Maggie’s face was ashen with shock. “You cannot be serious, Christian. I have done nothing….”
He put up a sharp hand. “Spare me more of your lies. I have been aware of your infidelities for years, though I must say I am guilty for the fact that I allowed them to continue,” he shrugged carelessly. “I suppose you did not matter to me terribly, therefore, I was unconcerned with your adulterous actions. After all, I had no interest in remaining faithful to a mere betrothal contract, either.”
Maggie simply stared at him, sickened and disbelieving. After a moment, her brown eyes began to smolder. “How can you condemn me for the very same actions you admit to committing yourself? I thought we understood one another, Christian. As long as we were discreet, we were quite content to live our separate lives until the day our wedding vows enslaved us.”
His jaw ticked as he gazed at her. Once, her words had been true. They had been unfaithful to one another for the duration of their entire relationship and Christian found himself wondering when, and how, he had suddenly managed to acquire an overactive conscience.
But as he lingered on his newly acquired sense of righteousness, surprising as it was, it abruptly occurred to him that his perception of commitment had seeped deep into his soul the very moment he had taken Gaithlin in his arms. To imagine her enclosed within another man’s heated embrace nearly drove him to instantaneous madness. She was made for him, and to think of betraying her by bestowing his affections on another made him wild with guilt.
Were she his, he would never as much as look at another woman again. The fact was that he hadn’t looked at another woman since the day he had witnessed Gaithlin’s erotic water ballet. He’d fallen in love with her that very moment. Suddenly, commitment and emotion took on an entirely different meaning when applied to Gaithlin. De Gare or no, she was the only woman in the world worth pledging his faith and loyalty to. He’d known it from the first; finally, he found a woman he was willing to commit his heart, his soul, his body to forever.
Forsaking all others.
He couldn’t marry Maggie. Not when he loved Gaithlin.
Good Christ, he loved her! He could scarcely believe the powerful revelation. It was a violent realization, a marvelous awareness, a bevy of powerful emotions that caused his head to spin in blinding, endless circles.
He closed his eyes to ward of the baffling thoughts ranting through his mind, turning away from Maggie in a vain attempt to collect his composure. In fact, Maggie ceased to exist as he paced the woolen carpet of his bower, meandering aimlessly as he came to grips with the shocking turn his emotions had taken.
“Christian?” Maggie had followed him into the room, wondering why his face was suddenly so pale. “Are you well? I forgive you your words, of course, since you are obviously ill. Come and rest, darling. Maggie will heal you.”
He didn’t realize his hands were to his face, an unconscious gesture of disbelief and shock. But the clammy palms came away from his pallid cheeks as he forced himself to focus on the situation at hand. The sooner he rid himself of Maggie’s unwanted presence, the better able he would be to collect himself.
“I am not ill,” his voice was hoarse. “Go away, Maggie. I do not want you here.”
Her expression dampened. “But you’re not looking at all well, darling. Is something the matter?”
“Nay!” he suddenly roared, watching Maggie leap with fear. Fighting down the surging tides of confusion and irritation, he struggled to maintain his calm as he pointed at his open bower door. “Get out, Maggie. I shall not ask you again.”
Driven to a grand performance of tears, both real and pretend, Maggie backed away from him with wide, frightened eyes. “I… I do not understand, Christian,” she moaned softly. “It has always been this way between us. You had your life and I had mine. I thought you were happy this way.”
“Happy?” he repeated dully, as if he had never heard the word. He shook his head slowly. “What is there to be happy of? Seeking in other women what I could never find in you, searching endlessly through England’s female ranks for the one solitary female who would satisfy my needs in life? I was never happy, Maggie. And I don’t think you are either.”
Delicate tears splashed to her cheeks. “Yes I am, darling. You make me very happy.”
His face was taut with emotion and fatigue. “If I did, then you would have remained faithful to me.”
Maggie stared at him a moment, thinking on his words. Seeing a grain of truth. Wiping at her eyes, she seemed more intent to ponder his calm words than to carry on an act.
“Are you suggesting that we will never be happy or true to each other?” she asked softly, fixing him with her wide brown eyes. “If that is the case, then I promise you that you are wrong. I shall be true to you from this moment on if that is what you wish. And I shall make you happy, Christian. I swear it.”
He met her gaze, unwilling to consider her offer. It occurred to him that he was very eager to be rid of her, concerned to focus his time and energies on the one woman who had occupied his mind for the better part of a month. Good Christ, he was in the midst of the most irrational thoughts he had ever had the misfortune to generate. Thoughts of loving a de Gare, thoughts of being faithful to none other than his family’s mortal foe. A woman who, at the moment, was his captive. He’d never considered himself capable of being completely faithful to one woman but, then again, he’d never met a de Gare before.
“No more, Maggie,” his voice was soft with fatigue. “We have said all there is to say. Consider yourself a free woman from this night on.”
Maggie stood in front of the archway, no longer tearful. Although Christian seemed completely determined to discard her from his life, she wasn’t entirely convinced of his sincerity. Certainly, he was angry for having caught her in a tryst with one of her innumerable lovers, but she was quite certain that time and careful thought would gradually bring him back to his senses.
And the fact that Jean St. John was looking forward to the du Bois dowry with a particular hunger would also help to convince Christian that his harsh words had been rash. Aye, Christian’s father would be of tremendous help to her cause.
“Very well, darling,” she said softly, moving through the doorway. “If that is your wish, I shall leave you to your thoughts.”
Christian didn’t say anything as she silently quit the room, knowing very well it would not be the last time he beheld her presence. Maggie was too preoccupied with marrying the Demon of Eden to give it all up so easily. And he would not have been at all surprised to discover if she had made an appearance in Gaithlin’s doorway to demand vengeance.
Maggie was catty, sly, and treacherous; Christian was well aware of her qualities. And he was coming to know Gaithlin well enough to realize that if Maggie provoked her in the slightest, she could very well end up sporting a lovely black eye.
He smiled at the thought of Gaithlin taking her soft fist to Maggie’s eye; certainly, the woman deserved worse. In fact, based on his experience with the physical characteristics of Gaithlin de Gare, it was quite possible that Maggie would end up with more than a bruise for her troubles and Christian found himself wondering if he should casually make his way to Gaithlin’s bower simply to make sure neither woman came to harm.
Aye, paying a visit on the western wing seemed to be an agreeable idea. Anything to discourage Maggie from venting her anger on an unsuspecting victim who might very well turn on her. Christian had no intention of giving Forrestoak’s gossips any more ammunition for their already overloaded arsenal. Running his fingers through his dark blond hair a couple of times, he quit his room in silence.
Eager for the excuse to see his captive.
*
But Gaithlin wasn’t alone. It all began when Kelvin Howard reappeared at her door not ten minutes after he had left her, his arms laden with several of his sister’s discarded gowns. Still wrapped in Christian’s oversized cloak, she had allowed her host into her bower purely for courtesy’s sake.
>
Kelvin had smiled endlessly at her, offering a blathering excuse regarding the offerings he had strewn across her bed. His sister had grown too fat for them, he explained, and they were simply taking up space within the confines of her already-overcrowded wardrobe. Since Gaithlin’s possessions had been brutally stolen by a band of heartless bandits, he could ask for no greater pleasure than to deliver the gowns to a beautiful woman in need.
Wary and silent, Gaithlin had eyed the selection of gowns with a good deal of distrust and a healthy measure of glee. They were finer than anything she owned, and already she could feel the expensive silks caressing her tender flesh. But Kelvin’s eager expression kept a powerful restraint on her excitement; she couldn’t help but believe he was expecting some form of payment for his gift of charity. And not a monetary payment, to be sure.
Unused to the finer arts of persuasion or lady-like games, she had thanked him stiffly for his generosity and set about explaining her refusal for such a donation. The harder she attempted to refute his “gifts,” the more firmly he insisted that she try on the red gown. ’Twould seem it was his favorite and he was most eager to view her within the striking color.
An uneasy banter that went on for several minutes. Short of bodily removing the man from her bower, Gaithlin was at a loss as to what to do. Certainly he was her host and she felt very uncomfortable refusing his expensive addition to her non-existent wardrobe, but there was something in his earnest manner that unnerved her. A gleam in his eye she was unfamiliar with.
The gentle argument went on for an excessive length of time until she realized Kelvin had seated himself comfortably in a hide-covered chair with nary an intention of leaving until his guest complied with his demand to try on the red gown. Against the wall with Christian’s cloak swathed protectively around her body, Gaithlin had grown weary of the foolish banter and simply remained silent as Kelvin swerved off the subject of her new garments in favor of a first-hand account of his visit to Rome.
Gaithlin didn’t care about Rome. She wanted the man out of her room so she could bathe away the dirt and aches that had constituted her day. Then, mayhap, if he didn’t reclaim his gifts in an indignant huff when she factually convinced him to leave her bower, she might try on the red gown. And the green one, too. Mayhap even the blue wool.
But she wasn’t going to move from her post by the wall until he left her in peace. His childish, arrogant manner was coming to be an irritation far more than an intimidation and she was in the process of summoning the courage to ask him to leave when he suddenly rose from the chair, eyeing her suggestively.
“Tell me truthfully, my lady,” his voice was soft, lingering. “You are not Christian’s cousin.”
She blinked in confusion at the rapid change of subject. He had been speaking of Rome not a moment before and she swallowed hard, making a valiant attempt to compose a believable lie. For the fact that she had been raised isolated and alone, interacting with mature individuals not from her own family was something of a new experience and she felt a certain desperation at her lack of worldliness.
She was not an accomplished expert when it came to seasoned, adult games. Already, she felt at a distinct disadvantage as Kelvin slowly advanced.
“Why do you question Christian’s word?” she stammered, hating the fact that she sounded off-balance. “He told you that I was his cousin and you will believe him.”
Kelvin’s long, long legs set a slow pace across the scrubbed wooden slats. His green eyes twinkled faintly. “I would believe him except for one factor; you are far too lovely to be a St. John relation. With the exception of Christian and Quinton, all of the St. John’s are fairly short and compact.”
Unfortunately, Gaithlin’s lack of adult experience thrust itself to the forefront with her puzzled, non-thinking, entirely brainless reply. “Who is Quinton?”
She realized she had committed a mortal error before the words were even out of her mouth and she averted her gaze, cursing her stupidity and complete lack of sense. Although Kelvin already had the upper hand in their conversation, his low laughter told her that she had dug herself into a deep well of lies from whence there would be no return. She found herself wishing that Christian would burst through the door and save them both from her witlessness.
A perfectly plausible falsehood dashed to cinder in one swift blow of her reckless tongue and she was concerned for two completely valid reasons; Christian had forced her to promise that she would not reveal her true identity, and she was deeply concerned that she keep her word. She was unable to fathom the reason as to why it was so important that she maintain her honor in the face of a hated St. John, only knowing that she was unwilling to betray her pledge. Unwilling to betray her enemy.
And the second reason for her concern was obvious; Christian had invented the lie to save his dignity after discovering his betrothed’s infidelities with none other than the man attempting to press his company. The Demon of Eden possessed a good deal of pride and honor, and having come across his intended frolicking like a well-used tart had been a rude discovery. St. John or no, Gaithlin didn’t believe anyone should be treated with so little respect.
With those two substantial factors weighing heavily on her mind, she avoided Kelvin’s gaze as he drew close. She was so intent on eluding his piercing stare than she neglected to notice the close proximity of his body until it was too late. Cornered against the wall, she pressed herself against the stone as if to force the cold blocks to absorb her. Fear, relatively unknown until that moment, sprouted a weak seed deep in the pit of her belly.
“So you have no knowledge of your other cousin?” Kelvin’s voice was sickeningly seductive, his tone still laced with laughter. “I find that extremely odd, Lady Gaithlin. If that is indeed your name.”
A blossom of anger joined the seed of fear. “Of course it is my name,” she snapped softly, attempting to move away from him. “Lady Gaithlin de Bl… de Bl…”
He laughed again. “So you fail to remember your surname as well? God’s Blood, you are far too young to find yourself succumbing to the effects of senility.”
Frustrated, Gaithlin’s palms began to sweat. She couldn’t seem to keep her thoughts straight with his nearness, his bold characteristics intimidating her into irrationality. With a final lunge at the rope of control, she pushed herself off the wall in the hope that she could physically shove him back, away from her, thereby emphasizing her imminent request that he leave her in peace.
His presence was an unwanted, tiring bother and she fully intended to tell him so. Charity or no, he had moved past the boundaries of her patience and she was determined to be rid of him before he could manage to inflict more damage to Christian’s fabrication.
“I would ask you to leave, my lord,” she said firmly, plowing into his right shoulder and sending him stumbling back. “I am weary and wish to retire for the night.”
Undeterred but understandably surprised by the tall woman’s apparent strength, Kelvin cocked an auburn eyebrow. Being lord of his own manor provided him with the authority and aggressiveness to put forth his demands without fear of refusal, and gazing at Gaithlin’s lowered head, he was no longer interested in playing games with the lanky wench. He had come for a reason this night; and it hadn’t been to ply her senses with his sister’s new gowns.
Thinking back, he couldn’t recall ever seeing a finer woman. As sup had uneasily continued earlier that eve, and after his fear of Christian’s wrath had subsided, he found his attention completely occupied by the beautiful lady with the cat-shaped eyes. Even as she shoved food into her mouth like a starving soldier, he had been unconcerned with her table manners; in fact, he rather liked watching her pink tongue slurp the grease from her slender white fingers.
Had Christian not been so incensed with the discovery of Maggie’s blatant infidelities, he would have coerced his former friend into sharing his mistress. As it was, Christian was off sulking in his bower and Kelvin was determined to seek his own sport with the t
all wench. And the mound of dresses on the bed were to insure her silence in the matter.
“My, my, you are a powerful woman,” his tone was an erotic purr. “Does this hold true in every aspect of your manner?”
Puzzled and apprehensive, Gaithlin met his eyes for nearly the first time since he entered the room. Suspecting he was insinuating something intimately physical, she struggled against the slight flush that mottled her tender cheeks. “If you would be so kind as to leave, my lord, I have no desire to continue this conversation.”
A leering smile joined his erotic tone. “Odd that you should mention desire,” he said. “Certainly, mine must be evident to you.”
His hand moved across his swollen crotch; Gaithlin saw the gesture from just inside her line of sight but absolutely refused to stare at the focus of his intimation. Sickened as well as apprehensive, she stepped away from him, moving around the end of the bed to put distance between them.
“You will leave me,” her voice was hoarse with fear and disgust.
To her horror, he was moving toward her again. “I have no desire to leave you,” his voice was quiet. “Why are you so opposed to sampling my techniques? Christian is certainly no more experienced than I.”
Shaken and baffled, she lost the battle against the deeply-threatening blush. In fact, she was beginning to sweat but utterly terrified to remove the cloak. As if, somehow, Christian’s heavy garment would protect her against Kelvin’s bold approach.
“I do not know anything about experience or techniques,” she replied quietly, her voice quivering. “If you do not leave, I can guarantee you will be sorry. I will not tolerate your advances.”
Kelvin stopped; after a moment, his head tilted playfully and his grin broadened. “A game, demoiselle? Do you intend to fight me?”
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