by Lynsay Sands
“Yes,” Mullin answered distractedly as he finished with her bandages. Then he offered a smile. “You are mending very well. Which means that, in a day or so, we should be able to move you back to Lady Barlow’s. That ought to please James. Mind you, the house staff would probably wish it sooner. His hanging about, acting like a wolf with an injured paw, growling about this and that every few minutes, has rather put them all on edge. The sooner it is safe to pack you off to Lady Barlow’s, the better. Not that your company isn’t delightful,” he added to soften his words.
“He’s back, m’lord!”
Maggie and Robert both turned to the door. A servant stood there wringing her hands.
“Already?” Lord Mullin rose with a frown.
“Yes. Mills sent me to warn you the moment he saw the coach pull up.”
“Very well.” Robert sighed then glanced down at Maggie with a tired smile. “It would seem Lord Ramsey has finished resting. Let us hope his mood has improved.”
Chapter Twenty
“Do you, Lady Margaret Wentworth, take this man . . .” The rest of the cleric’s words faded into a drone as Maggie’s mind started to swim.
What was she doing? How could she marry James? Was she willing to spend the rest of her life tied to a man she loved desperately, but who felt nothing for her? Or, at least, a man who could not express the feelings he had?
Turning, she glanced over the guests at the wedding, her gaze finding Lord Mullin. The man had saved both her life and her sanity—at least up to this point. His calm, steady manner and words were the only thing, that had gotten her this far. His insistence that James loved her had helped her heal, and had kept her from calling off the wedding each time James acted as if this union were purely a matter of honor. And he’d done so many times. He had barely spoken to her since her recovery.
Of course, he had not been shouting or stomping about, either. She could have borne that. But he had been cold. He didn’t seem to want her anymore—not physically, at least—and that worried her more than anything. Their passion had brought them together, and to feel its absence . . . In James’s passion, she had been able to find hope that he cared for her. But he hadn’t touched her since before she’d been shot. He’d even seemed to avoid her.
No, she supposed she didn’t believe Lord Mullin’s claims anymore. She didn’t think James loved her; he didn’t even seem to like her. His cold and reticent behavior these last two weeks seemed to indicate that clearly enough. If anything, he appeared to loathe her now.
What had caused this? Had it been her confession of her feelings? Perhaps it was all right for him to like and lust after her as long as her emotions were not engaged. Perhaps he was trying to let her know not to expect her feelings to be reciprocated. Would he treat her thusly for the rest of their lives? she wondered miserably. Could she bear it if he did?
“Lady Wentworth?”
Maggie peered up blankly at the minister, aware that she had missed her cue.
“You are supposed to say, ‘I do,’” James prompted. Maggie turned her eyes to his implacable expression. He did not look like a happy man. He looked stiff and cold and as if he wished himself anywhere but here with her. If she said yes, she would be consigning him to a lifetime of what he considered to be hell. And herself, too.
“No.” She didn’t realize the word had slipped from her lips until James’s expression changed to one of shock. He looked as if she’d hit him between the eyes with a mallet.
“What?” he squawked disbelievingly. The word was echoed in horror by his aunt and all of Maggie’s servants.
“I said, no,” she repeated. A calm quiet replaced the fear and confusion of moments before. She was doing the right thing. She knew that. “I will not marry you, James. Not when it is going to make you miserable.”
Turning away, she started back up the aisle toward the church’s exit, refusing to look at the shocked guests rising from the pews.
“My lady!” Banks was the first to break out of his shock and move after her. His alarm was obvious as he hurried to her side, pleading, “Oh, do reconsider, my lady. Are you sure about this? Think of the future.”
“I am thinking of the future,” she answered sympathetically. The servant was worrying over their economic forecast, but there was so much more at stake. This once, she needed to look out for herself as well as her servants. “We shall buy a smaller home, big enough for everyone, but less expensive than the house Gerald left me. We will be fine.”
“Sit down!” James suddenly roared. Maggie paused and swung around in surprise. It wasn’t till she saw the way he was glaring at their guests that she realized he hadn’t been speaking to her.
“All of you! Sit down! This wedding is not over,” he shouted. As soon as everyone had retaken his seat, James started up the aisle toward Maggie, scowling furiously. Pausing before her, he struggled briefly until he managed a less angry expression. His voice was reasonable as he said, “Maggie, what is it that you think you are doing? You cannot refuse—”
“I just did,” she interrupted quietly.
“Yes, she did,” one of the nearby guests said, the comment particularly loud in the silence. A wave of murmured agreement followed.
James turned a fierce glare on the crowd until they fell silent; then, managing to school his face into something approximating calm, he once more faced Maggie. “Think of the scandal,” he implored.
Maggie did. Briefly. She was hardly aware of her foot tapping as she considered. In the end, the answer seemed easy enough. Yes. People would talk. They would whisper and twitter and so on, but if she moved to the country as she planned, all would be forgotten soon enough. Well, perhaps not so soon, but hopefully sooner than her death . . . which was how long she would suffer the misery of being married to someone who didn’t love her. Straightening, she said with feigned cheer, “What is another scandal, more or less? Give them ten or fifteen years and no one will remember my name.”
The comment sent another wave of whispers through the church, some agreeing that ten or fifteen years should be enough to forget the scandal, and others disagreeing. It seemed about half and half, she noted before James burst out frantically, “But we have been together! You could be with child!”
“Oh, that was grand of you to announce,” Maggie snapped. It didn’t look as though things would be forgotten in ten years, after all. The entire church was now talking excitedly.
“Maggie—”
“No!” she snapped. The crowd went silent again, eager to hear what came next. “I have said no and I meant it.”
Spinning on her heel, she started for the door again. Banks was steadfast by her side, and the rest of her staff slipped out of the pews to march toward the back of the church in a little parade. Their show of support was heartening, and Maggie could have hugged every single one of them. She didn’t see Lady Barlow give up her startled state and rush out of the front pew to hurry toward James, but she did hear her when the woman barked, “Do something, James! She is leaving!”
“You said you loved me!” he called out.
It wasn’t the words so much as the betrayed sound of his voice that made Maggie pause. The murmurs in the church had grown ridiculously loud. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath then made herself face him once more. The murmuring died at once, the air growing tense with anticipation.
“I do love you,” she admitted softly, flushing at the oohs and ahhs exhaled by their guests.
“Then . . .”
James took a step forward, but she raised her hand to stop him and continued, “And that is why I will not marry you. I will not marry someone I love when the very idea of it is making him miserable.”
“Who is miserable?” he asked with surprise. “I am not miserable.”
“Oh, James,” Lady Barlow piped up at his lame response. “I think she is referring to how cold and grumpy you have been of late.”
“Aye, you been miserable lately,” one guest said.
“The
se last few weeks at least,” another agreed.
Lord Mullin stood up. “You tore a strip off your driver the other day, right in front of the club, and you never treat your servants poorly. Aye, you’ve acted miserable, all right, James.” Robert gave Maggie an apologetic glance.
“Oh, do shut up!” James glared at his friend, then turned back to Maggie with a sigh.
“Well, perhaps I have been out of sorts of late,” he admitted reluctantly. A series of snorts rose among the guests, but James steadfastly ignored them. “It is not because of this wedding, though. Or because you love me. I am glad you love me. That isn’t what has made me so unhappy.”
“Then what has?” Maggie asked desperately. She watched a battle take place on his features. When at last it ceased and he merely looked at her helplessly, she felt disappointment tug at her. She turned toward the door again. She had managed only one step when he blurted, “Because I love you, too!”
“He loves you, my lady!” Banks called hopefully to where Maggie had stopped again.
“Harrumph. It’s not decent to love your wife,” a woman to Maggie’s right said staunchly. “Good thing she isn’t marrying him.”
“Oh, do shut up so we can hear her,” someone else snapped at the unhappy-sounding woman.
Maggie turned toward James, her confusion clear. “You are miserable because you love me?” she asked. Robert’s words came to mind, but still she didn’t understand.
“No,” James answered unhappily. He moved forward until they were standing nose-to-nose. “I am not miserable because I love you; I am miserable because of how it makes me feel.”
Maggie tipped her head, annoyed and bewildered. “How does it make you feel?”
“It hurts and it scares me,” he admitted in a soft voice. His aunt and Maggie’s servants crowded closer to hear. “I cannot control or protect you, Maggie. You do what you will, when you will. When I nearly lost you, and I saw my life spreading out before me so barren without you, I—”
“What the hell is he jabbering on about?” an older gentleman asked grouchily.
Maggie glared at the rude man, then was taken somewhat by surprise when a flushed James suddenly took her arm and dragged her toward the exit. Over his shoulder he called, “Wait here. We shall return momentarily.”
Much to her surprise, he didn’t stop once they were out of the church, instead he continued on until they reached his coach. Waving away the temporary servant hired to watch the horses while Crowch attended the wedding, James opened the carriage door himself and helped her inside. He followed.
“This is not perhaps the best place to talk, but at least it offers a modicum of privacy,” he said. Pulling the carriage door closed, he settled on the bench seat across from her.
“I—” Maggie began, but he held up a hand to silence her.
“No. Let me start,” he said. Tugging at his cravat impatiently, he took a deep breath and dove in. “Maggie, I have been a complete ass these last two weeks. I love you. I realized it at Robert’s after you were shot.”
“Well, Robert told me that he told you that you loved me.”
“Yes, he did. But he didn’t have to. Not really,” he added when she looked doubtful. Heaving out a breath, he confessed, “Maggie, I was half in love with you before we ever met. I think good old Robert was, too.”
Maggie’s eyes widened. “The letters?”
“Yes. Your letters. Gerald read them to us every time he got one. He told us a lot about you, too, of course, but through your letters we heard your voice and got to know you. You lifted us out of that blood-and muck-filled world and brought life and light with you. I couldn’t wait to meet you when I returned. I was actually eager to keep my vow to look out for you. I would have done it even had he not asked me.”
He grimaced slightly at himself, then said, “You see, that day you were shot, when you told me that you loved me, I opened my mouth to say it back, but then Robert started to work on you. You cried out and fainted, and I didn’t have to say anything. If I had spoken, I might have convinced myself that I was just repeating the words to be polite. I’m not very . . . good at feeling. But I didn’t have to speak. Unfortunately, Robert didn’t let me off the hook. He saw how I truly felt.” James sighed. “He saw that I truly love you. But what he doesn’t know is why I love you.”
“Why?” Maggie echoed, almost afraid she was dreaming.
“Yes, darling. Why. You see, I love you because of everything you were in those letters, but I love you also because of the exuberance with which you live your life. I love you because you care for your servants more than you care for yourself. I love you because you do what you believe, and go where you need to go to do what you have to do. But loving you for those reasons—you’re not someone who’s easy to love, Maggie. You have a wild streak. The way you live is dangerous. When I saw you lying in that bed, when I truly believed you were going to die on me, I felt such pain that . . . well, I haven’t felt it since my parents died.”
He looked up, and she felt herself melt in the heat of his stare. “When your brother died in my arms, it almost killed me. He was such a dear friend. I admired and loved him. But you, Maggie, have come to mean so much more than he ever did. I knew that your death would tear me apart. Losing you would hurt so—”
“But you didn’t lose me,” Maggie interrupted. She shifted from her bench seat to his, patting his leg soothingly. “I survived.”
“This time,” he agreed. “But I will lose you someday. I must. Either I will die or you will, and that has been tormenting me these past two weeks.”
“But—”
“No, let me finish,” he said quickly. “That is why I have been such an ass. But I haven’t been thinking clearly at all.” He laughed suddenly, self-mocking. “Obviously. Because when you said no to marrying me just now, I realized what I was doing: instead of protecting myself with my foolish behavior, I was simply causing myself to lose you even sooner than was necessary.”
Taking her hands in his, he pressed a kiss to each. “An intelligent man would enjoy the time we have together, cherish every moment with you, and not waste whatever time we have on fearing the future. I haven’t been a very intelligent man, Maggie, but I vow here and now that if you marry me today, I will return to being the intelligent man I used to think I was. I’ll spend the rest of my life doing everything in my power to make you happy.”
“Oh, James,” Maggie breathed, tears welling in her eyes. “I love you and always will.”
“Even when I am stomping around, grumpy and miserable?” He asked the question with gentle humor, but Maggie caught the uncertainty that flashed in his eyes.
His uncertainty should not have surprised her; his misery and grumpiness were the reasons she had just refused to marry him. Still, Maggie found herself startled by the sign of his vulnerability. Cupping his face in her hands she put all the sincerity she possessed into her words as she said, “Yes, my lord. I shall love you always no matter how grumpy and miserable you occasionally get . . . I shall just remind myself that it is caused by fear.” She broke the solemn moment with a grin and added, “Then I shall remind you. That should jolly you out of the mood at once.”
“Aye, it should,” he admitted wryly, then chuckled and pulled her into an embrace. Hugging her close, he sighed into her hair then said, “And I love you, and always shall.” Maggie was about to pull back to kiss him when he added, “Despite the fact that you tend to act without thinking, and are always managing to get yourself into trouble.”
She drew back abruptly, but rather than kiss him she offered an indignant glare. “I am not always getting myself into trouble!”
“No?” It was his turn to grin. “Who is it who was kidnapped from a brothel some weeks back?”
“You were the one who did the kidnapping!” she exclaimed hotly.
“Ah . . . so I was. But then you nearly got run down by that scar-faced man.”
She glared at him, and he continued, “And who is it who
got shot while—”
“Trying to save her future husband from being discovered and shot?” Maggie finished archly.
James stilled. “Banks said he thought that was what you were trying to do. I had hoped he was wrong.”
“Why ever would you hope that?” Maggie asked in amazement.
“Ah, Maggie. Had you died trying to save me . . .” Anguish washed over his face and Maggie felt tears well in her eyes again as he said, “I must thank you for what you did, but if you ever do it again, I swear I shall—”
“My lord?”
James scowled at the interruption. “What?”
“Do please shut up and kiss me.”
His scowl faded slowly, then he bent to press a kiss to her lips. It started as a sweet kiss, a gentle brush of lips to celebrate their love, but as always happened between them, it soon became a desperate, all-encompassing embrace that left them both panting.
“Oh, I have missed you,” Maggie gasped as his lips slid along her jaw and started down her neck.
James mumbled something of an agreement, then tugged impatiently at the collar of her wedding gown. Irritably he asked, “Why do they make women’s clothing so damned restrictive?”
“To prevent men from doing exactly this!” Maggie laughed breathlessly, then groaned as he finally managed to get one breast free of her gown. He suckled it relentlessly. “Oh, James. Oh, oh, oh, James!” She squealed suddenly, pulling away as she recalled where they were.
“We are supposed to be getting married today,” she reminded him, tugging fretfully at her gown, trying to get covered back up.
“We are supposed to be consummating the marriage today, too,” he said in the velvety voice that always made her tingle. He began tugging at the skirt of her gown, now, trying to find the hem line to get under it.
“Yes, but I think you have it in the wrong order,” Maggie pointed out with a laugh, pleased to see that the passion was back. “Do you not think we should—”
He silenced her by covering her mouth in a kiss that curled her toes. When he added to his persuasion by sliding his hand up under her skirt, Maggie gave up her arguments and melted into him.