by Peggy Waide
When she descended the stairs, her hand trailing the wooden banister polished by years of use, she wished life could run as smoothly as the aged wood. She approached the long planked table. Reyn immediately stood, folded a note and placed it in his coat pocket. He delivered a courteous nod and prepared to leave. Looking splendid in a pair a fawn-colored breeches and a loose-fitting shirt, his frank rejection reminded Jocelyn of the things she would never have: his love and understanding.
"I will be gone most of the day," he said.
"Will you return for dinner?"
"I'm not sure."
"Perhaps we could play chess later."
"I doubt it."
"Reyn?"
"Yes?" he said impatiently.
Toying with the fringe on the sleeves of her dress, she sought a topic to prolong their conversation. "Dora mentioned that you received a post from London."
"Jocelyn, I must go. Tam is waiting."
Hang his annoyance. She didn't care. She matched him stare for stare. "Was it of any import?"
He dropped his eyes down to his hands, which held the back of the chair in a death grip. "Rodney is dead. It appears that in his haste to escape my wrath, he held true to form and retreated into the dangerous sanctuary of St. Giles. It seems a creditor or business partner or a common thief chose to slit his throat."
She gasped, then grabbed the edge of the table. More trouble lay at her feet. Due to her actions, Reyn's relative was dead. "I'm sorry."
"I am not inclined to discuss Rodney right now. I must go."
"But-"
"Enough. Good day." His boot heels clipped along the stone floor. The discussion was over.
Jocelyn fought the urge to call him back, to demand that he talk to her. As the front door slammed, feeling alone and desperate, she kept her eyes fixed on the tasteless food set before her. This silent conflict had to end. The few terse words were typical of their conversations. They spoke to one another only when necessary. Her fear of what Reyn might say or do if she pursued the subject always clamped her tongue as easily as a vise might. Her guilt, which fell heavily on her shoulders, increased daily. His continued withdrawal chilled her to the bone more than the bleak weather. He had to be furious with her. Why didn't he scream or rage? Anything. Instead, he tightly locked his emotions away, but she saw the occasional haunted look when he thought she wasn't looking. Like two lost shadows, they drifted without feeling, thought or substance. Although he barely acknowledged her existence, as if she might disappear if ignored long enough, Jocelyn felt his presence vibrate throughout the walls, hating her, blaming her, condemning her. Knowing he felt that way caused her more despair than she had thought possible.
And now, she bore the responsibility for the death of his cousin. Well, she thought, she felt no remorse. She was glad Rodney was dead. He deserved to die for what he'd done. And Reyn could go to the devil if he blamed her. She was through feeling sorry for herself.
Suddenly, the gray stone masonry, artfully carved ceilings, newly whitewashed walls, family portraits, the lavish surroundings that had once provided solace, converged on her from all sides. The sanctuary became her prison. Fresh air and freedom became a necessity.
Seeking escape, she grabbed a cloak from a peg in the kitchen and fled into the cold, misty day, where she aimlessly wandered, unconsciously settling on her destination. Too late did she realize her folly. She had walked a great distance from the manor, oblivious to the increasing intensity of the storm. Her clothes, now soaking wet, offered no warmth, leaving her little choice but to seek shelter and wait for the storm to break.
Welcoming any excuse to escape Wilcott Keep, hoping to purge his foul moods and Jocelyn's presence from his mind, Reyn spent a backbreaking afternoon with Tam, inspecting their coal mines. Hell would be better than facing Jocelyn every day when he knew she despised him. Had he not fallen prey to his arrogance and traipsed off with Walter, he could have protected her. Even Rodney's death did little to assuage his conscience.
Like a disobedient wolfhound drowning in water and mud, he sloshed into the Keep, shaking droplets of water from his coat. When Briggs appeared in the foyer, Reyn said, "I can't remember a spring storm this fierce."
Briggs shuffled from one foot to the other while Dora peeked from behind his back. The somber expression on both their faces, coupled with the dry cloak, gloves and boots hanging from his butler's arm raised Reyn's curiosity. "What is the matter? You both look as if you've lost the family heirlooms."
Nervously, Briggs swallowed. "It's the duchess, sir."
"Is she ill?" Reyn rapidly closed the space between him and the stairs.
"Wait, sir. She's not above. She seems to be missing."
Experiencing a sharp pain in his chest, his heart beating double time while his stomach plummeted into his boots, Reyn stopped directly in front of Dora. "Explain."
"It appears she left for a walk, and has yet to return."
"It's as dark as spades out there, not to mention that it's storming like Mercury's own mother is on the run."
"Yes, sir. I know, sir," Dora said worriedly.
"The men are looking for her," Briggs explained, "but have yet to turn a stone to her whereabouts."
Grabbing the fresh outer garment, Reyn said, "Have food and a bath waiting. If she returns, lock her in her room."
With that, he stomped from the warmth of the Keep, chilled by dire thoughts of Jocelyn suffering injury or worse. He would flay her alive, tie her to the bed-and what? That was the dilemma. He wanted her, desperately, completely, but knew she would reject his advances vehemently.
Yanking the reins of the fresh mount prancing on the cobblestone courtyard, he barked out additional commands and questions to the stable boy. As he leaped to the back of the black stallion, he racked his brain for any place Jocelyn might be. Suddenly, a memory triggered a possibility. He rode like the wind, praying she was safe.
Thankful for the tiny haven of shelter, Jocelyn huddled beneath the rock overhang, listening to the cascading water of the falls, and the uncontrolled chattering of her teeth. By this time, she imagined the household in utter turmoil over her disappearance. "Wonderful," she muttered, "another rash action that will surely cause repercussions."
She hoped that Reyn had stayed with Tam for the night. As she imagined his temper, if inconvenienced, having to tolerate her impulsiveness yet again, she heard Reyn's voice boom. Slowly, she edged into the open and answered his cry. Almost immediately, horse and rider crashed through the brush and came into view. Even beneath his heated gaze, she never saw anyone so magnificent.
"Give me your hand." From atop his horse, with the ease of a warrior, he lifted her up in front of him. A moment later, he had her cocooned within the warmth of his cloak.
She emerged long enough to sneeze. "You'll get wet."
"Rather behind the bush to think of that. I ought to turn you over my knee and spank you."
"I would not complain as long as you promised to warm me first." She shivered uncontrollably and automatically nestled closer to absorb the heat his body provided. Another unrestrained sneeze reverberated off his chest.
"If you catch pneumonia and die, I'm going to beat you every day for a month. Do you hear me?"
Smiling into his chest at the contradiction of his statement, she started to explain.
"Don't say a word. This childish behavior has persisted long enough. I'm in charge and I intend to see this ridiculousness settled tonight." He pushed her head back to his chest and closeted her from the damp night.
Upon reaching the Keep, Reyn carried Jocelyn upstairs. The household, anticipating her return, bustled with activity. Dora informed him that a fire and a steaming bath waited in Jocelyn's chambers. Tea and soup would be provided shortly.
Irritably, Jocelyn grumbled. "Put me down. I am perfectly capable of walking."
"Jocelyn, I am tired and wet to the bone. Cease your harping. You have caused sufficient trouble for one day.
"As if anyone wo
uld care." She sounded quite pitiful, she realized.
Searching her face, his eyebrows knitted in confusion, he emphatically stated, "Everyone was frantic with worry."
"Everyone except you," she whispered.
He spoke with total candor. "Especially me."
"There is no need to lie. I know what you think of me."
"Tell me then, how do I feel?" he asked as he kicked the bedroom door closed to set her down.
Shivering from the loss of body heat, she moved closer to the fire. The tears trapped behind her lids threatened to fall. "You despise me for invading your life. You blame me for my own reckless stupidity and foolishness in ignoring your warnings. I know that after Rodney's attack, my presence repulses you. And now, because of me, although I can't claim to feel pity for the man, your relative is dead."
Reyn spun her around and, with quiet efficiency, began to loosen the pearl buttons of her dress. "You know all that, do you?"
She whirled toward him, clasped the ruined bodice to her chest, and bravely challenged her husband. "I saw your eyes when you found me that morning. I know what I saw. And since that night, you have yet to say a kind word to me."
"Hmmmm." He refused to comment further. Before she knew it, her sodden garments lay in a pile at her feet, her body bathed in firelight. With quick, efficient steps, he crossed to the bedroom door. "I'll be back. I expect to find you in the tub. Then you and I can finish this discussion. And Jocelyn-you have no idea how foolish your assumptions are."
He left her alone to ponder his parting words.
After weeks of depression, self-pity and guilt, her emotions in a constant state of agitation, Jocelyn felt drained. The day had been exhausting and she still reeled from the phenomenon that she had held Reyn's full attention for more than a moment.
As the hot bath consumed the coldness permeating her body, she felt a tiny spark of hope settle in her stomach. Perhaps Reyn had forgiven her role in Rodney's death and decided to put the past behind them. But if not for Rodney's attack, then why the dark moods? She wondered if he grew weary of her continued deceit, or regretted his hasty marriage proposal. His change of heart could even be another ploy to loosen her tongue.
That depressing thought quelled any thoughts of a possible reconciliation. She scrubbed fast and furiously, wrapped in a downy wool robe, and sat by the fire to await his return. The door opened. She tightened the belt as if bracing her defenses. The time of reckoning was upon her.
"I've brought you some soup and tea, but first I want you to drink this." Handing her a warmed brandy, he sat across from her. Reclined in the high-backed chair, legs crossed at the ankles, dressed in fresh clothing, he appeared well rested but no less fierce. She feared that he was simply waiting to attack, waiting for her guard to drop. Blast him. Why did he have to look so disciplined, so incredibly handsome? "Feeling better?" he asked while rolling his own crystal snifter between his fingers.
"Yes, thank you." Coward, she mumbled to herself. Now that the moment had arrived, her determination for confrontation dwindled. A bite of a warm buttered roll melted in her mouth.
"Can you talk and eat at the same time?"
Offering no response, afraid that any words might betray her anxiety, she continued to eat.
"Do you consider me a shallow man?"
She nibbled on her lower lip before she answered. "No.
"Then how in God's name could you believe I despise you for the actions of a demented blighter like Rodney?" He had finally misplaced his rigid control and bellowed at her. "No, do not speak. Simply continue to place food into that delectable little mouth and listen." Standing now, he paced the length of the room. "I blame no one except myself for what transpired that night."
"You?"
"Yes, me. Rodney possessed a warped sense of right and wrong, and had balanced precariously along the edge for years. When he finally crossed the line, I think he found he liked the darker side of life. He has courted death for some time now. It was his own deeds that killed him, not you."
"I still feel responsible."
"By the saints, Jocelyn, the man deserved to die. Whoever drew the knife has my gratitude. It saved me from having to perform the task. I suspected Rodney wanted you. Whether out of revenge or lust, I do not know. Perhaps a bit of both. I didn't consider him to be so devious, though, as to attack you in my own residence. I allowed my anger and arrogance to cloud my better judgment. Something, I might add, that never happened before I met you. There are few people who blatantly disobey me as you chose to do, and I lashed out. I wanted to hurt you but I never wanted, never thought-" He stopped, unable to form the words.
Jocelyn sat motionless, contemplating what he had said. "For weeks, you have ignored me, avoided my attempts to converse, refused my apologies. Excuse me if I find it difficult to accept this grand confession."
Majestically, he stood before the hearth, one hand resting on the mantel, the other tucked neatly in his pocket. "I thought you detested me for abandoning you that night. I failed you.'
"You failed me?" She rose from her chair like steam from a kettle. "I suspected the truth of your warnings, yet I ignored you. I openly flirted with that man. I taunted you, mocked your authority, and you tell me you failed me?"
"I agree it is rather magnanimous of me. Nevertheless, it is the duty of every husband to overcome the shortcomings of his wife, and protect her."
Although spoken in a lighthearted manner, she knew he believed what he said. He should have been there to save her from her own foolishness. Regardless of her irresponsible behavior.
"Speechless? Amazing." He grinned. She yawned. "Come, climb into bed. I can see I have exhausted you with such noble thoughts."
"How can you dismiss my actions so easily?"
"Jocelyn, I will say this one last time, then the subject of Rodney closes. You are not to blame. I should have explained my reasons that afternoon in the pantry. I didn't. I left you and Rodney to your own devices. I should have dealt directly with him, not you. His life was crashing down about his pointed ears and he knew I would not help him. He chose to betray me in the worst manner any man could. For that I will always be sorry."
As weariness seeped into her body, she fought the sensation. "Thank you."
"For what?" he asked when he held back the covers of the bed.
"Everything. It has been a very long time since someone sought to protect me."
Patiently, he pulled the satin spread to her chin, and sat beside her. "I know you are afraid of something or someone, and believe it or not I have managed to take care of myself for a very long time. If given the opportunity, I will take care of you. I want to." He clasped her chin in his hands, forcing her to look at him. "Trust me, Jocelyn. Trust me and give us a chance."
Ready to weep, she knew he risked a great deal with those few words. "I can't. Not yet." Immediately standing, he seemed to wrap himself in a wall of indifference. "Please," she beseeched. "If you truly forgive me for what transpired with Rodney, I wish this discord between us to end. Can we not return to the way we were before?"
"Exactly what was that? Enemies, acquaintances, fraudulent husband and wife? Players in a game of deceit. There is nothing to be gained by returning to the past, Jocelyn. Only the future awaits us, and as long as you refuse to let me help you, I will continue to question, to wonder, to speculate on your motives."
Rodney's betrayal was no longer the issue. She believed that and feared an even greater chasm created by her silence and her need for revenge. Yet she couldn't bring herself to tell him about her step-uncle. She knew Reyn well enough to know he would place himself directly in Horace's path in order to protect her. She couldn't allow that. She also realized the depth of Reyn's vulnerability and knew she had to make amends now, or lose the opportunity to close the gap growing between them. Scrambling to her knees, she reached for his arm to delay his departure.
"Friends. And perhaps more." Poised above her, his handsome features masked all expression. In that moment
, she knew what she wanted, needed. "Make love to me."
"What?"
Growing bolder, she pressed her hands to his face. "Make love to me."
He withdrew as if scalded. "Jocelyn, you must have straw in your head. The last few weeks have been overly stressful. You're exhausted and don't know what you ask."
"Stop treating me like a mindless dolt. If you recall, I have already lost my virginity. I have nothing left to lose, but much to gain." She could see the indecision wavering in his eyes. "Please. I would have answers to my questions."
Tentatively, almost afraid to look into the black velvet eyes that gazed warmly at him, he asked. "Such as?"
"Can you truly find pleasure with me after Rodney's attack?" She edged closer. "Will I please you like other women you've known before? Although I know little about the ways between a man and a woman, I know you want me. I was afraid at first, until I realized I wanted the same thing." She placed her fingers on his arm, watched the muscles twitch beneath his shirt. "And for all your barking and scowls, I know you to be a gentle lover."
When her eyes found his again, she saw a brooding man with a seriously disturbed expression painted on his face. Her mistake was obvious. This man felt nothing for her, least of all desire. Not anymore. Idiot, her mind screamed.
Feeling the need to bolt, seek a dark corner to hide and cry, she collapsed on the bed. She drew the covers to her neck, staring at the cross-stitch pattern on the quilt. Blessed Saint Dwyn. Please forgive me. You have been more than obliging, and here I am prepared to once again take something from you. I apologize for my-
As if he'd just run a great race, Reyn's breathing turned shallow. "Your what, Jocelyn? Your candor? Your passion? Your lust for carnal knowledge?"
"No. Yes. Oh, I don't know what it is exactly," she said defensively. "Oh bother, that's a lie." Raising her face to his, she spoke defiantly. "I do not apologize for how I feel, but rather for my foolishness in believing that you might feel something for me, a spark of-"