They both lay motionless, panting and stunned.
With a heavy sigh Foster lay back on the pillows and pulled Mara alongside of him, so she rested her head on his chest. His heart thudded as loudly as hers. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her as if he would never let go. And Mara never wanted him to.
“That was . . . that was . . .” she murmured through half-closed eyelids. “I never imagined that it would be like that.”
“It was more incredible than you could possibly realize,” he responded. His fingers idly ran through her hair, which was a tangled mess. “It’s not always like that.”
“It was special for you too then?” she asked, feeling suddenly nervous. “It was definitely special for me, being my first time and all.”
He opened his eyes, sat up a little, and cupped her face with his hand. “Look at me.” He stared at her as if he still could not believe she was in his bed. “It was extraordinary for me because it was with you.” His voice quavered as he declared, “I love you, Mara.”
Her heart swelled with feelings for this beautiful man. She had confessed that she was in love with him earlier and now he said it to her. “And I love you, Foster.”
He continued to gaze intently into her eyes. “I have never said those words to another woman before in my life.”
Tears suddenly welled in her eyes.
“If you cry now, Mara, I swear you will kill me.”
She sniffed and blinked back the tears. “It’s only tears because I’m overwhelmed with my feelings for you. I’m not the least bit sad.”
“Thank God. If you were sad or regretful, I don’t know what I’d do.”
“No,” she promised solemnly. “I don’t regret one second of being with you.”
“Me either.” He released her, and placed a kiss on her lips and lay back down among the pillows.
They both lay there quietly in the pale light, lost in their own thoughts. There was no denying that everything had dramatically and irrevocably changed between them. No, she did not regret lying with him. Not at all. Whatever happened, come what may, she had had this magical night with him.
“What happens now?” she asked after a while. “How did it work with your other mistress?”
“You are not my mistress, Mara!” He was aghast.
She was truly baffled. “Then what am I?”
“I don’t know, but you’re not my mistress! And don’t use that word in reference to yourself again.” Foster seemed quite bothered.
“Well, all right, but I don’t understand. How does this work between us? How often do we meet? Should I come here to your house each time? Do we arrange a secret rendezvous? I’ve heard that some gentlemen set their mistresses up in a house of their own. I doubt we could do that, considering my parents and I think th—”
“Mara!” Foster interrupted, suddenly sitting up in bed, clearly agitated. “Stop it! I could almost laugh at the ridiculousness of what you are saying, but it is not funny. Not at all. This is very serious and it is your life we’re talking about.”
She sat up too, clutching the bedsheet over her bare chest, and staring at him. His handsome face looked both panicked and appalled.
“I have not a clue how this is supposed to work between us because it wasn’t ever supposed to happen!” His voice grew more and more upset. “You’re an unmarried young lady from an aristocratic family and you most definitely are not mistress material, and I refuse to treat you as such. Or even use that word in reference to you. Furthermore, I wasn’t expecting you to arrive at my house this afternoon and I certainly hadn’t planned on bedding you this evening, so forgive me if I haven’t worked out the logistics of our forbidden relationship just yet.”
When he finally stopped for a breath, Mara asked calmly, “Are you finished?”
“No, I’m not finished! This should never have happened. I should not have laid a finger on you. What in God’s name was I thinking? That’s just it, I wasn’t thinking, not with my brain at least. There’s no excuse for it and no denying it. I’m a lowly cad. I should be offering to marry you right now. In fact, I want nothing more than to marry you. Instead I’m shackled to that shrew in Yorkshire—”
Mara put her hand over his mouth. “Stop. May I say something now?”
Foster rolled his eyes and brushed her hand away. “Fine.”
Expelling a sigh of exasperation, she began, “I have already told you. I’ve no wish to get married, even if you were free. I don’t want a husband or children, so you see it doesn’t mat—”
“There!” he exclaimed in an accusatory tone. “I’ve been meaning to ask you about that. What exactly do you mean when you say you don’t want to be married or have a husband or a family of your own? I’ve never met a woman who didn’t want those things! Explain that to me, please. I’d really like to know.”
Mara suddenly froze and her stomach sank in fear.
How could she tell Foster the truth of why she could never marry? She had never told a soul the reason why having a husband and children were out of the question for her.
“I just don’t want to be married, that’s all,” she mumbled a bit feebly.
“There must be more to it than that . . . Tell me the reason why,” he demanded.
The real reason was too terrible to utter aloud and Mara feared she couldn’t form the words to tell him. The ugly truth of her life had haunted her ever since the night her mother died.
Her real mother, Margaret Ryan Reeves, had been insane, and Mara was quite certain that she suffered from the same malady. The strange premonitions she’d had over the years were proof of her mental instability, and their growing frequency was the beginning of its hold over her. Mara was just like her mother, and one day she too would go completely mad and throw herself into a fire, as her mother did.
Hadn’t she heard over and over again, since she was a young girl, that she was exactly like her mother? Hadn’t her father told her she was the very image of Margaret and possessed the same mannerisms and traits? She had also overheard the hushed, pitying tones her father used when speaking about Margaret, which alluded to her madness. Why, Mara had even heard her mother’s family in Ireland whispering about her mother’s odd behavior.
Margaret Ryan Reeves had been mentally ill when she died, and Mara knew without a doubt that she carried that same illness within her and that she was doomed to some tragic end, just as her mother was. It might not be totally evident yet, but she had seen the signs and was quite certain the day would come to pass when she could no longer hide the ugly symptoms of her insanity. Someday, her family would be forced to place her in an asylum, if something tragic didn’t happen before then.
So how in good conscience could she possibly marry and risk passing on the madness to children of her own? Mara simply could not do it. She refused to place her own children in the position of seeing their mother lose her mind, as Mara had done.
The memories of her mother were fleeting and few. Margaret Ryan Reeves had been beautiful, with silvery blond hair and blue eyes. The scent of roses clung to her. She sometimes made room for Mara on her lap, where she would stroke Mara’s hair and whisper words in Irish in her ear and sing silly lullabies. But her moods were strange and mercurial. She cried frequently, and Mara never knew if she was going to get a kiss or a slap when she spent time with her.
Then there was the terrible night of the fire . . .
Mara had carried the secret burden of this shameful illness for as long as she could remember. She was four years old when she had first heard the conversations of the adults around her who believed her too young to understand what they were saying. Her dear father’s fear and dismay when he thought Mara could foresee the future confirmed what she had already suspected. Not only was she different from everyone else, she was also predestined to insanity.
Consequently Mara did the only thing she knew how to do to protect herself and her family. She hid her strange and peculiar visions from them all. Masking the signs of her
oncoming madness, she kept to herself the premonitions that haunted her waking hours. She couldn’t bear having any of them know and worry about her, for it would only bring them heartache and pain, especially to her father. He’d already lost his wife to the ghastly disease. He didn’t need to suffer needlessly for years, knowing that his only daughter would share the same fate. She had vowed to hide it for as long as she was able.
To that end, Mara avoided all prospects of marriage, which was not overly difficult for her to do. Naturally shy, it was not a stretch for her to remain quiet and uninteresting to gentlemen. Years ago she had resigned herself to spending her life alone and unloved by a man.
The role of an unwanted spinster spiraling into lunacy was her fate.
Then Foster Sheridan had appeared and a light was struck within her. When she discovered he was already married, it suddenly seemed to be the perfect solution for her! She could be with the man she loved and be loved in return, without the obligation of marriage or the expectation of having children with him.
Now, he gazed at her with his pleading green eyes, wondering why she did not wish to marry or have children, and she simply could not bring herself to tell him the ugly truth. She would not be able to bear the look of revulsion and pity in his eyes if he knew about the terrible malady she inherited from her mother.
“Mara?” he prompted her.
“It’s not . . .” she began slowly. “It’s not so much that I don’t wish to be married, it’s that I don’t . . . particularly care for children. A husband would expect his wife to bear his children, therefore I don’t want to have a husband.” It wasn’t entirely a lie, but it was the best she could do.
Befuddled by her response, Foster chuckled a little. “That’s it? That’s all? You don’t like children?”
Mara shrugged self-consciously.
Foster smiled and then laughed heartily. “Well, nobody likes other people’s children, Mara! They tend to be dreadful, noisy, sticky little creatures. But I think you would change your mind about children if you had your own son or daughter to love and care for.” He looked at her intently and turned serious. “If I were free to marry you, Mara, would you marry me and have my child . . . our child?”
The longing and soulful need in his words touched her heart like nothing she’d experienced in her life. How she longed to say yes! How she longed for it to be true! Imagining Foster as her husband and raising a beautiful little family together almost took her breath away with happiness. Tears suddenly welled in her eyes, knowing it could never happen. Foster was married and she couldn’t risk passing along her madness to their children, so it could never be.
In the meantime, she would take what little joy she could with him, while she was able. Perhaps it was terribly selfish of her.
But it was all she could have. It was the best she could hope for.
So it didn’t hurt to answer him with the words he wanted to hear. And in actuality, she wasn’t lying, because it was what she wanted more than anything in the world. “Yes, I would marry you and have your children if I could, Foster.”
“Ah, Mara.” He leaned down and kissed her, as tears spilled down her cheeks. “Please don’t cry.”
“I’m so sorry.” She cried for all the things she would not share with him in her life. She cried for the happiness that could have been theirs together. A happy home. A loving family. A life full of love as his wife and partner. Wiping at the tears with one hand, still holding the bedsheet with the other, she pasted another smile on her face and avoided his gaze. “I’m fine.”
He placed his hand under her chin and tilted her face toward his, forcing her to meet his eyes. “I know you’re not fine, because I am not fine either. But let’s not torture ourselves tonight over what we cannot have in the future. It’s enough right now knowing that we love each other, and if things were different . . . Well, if things were different I would be waking up every morning with you by my side. For now, we’ll figure out the rest as we go, all right?”
She nodded, buoyed by his sweet words.
“As much as I wish I could keep you in this bed with me all night, and every night, it is long past time to get you home.” Foster added, with a little wink and a kiss on the tip of her nose, “Let’s get dressed first though.”
Giggling together, they reluctantly rose from the sheets and stumbled around trying to find all their articles of clothing. Mara enjoyed the newfound intimacy of their dressing together and how they teased and helped each other to mask their sadness at parting. It had been an exquisite, sensual, unforgettable evening together. If nothing else, she had this night to cherish.
“Turn and let me do your gown,” he commanded.
Laughing, she presented him with her back, idly wondering how she was going to arrange her hair in some semblance of order. “How did you acquire the skills of a lady’s maid, or shouldn’t I ask?”
“Don’t ask,” he said as he kissed the back of her neck. “Now hold still.”
Foster was just fastening the buttons on the back of her plaid gown when it started happening . . .
Oh, no! Not now. Not in front of him!
The dizziness came on quickly this time and she gripped the wooden post at the foot of the bed for support, her fingernails digging into the wood. Her green plaid gown felt as if it were suffocating her.
Oh, God, please, no. Not now. Please don’t let it happen now in front of Foster!
Never had she tried so hard to fight the onset of a premonition as she did then. Mortified that he should see her this way, she tried to breathe deeply, to calm herself. She tried to resist what was happening to her.
But it was pointless to fight it. It was inevitable. Then, just as she knew it would, that curiously familiar prickling feeling crept over her skin little by little. Each and every nerve in her body was instantly alight with acute awareness. The blood raced in her veins, her heart beat uncontrollably, and she grew warm, yet she shivered. The soft hair on the back of her neck stood on end and her teeth clenched tightly. Mara held her breath, closed her eyes, and pressed the fingers of one hand to her temple while the other clung to the wooden bedpost.
Seemingly from far away, she heard a muffled cry from Foster, calling her name, his voice filled with alarm.
It was too late. She could not answer him, for she could not speak.
A heavy cloud of silence descended over her, cocooning her. Sharp pinpricks of consciousness lit up inside of her, flashing sparks of light from within.
And then it began . . . Misty images began to appear in her mind and then took the shape of what she dreaded most.
Fire.
Flames everywhere. Blinding bursts of light. Shattering explosions of heat and sound. Flickering curtains of bright orange and golden yellow. Breathtaking, scorching, smoldering heat. Trapped in the burning building, blazing embers and smoky ash filling the air, she heard agonized screams. Someone was screaming for help. Mara was lost and didn’t know which way to go, which way was safe. Trapped. She was trapped in the swirling, relentless flames and acrid black smoke. She choked back a sob and recoiled from the smell of imminent death.
Her death. She was going to perish in this raging inferno.
She suddenly fell to her knees. A short breath of cool air and she gasped.
A man was calling her name, frantically calling for her. Foster! Hope raced within her. Through the smoke, he reached for her. She held her hand out to him, trusting him implicitly, knowing he would save her. The terror that held her in its grip disappeared at his touch. She wanted to be with him desperately. He pulled her to him, wrapping his strong arms around her, holding her close. Mara clung to him, filled with a sense of relief and happiness at being with the man she loved. She was safe, secure, and loved. She was his and he was hers. The certainty, the rightness of it was all-consuming. She belonged to him. They belonged together . . .
10
Revelations
“Mara! Mara!”
Foster stared at her in sho
ck, wondering what was happening. One moment she was perfectly fine, teasing him about knowing how to fasten a lady’s dress so well, and the next she seemed to be in the throes of some sort of trance. The color had completely left her face. Standing still as a statue, she appeared ashen and deathly cold. Her sharp intake of breath frightened him as she grasped the bed frame to hold herself up. He placed his arms around her, felt her trembling, her body tense with fear. She seemed not to see or hear him anymore, although he kept saying her name, now more as a whispered plea than anything else.
Was it a severe dizzy spell? Was she fainting or gripped by some unknown and terrible illness? She seemed transfixed by something only she could see. He’d never witnessed anyone act this way before. Not knowing what else to do, he continued to hold her, trying to comfort her in any way he could. It was only a moment or two, but it seemed like forever before he finally felt her body start to relax.
Slowly he pried her hand from the bedpost. With the utmost care he lifted her onto the bed and laid her down among the tangled bedclothes. He sat beside her, holding her hand in his.
When her eyelids fluttered open, he whispered, “Mara?”
Disoriented and confused, she stared at him for a moment before she suddenly cried his name, sat bolt upright, flung her arms around his neck, and sobbed.
“Mara, Mara, Mara.” He murmured her name over and over, trying to soothe her. He held her tightly against him, rocking her gently back and forth. His hands stroked her back, her head, her hair. “I’m here. I’ve got you. You’re all right. Everything is fine.”
Although outwardly he remained calm and in control, inwardly he was very worried and confused. What had just happened? Why was she suddenly crying in his arms? Was she overwrought by their situation and that they had just made love? Had she been stricken by some mysterious feminine malady? Had he inadvertently done something to upset her or hurt her in some way?
As he held her in his arms, comforting this lovely woman who had suddenly come to mean the world to him, Foster experienced something he never had before. He wanted to cherish her, shelter her, and love her. He had the craziest sensation to keep her from ever being sad or scared or upset ever again. A tremendous need to protect her took over him.
The Irish Heiress Page 10