The Heart Denied (40 page)

The words had cost her, despite their gentleness--she'd blinked thrice rapidly. Thorne fought to keep a passive mien. "And whom would you have me marry, my lady?"

Lena's sudden smile was like bright sunshine on frosty ground; Thorne nearly lost his composure. "It has been years since anyone has addressed me as 'my lady'," she reminded him sheepishly.

"A wretched injustice to one so deserving of the title." Thorne studied her face, then let his gaze wander to her slender throat and linger on its slow, steady pulse. God, what he would give to press his lips there. "You were going to tell me whom you'd have me marry," he prodded. When Lena only bit her lip, his manner turned cool. "No doubt you're thinking that any woman in her right mind would be wary of me. That my one attempt at marriage was a miserable failure. A fatal one."

"It takes two persons to make a marriage, and two to destroy it," she said almost angrily. "You did not drive her to suicide, Thorne, regardless of how you see it."

He smiled briefly. "You and Arthur would have me utterly absolved from guilt, which is something only my Maker and I can accomplish. But again you dodge my question...whom shall I take to wife?"

"'Tis not my place to say, or even to speculate," she retorted. Her composure seemed to be crumbling, too. "Besides, neither did you answer
my
question. What shall be my daughter's fate, once your wife has borne you a child?"

"I'd like to think they would be siblings." He made his tone as even as possible, but his heart had started to pound.

Lena sighed, shook her head. "'Tis a noble sentiment, Thorne, but not at all practical. She would always be second-"

"
Listen
to me, Lena. I said siblings...not cousins." His pulse was hammering in his ears now.

Her eyes darted to his. "Siblings," she echoed, a tiny furrow forming between her delicately winged brows.

"Aye." His voice vibrated with emotion he could no longer conceal. "Both children of your loins...both of Wycliffe blood."

Her mouth opened, but before she could utter a word, he was on one knee before her.

"If you will have me, that is." He gathered her hands, nearly crushing them in his. "Say that you'll marry me, Lady Madelena Hargrove. Tell me you will be my wife."

She hesitated, looking down at the hands that gripped hers.

"Ah." Thorne's smile was grim. "You fear that I ask for the wrong reasons...obligation to my niece, protection from your father." His throat constricted. "By God in Heaven, I love you more than life, Lena Hargrove...have always, and shall always." He tipped her chin up to make her look at him, to show her the truth in his eyes.

"I've been a hollow shell of myself since you left me last autumn. I grieved in silence, night and day, hating this house, hating my life, and marking every accursed hour of each passing day as another wasted, lost, without you." His fingers caressed her jaw, his thumb spreading the warm wetness of a tear across her cheek. "I would have given up my fortune to know your whereabouts, even just to know that you were safe. You took," he told her in a ragged voice, "the very life out of me."

Lena briefly bowed her head, then sniffed her tears back and said low, "And now that Elaine is gone...forever...how do you feel?"

"She has brought my Lena back to me, that is all that matters," he said without even thinking, then added earnestly, "but if you need proof, I shall woo your h-"

She pressed a finger to his lips. "Not once," she said, smiling through her tears, "have you stumbled on my name, my true name, since you learned my secret...which tells me you have integrated the woman Elaine and the child Lena. That is better testimony than all the wooing you could do in a lifetime, because I knew even as a girl, Thorne, that you loved me with all your heart...and though the mind may be fickle, the heart is constant."

Thorne kissed the finger she held to his lips. "What irony it was," he said in a hollow voice, "to have my father warn me on his deathbed against entrusting my heart to a woman. I saw no point in telling him I
had
no heart...that it had died with you."

Lena leaned down and laid her cheek against his bent head. "But we did not die," she murmured near his ear. "Indeed it was your heart which sustained me through some lonely and unhappy years. And you," she whispered, "had mine. I have loved you since I was but a girl, Thorneton Thomas Wycliffe Neville. There has
never
been anyone but you--no, even Hobbs can't be counted. Forgive me, my lord," she pleaded, as he raised his head to look at her dubiously, "but this
must
be said. I thought never to have you, knowing you were on your way home to be wed, and I sought what brief happiness I could find with Hobbs. It proved a poor decision, and though I regret giving myself to him," --she shook her head, her eyes grave on his-- "I shall never regret the result of that union."

He cupped her face in both hands. "You doubt I can love Hobbs' child. But I tell you this Lena--I loved her from the moment I set eyes upon her. I shall always love her, certainly because my father's blood runs through her veins, but moreover because she was borne by you." He stared at Lena's lips, the first he'd ever kissed, some dozen years ago. "Don't you know, " he murmured, "that I was more than ready to take care of Elaine Combs and her babe?"

They were startled to their feet by a knock.

"Pardon, M'lord, but Combs is needed just now," Byrnes said primly upon opening the door at Thorne's bidding. She curtsied and quickly retreated.

"Feeding time," Thorne guessed, a sudden tightening in his loins accompanying the memory of Lena suckling the babe. She nodded, smiling. Seeing she was prepared to go, he caught her by the wrist. "You've not given me your answer."

She laid her other hand over his and regarded him candidly, her heart in her eyes. "Aye, I shall marry you...oh, Thorne, I have dreamt of it since we were children. 'Twas hard to give up that dream when you wed another, but I thought I had...until you showed me such kindness. Then I saw again the young man I had known, the one who was my champion, my confidante and companion." She smiled lovingly. "Aye, I believe you knew me in your heart. So many times, when you looked at me, I was certain the ruse was up! And how I wanted to tell you my secret, or to at least encourage you to guess it. But fear of my father always brought me to my senses, and 'twas that fear which gave me the strength to bear the cruel weight of my own deception, particularly when I realized there was a child in my belly."

Thorne's mouth twisted. "You need never fear that perverse vermin again. You'll not be his chattel much longer, we shall see to that." His fingers traced her delicate jaw, tilting her face up to his. "As for secrets," he said, gazing solemnly into her eyes, "there will be none between us ever again. Agreed, my lady?"

"Aye, my lord. With all my heart."

He looked down at her lips again and slid his hand behind her head, his fingers threading through her loosely bound hair to touch her scalp. He felt her shiver, watched her lips part slightly. "Do you remember," he asked huskily, "kissing me in the larder, all those years ago?"

"Aye," she replied, as he watched the fluttering pulse at the base of her tender throat. "And our tree in Beck's Hollow. How I've treasured those memories all these years."

Thorne inclined his head and grazed the corner of her mouth with his. "My feet," he murmured against her lips, "did not touch the ground for days hence." He pressed a kiss to her eyelids, then trailed his lips to her temples, and further down, nibbled at the satin shell of her ear.

"Oh God, Thorne, have mercy!" she whispered, shuddering. Her hand splayed against his chest for support.

"But then you were gone," he rasped, "and my feet hit the ground as if they were lead." His tongue darted into the whorls of her ear, making her gasp aloud.

"But I came back," she protested, shivering deliciously. Her lashes fluttered; her fingers clutched at him for balance. "I came back!"

"Aye, to my home. Not to me," he muttered, nibbling a tender earlobe.

"To you," she breathed, and drew back, catching his face in her hands. "To
you
. For I knew you'd return, as much as you loved this place...oh, Thorne, I counted the days and the hours when word arrived you were coming home."

His heart leapt within his chest; still he denied himself the joy within his grasp, as yet uncertain of its substantiality. "And then you left me once more."

The words held no rancor, carried no indictment, but realization must have dawned upon her, for suddenly she was uttering the words he wanted to hear.

"You can trust beyond a doubt, my lord...my love...that I never shall leave you again."

* * *

A fortnight later, in the manor church, Lady Madelena Hargrove happily moved down a few slots on the Table of Precedence, becoming Madelena Hargrove Wycliffe, Lady Neville, Baroness Neville of Wycliffe. Only five witnesses other than Parson Carey attended the wedding. Arthur was all smiles, certain that this time Thorne's vows were based on a firm foundation of love. Bridey beamed away while dabbing at copious tears with a handkerchief. Behind her, William hung back slightly with his eyes riveted on the bride, winning Thorne's secret sympathy and even a bit of guilt--though Thorne consoled himself with the knowledge that Lena was not likely to be the center of William's emotional universe much longer. According to Arthur, the young comely Celeste, daughter of Lizzie the barmaid, had her mind set firmly on the youth.

Dame Carswell was not among the well-wishers. Thorne had given her notice on the day he and Lena agreed to wed, along with a stipend equal to six months' wages, and some excellent references. He'd taken a wicked satisfaction from seeing her reaction to one of those written recommendations--signed, as it was, by Lady Madelena Harrison Hargrove. 

He'd tried to present Lena the emerald betrothal ring that had belonged to his mother, but she was understandably reluctant to wear it, having seen it on Gwynneth's finger too many times. She suggested passing it on to the next generation. Thorne agreed, and on the morning of their wedding, presented in its place a large Marquis diamond surrounded by sapphires.

Following the marriage ceremony, Parson Thomas Carey christened the babe "Catherine," naming the fourth and fifth witnesses, Richard and Bernice Townsend, as godparents.

As they left the church, Lena handed little Catherine over to Thorne. "Just a moment, please," she said softly. She retrieved her wedding posy from Bernice, who was holding it for her, and entered the churchyard. Curious, Thorne followed.

She went to Robert Neville's grave and gently set the flowers against his headstone, then turned to Thorne.

"You," he said, too overcome to say more.

Lena nodded, smiling through tears. "No secrets, remember? Besides, he is my father now, too...and protected me like a father while he lived."

Thorne swallowed hard, determined to squeeze a few more words past the heart that seemed to have stuck in his throat. "I love you, Madelena. You've no idea how much. But with God, my father's spirit and our daughter here to witness, I vow I shall spend the rest of my life showing you."

No secrets
.
It was a vow taken aside from those of the marriage, but a vow nonetheless.
No secrets
.
The words echoed in Thorne's head as he perused the strange letter for the fourth time in a quarter-hour.

"Catherine is fast asleep," said Lena cheerfully as she entered the library. She sobered immediately as she noticed Thorne's expression. "What, Thorne, what is it?"

He handed the letter over to her. "No secrets," he said, looking her in the eye, but his heart was racing.

She read quietly and intently, while he tried in vain to gauge her reaction to the letter's stunning allegations.

25 May, Year of Our Lord 1729

The Right Honourable Lord Neville

Wycliffe Hall

Northamptonshire

Dear Neville,

As partner in business with one Madame Claire DuFoire, London, I am hereby called upon to bring a situation of some import to your attention.

Some ten months ago, you were purportedly a guest in Madame's residence and place of business, at which time you were known to be in the company of one Katherine Devlin, otherwise known as "Katy." Unbeknownst to you, Miss Devlin, being young and somewhat irresponsible and more of a "romantic" than is generally wise in her time-honored profession, determined that she was of a mind to conceive a child, and that the father of that child should be none other than yourself.

At this point, I give you pause to assimilate such startling news. But you more than anyone are in a position to lend credence to such a possibility; for the girl left no doubt in Madame's mind that she was besotted with you. No doubt you were aware of the fact.

At any rate, Miss Devlin knew her moon cycles well, and was successful in her endeavor to conceive. Be assured that the young woman entertained no further callers following your last visit with her, in order to ascertain upon pending conception that you were indeed the babe's father. I hope you will understand Madame's refusal to allow you later visitations, for Miss Devlin had no intention of your ever knowing of her little scheme. The foolish woman wanted only to bear your child, and past that event gave no consideration to what manner of future was in store for it. What she did not expect was to expire in the process, and I regret to say that such was indeed her fate.

Your child--a robust son, by the by--is presently in the care of a nurse whose compensation, you will be gratified to know, is made possible by your generous monetary donations for Miss Devlin's medical fees. However, I regret to say that when those funds are depleted, Madame will have no choice but to turn the child over to the orphanage. She has already expended a great deal of time and trouble in the matter of Miss Devlin's death and the interring of her corpse, the hiring of a nurse, and the fashioning of a nursery for the child.

As I have said, Miss Devlin wanted to care for this child (how, I have not the least notion) without your knowledge of its existence. However, in view of her death and the babe's impending removal to a home for orphans, Madame and I concluded that you would perhaps appreciate being informed after all.

If we do not hear from you within a fortnight from the date of this letter, we will assume you have no interest in your child's future, and shall subsequently turn him over to a home for indigent orphans. There he shall be either adopted by strangers, or raised under strict supervision until the age of sixteen, at which time he shall be expected to make his own way in the world. For myself, despite my falling out with your father, I find it troubling to think of a Neville wandering the streets or working as a common laborer. I would not wonder should you feel the same.

Madame DuFoire and I shall try our best to keep word of these unfortunate circumstances from spreading, as your reputation in Parliament is of utmost concern to us both. However, in light of the servants' propensity for gossip, I greatly fear the story will out, no matter what our intentions. The only sure method for containing gossip, in my experience, is fattening the purses of those involved, and as expediently as possible. I make this suggestion only for your sake, as I repeat: we are quite concerned and fearful for your reputation here in London.

I am certain you will understand my relating all of this to you in writing, as you made it quite clear some time ago that I was no longer welcome in your home. I await word from you.

Ever at your service,

Lord Whittingham

"My
father
," Lena whispered, clutching the parchment so tightly her fingernails made an impression.

"Aye, the blackguard," Thorne muttered. He was hesitant to touch her just now, though he wanted desperately to reassure her.

She regarded him soberly. "Does he speak truth, Thorne?"

"The liaison is fact," he said slowly. "My paternity, possible." He watched her face for signs of anger, recrimination, or hysteria. There were none. More yet, she surprised him by laying a gentle hand against the silk ruff of his shirt.

"Each of us has a past, husband, and our deeds in those pasts have consequences." Her hand glided upward to smooth his brow. "I should know. Isn't our beloved Catherine the consequence of my own past?" Tears filled her eyes. "Thorne, my love, you have embraced my daughter as your own. Don't you think I would do the same for a child of yours? Don't you see? God...fate...choose whom you will, is offering me the opportunity to return your generous gesture in kind." She stood on tiptoe to touch her lips to his. "We must hurry to London, and see how matters truly stand. Shall I make ready now?"

Staring at her, Thorne shook his head. "I must have unwittingly performed some heroic deed in my past...or I'll eventually be called upon to do so...otherwise, I could not possibly deserve your love."

Lena's eyes suddenly darkened in the way they did whenever her lust was aroused, and Thorne took her into his arms and seared her tender white throat with his lips. She shivered, clinging to him tightly as he took possession of her mouth, but when he slipped a hand down her bodice and caressed a pebble-hard peak, she breathlessly extricated herself from his grasp. "My lord, you do have a way of making me forget myself and everything around me."

"Good," he said huskily, and enfolded her in his arms again. "Then you won't notice that I'm smuggling you up the service stairs to our chambers."

"Wicked, wicked boy," she said with a soft moan and a smile. "You know very well you're tempting me...oh, Thorne...no, love, we mustn't...shouldn't we be packing for a night away?"

"Aye." Sighing ruefully, he kissed her nose, then drew back and smiled. "A son," he marveled. "To think that only a few months ago I doubted I'd ever have children, and now I've two." He stroked her hair. "We've rushed headlong into family life, wouldn't you say, my love?"

"Aye, and in rather unorthodox fashion at that. But I haven't a single regret. And Thorne, just think--Catherine shall have a playmate now, something neither of
us
was fortunate enough to have."

"Except-" Thorne began, but Lena was already amending her statement.

"-when we had each other," she finished tenderly.

* * *

"So this is a bawdy house," Lena breathed, as the coach drew up to the gate.

Thorne tried hard to keep a straight face. "That would be one term for it."

"But it looks like the residence of gentry, doesn't it?" Another inch and her nose would be pressed flat against the window.

"I'd no idea you would be so impressed."

"But I'd always thought such places were quite dingy and rundown-"

Thorne bent over, his face in his hands.

"Well, 'tis just that I pictured-" She broke off as she saw his shoulders shaking. "Really, Thorne! I do have a brain, you know, and the curiosity that comes with it. Besides which, I'm quite aware of their existence. Bawdy houses, I mean."

He raised his head, his eyes swimming with unshed tears of laughter. "And why is that?"

"Because my father always supported such establishments," she said wryly. "Even before my mother died."

"Ah." Thorne sobered, wiping his eyes. "Begging pardon, my lady, I was momentarily addle-pated. Forgive me."

Her lips upturned slightly. "You're forgiven. Shall we go in now?"

He gaped at her. "We?"

"Yes, we. I'm coming with you."

"The devil you are!" Thorne scowled. "I had doubts enough about allowing you to make the journey with me! Poor Dobson nearly burst a blood vessel when he learned our destination."

One chestnut eyebrow rose delicately. "'Allowing' me?"

"You know what I mean."

"I've nearly as much at stake here as you, Thorne."

"No, Madelena, you do not." He shook his head. "Aside from this child he alleges is mine, your father bears a grudge for me, as you saw by his letter. And considering how matters stand between you and him, I'll be hanged before I let him near you. Nor will I have any wife of mine seen entering or exiting an establishment such as this."

Gazing out at the tall scrolled-iron gate, Lena merely sighed and took out her fan.

Dobson opened the coach door and let down the step; satisfied with his wife's docile turn, Thorne alighted.

* * *

Escorted without waiting to Madame Claire's private salon, Thorne found Lord Whittingham lounging in a high-backed chair before the fire, his stubby fingers interlaced over his paunch and his Italian-leather-shod feet propped on an ottoman.

"Neville! I hadn't thought to see you quite so soon."

The oily voice raised Thorne's hackles, but he was careful not to show it. "Your letter was most intriguing," he allowed, and Lord Whittingham chortled.

Madame Claire entered the salon. "M'lords," she said graciously, and took a seat. "
S'il vous plaît, asseyez-vous.
"

"I'd prefer to stand, Madame, thank you all the same. When may I see the child?"

Her glance sidled toward the earl as both tried to hide their surprise.

"Patience, man, patience." Lord Whittingham sounded slightly disgruntled. "There is business to be gotten out of the way first. Have you my letter?"

"I have," Thorne replied, but made no move to produce it.

Lord Whittingham frowned. "Well, if I remember correctly, I mentioned the difficulty of keeping the servants quiet."

"Only a mention, as you say. I vaguely recall it."

The earl squirmed slightly in his chair. "And what are your thoughts on the matter?"

Thorne shrugged. "Actually, I haven't given it any."

Lord Whittingham took his feet off the ottoman and sat upright in his chair. "You forget, Neville, we're not in the country here. Rumors spread throughout London like wildfire, a man's reputation can be ruined in a matter of hours." The black eyes glittered. "Parliament, though its members aren't monkish by any means, is less than understanding when one of them openly flouts the rules of genteel society, particularly one who is landed gentry and holds a seat in the House of Lords." The mustachioed mouth took a smug curve.

Thorne smiled, too. "Those members of Parliament who are not monkish generally use common sense. Few announce themselves in broad daylight or by their true names." He glanced at the proprietress. "Wouldn't you concur, Madame?"

Lord Whittingham waved the question away. "Servants are not all stupid, and many recognize a nobleman when they see him."

"Aye, and in a house such as this, they're paid handsomely enough to wear blinders...no?" Again he directed his question at the madam. She sighed, evidently beginning to lose patience as well, no doubt having thought like Lord Whittingham that this entire matter would be resolved quickly and cleanly.

"There are always those crafty servants who let the cat out of the bag but never get caught holding the bag," Lord Whittingham reminded him sharply. "
They
are your Achilles heel here."

Thorne sat back, assuming the face he wore at the gaming tables. "And just what will it take to deflect Paris' arrow?"

Lord Whittingham looked like a toad whose sticky tongue had just reeled in a fly. "Keep in mind that Madame has many servants in her employ, not to mention the 'ladies.'  One never knows what might be said in the privacy of a bedchamber...and you are not by any means the only influential patron of this establishment."