Tainted Love

by Louisa Trent

  He followed, but stayed obstinately outside the door. "I love you. I have for so long. Marry me! How much longer must we wait for happiness?"

  "I need time."

  "You have had time. Ten years."

  Seated at the edge of the bed, she played with the bottom edge of the nightgown.

  He raked his hand through his too-long hair, hair that already showed the passage of time in every silver strand that encroached upon the black "If it's the money--I am doing well again financially."

  "It was never a question of money and you know it!"

  "What I know is that you are a fine and talented artist, and you must have the freedom to paint. I shall never stand in your way. I shall support you in any way I can and call myself proud to do so!"

  "It's not any of those things. What I need is time," she insisted, refusing to tell him the truth. "I have just broken off one engagement. I need time to reevaluate what went wrong..."

  "Reevaluate," he scoffed. "Now you insult me! Charles meant nothing to you! You never had a tie to him. I knew that the first time I kissed you." He sighed. "How much longer do you need?"

  "I don't know. I have no schedule."

  "And if you find out you carry my baby--what then?"

  "I promise to tell you."

  He looked up at the ceiling. "You promise to tell me. You say it so simply. I suppose you will write me a note telling me I am to be a father. I won't be allowed to see the daily changes in your body. I won't be there to see my child come out of your womb, though I was the one to put it there. I won't be a part of any of it." He hit the door with his closed hand. "None of this makes sense, Lily. There is something you are not telling me! Tell me now. There is nothing we cannot work out if we are together."

  She reached for the gas lamp on the bed stand. Then stopped. "Do you still prefer the lights on?"

  "I love you," he said desperately, taking a step into the room.

  She drew the nightgown over her head; her much fuller breasts shifted with the action. "Come to bed and show me."

  He drew in a ragged breath. "My God, you are beyond beautiful."

  "I am beyond impatient," she said, smiling. "Come into me, Doyle."

  "Unplait your hair for me," he rasped, taking another step towards her.

  "Whatever you wish," she said, removing the ribbon tie from the end of the braid and letting her red hair go wild.

  "Yes, just like that."

  Sinking his fingers into her scalp, he savaged her mouth.

  His passion was devastating, but she met him kiss for kiss, hot stroke for hot stroke, demanding as well as receiving. They were equally matched. Untamed. Unbridled. Both of them panting for completion.

  His eyes fixed on her face, his unquiet hands moved over her, drawing out his caresses. Each of her shudders became more luxuriant than the last, and she went to that place of frenzied anticipation willingly, fluidly, feeling that surely she would die if she was without him a moment longer.

  When he circled her ankles with his large hands, dragged her hips toward him, and raised her limbs above her head, she felt no shame at how she was exposed. Heels locked onto his shoulders, hips arching for that first thrust that would fuse his body with hers, she waited.

  Why was he torturing her like this? Why take her to the pinnacle, to the very brink of fulfillment, masterminding her expectation of pleasure with the cruelest of expertise, only to leave her hovering on the edge?

  "The time for me is now," he coolly informed her as he stepped away.

  Disengaged from him, her legs toppled onto the mattress, her thighs spread open before him.

  Not bothering to close up, she blinked in disbelief. "What are you saying, Doyle?"

  "I am saying you have my heart. You have my soul. But if you won't trust me enough to confide in me, then God help me, I shall walk away from you."

  He reached into his breast pocket and threw a white stationary envelope on the bed.

  No!

  She rolled away from that ... that thing on her bed like someone deranged. "What is that?"

  "An invitation to Theo's wedding. I shall give you 'til then to make up your mind. By then, you should know one way or the other if you are with child. I love you, but my waiting for you is done."

  "A wedding invitation?" she said, dully. Not a threat?

  "I refuse to settle for less than holding you in my arms in a bed we share as husband and wife. I want you more than I have ever wanted anything in my life, but you were right to say that this, that carnality, is not enough."

  And with that he turned and slammed out the door.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Late, Lily made a mad dash for the gazebo where the nuptials were to take place, arriving just in time to hear the minister pronounce Theo and his bride truly married.

  Pushing the floppy brim of the straw hat out of the way, Lily craned her neck, searching the crowd for her lover.

  She had not seen or heard from Doyle since he had stormed out of her Boston bedchamber.

  Her heart leapt in her chest when she spotted him at the pond chatting with a guest.

  At first, Lily mistook the matronly lady with graying hair and placidly serene expression for a relative of the bride's--a dowager aunt perhaps--until Doyle bent his head attentively to the mystery guest and laughed merrily at something she had said.

  Lily's breath stuck in her throat, and she knew with utmost certainty that the woman he shared that jest with was more than a mere acquaintance.

  No matter how hard she tried to pretend that it didn't matter, Lily knew that it did matter. This pleasant woman of the crinkled eyes and middle-aged body and graying hair related to Doyle in a manner she had never related to him. Never totally at ease like that with her, there had always been an edginess about him when he was with her. That edgy quality was missing with the matronly woman. With her he was relaxed. Content. Happy.

  Lillian's nausea, even with the help of the dry crackers, worsened. For the sake of her own self-preservation, she knew she must stay no longer at the wedding.

  Head down, eyes averted, she made a graceless break for her grandmother's cart in the drive...

  And ran straight into Doyle and his lady friend.

  He steadied her, a grip under the elbow. "Miss Hill! How nice to see you again. I am inordinately delighted you were able to attend my brother's wedding today."

  Under the floppy brim of her hat, Lily composed her features into a carefully polite blank. "I am overwhelmed with your inordinate delight, Mr. Donovan." She lowered her lashes. "Now, if you will excuse me? I forgot something. The wedding gift, actually. I am off to get it now."

  "Allow me to introduce you to someone first." He smiled warmly at the woman at his side. "Mrs. Garfield, I would like you to meet my long-time friend, Miss Lillian Hill."

  Long-time friend?

  "A pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Garfield," Lily whispered, maintaining her poise with a firm control, and willing away the moisture collecting under her lids.

  Weddings, she told herself. They always made her cry. Her embarrassing tears had nothing to do with Doyle and his lady friend, nothing to do with her own breaking heart.

  She was happy for Doyle. He deserved to find happiness. The new woman in his life was probably uncomplicated, while Lillian Hill was nothing but a complication. Mrs. Garfield looked to be an open book, without a secret to her name, while everything about Lillian Hill, including her name, was a secret.

  She was more work than she was worth; evidently, Doyle agreed. She didn't blame him for wishing to forget her, for wishing to move on. People make mistakes; she had been his.

  Her hand flattened protectively over her still flat belly. Time to let Doyle go. Let-him-go!

  She drew her shoulders back. "I am sorry. I really do need to get that gift."

  It took most of her courage to turn around and leave. The little that remained went into taking a few steps.

  Inside the maze, she broke down. She was lost. Again. How
many more times in her life would she lose her way?

  Footsteps pounded behind her. A hand came out of the green shadows and attached itself to her arm.

  "Stop! Lily!"

  Her hat was lifted from her head.

  "You look a little pale." He touched her lashes. "And what is this? Tears?"

  "Weddings," she dissembled. "So emotional."

  "Happy emotional?" he asked softly. "Or sad emotional?"

  She dabbed at her cheeks with a lace handkerchief. "Happy, of course."

  "For me too." He took another peek at her face. "So, how are you really?'

  "I am well. Thank you for inquiring. I shall let you run away now, before Mrs. Garfield grows restless."

  "Run away? You may solve your problems that way; I assure you, I do not!"

  She turned to go. "I am not your problem, Doyle."

  "Lily! That is not how I meant it!"

  But she wouldn't listen. "Feel free to return to your lady friend. You deserve to find happiness."

  "Mrs. Garfield is not my lady friend, and I deserve you. Marry me!"

  She gave a dry ghost of a laugh. "You don't escape your problems, you marry them," she shot over her shoulder.

  "You are not my problem," he yelled. "You are my joy! You are the bright color in my gray life."

  She stopped walking. Tears streamed down her cheeks. "I don't know what to do."

  "I do. Marry me. I won't settle for less."

  She turned. "Will you hold me?"

  "No, Lily. I am sorry. I cannot. I am not that strong."

  "Oh," she sobbed. "I need you so much."

  "No more than I need you," he said, but keeping his distance.

  "Good-bye, Doyle."

  Light-headed and weak, she found her way out of the maze and resumed her walk to her conveyance.

  A man stepped out in front of her before she ever reached it.

  "If it's not Lillian Hill, back in town."

  The nasty inflection in his voice was so much like his son's that Lillian's flesh crawled in revulsion.

  "Mr. Johnson," she said, slowly. "What are you doing here?"

  "Your grandmother inadvertently let it slip that you would be here today." He grabbed her arm. "What must I do to convince you that you are not welcome here in Bar Harbor? Were my letters not enough?"

  So--Frank Johnson's father, not Doyle's brother, was her tormentor!

  She should have known! Though Mr. Johnson had continued to act as her grandmother's solicitor and friend, he had made no secret of his hatred for Victoria Hill's granddaughter. Lillian had always known that he blamed her for Frank's death. She had accepted the blame, because she had felt so guilty.

  Now, all she felt was pity.

  Frank's father was obviously ill. Fragile and infirm, aged, and palsied; he was dying a slow death.

  "Mr. Johnson," she said, trying to ease his claw-like hold from her arm, "you shouldn't be here. Not today. There is a wedding taking place only a few yards from here..."

  "Yes, I know. The Donovan boy's wedding celebration. Why should that boy be celebrating, when my son is dead?"

  "I am sorry for your loss. For your distress..."

  "You lying bitch! You caused my distress!"

  "I didn't cause your son's death, Mr. Johnson," she said, trying to reason with him, although she knew it was fruitless; he was not listening, had never listened. He did not wish to hear the truth: hatred kept Frank's father alive.

  "How are your grandmother's gardens? I know how much Victoria dotes on her plants. The last time she was in my office, she went on and on about a Memory Garden you were designing for her."

  "Yes. A Memory Garden. You destroyed it, did you not?"

  He held up his cane. "Look at me, girl! Why, I can barely get around."

  "Then you had someone else do it for you! You paid someone to spread your poison. This has to stop, Mr. Johnson."

  The area where they conversed was deserted. The small string orchestra playing in the background would serve to cover any screams she might make. A wealthy man like Mr. Johnson could afford to pay for the finest henchman. For the right price, she might be killed where she stood. A runaway horse accident. A stray bullet from a hunter. An axle loosened on a carriage. Any number of things, all perpetrated by this broken shell of a man, might snuff out her life.

  He shuffled along beside her. "Whore! You murdered my boy."

  "I think you should leave now, Mr. Johnson."

  "And if I refuse?" he asked brazenly. "What will you do then, eh?"

  "I shall contact the proper authorities..."

  "There are no proper authorities in Bar Harbor. I own the town. Did you learn nothing at all, girl, during your interrogation?"

  "I ... I have proof. Your threats. I kept all of them..."

  He cackled. "Those letters cannot be traced to me."

  She pitied Mr. Johnson, but she would no longer permit him to victimize her.

  "Your son tried to rape me," she told him for the first time.

  "Lies. All lies," he said calmly, but his hold on her tightened. "My son was a good boy, and you have no proof to the contrary."

  He smiled, an old man's smile. "Leave Bar Harbor. If you come back again, your lover will lose everything he values. I can do it. Just watch me."

  He hobbled to the pony cart. "Get in, Lillian. And do not come back."

  "No, I won't get in. I am not running away. Not this time. Not ever again! Not for you. Not for anyone. I am not afraid of you," she said, and tore away from his grasp. "I feel sorry for you. I really do. You have nothing in your heart but hate. Go home. You don't belong here. This is a day for new beginnings. The past is over and done."

  Turning, she walked back to the wedding.

  At first, she didn't see Doyle loping through the trees. When she did, she ran too, but not away from him; she ran towards the man she loved.

  Her lover's arms closed fiercely, possessively, around her. "Ten years ago, letting you go nearly killed me. I won't do it again. I am begging you, sweetheart. Marry me. We can handle this. Whatever it is."

  Nothing had changed. Not really.

  Save her.

  "Yes," she said, and snuggled deeper into his chest.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Lily wandered the cottage's empty rooms one last time.

  She loved every creak in the wide plank floors, every moan in the walls, every slope in the ceilings. The ripples and nicks and scratches made the cottage imperfect, and therefore, unique. The Hill family history was a long and proud one, but that history was not hers. The child growing inside her would not play on the cliffs that overlooked the sea nor scamper in the woods amongst century-old pines. Her child would inherit a different birthright. And the family name?

  The Hill name would die. And, perhaps, that was the only fitting resolution to the question of her birthright.

  Lily tenderly cradled her belly. Doyle would be coming soon. Their marriage that day had been a private and discreet affair, which only Doyle's brothers and her friend, Meg, attended.

  This would be her last chance to say good-bye to a house that had withstood the pounding of the sea for two hundred years. And Doyle, the most understanding, the most patient of men, understood without having to be told that she needed time alone to roam the rooms before she started her new life with him.

  She turned and smiled upon hearing the fall of his hesitant step behind her.

  "Did you finish your letter, Lily?"

  "Yes. It's already posted. "

  "You told your grandmother and Tony why we decided not to wait to wed?"

  "Yes. And don't worry so! They will understand."

  "I hope so. We might have traveled to their villa, I suppose..."

  With one last lingering caress of the fireplace mantle, Lily turned and smiled at her new husband. "They have planned to live in the land of Tony's birth for many years. Italy's more temperate clime will do them both good. They were only waiting for me to settle down before movin
g onto the next phase of their life together."

  Lily laughed. "Here, I thought that my grandmother loved living in Maine! As it turned out, the cottage and land had become an albatross around her neck. She determined that the estate would be put to good use, and then she left with Tony."

  "We can visit," Doyle promised.

  She held back the tears. Today was not a day for sadness. "You haven't even told me where you intend to take me tonight. Or where we shall live..."

  He carried her valise outside. "You will soon see. Up you go," he said, helping her onto the seat of his buggy.

  She looked back one last time as they left the cottage.

  "Did you remember to take your sketch pad? There is a glorious garden for you to draw."

  "Aha! A hint. I knew you would drop one eventually."

  He chuckled. "You have kept me waiting ten years, and I cannot make you wait a single hour."

  "Sorry..."

  He placed a gentle finger against her lips. "A tease, Lily. Nothing more. We have our lives ahead of us. No looking back."

  The carriage passed Doyle's home and took a sharp turn into the woods.

  Lily shifted in her seat. "I didn't know there was a road cut in the trees here. Is this land Donovan property too?

  "There are acres of undeveloped woodlands here. I bought them with the proceeds from the sale of my first book." He sighed. "When I was a kid, I used to wander these woods hoping someday they would belong to me. I thought to leave the family home, and still remain close to my parents. It didn't turn out quite the way I planned it. Perhaps someday, if we have children, they might feel as I did. They might wish to build their houses on this land. It's all about family, sweetheart."

  If we have children...

  Lily's stomach fluttered. There was so much she hadn't told her new husband. So much he needed to know before they consummated this marriage. She would begin married life with no lies between them, no secrets!

  He reined in the horses.

  "Why stop here?" she asked.

  He laughed. "You will see."

  He took her hand and helped her down, leading her along a winding path. "Close your eyes. I have a surprise for you. It's just a little ways." A few steps, then, "This is it."