My Beautiful Enemy
Page 28
Tears rolled down her face. “But whether we speak of it or not, it’s going to happen, isn’t it?”
She raised her shotgun and blasted the last remaining clay pigeon to pieces. His heart was similarly shattered.
“No matter what happens . . .”
He could not continue. He was no longer in a position to declare his love for her. Whatever he said would only make things worse.
“Don’t marry her,” she implored, her voice hoarse, her eyes fervent. “Forget Henley Park. Let’s run away together.”
If only they could. “Neither of us is of age. Our marriage wouldn’t be valid without the consent of your father and my guardian. I don’t know about your father, but Colonel Clements is dead set on my doing my duty. He’d rather see you ruined than allow our marriage to stand.”
Overhead thunder rolled. “Isabelle, Lord Fitzhugh,” cried her mother’s voice from inside the house, “better come back. It’s going to rain soon!”
Neither of them moved.
Drops of rain fell on his head, each as heavy as a pebble.
Isabelle gazed at him. “Do you remember the first time you came to visit?”
“Of course.”
He’d been sixteen, she fifteen. It had been at the end of Michaelmas Half. And he’d arrived with Pelham, Hastings, and two other mates from Eton. She’d sprinted down the stairs to hug Pelham. Fitz had met her before, when she’d come to see Pelham at Eton. But on that day, suddenly, she was no longer the little girl she’d been, but a lovely young lady, full of life and verve. The afternoon sun, slanting into the hall, had lit her like a flame. And when she’d turned around and said, “Ah, Mr. Fitzhugh, I remember you,” he was already in love.
“Do you remember the fight scene from Romeo and Juliet?” she asked softly.
He nodded. Would that time flowed backward, so he could leave the present behind and head toward those older, more joyous days instead.
“I remember everything so clearly: Gerry was Tybalt and you Mercutio. You had one of my father’s walking sticks in one hand and a tea sandwich in the other. You took a bite of the sandwich, and sneered, ‘Tybalt, you rat-catcher, will you walk?’ ” She smiled through her tears. “Then you laughed. My heart caught and I knew then and there that I wanted to spend my life with you.”
His face was wet. “You’ll find someone better,” he forced himself to say.
“I don’t want anyone else. I want only you.”
And he wanted only her. But it was not to be. They were not to be.
Rain came down in sheets. It had been a miserable spring. Already he despaired of ever again walking under an unclouded sky.
“Isabelle, Lord Fitzhugh, you must come inside now,” repeated Mrs. Pelham.
They ran. But as they reached the side of the house, she gripped his arm and pulled him toward her. “Kiss me.”
“I mustn’t. Even if I don’t marry Miss Graves, I’m to marry someone else.”
“Have you ever kissed anyone?”
“No.” He’d been waiting for her.
“All the more reason you must kiss me now. So that no matter what happens, we will always be each other’s first.”
Lightning split the sky. He stared at the beautiful girl who would never be his. Was it so wrong?
It must not be, because the next moment he was kissing her, lost to everything else but this one last moment of freedom and joy.
And when they could no longer delay their return to the house, he held her tight and whispered what he’d promised himself he would not say.
“No matter what happens, I will always, always love you.”
FROM BESTSELLING AUTHOR
SHERRY THOMAS
The Luckiest Lady in London
Louisa Cantwell must marry rich to support her sisters. But does she dare fall in love with a man who has as many dark and devastating secrets as the Marquess of Wrenworth?
“Thomas is known for a lush style . . . [and] transporting prose even as [she] delivers on heat and emotion and a well-earned happily ever after.”
—The New York Times Book Review
“A masterpiece . . . A beautifully written, exquisitely seductive, powerfully romantic gem of a romance.”
—Kirkus Reviews (starred review)
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