“Yes, milady. He’s in the library.”
“Thank you.” She pushed back her trailing hair and set off down the hall.
Dreyford was standing with his back to the door, staring into the courtyard.
The dog heard her and turned. With a joyful little yip, she ran to Fiona’s feet. Blinking back her tears, Fiona bent to pat the dog’s head.
But the earl did not turn. Did he already know what had happened? Did he mean not to speak to her at all? She moistened her lips and took a step into the room. “Dreyford.”
He whirled. His face went as white as if he’d seen a spirit. “Fiona! Is it really you?”
“Yes.” For a moment no more words would come. She wanted to run to him, but she did not dare. His eyes were so hard, his mouth so stern. How had she ever expected him to understand? “Did—did Lonigan send you a note about me, a ransom note?”
He nodded. “Yes, but have no concern about that. That has been taken care of.”
Her knees trembling, she grasped the back of a nearby chair. “It has? How?”
He was still staring at her. “You may thank Ben,” he said. “He saw you being shoved into the carriage. And he followed till he saw what road it took. Then I went looking for you.”
“And you found Lonigan?”
His nod was grim. “Yes. I don’t think he’ll be bothering you again. If I’m not mistaken, he’ll be far from London by now.”
She wished to sit down, but she felt she must face him on her feet. She gripped the chair back harder. “Oh, Robert. I have so much to tell you.”
He said nothing. He stood there, half a room away, waiting till she should condemn herself with her own words.
“It’s about Lonigan,” she said. “I knew Lonigan before. Long ago he came to Cousin Charles’s. He was young and he was from my homeplace. He— he swept me off my feet. We ran away and were married. Or I thought we were married.”
She saw the stiffening of his body, heard the quick intake of his breath, but still he said nothing. She forced herself to go on. “We went to London. And we were happy together. But one day he disappeared. When my money was gone, I had to return to Charles. Lonigan had been gone seven years when you came proposing marriage. Though I thought him probably dead, still I believed myself his wife. That is why I behaved so strangely afterward, denying you your rights.”
She swallowed. “I should have told you. I did try to that day at Hinckley House. But you kissed me. And Charles— If I did not accept you, Charles meant to— But I should still have told you the truth.”
She paused to steady herself, to pull her thoughts together. “I believed Lonigan was dead. Truly I did. And then he showed up. First at the shelter. And then that day at the house. He asked me for money—a couple hundred pounds. Otherwise he meant to tell you we were married. I put him off, saying I needed time.” She sighed. “Seeing him then, seeing what he was, I suspected he had duped me, that there had been no legal marriage. So I went looking for the preacher. Brother Andrews. We did not find him, of course. I know now there was no marriage.” She swallowed. “And I should tell you, I asked Kitty to help me.”
His frown deepened. “Oh, please,” she hurried on, “you must not be angry at Kitty. She did not know the whole story. Till the day before yesterday. When I decided to tell you the truth.”
Finally he spoke, his voice deep, his words like a pronouncement of doom. “But you did not tell me.”
The dog whimpered and slunk under the divan.
Fiona pulled herself more erect. “No. And that was my first mistake. I didn’t tell you because I wanted to have one last happy night with you. And then yesterday, when the man came saying there was trouble at the shelter, I ran out—not thinking.”
He took two steps toward her. “And Lonigan abducted you.”
“Yes.”
He stared at her for a long terrifying moment, and then he crossed the space between them and crushed her to him. He kissed the breath from her body. When he released her mouth, her knees had given way. But she found herself, inexplicably, caught up in his arms. He crossed the room to the divan, where he gently put her down, then settled himself beside her.
This gentleness of his confused her. He was looking so concerned, like a man who really cared about his wife. Was he going to react as he had that night in the carriage? She turned in his arms till she could see his face. “You are not angry with me?”
He dropped a kiss on her forehead. “I am outraged,” he said, but his expression belied his words. “But I believe I can understand why you did not tell me the truth that day at Hinckley’s. You truly believed the man dead.”
His smile was so tender. Could she be dreaming all this? Could she still be in the thicket, dreaming along the Dover Road?
The dog scrambled out from under the divan and thrust her head into Fiona’s lap. Absently, Fiona stroked Lady’s soft ears. If she were dreaming, would she dream about the dog?
She lay her cheek against her husband’s chest and sighed. “I know you do not love me. But I must tell you, Robert. I—I love you.”
She heard his exclamation, but she dared not look up into his face. “I am sorry, Robert. But truly, I cannot help it. You know love is important to me.”
There was a long silence while she waited, but he said nothing. Finally she could stand it no longer. “You—you said you had something to tell me.”
“Yes, I have.” His voice seemed husky. “It’s about our marriage. I only hope you will not be angry with me.”
“I no longer care about my homeplace,” she hastened to tell him. “Whatever your reasons for marrying me you have always been good to me.”
He sighed. “Still, I must tell you the truth. I did not marry you for that piece of Irish land as you supposed I did.”
Still she dared not look at him. “Then, why?”
His fingers moved, softly, gently, on her hair. “When I was young, very young, I loved a girl. Katie Howard was her name. She looked very much like you look. She died quite young. When you came into Charles’s library that day, I thought for a moment that she had come back to me.”
She looked up at him. “So that is why you looked so startled.”
“Yes. So you see, the land was really unimportant to me. I married you because you looked like my Katie. And I could not bear the thought of that fat pig putting his hands on you. I did not tell you that, of course. I preferred to let you think otherwise.”
He kissed her forehead. “But I soon grew to care for you for yourself. You are quite lovable, you know. Except when you take a stand.”
She had been so unfair to him. “Yes, well, it appears that I was wrong about that, too. Caro Lamb is not the person I thought her.”
“Indeed.” His expression grew whimsical. “And how did you discover this?”
“I asked her for help with the shelter.”
He laughed and drew her closer. “And she gave you nothing but excuses.”
“Yes,” she agreed. “But I still do not think her as bad as your Roxanne.”
“Nor I. Not really. But, Fiona, she is not my Roxanne. I will be truthful with you about this, too. When we married, I fully meant to continue my liaison with her. But I went to her only once. It was one of those first nights after we returned to the city.” He chuckled. “One of those nights when we had so much trouble with the door. I went to her, but I did not stay. Because I found I wanted to be with you. I believe I loved you even then. Though of course I did not know it.”
She stared up at him. “But, Robert, how can you love me? You do not believe in love. You told me yourself that love is foolish. That you would never love anyone.”
He grinned. “I was the foolish one, pet. Even then I loved you.”
She kissed his chin. “Kitty said—”
He kissed her ear. “What did Kitty say?”
“She said you are capable of great love.”
“She knew about Katie. All these years she has kept my
secret.”
Tenderly, she touched his cheek. “I knew I was right to want her for my friend. She will be very pleased at our happiness.”
“No more than I, my love. No more than I.” Laughter bubbled up in her. It was true, really true. Robert loved her. “I still cannot believe it. You, the man who said love was for girls fresh out of the nursery.”
He got to his feet and lifted her into his arms. The dog, her tail wagging, fell into place at his heels. “On the matter of love,” he said softly, “I have quite changed my mind.”
With his heart beating steadily beneath her ear, Fiona smiled. There in his arms she was safe. There, at last she had found her homeplace.
He carried her down the hall to where the beaming butler stood. “Berkins,” he said, “we are not at home to visitors. See that we are not disturbed. We shall be having a serious discussion on the nature of love. And I expect it to last for some time.”
“Yes, milord.”
In the shadows by the far door, Ben wiped the happy tears from his cheeks. He’d just wanted to make sure she was safe and sound, the lady who’d been so good to him. But there was no cause to worry. The master would take care of her now. He loved her too.
For Mike and Pat
with love
About the Author
Nina Coombs Pykare has published 54 novels in the romance, inspiration, historical, contemporary, Regency, gothic, and mystery fields under a variety of pseudonyms. Her publishers include Avalon, Berkley, Dell, Five Star, Heartsong, Leisure Lovespell, Manor, New American Library, Pocket Books, Silhouette, Zebra, and Lion Press Ltd. "I have literally written since I could hold a pencil," Nina says. "I started college at 32, earned a Ph.D. in English at 42, and sold my first novel when I was 46."
Nina has sold hundreds of short stories and articles, as well as puzzles and poems for children of all ages. Some of the latter were written for her four sons and daughter, and now for four grandsons, five granddaughters, and one great-granddaughter.
Nina taught a novel writing class for Writer's Digest from 1988 to 2006 and has also taught classes at nearby schools and the YWCA.
She was married for 20 years, has been divorced longer than that, and still believes love is the most important thing in the world.
Publishing Information
Copyright © 1990 by Nina Coombs Pykare
Originally published by Jove (ISBN 0515104426)
Electronically published in 2009 by Belgrave House/Regency Reads
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
No portion of this book may be reprinted in whole or in part, by printing, faxing, E-mail, copying electronically or by any other means without permission of the publisher. For more information, contact Belgrave House, 190 Belgrave Avenue, San Francisco, CA 94117-4228
http://www.RegencyReads.com
Electronic sales: [email protected]
This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.
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