Read Beguiling the Beauty Online
Authors: Sherry Thomas
Tags: #Romance, #Historical Romance, #Adult, #Historical, #Fiction
Beguiling the Beauty (17 page)
He shivered. From the cold or her words he did not know. “Does it mean nothing that I love you?”
“You don’t love me. You are in love with a creature of your own imagination.”
“That is not true. I don’t need to know your face to know you.”
“I am a fraud, remember? There is no Baroness von Seidlitz-Hardenberg.”
“You think I have forgotten that? I don’t need you to be a baroness. Who you are is more than good enough for me.”
Her laughter sounded bitter. “Let’s not argue a moot point.”
He placed his hand on her arm. “I won’t, if you stay.”
She shook her head. “My luggage is already on the dock.”
“It can easily be brought back on board.”
She shook her head more vigorously. “Let it be. Some things are lovely precisely because they are brief.”
“And other things are lovely because they are rare and beautiful—and should be given a chance to stand the test of time.”
She was silent. His heart thumped wildly. Then she reached up and kissed him on the cheek through her veil. “Good-bye.”
It was the end of the world, nothing but wreckage where entire cities of hope once stood, their spires shining in the sun. Disbelief and despair gripped him turn by turn. Chaos reigned. He was cold, so very cold, the wind like knives upon his skin.
Then, just as suddenly, the confidence he’d taken for granted in his youth reasserted itself. Or perhaps it was
only a gambler’s acceptance of all possible outcomes, as he laid his cards on the table.
“Marry me,” he said.
S
he swayed. She’d swindled a declaration of love, and now a proposal of marriage. He would despise her so much it would make Sodom and Gomorrah’s fate seem like a fairy tale.
Irony—for it was exactly what she had wanted in the first place.
“I can’t,” she said weakly. “No marriage between us would be considered valid.”
“Let’s meet again and discuss what we need to do to make it valid.”
She’d been shocked, when he first found her, to see him unshaven, without his collar, his necktie, his waistcoat, or his overcoat. And his agitation had, if anything, exceeded his dishevelment. But now he radiated mastery and purpose. He’d made up his mind, and nothing was going to dissuade him from his choice.
She, on the other hand, had become all jitters. “What can we possibly discuss?”
“Your circumstances, obviously. Some dilemma prevents you from using your own name. When we meet again you will do me the courtesy of giving me a frank account, nothing held back.”
He might as well hand her a bucket of tar and the innards of a duvet. “It will be no use. Nothing will change.”
“You forget who I am. Whatever your difficulties, I can help you.”
“Even the Duke of Lexington cannot wave away every impediment in his path.”
“Not when you won’t tell me anything, I cannot. But we will meet. And you will tell me what is holding you back—you owe me as much.”
She could see the headline:
THE DUKE OF LEXINGTON STRANGLES SOCIETY BEAUTY
.
“You want to come with me on my expeditions, don’t you?” he said softly. “Have I ever told you that I’ve a small museum at home? And drawers upon drawers of enormous fossilized teeth that I’m sure will interest you greatly?”
Why must he do this to her?
“There is also an abandoned quarry on my estate, with beautifully differentiated geological strata and an abundance of fossils. Marry me and it’s all yours.”
Throw aside you veil
, shouted a voice inside her.
Throw aside the stupid veil. End this right now.
She couldn’t. She couldn’t face his wrath. Nor the very large likelihood that his love would not survive his first look at her face. Was it wrong to preserve their affair as it was, to let nothing blemish its perfect memories?
“Lady, are you ready?” one of the tender’s crewmen called.
The tender that had been rowing toward the
Rhodesia
had disgorged the newcomers and was loading the final batch of passengers to be taken ashore.
“I must go,” she murmured.
“The lady will need one more minute,” said Christian.
His tone allowed no dispute. The crewman touched brim of his cap. “Aye, sir.”
Her lover took her hands in his. “I will say good-bye
now, but I expect to see you in London. At the Savoy Hotel, ten days from today. Bring the engraved pen for my birthday and we’ll drink to our future.”
She expelled a long, long breath. She’d say yes to anything now, to get away. “All right.”
But he didn’t let her go so easily. “Your word, do I have it?”
Perhaps no one else cared whether a beautiful woman was also honorable, but she had never gone back on her word. She shut her eyes tight. “You have it.”
He leaned in and kissed her cheek through the veil. “I love you. And I will wait for you.”
W
ell after the great ocean liner had disappeared beyond the narrow mouth of Cork Harbour, Venetia still remained on the pier.
She needed to locate a ticket agent to secure passage to England, cable Fitz to inform him of her time of arrival, not to mention find porters to haul the quarter-ton slab of stone that was Christian’s gift to her. But to tackle any of those tasks was to signal the end of her last hour as Baroness von Seidlitz-Hardenberg.
The end of the happiest week of her life.
She didn’t know how long she stayed in place. She didn’t even notice that it had started to rain until a porter came to offer her an umbrella. She thanked him and allowed herself to be escorted away from the pier, toward shelter, toward the perfect life of the beautiful Mrs. Easterbrook.
My Darling,
The
Rhodesia
is a wasteland without you.I spent most of the day at the aft rail, though Queenstown long ago receded from the horizon. My corporeal self is here before the writing desk—upon which we made such memories last night—but the rest of me is in Ireland, with you.
It will be a long night ahead, in these rooms that have known you so well. The very air sags from your absence; my blindfold is a tired scrap of silk that has lost its purpose in life.
Has Queenstown been hospitable? Have you been provided with a hot supper and a warm bed? Men have laid cables and connected continents separated by vast
seas; would that the engineers discover a way to connect two people thus. I’d empty my coffers—and borrow extravagantly besides—to be never again without your news.Your servant,
C.
My Darling,
I have arrived at my house in the country, the home I hope to share with you in the not-too-distant future.
Be advised that the manor had been conceived primarily as a showpiece, to awe and overwhelm. It is not and will never be a cozy, intimate residence. The height of the ceilings is such that no matter how diligently the coal scuttles are replenished, many of the public rooms remain unremittingly frigid in winter. Thankfully the family wing provides better warmth and comfort, and thus far no one has suffered chilblain—yet.
The grounds are large and very English in the arrangements of woods and gardens. Have you ever visited the Englischer Garten in Munich? If that is to your taste, then you will derive much pleasure from the estate.
But of course it is the quarry that you will enjoy the most. I paid a visit to it this afternoon, checked the digging implements stored in a nearby shed, and
ordered a sharpening of the chisels. They will be ready for you when you come.Your servant,
C.
P.S. I’d thought our separation would be easier to bear on the second day. I could not have been more wrong.
My Darling,
I write to you from my stepmother’s house in Cheshire. I find the dowager duchess and Mr. Kingston in admirable health and spirits. My own flagging spirits revived somewhat in their excellent company. Would that I had you with me: They are the most sensible, amiable, and agreeable of friends.
And you’d have thoroughly impressed them with your presence, your warmth, and your wit. I would have been the proudest man alive.
Your servant,
C.
P.S. I grow accustomed to the ache in my chest.
My Darling,
The dowager duchess asked earlier this evening to whom I was writing. Fortunately Mr. Kingston spoke
to her at the same time. I switched to a new sheaf of paper, and by the time she remembered to ask me again, I was able to answer truthfully that I was replying to a German geologist by the name of Otto von Schetterling.I wonder, had Mr. Kingston not said anything, whether I’d have confessed. Very likely so: I have a terrible, almost irrepressible urge to speak of you. To boast of my remarkable luck in happening upon the same ocean liner as you.
So far I have restrained myself. For how much longer, I do not know.
I have never known such happiness, shot through with such misery. Only four days have passed, they tell me. But that is not true. It has been decades since I saw you last.
You will find me a stooped old man when we meet again. Perhaps I might even need a pair of spectacles to recognize your veil.
But I remain always,
Your servant,
C.
My Darling,
Today the dowager duchess gave me a list of young ladies she considered suitable to be my duchess. I very nearly informed her that I’ve already pledged my hand, but, with much difficulty and regret, refrained: She might worry that I am chasing a mirage.
But you are not a mirage. You are a true oasis, worth this wandering in the desert, this anxiety of never finding you again.
Tomorrow I depart for London, to arrange for our dinner at the Savoy Hotel. At last, something for you—for us.
I have an odd, giddy sensation that I will run into you. If you should see me, please come and introduce yourself, so that I may at least give you my letters. And if you will also take my name, I will be the happiest man who ever lived.
Your servant,
C.
P.S. It has been, admittedly, peculiar to be in a one-sided correspondence, but I feel closer to you when I put pen to paper. Needless to say, I will do anything to be closer to you.
