Timothy lit his pipe and took a long puff. He watched Dera, then he cleared his throat. “Lord Fairfax inquired after you today.”
Dera picked up a torn shirt and pretended to be absorbed in mending it. “That was kind of him,” she answered more coolly than she had intended. Her fingers felt thick and clumsy. She sensed an argument in the wind.
“Put down the sewing and listen to me.” His tone was sharp and she jumped involuntarily.
With reluctance, she laid the shirt in her lap. She didn’t want to argue, but she refused to be badgered.
“Wipe that scowl from your face,��� Timothy chastised. ���Lord Fairfax wishes your answer. ‘Tis been more than a fortnight since he asked for you. If you keep him waiting, he might withdraw his proposal.”
“I hope he does,” she said curtly. “I don’t love him.”
“What does love have to do with it?” Lydia asked. “His lordship wants you for his wife, to bear him sons. There is no need for love to beget children.”
“You should know all about that!” Dera snapped, immediately regretting her remark.
She was embarrassed for her uncle; the pain of unreturned love showed on his face. His eyes looked muddier than usual, his mouth slack and his face very pale.
“Enough!” he ordered. Though he addressed Dera, his gaze rested on Lydia. “Twould be better if there was some affection on your part, Dera. Mating with his lordship would be easier.” He turned his attention to Dera. “The man is eager for you. Lydia is right. Love needn’t be present to make a child.”
“Or for the two of you to prosper from my marriage,” Dera added. Fresh bitterness rose in her. Timothy was selling her like a piece of valued property. Through her he would receive favors form Lord Fairfax and make a very comfortable life for Lydia and the child.
He tapped his pipe and sighed. “Aye, Dera. I think Lydia and I deserve something in return for sheltering and feeding you these many years. Granted, you’ve been a good girl. I’ve never found cause to be ashamed of you. To refuse Fairfax’s proposal would be foolish, not only for us, but also for you.” He grabbed her by the shoulders. “You’re being given the opportunity to become a fine lady, to be the wife, not the mistress, of a titled gentleman. Don’t you understand?”
His dark eyes expessed sincerity. The realization struck her that Timothy truly believed she would be happy in a marriage to Avery Fairfax, that it was the wise thing to do. In his way Timothy cared for her.
“I can’t marry a man whom I do not love,” she insisted.
He dropped his hands to his sides, disgusted. “Your head is thicker than an iron skillet.”
“We can’t force you to wed his lordship,” Lydia chimed in. “But we can put you from our hearth.” Her blue eyes were clear, and for the first time, Dera glimpsed a wickedness in them. For all of Timothy’s failings, he wasn’t an evil man. Until that moment, she hadn’t thought Lydia was either, only ambitious. But Dera perceived a darker side to Lydia’s nature.
“You would humiliate me then,” Dera said.
“Aye.”
“Now, Lydia, I’m not sending Dera away. T’would be shameful for her and to us. Dera is my niece. How can you suggest that she leave?”
Lydia’s face was hard and immobile. “Because she’s ungrateful.” She took Dera’s cloak from the wall peg and flung it at her. “Here, go and don’t come back unless you decide to do as you are bid.”
Dera crumpled the cloak to her breast. Lydia was hateful and cruel suddenly, yet she was doing her an unexpectedly good turn. Now she would be forced to go to Quint openly and tell him what had happened. He would have to marry her.
“Lydia, no!” Timothy exclaimed. “She cannot … “
Dera interrupted him. “Yes, uncle, I wish to go.”
“But where?”
Her heart filled with pity for him. He had been the closest thing to a father she would ever know. She found she felt some affection for him. “There is only one place I wish to be. You don’t understand, but Lydia will tell you. Ask her.” She kissed his cheek. “Goodbye, uncle. I’m sorry to be a disappointment to you. Somehow, I’ll repay you for your kindness in raising an unwanted niece.”
She spoke to Lydia. “You’ve made a decision for me that I should have made for myself long ago. Thank you.”
Lydia smiled sourly. “We’ll see.”
Dera threw her cape about her shoulders. She opened the door and stepped outside into the clear night. The stars twinkled like diamonds in the winter sky. The moon was bright; a sweet, fresh smell filled the air. Timothy stood beside Lydia on the threshold. As she walked away, he again asked her where Dera was going.
“Don’t fret,” Lydia answered him. “She’ll be back soon enough.” The door shut tightly.
In exhilaration, Dera turned in the direction of Quint’s cottage. Her breath froze on the cold night air, but her spirits soared.
She was free at last!
CHAPTER EIGHT
Dera found the cottage door to Quint���s cottage ajar, but Quint wasn’t about. The worry grew in her that he might be on a raid, burning another English family out of their home.
Quint was still an enigma to her. Loving him for years from a distance hadn’t prepared her for the flesh-and-blood man. In her girlhood fantasies, he was her knight errant, the crusader who was all good and above other mortals. The real man was different. He could be tender and gentle, as well as savage and cruel. But he was her salvation in a lonely world. To be with him forever was all she wanted from life.
She touched the table top, the chairs and the cooking utensils, thinking that soon these things would be hers. She pictured Quint eating the hearty meal she would prepare for him. He would kiss her, then he’d carry her into the small bedroom and they’d make love.
Her gaze rested on the bedroom doorway. She would conceive and bear his children in that room. Since the day she had met Mrs. Flannery, she hadn’t been inside the cottage. Suddenly she wished to wait for Quint’s return in the cozy bedroom. She made a move toward the doorway, but stopped. A moaning sound came from the room. She waited and listened—and heard a woman’s low cry.
Dera���s breathing grew labored; a sick feeling clutched at her stomach. Her blood ran cold. She wanted to leave, but the truth was beyond the doorway.
Slowly, she moved toward the sound and peeked in. The tiny room was bright with moonlight . The figures coupling upon the rushes were only too visible to her. Quint was turned away from her. He was naked and sweat glistened on his back. He rode upon Peg McConnell as she she writhed beneath him like a bitch in heat. Dera’s ears were filled with the obscene filth Peg whispered as she urged Quint to take her more deeply. He thrust harder and harder into her, her nails raking along his backside.
Dera was repulsed but unable to look away. Part of her was fascinated by the frenzy of their mating. The man on the floor could not be the man she loved, but some demon from hell. If Quint had pulled her beating heart from her body, he could not have hurt her more. The bile rose in her throat and she wanted to retch.
Peg’s shapely legs wrapped around his waist. She met his powerful thrusts with her own. Her voice was husky and thick with passion. “Do you love me, Quint?”
He thrust one last time and completed the act. He bent his tawny head low to her breast. “Aye,” he answered in a broken whisper.
Dera ran from the cottage, hot tears burning her eyes. Before she realized it, she was in the meadow. She flung herself to the ground, choking on her tears, dry heaving into the soft grass. She had learned the truth and the truth was ugly. Quint’s dalliance with Peg would have hurt less if he trifled with her, but he told her he loved her. Quint Flannery had betrayed her!
She cried until the tears ceased to come. A lonely ache touched her heart. She finally managed to stand on unsteady feet and crossed the meadow, the cold wind stinging her cheeks. Timothy answered the door when she knocked.
“What is it, Dera?”
She swal
lowed and wiped her eyes. “Tell Lord Fairfax I’m ready to give him my answer, uncle.”
He opened the door and let her inside.
Lydia helped Dera dress for the meeting with Lord Fairfax, who was due to arrive by mid-morning.
Dera finished slipping the emerald-colored gown over her head when Timothy announced that his lordship had arrived.
“We’ll be out in a moment,” Lydia told him. “Today is important and Dera must look her prettiest.” She smiled at Dera. “Wear the comb in your hair,” she suggested. After taking it from the velvet box, she pulled the sides of Dera’s hair away from her face and secured the comb at the back of her head.
Dera barely glanced at her own reflection. Her appearance was of no concern. Her violet eyes were still slightly puffy from crying; her cheeks were pale and her mouth felt stiff, but Lydia assured her she looked lovely. Neither Lydia nor Timothy had questioned Dera’s sudden decision to marry Lord Fairfax. To speak of it would have been unbearable for Dera.
“I envy you,” Lydia spoke with a trace of awe in her voice. “I would love to be marrying his lordship and live at the manor in absolute luxury.”
“Even if it meant detesting him and dreading the thought of sleeping with him?”
“Dera, you place too much importance on the physical act. Really, it’s very simple. You lie there, open your legs for him, shut your eyes and pretend the man is someone else. In the dark, it matter little.”
“That’s disgusting!”
“Perhaps. But it’s better than pining for a man you’re not likely to have.” Lydia bit at her lower lip. Her eyes were downcast as if she had revealed too much about herself. “Go. Lord Fairfax is waiting.”
Fairfax stood near the hearth, his elbow resting upon the shelf above it. He was elegantly dressed in a coat of brown satin with matching breeches. When he beheld Dera, his sour face broke into a smile. He captured her hand and kissed it. “More beautiful than I remember,” he said. She curtsied, her cheeks flaming under his bold stare.
He glanced at Timothy and Lydia. “You shall be adequately recompensed for your kindness to Dera if her reply is in the affirmative.”
“You are very kind, your lordship,” Timothy smiled his appreciation. Lydia nodded in agreement.
Avery Fairfax looked away from them as if they were of little consequence. The jade color of his eyes brightened with a glimmer of hopefulness. “Have you decided to become my wife?” he asked.
The question should have been difficult for her to answer, but the memory of Quint and Peg made it easier. Dera’s voice was strong when she answered.
“Yes, I shall marry you, but there is one thing I must tell you before we take any vows.”
He cocked a bushy eyebrow, then nodded for her to continue.
“I am not untouched, your lordship. My virginity has already been given freely to another man.”
“Holy saints in heaven!” Timothy gasped in horror. Lydia was near fainting; she clutched at him for support. Lord Fairfax’s expression showed no emotion. The thin mouth pursed. His eyes appraised Dera as she stood before him without shame.
���Lydia is not feeling well, Timothy,” Fairfax said. “Please take her outside to get some air. I need to speak with Dera.”
“Aye, your lordship.” Timothy���s hands shook, his voice full of fear, but he did as he was bid.
“So,” Avery began after they had left, “you have been with a man. Why do you tell me this?”
“Under the circumstances, it is the decent thing to do.”
“I knew you were honest, maybe too honest. Still it is a quality worth possessing.” He rested his cane upon the table and folded his hands together. “Your relationship with this man…is it finished?”
Her heart ached to admit the truth. The relationship was over. Her love for Quint was not. “Yes,” she said.
He touched her cheek with a long, slender finger. “1 shall not inquire as to the man’s identity. The fact that you had already been bedded occurred to me. I am indeed relieved.”
“I don’t understand.”
He sighed and shook his head. “I am tired of mewling virgins. There is no gratification in taking a woman who cries and complains of the pain. I had enough of that with Elvina. Even after ten years of matrimony, she still whined. A man cannot be a man when the woman he beds finds no pleasure in the mating.” He pulled her against him and lightly caressed her full breasts. “You were meant to be loved and to please a man. 1 am glad you’ve had some experience. When we tumble together, you’ll know how to pleasure me.”
He kissed her roughly, his tongue darting into her mouth. “You can show me exactly how much your lover taught you.”
She thought she should struggle, but the circumstances were changed. Avery Fairfax was her betrothed and had the right to kiss her. Her body felt no sensation of warmth; her heart lay like a piece of ice in her chest. She no longer cared. If she had, his remarks would have struck her as peculiar.
At last, after much pawing, he released her. He tilted her face up to his, “You do not respond, Dera. There is little emotion in you and this worries me. By the date of our marriage, I hope you are no longer a lump of stone in my arms, but are filled with a desire for carnal pleasure.”
“I shall try,” she said.
Politely, he kissed her forehead. “A Christmas wedding will be appropriate. This evening I’ll send for a dressmaker who will arrive immediately and begin the preparations for your trousseau. Three weeks should be adequate time to outfit you. Whatever you wish, you shall have. Money is unimportant.���
He looked deeply into her eyes. “You are a beautiful creature, more beautiful than the finest statuary. Owning things, which other men can only dream of possessing has always been my passion. You shall become my most beautiful treasure.”
She retreated to her room after his departure. Timothy and Lydia’s displeasure with her was relieved by the knowledge that Lord Fairfax still wished to marry her.
Dera felt a great lethargy seize her. She was unable to concentrate on the implications of marrying a man she didn’t love. Every time she thought about being Fairfax’s wife, she saw Quint’s disapproving face looming before her, and she knew then she would never escape her passion for him.
CHAPTER NINE
After posting the last of the rent entries, Dera put aside the ledgers. This was the final time she would do the books for Timothy. Soon her life would be altered in a way she cared not to dwell upon. She stood up and leaned against the window sill in her room, gazing at the late afternoon sky. It was tinted a soft shade of peach above the ochre colored meadow.
In the distance, she could see Timothy walking slowly towards the farm house. Above the far row of trees, wisps of smoke rose from the manor chimneys and touched the skyline like ghostly fingers. From the direction of the stables, skirting across the meadow on Devil Man, she caught sight of Quint. In his haste, he nearly knocked Timothy down. Timothy quickly recovered, his arms flailing as he shouted at Quint to slow down.
Dera’s pulse raced harder than Devil Man’s hooves. By the time she reached the kitchen, he was already there, having flung the door back against the wall.
Fair, shaggy locks hung low and unkempt across his forehead. He was breathing rapidly. The smell of resin and sweat clung to him; his damp shirt was opened to reveal the mat of curling, wet hair on his chest. So fierce and hard were his eyes that Dera knew he had learned of her betrothal.
“What in the name of God is this?” Lydia shouted and dropped a spoon into a pot of cooking broth.
“I want her.” His voice was low and calm but brittle as he pointed a finger at Dera. “I want her to tell me ‘tis a lie I’ve heard.”
“‘Tis no lie if you mean her marriage to his lordship. Good riddance to you, Quint Flannery!” Lydia attempted to block him from Dera, but he side stepped Lydia and grabbed Dera by the arm. She had no time to protest before he had carried her out of the house and flung her on Devil Man’s back
and leaped astride behind her.
“Timothy!” Lydia screamed.
They flew down the road in the direction of Quint’s cottage. Not once did he slacken his hold upon her. His arm encircled her waist like a taut rope, cutting off her wind. She wished to turn around, to look him in the face, but she was frightened at what she might see. When they reached the cottage, he carried her inside and placed her beside the table.
He paced the length of the room, his black eyes not leaving her face. She waited in silence.
“Have you nothing to say, Dera?”
���No.”
He winced at the flatness of her tone. “I want to know the truth about you and Lord Fairfax. Have Timothy and Lydia connived to take you from me?”
He quickly took her in his arms and held her tightly. “I won’t allow them or anyone to separate us,” he said. “No matter what they or that filthy Englishman conjure up, I will keep you with me. I’ll do as you have begged me to do. We’ll leave this place!”
“Do you mean it?” Dera breathed.
“Aye. I can’t stand the thought of that swine’s hands upon you!” He kissed her deeply and with such passion her head swam. “1 want you,” he whispered hoarsely into her ear.
Her body longed to respond to him, but she held herself stiffly in his arms and refused to return his kisses. The memory of Peg McConnell was still too fresh in her memory. She wished to hurt him as she had been hurt.
“Dera,” he said, a note of impatience in his voice. “I’m asking you to leave with me. Now. Today.”
“Then you’re asking me to become you wife?” she asked.
“Well, nay, not yet. I’ve important things to tend to. I can’t think of marrying until things are settled. Yet I can take you away from here and put you where you’ll be safe from Fairfax, where you can wait for my return.”
She threw off his hold and moved away. Everything suddenly became clear. The man she loved was selfish and hard. She wondered how she could have been such a fool as to think he truly loved her.
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