Enchanted by Your Kisses

by Pamela Britton

  "The doctor should be able to tell you more about his condition."

  Nathan glanced back at the bed. "If he dies of his wounds, there will be hell to pay."

  "He will not die," she said, turning to face him at last, touching his arm before pulling her hand away. "I will ensure that he receives the best care possible."

  He nodded, touching her chin as he had on that longago day when they'd met in the garden. "Ariel, I can't thank you enough. You have given me something I never thought to have back. How can I ever thank you?"

  She closed her eyes as if in pain. "Nathan, I—"

  Someone knocked on the door. They stared at each other for a second before she said, "Just a moment," then turned. And had he mistaken it, or were there tears in her eyes?

  "Five more minutes, Phillips, please," he heard her say.

  He heard a low, masculine voice respond, too low to make out the words.

  "I know."

  More softly muttered words.

  "I will tell him."

  She closed the door, her hand lingering on the door handle for a long moment.

  "Ariel, what foolishness is this? Why does it sound like you must leave?"

  "Phillips said the physician will be here shortly. He was out on another call when they arrived, but word was sent. He'll be here soon."

  Her voice sounded odd, muffled, as if she spoke through a cloth or—

  Cried.

  "Ariel," he said, crossing to her in three quick strides, turning her. "What is going on?"

  Tears streamed down her face as she met his gaze. "Oh, Nathan, I cannot do it. I cannot."

  "Cannot do what?"

  She wiped away her tears, only to have more replace them instantly. "I was going to tell you a lie. I was going to make up a story about how I've been working for the Admiralty. That I'd been told to help you escape so that I could gain your trust, but I cannot do it. I just cannot."

  "What are you saying?"

  She stared up at him, searching his eyes, her hand half rising as if she meant to touch his face, only to fall back to her side. "You are going back to the colonies, Nathan."

  "Of course I am, with you and my brother, once he heals."

  "You would have me?"

  He nodded. "Of course. I love you. After what has happened between us, did you think anything else?"

  But his words caused more tears. She glanced over at the bed, her eyes filling with pain and something else. Hopelessness?

  "I could not be sure, but it changes nothing."

  "What do you mean?"

  She seemed to brace herself, took a deep breath. "I am not going with you."

  He stared down at her, unable to speak for moment. "What nonsense is this?"

  She grabbed his hand, stemming the flow of angry words he'd been about to snap. "Listen to me, Nathan. I cannot go with you for a reason that you must understand—"

  "What do you mean I must understand?"

  "My father—"

  "What has he to do with this? Is he forcing you to stay?"

  Ariel knew she needed to be careful in how she answered the question. If Nathan knew the truth, he would be furious and likely want to confront her father. Then he would know that both of them had no choice in the matter. He was to be sent back to the colonies with his brother. She was to remain here, alone, without the man she loved. Should he refuse to leave, he would be incarcerated again, his brother suffering the same fate. She couldn't let that happen.

  Wouldn't let that happen.

  She took a deep breath. "No, Nathan," she said firmly, though the words all but stuck in her throat. "He is not forcing me to stay here. The decision was mine to make."

  He looked incredulous. "But why? Don't you love me?"

  Oh, aye, she silently answered, if you only knew how much. Instead she looked him in the eyes and said the only words she could say. "No, Nathan, I do not."

  He drew back. "Then what was all this nonsense about being honest, for I know as surely as I breathe that you do love me."

  "I thought that by fabricating a story I could make you hate me, but it is not in me to do that. No, I must tell you the truth."

  The truth. If only she could.

  "I do not love you, Nathan. Please believe me when I say that I desire you, there can be no denying that. But love? Impossible. We are from opposite worlds. My father helped me to see that."

  He looked down at her in disgust. "Your father is trying to poison your mind."

  "No, my father helped me to see we have no future together. My family is here, your family is in the colonies. You could never come back to England once you leave, so I would never see my family again."

  "You would like it in the colonies."

  "Not if my family is not there with me."

  "But you love me." He grabbed her by the arms, almost as if he wanted to shake her. "You do. I will be your family."

  "No, Nathan, I do not love you. For how could I possibly love a man who turns his nose up at his own uncle? And a title, too, no less."

  He looked like she'd struck him. "Titles are important to you?"

  "Of course they are, Nathan. If you knew me better, you would know that. Despite my checkered past, I have still been raised to be a nobleman's wife. What we shared was nice, and"—she searched for a word—"enlightening, but if we are honest with each other, we must admit that love does not happen quite so quickly."

  He drew back. She knew she'd finally gotten his attention, knew he was taken aback by her words.

  "You cannot be serious," he said.

  "I am."

  "This was all a game to you?"

  "Game? No. I would call it more of an adventure, one that ended better than my affair with Archie. Of course, my father interrupted Archie and me at the wrong moment. Pity, for it would have been nice to have someone to compare you to."

  He drew himself up. She thought she might have gone too far, that he would see through her lies. But too many years of not trusting women had apparently taken their toll. She saw the emotions flit across his face. Disbelief, anger, and worst of all, pain. An answering pain rose in her throat.

  Nathan, Nathan, she wanted to scream, can you not see that I lie? Has our time together taught you nothing of me?

  He stepped back from her, his face turning cold. "Then I wish you well, my lady. Since you are set on leaving, you may as well go now."

  She wanted to fall at his feet and cry, wanted to fling herself into his arms and never let go. Instead Ariel stepped back, amazed at how calm her voice sounded when she said, "Then I bid you good-bye, too, Nathan Trevain. And God speed, for despite what you may think, I do care for you." Heavens, if only he knew how much. "Have a safe voyage."

  But he'd already turned away from her, crossing to his brother. Thus he didn't see her lift a hand in mute agony, didn't see the tear that escaped.

  Escape.

  Aye, she needed to escape. Now, before she did something foolish like ruin it all by telling him the truth.

  On feet heavy with sadness, she crossed to the door, forcing herself to take every step, forcing herself to breathe, to walk away without shedding a tear.

  I love you, she silently said, looking back at him one last time.

  His face was in profile, the scar vivid by lantern light. He stared down at his brother, not even looking up when she turned the handle of the door with a click, not even when she didn't move for a second, hoping, nay, praying, he would look her way one last time.

  But he didn't.

  With blurry eyes, she stepped through the doorway and toward her future.

  A future without Nathan Trevain.

  22

  Ariel had no memory of the journey home, her wounds making it hard to see anything but her misery. Her father remained silent the whole way, and for that she was grateful. Even when they reached the outskirts of London and she had broken down in tears, he remained silent. So she cried most of the way to Bettenshire, cried away her despair and anguish and grief
.

  When she reached home, she wanted only to sleep. Sleep so that she could forget about the lies she'd been forced to tell. And sleep she did, but if one must sleep, one must awaken, too. She did, her childhood room coming into focus, though at first she didn't know where she was. Then memories assailed her. Nathan. His brother. What she'd done. A stab of misery so acute it made her long to close her eyes again hit her in the heart, but she didn't close her eyes. Instead she turned her head, spying a figure in profile by the bed.

  Phoebe.

  "Arie?" her cousin said.

  She ignored Phoebe's voice, wanting only to curl up with the pain of her loss.

  "Arie, thank God. I thought you would never wake."

  Would that she hadn't, for now that the pain had begun to hit, she could barely breathe. Her throat tightened up, her breath quickened, her eyes filled with regretful tears.

  A hand reached out and stroked the hair from Ariel's eyes. The tears began to break free.

  "Oh, Arie," Phoebe soothed. "Come here."

  Ariel didn't want to go. She wanted to tell Phoebe to leave, Ariel just wanting to be left alone with her misery. But she didn't have the strength to say even that. And when Phoebe moved to the edge of her bed, the mattress tipping with Phoebe's weight, then collected her into her arms, Ariel's control broke. Ariel sucked in air, felt the damn burst, then began to sob in Phoebe's arms. She cried for the loss of Nathan, cried because she knew she'd never see him again. Cried because once again she'd loved a man and once again she'd lost him.

  "Arie," Phoebe soothed. "I'm so sorry."

  Ariel blinked away tears. "Oh, Phoebe," she choked out, her voice raspy. "Is he gone?"

  "Nathan?" she asked.

  Ariel nodded.

  "Aye, Ariel. Your father said he set sail the morning after you spoke with him."

  Oh, Nathan. You didn't. But he had. She'd known he would, had seen the pain in his eyes.

  "You fell in love with him, didn't you?"

  Fresh tears rose. She gasped out the words, "I did," and the realization made her begin to sob all over again. "Oh, Phoebe, I did. And I made him leave me. I made him think I didn't love him. And he believed me. He left."

  "Arie," her soft voice answered. "I'm so sorry." She hugged her tighter. Rocking her. "So, so, sorry."

  She held her. Ariel let her, crying out her pain on her shoulder. But the pain would never go away, she realized. It would be a part of her forever, something she would carry around for life. And just when she thought she couldn't shed another tear, more came. Phoebe continued to rock her and hold her and murmur soothing words in her ears.

  It was a long while later that the crying slowly stopped. She knew the tears were still there, hovering beyond the edge of her lashes, but she contained them. For now. Phoebe pulled back, looking down at her again, her face filled with so much sympathy she wanted to cry all over again.

  "Can I help?" she asked.

  A small tear leaked out at her question. Would that she could. But there was nothing anyone could do. She would live with the loss of Nathan for the rest of her life. "No, Phoebe. You cannot help. What's done is done, thanks to my father."

  "Is he the one who made you do this?"

  She nodded. "In exchange for Nathan's freedom and his brother's."

  Phoebe inhaled deeply. "'Tis not a very nice thing to do.

  Ariel shook her head. "Where is he?"

  "I do not know. He has been keeping to himself for the past few days."

  Days? "How long have I been asleep?"

  An edge of worry filled Phoebe's eyes. "You arrived four days ago."

  Four days! She didn't know why the realization should make fresh tears rise. Perhaps because there was no hope that she could watch Nathan's ship set sail. He was gone. Back to the colonies. She to stay here.

  The realization brought a desperation to her soul so hard to combat she could barely breathe.

  "Do you want to see him?"

  "See who?" she asked in a monotone.

  "Your father."

  "No, Phoebe. Not yet. In time."

  Phoebe nodded. "I will let you get some rest." She rose from the bed.

  "Phoebe, wait." Ariel reached for her cousin's hand. Her eyes burned again with tears. "Thank you for coming."

  Answering tears rose in Phoebe's eyes. "Where else would I be?"

  Where else indeed?

  But it was days before she would deign to see her father, not that he asked to see her. Or even stopped by. Phoebe said he'd been engrossed in his work. Engrossed. Hah. Likely he plotted how best to look the hero by releasing Nathan Trevain.

  "Father," she said. The skirts of her lemon-colored dress flew behind her as she entered his study.

  "Ariel," he replied in a clipped voice, looking up from the papers he'd been studying. He sat behind his desk in a deep leather chair, his wig firmly in place. The sterile interior seemed to fit her father's personality perfectly, even the stack of papers to his left piled in perfect, precise order. "I see you are feeling better."

  "Am I?" she asked, coming to stand before him. Morning light reflected off the surface of his cherry-wood desk. It showed both their images. He looked small when viewed from such an odd angle. And older. Or perhaps it was her loathing for him. He looked different to her, perhaps more repugnant and well-used. "And how would you know that, Father, when you have visited me not even once?"

  His eyes narrowed. "I kept tabs on you through Phoebe."

  In a smooth motion she settled herself on a brown leather chair in front of his desk. "How very fatherly of you, Father."

  He sat up straighter. "Ariel, what is it you wish to see me about?"

  "Perhaps nothing. Perhaps I merely wish to see how you fare. Did you receive a knighthood from the king for your brilliant recapture of Nathan Trevain?"

  His lips tightened.

  "No? How about a promotion of some sort? Oh, but that's right, you can rise no further in your career, can you? There is only one place to go from here, and that is down."

  He stared up at her, a look of mistrust suddenly entering his eyes. Well, good. As she'd lain in bed the past days a thousand thoughts had gone through her mind. Had there been something different she could have done? Had she done the right thing? Would Nathan be happy without her?

  Bother that, would she be happy without Nathan?

  And the answer to that was always no, she would not be happy. She knew that as surely as she knew the sun would rise. And then everything seemed so simple. If she loved him, she would go to him. He was a free man now, out of her father's reach. She would go to him and explain, leave England, never to return again. And though she would miss Phoebe, she would miss little else, most especially the man who sat before her.

  "Ariel, what are you plotting?"

  She smiled, a smug smile, one to set him on edge with worry. "A voyage, Father."

  "A voyage? To where?"

  But surely he must know. "Why, to the colonies, where else?" She settled back in her seat, enjoying the moment. "It dawned on me whilst I lay in bed that I am no longer a little girl. I can do as I wish, and that includes leaving a country and a man who have done nothing but hurt me. Frankly, I am surprised the idea has not crossed my mind before."

  "You wouldn't dare."

  "Oh, yes, I would."

  He shot up from his chair. Ariel thought he might come around the end of his desk and grab her. His face had turned red, a vein popping out on his forehead. That he'd gone into a sudden, instant rage there could be no doubt.

  Oddly enough, she felt no fear. Just a deep, wonderful sense of satisfaction.

  "What, Father, no threats?" She lifted a brow. "Oh, but that's right, you've nothing left to threaten me with, have you? Already you've done your worst." She slowly stood. "Now let me do mine."

  She placed her hands on his desk, leaning across it. "I am leaving, and nothing you might say can stop me. The carriage is outside, and in a matter of hours all of London will know that the First
Lord's daughter has left England to become the lover of a patriot spy." She straightened, standing before him proudly, daring him to say something. When he didn't, her smile turned a bit sad. "Good-bye, Father. Though you never did tell me why you hate me so, know that despite what you've done, I do love you."

  She turned, paused, swiveled back to face him. "And do not worry, sir, for I'm sure you can have it put about that I've lost my mind. Your career should not suffer too much." She turned back to the door.

  "Ariel, wait."

  She almost didn't listen, but some urge, some long-forgotten compulsion that dated back to childhood, made her turn again.

  "Do not do this," he begged, his blue eyes boring into hers.

  She gave him a sad smile. "Begging, Father?"

  "No, appealing to your loyalty as my daughter."

  "Just as I appealed to your loyalty as a father. Oh, wait. 'Twas not your loyalty I begged for, 'twas your love. But I should have known better than to do that, shouldn't I? You haven't loved me from the start."

  "How could I when you took the one woman I ever loved away?" And the words came out as a rasp.

  She felt her mouth open in shock. So that was it. That was all it was. She'd been responsible for her mother's death, and he held it against her. How could he be so selfish? A sadness overtook her. Didn't he realize she would rather she had died being born than live with the responsibility of causing someone's death? That she felt like an orphan without her mother and without her father's love.

  Apparently not.

  "Then we are even, Father," she said. "For you took away the only man I will ever love." She turned to the door.

  "Don't go," he repeated.

  She ignored him.

  "Ariel, please."

  Something in the tone caught her attention, something that tugged at her in a way she would never have thought possible. Slowly, reluctantly, telling herself she was a fool for opening herself up to more of his hateful words, she turned.

  He cried.

  She'd never seen her father cry.

  "I loved her desperately, Ariel," he said in a low voice. "You do understand that, do you not?"