep. Could he?
Meg sat up and, other than the steady rise and fall of his chest, he didn’t move.
She leaned forward, toward him, over him, watching his face for any little sign that he was faking it.
I didn’t forget you. Not for one minute.
John’s words had made her want to weep. She wasn’t sure which was worse—thinking that he wasn’t telling the truth, or thinking that he was.
He was asleep on his back, one hand on his chest, the other tucked under his head. He’d already gone into deep REM sleep—she could see his eyes moving beneath his lids. She didn’t think there was any way he could’ve faked that.
The car keys were right there, in his front right pocket.
All she had to do was carefully reach in and take the keys. And drive away without him.
She had to do it. For his sake as well as hers.
But mostly for hers.
She leaned closer. For Amy and Eve’s sake, for her own sake, for John’s sake, she had to get those keys.
Amy was sleeping again.
Even the Bear was dozing. Everyone in the house was taking a siesta in the thick afternoon heat.
Everyone but Eve.
She couldn’t sleep. Not after telling Amy about her wedding to Ralph. The memories were too strong.
She’d told the girl only some of it—how nervous she’d been standing there in the church in Ramsgate. How handsome Ralph had looked.
How angry he’d been—later.
But she hadn’t told Amy everything. There were some parts she’d never share with another soul.
Such as the look in Ralph’s eyes as she met him at the front of the church.
She was wearing the closest thing to a white dress that she had—her off-white suit that was designed to look demure even while it clung to her every curve.
She wasn’t sure if this marriage would be legal, if, as a fifteen-year-old, she was even allowed to sign her name on that document without her guardian’s permission. Ralph would probably know something like that.
She’d slept badly the night before, tossing and turning, trying to decide whether or not she should tell Ralph the truth. And then the decision was taken from her. She didn’t have the opportunity. She hadn’t seen him—not until it was too late, with the minister standing nearby, ready to perform the wedding.
It was supposed to be the most casual of ceremonies. They’d do it all over again with his parents and Nick in attendance, in a few months, when Ralph got leave from the army.
Still, he’d dressed in his best suit for the occasion, as had she.
No, she would never forget the way Ralph looked at her, with such hungry love in his eyes.
It was terrifying. And exhilarating. He loved her. She knew that without a doubt.
And she was sure at that moment that she would simply never tell him. She’d smudge her date of birth as she signed the marriage papers. From this moment on, she’d be twenty years old. She was twenty years old.
But she still felt only fifteen inside.
“You look so beautiful,” he murmured as he took her hand.
“So do you.” Shoot. Go away, mother, I don’t need you anymore. Eve was going to marry Ralph, and he was going to love her for the rest of her life. She would make sure of that. From now on, she didn’t need to be a smartass. She wouldn’t need to be outrageous, or to flirt with that same edge of desperation that had laced her mother’s every word, inaudible to anyone who didn’t know her well.
Unlike her mother, Eve was going to live happily ever after.
Starting today.
The ceremony passed in a blur.
Ralph slipped a ring on her finger—a beautiful, delicate band of gold that fit as if it had been custom-made. That’s where he’d been this morning. She wanted to cry. Where had he found the money for this?
“You may kiss the bride.”
“I can’t believe this is real,” Ralph whispered as he drew her into his arms. He gazed at her as if memorizing her face, taking his sweet time before covering her mouth with his own.
It wasn’t the kind of kiss she’d been expecting in a church but it didn’t take more than a heartbeat for Eve to forget where they were, to forget everything but Ralph.
Still, when he released her, her face heated in a blush. But the minister had turned away, a smile on his lips.
She and Ralph were married now. It was okay for him to kiss her. It was okay for him to . . .
What was she doing? Her hand shook as she signed the documents. There was no need to smudge anything—it was all completely illegible.
Ralph took her to dinner in town. Eve doubted she ate a thing—she could remember none of it. It was all she could do to breathe. Mrs. Ralph Grayson. She was Mrs. Ralph Grayson. As Ralph smiled at her from across the table, her heart felt near to bursting. It was almost enough to cancel out the fear that was coursing through her veins.
Almost, but not quite.
What had she done? She’d lied to the minister, lied to God. And if that weren’t bad enough, she’d lied to Ralph.
And she was going to have to keep on lying to him, for the rest of their lives.
She wasn’t going to live happily ever after, she was going to live untruthfully ever after. Deceitfully ever after. Dishonestly ever after.
“Let’s get a room at the hotel,” Ralph said, “go right up after dinner.” He was gazing at her as if she were a gourmet delicacy the chef had presented. The heat in his eyes was unmistakable and she had to look away as fear flickered, sharper.
Tonight would be their wedding night. And every minute that passed brought it another minute closer.
Thank God for Nicky still being under the weather. She stammered something about wanting to go home and check on him. She hoped Ralph understood.
Something in his eyes told her he understood completely.
So she was spared. Going to a hotel would have been terrifying. Surely this would be easier in the familiarity of her own room. Wouldn’t it?
Eve took a deep breath. She was going to do this. She’d married Ralph. She loved him. She was old enough for this. After all, Juliet hadn’t even been fourteen when she married her Romeo.
Surely all new young brides were frightened.
She was just a little more frightened and a little bit younger than most.
Back at the estate, she went in to check on Nick, but he was already asleep. Mrs. Johnson had been sitting with him. She quickly went back down the stairs to the kitchen and the quarters she shared with Mr. J. with few words and a furtive, disapproving glance in Ralph’s direction.
“Didn’t you tell her we were getting married?” he asked as, satisfied that Nick was sleeping restfully, his forehead cool, Eve gently closed her brother’s bedroom door.
She shook her head. “I didn’t tell anyone.” Not even Nicky. It hadn’t seemed real.
Until now.
And now it seemed too real, with Ralph following her into her room as if it were his room, too.
He laughed. “So she thinks I’ve come here to make wild, illicit love to you? Maybe I should go show her the license so she won’t think poorly of me all night long.”
But instead of chasing after Mrs. J., he shut Eve’s bedroom door behind him. And locked it. The click seemed to echo in the sudden silence.
Or maybe she’d just imagined that it had. Because Ralph didn’t seem to notice. He was carrying a bottle of wine and two long-stemmed glasses, and he set the glasses down on her bedside table.
“I have a present for you,” he said as he opened the bottle. “I brought it up here earlier. It’s on your desk.”
Eve was pretending to look out the window—anything to keep from staring at Ralph standing there beside her bed. Their bed. They were married, and her bed was their bed now. She was so nervous, she thought she might be sick.
But instead, she turned, obediently, toward her desk. There was a box there—prettily decorated, tied shut with a red ribbon. She hadn’t noticed it. Of course, she wouldn’t have noticed an elephant standing in the corner of her room right now.
He carried a glass of wine to her. “Go on, open it.”
Eve took the glass and set it on the desk to hide the fact that her hand was shaking. She touched the satin of the ribbon, afraid to open it, afraid to look at him. He was standing so close.
“I don’t have a gift for you.” Her voice shook.
He drew her into his arms. “You’ve already given me all my heart desires, don’t you know that? Just by marrying me.” He kissed her and his mouth was so gentle, so sweet. “Please, don’t be afraid, Eve. We’ll go slowly tonight. I promise.” He touched her cheek. “Trust me, all right?”
Trust him. What could she possibly say to that? She hadn’t trusted him with her deepest secrets—instead she’d lied to him.
He didn’t seem to need a response. He picked up the box, drew her back so she was sitting on the bed with him. “Open it.”
He took off his jacket and kicked off his shoes and pulled his feet up onto the bed. He moved so that his back was against the headboard and his legs stretched out, as if he were sitting on Nicky’s bed.
As if they were friends, not newly married husband and wife, about to . . . About to . . .
Eve slipped her feet out of her pumps, and tucked them up underneath her, too, careful to stay down at the foot of the bed, glad for the space he was giving her, aware that he’d done it on purpose.
They were going to take this slowly. He wasn’t going to jump on her right away, and start taking off her clothes and . . . The relief that flooded through her nearly made her weep.
“It’s really nothing that spectacular,” Ralph said easily, gesturing toward the box. “So if you’ve got ideas that the Grayson family diamonds are in there, just banish those thoughts now, all right?”
He sounded no different than he ever had. Nick might have been right beside them, telling them to come on, they were taking too long, he wanted to go for a jaunt in the Daisy Chain.
She didn’t have to be afraid.
Except she still was. Mother, help. “Do the Graysons have family diamonds?” she asked, as if she actually cared.
“One or two here and there,” he said. “So you like diamonds, do you?”
She absolutely couldn’t care less. But her mother had been wild for them, for anything that glittered. “If someone handed me a box of them, I wouldn’t turn it down.”
She untied the ribbon and lifted the lid.
The box was filled with . . . letters? Dozens of letters.
“I wanted you to know without a shadow of a doubt that I married you because I want to. I’ve loved you from nearly the moment we met,” Ralph told her now, softly, almost as if he were uncertain. “I wrote those letters to you, Eve. And even though I never dared send them, I meant—and I mean—every word written there. I know it’s not much of a gift compared to diamonds . . .”
Eve opened one of the letters, unfolding the paper. “June 2, 1939,” was written across the top in Ralph’s neat hand. That was weeks ago, soon after he’d first arrived. “My Dearest Eve,” she read silently, “I dreamt of you again last night. These days I find myself eager to fall asleep, because you come to me in my dreams. It’s the hours spent awake that have become such tribulations. I find myself desperate to see you, to exchange even the briefest of words with you, to be granted the smallest of smiles. Why do you hide from me? What are you afraid of? I am yours, always, until the end of time, Ralph.”
What are you afraid of? Oh, Lord. She was going to be sick.
She picked up another, dated several days later. “Dear Eve, I float! You spent the day with Nick and me! Suddenly I’m sixteen again, and would sell my soul for a chance just to hold your hand.
“What is it about you that I love the most? It’s not your beauty, although I can’t deny you have the power to move me with just a smile. Is it the fact that you’ve read and adored so many of the books I adore, too? Is it your unembarrassed desire to keep on learning despite the fact you’re long out of school? Is it your love of life? That you seem so unself-consciously childlike at times and so wise beyond your years at others? Is it because when you look at me with such admiration in your eyes, I know it’s real, not some contrived false emotion designed to flatter or manipulate?
“I’ve never met a woman so unafraid to speak her mind, so unafraid to laugh out loud, so honest and true.”
Oh, God. Tears filled her eyes, but Eve couldn’t stop reading.
“I dream of making beautiful love to you, but the truth is, I could sit across the room from you and still be completely satisfied. Just being with you is enough. Please, Heavenly Father, let this summer last forever. I am yours, always, until the end of time, Ralph.”
“July 15. Dearest Eve, Tonight I’m dying. I spent the day with you and Nick, while harboring the most dreadful secret.
“I’m leaving Ramsgate. A letter came from my father, and I couldn’t bring myself to tell you of its contents—that I’ve been called into the army—for fear it will change everything between us.
“I kissed you good-bye tonight, knowing that I have less than a fortnight of good-bye kisses left to steal. I want the next few weeks to continue on, untarnished by this grim news.
“But tonight I feel like the blackest of scoundrels. I am a liar, not for telling a mistruth, but for omitting a truth. You are everything that is good and honest and—”
Good and honest.
Eve refolded the letter, put the cover back on the box.
Honest and true.
She was going to throw up.
Ralph had poured himself another glass of wine while he watched her read and he took a sip of it now. “Say something, would you? It’s rather like cutting my heart out and putting it in a box for you. I should have given you diamonds, shouldn’t I have?”
But he had. He’d given her a box of perfect diamonds.
“I’m a little embarrassed,” he admitted. “A little lightheaded, and—”
Eve started to cry.
It wasn’t just that the tears she’d been blinking back suddenly overflowed. It was an emotional explosion. They were noisy tears, stormy tears, sobbing, gasping, runny-nosed tears that wouldn’t stop no matter how hard she tried.
It was stupid—she who never cried had now burst into tears three different times over the past few weeks. Ralph must’ve thought she was a complete ninny.
No, he didn’t. He thought she was good and honest and oh, God!
She would have run for the door if he hadn’t reached her first and pulled her into his arms.
“Oh, Eve, oh, damn, what have I done?” He sounded ready to cry himself. “I didn’t mean to upset you—”
It wasn’t his fault. He’d done nothing wrong. He’d given her the most romantic, most precious gift anyone had ever given her in her entire life. She was the villain here—and what a villai
n she was. A liar and a fake and a cheat.
“I’m so sorry,” Ralph said. “The last thing I wanted to do was to make you cry. God, I should have just bought you a bracelet. What was I thinking? Please, forgive me.”
Eve loved the box of letters and she loved him. If there was any forgiving to be done here, it was him forgiving her. But there was no way she could say any of that, so she kissed him.
He hesitated only the briefest fraction of a second, and then he kissed her, too.
It wasn’t enough, and she kissed him harder, deeper, uncertain of what it was she really wanted, but sure that she didn’t want his gentle restraint.
She got much more than she bargained for. It was as if she had lit a match and set Ralph on fire. He kissed her hungrily, possessively, demandingly, again and again, deeper, longer, pushing her back onto the bed, his thigh pressed up hard between her legs, his hands . . .
She didn’t know when it changed. When her passion turned to fear. Maybe it was when he shifted his weight, pressing his entire body where his one leg had been. Maybe when his chin had rasped roughly against her cheeks and her neck as he kissed her throat. Maybe when she tried to pull away, but found he had her completely pinned.
“Stop,” she gasped. “Don’t! Don’t!”
He was off of her in a flash, sitting on the edge of the bed, breathing hard, head in his hands as he began to apologize, again.
“It’s not your fault.” She pulled down her skirt from where it had ridden up, shockingly, all the way to the tops of her thighs. “It’s my fault.”
“I promised I’d go slowly.” He turned and looked at her. “But I lied. I don’t think I can, Eve—”
“I’m the liar,” she told him. “I should have told you a long time ago. I’m not ready for this. I’m so sorry!”
“I want you so badly. I know you’re frightened, but—”
The Defiant Hero Page 24