Buried Secrets (19 page)

So be it. If she wished no more than shallow platitudes from him, that’s what she would receive. No more shared confidences, no more laughter together in cozy intimacy. From now on, he would mouth pleasantries that reached no further than trivialities exchanged between acquaintances—people who barely knew one another.

Entering the empty house, he climbed the stairs and prepared for bed.

At Rose Cottage, Gillian lay in her bed, staring yet again into the canopy above her. Her heart was still pounding, her pulse leaping with fear as she contemplated the scene so recently played out before her front door.

Lord, she had behaved like a simpering widgeon. Cord must think her completely heartless at best—or, at the very least, a fluttering spinster, unable to so much as admit to carnal needs. Why had she reacted in such a ludicrous fashion?

Because Cord had been about to speak of love. And she could not allow that. She had pegged him as a de-spoiler of women on their first meeting. This may or may not have been true—she had come to believe that she might have been harsh in her judgment—but tonight he had spoken with an undeniable sincerity. She had not expected this turn of events. To be sure, her own feelings had undergone a change, but she never thought that Cord . . .

She stilled suddenly. Her own feelings? She had not given much thought to that matter, except to ponder occasionally on the enjoyment she was taking in Cord’s company—to say nothing of his kisses. She drew in a sharp breath. How could she have been so stupid as to allow the earl such liberties? She might have known no good would come from those stolen moments of magic.

She’d had no fear that she would succumb to his charms. She was aware, of course, of the danger in such dalliance to a susceptible spinster. It would never do for the likes of a nonentity like Gillian Tate to fall in love with a handsome, worldly peer. That way lay ruination, but she knew there was no danger of such an occurrence. Her heart was inviolate.

But what of Cord? It seemed unthinkable that he had actually formed a
tendre
for her. Yet, he had been about to confess such a sentiment. She was sure of it. She could not, of course, warn him away from her in so many words, but she must take steps to protect him from the tragedy that would surely ensue were he to come to love her truly.

For I am cursed.

She almost breathed the words aloud, words she had not spoken since shortly after receiving the news of Kenneth’s death. She drew in another deep breath that was almost a sob. She had vowed at that time that she would never allow a man to love her again. She had experienced little difficulty in keeping that promise, for, although she was apparently attractive to men, she had found that without her active encouragement, the attraction usually withered at the outset.

That was the problem, though, wasn’t it? She had not discouraged Cord—though she had not flirted with him, certainly, or given him cause to think his advances might be welcome. Had she? No, of course she hadn’t. It was simply that his overtures of friendship had overcome her. Good Heavens, she
liked
the man. She liked being with him and conversing with him and sharing moments of laughter and . . . Yes, above all, she liked being in his arms, her body pressed against his and his mouth on hers.

This
must
not happen again! She had said that before, only to be utterly undone when it had happened a second time. She resolved anew to avoid the incidents of temptation—intimate, candlelit conversations and horseback rides after dark.

She would not have to keep her guard up for long, she considered, with what should have been a sense of relief. Now that Cord had decided to assume his responsibilities, he would be leaving Wildehaven soon. He would return to London to search for a bride—Corisande or otherwise.
In which case,
the sneaking thought crept into her consciousness,
what was he doing mouthing words of love to you?

She gasped, startled. Had she been mistaken? Had Cord been pursuing his own agenda? Was he in reality, as she had first thought, simply after a little light dalliance and was about to use a spurious declaration of love as a path to her virtue? Attractive to men, indeed. Was she so set up in her own estimation that she could perceive a love light in a man’s eyes, where only a prurient gleam existed? She remembered Cord’s halting words and their almost painful intensity. She was so sure he had spoken honestly.

Suddenly weary, she abandoned this line of thought. She returned to her reflections on Cord’s imminent departure from Great Shelford. Though he might consider the upkeep of Wildehaven part of his new program of responsibilities fulfilled, his main efforts would surely focus on his seat at Cordray Park, with forays into London to see to business matters. She would likely see little of him in the future.

She turned her face into her pillow and at last drifted into an uneasy sleep punctuated by dreams from which she awoke with tears on her cheeks.

The next morning Gillian went about her routine in a mood of abstraction. After her treatment of Cord last night, she was not sure he would ever visit Rose Cottage again. On further reflection, however, she decided that she owed the man an apology. He had tried to make what she was sure was a sincere declaration, and she had stepped on it like an unwanted bug in the kitchen larder.

She was in the still room, making an inventory of the herbs and medicinal plants needed in a household that contained two old people, when Peggy, the serving maid, entered to tell her the Earl of Cordray had come to visit. Gillian responded swiftly. She hurried to the little parlor, where she found Cord with Uncle Henry and Aunt Louisa, discussing the events of the day before.

“My, yes,” Aunt Louisa was saying. “I’m sure everyone is situated nicely. Of course, no one wants to live permanently in one of your barns, Cord, or in the village church, but for the time being—”

“Yes, yes,” rejoined Uncle Henry impatiently, “but I’ve spent too much time away from my work already. Is it necessary for us to stand here nattering about what went on yesterday? Come, my boy, let us repair to my study.”

Cord looked up swiftly at Gillian’s entrance, and he bade her a pleasant good morning. Searching his face, Gillian was unable to read anything but the most fleeting courtesy.

“I’m afraid I cannot do that. Sir Henry,” replied Cord. “I merely came by today to see how you were faring after yesterday’s, er, upheaval. I have promised myself to Mr. Jilbert for the rest of the day. There is still much to do to repair the damage incurred by the flood. Not just in the rebuilding, but in some of the fields, as well.”

He picked up his hat in preparation for a swift departure, but Gillian, gathering her courage, spoke up. “We can certainly understand your need to be off and doing, Cord, but I wonder if I might have a word with you on your way out.”

Ignoring Cord’s expression of surprise, she laid a hand on his arm and led him from the room. Walking swiftly through the corridor, they proceded outside, where Zeus awaited his rider. Gillian turned to face Cord.

“About last night—” she began, and when Cord raised a hand in protest, she continued hurriedly. “I behaved abominably. I must say that I have no wish to discuss what prompted that behavior.” She cursed herself momentarily for the blush she felt rising to her cheeks. “However, I had no right to respond so to what you said afterward. I believe you were in earnest in ... in what you said, and I... well, I behaved abominably.”

Aware that her little speech lacked anything resembling a coherent expression of her feelings, she looked in vain for a reaction to her words. Cord’s expression remained blank and courteous, but he said, “Are you now telling me that you did not mean what you said, Gillian?”

Gillian’s heart flew into her throat, where it lodged in an uncomfortable lump. “About falling under my spell?” she said chokingly. “Yes. I mean no. No, I did not mean that, for such an idea is patently absurd.”

“How about the part about being dismally trite?” he asked colorlessly.

Gillian’s gaze dropped to her shoe tips. “No, of course not,” she said at last. “You were—apparently—paying me a compliment. How could that be considered trite? Cord,” she said miserably, “I don’t know how I came to speak so, but I am truly sorry.”

Cord surveyed her gravely. He had done some reflecting as well that morning and had come to some rather different conclusions from his heated judgments of the night before. He had thought long and hard about his short acquaintance with Gillian Tate. He recalled all the qualities that had drawn him to her—to the person that lay beneath the beautiful woman. They included her warmth, her intelligence, her charm, her wit—and not least of all her rock-deep kindness. The Gillian he had come to know would never have cut off a declaration of honest sentiment so brutally.

So what was going on? he wondered. Now that he had thought about it, he was sure he’d detected a certain note in her voice—one that in any other circumstances he would have called fear. But how could that be? He had merely been trying to tell her he was falling in love with her, not threatening her with a beating. His most honeyed phrases had never brought that reaction from a female before. What was there in what he said that could have frightened her?

If she had told him she felt nothing for him because she was still mourning her lost love, he might not have believed her, for the memory of her response to his kiss still thundered in his blood. However, he would have accepted her statement—for the present.

Somehow, he did not feel that flicker of alarm was directed at him—that is, she’d not been fearful he was about to harm her. He was sure it was something else. But what? Something within herself? Or how about Saint Kenneth? Gillian had spoken at length of his gentleness and his kindness and his mawkish devotion. Had she merely been trying to obliterate her memory of a streak of brutishness in his nature? Cord’s hands clenched. Had the swine in reality harmed Gillian physically, so that she now feared all men who came to her with words of love?

His thoughts by now had been running in circles, and he realized the futility in trying to crawl inside Gillian’s mind. He’d finally ceased his ruminations with a decision to revert to his original plan of maintaining friendly relations with Gillian and nothing more. Well, perhaps a little something more, for he planned to probe—ever so delicately. Whatever it was that had caused Gillian to withdraw from him so precipitously, he was, by God, going to get to the bottom of it.

Thus, as Gillian concluded her unhappy apology, he smiled. “Please, Gillian, there is no need for this. While I might wish you had chosen less abrupt phraseology to deter me from my pretty little speech, your message came through with extreme clarity. I am sorry to have so discomposed you.” He paused awkwardly. “I know that after that, er, encounter in your kitchen, I vowed not to attempt such intimacies with you again. I broke that vow last night. I must say in my own defense that the temptation was irresistible. You are a beautiful woman, Gillian, whom I have come to, ah, admire greatly. After our shared ordeal yesterday, I fear I let my, um, emotions overwhelm me. So you see,” he concluded, perspiring heavily, “it is I who owe you an apology. I hope you will say we can remain friends, however, for I would miss your company.”

Gillian stood rooted for a moment. This was not at all what she had expected. He still wanted to be friends? In her head she repeated what had almost become a mantra.
He will be leaving soon.
She took a deep breath and smiled brightly. “I would like that very much. Cord, for I have come to value your friendship as well.”

She held out her hand, and as Cord took it in his own, he faltered suddenly. He gazed into Gillian’s eyes and felt that he had become unaccountably lost in their misty depths. A strange, prickling sensation enveloped him, as though he had been struck by lightning, and for a moment it seemed as though time had stopped, leaving him suspended in an alien universe where nothing was as it had been before.

He mumbled something—he did not know what—and turned from Gillian to mount Zeus. He clattered off down the driveway, with barely a wave, rocking in his saddle as though he had never ridden a horse before.

Good God! He was not just falling in love with Gillian—that pleasant state between dalliance and a more involved arrangement—the state in which a man moved from kisses to an acknowledged liaison. He loved the woman! As in a church and flowers—and a lifetime spent with each other—and children! The thoughts spun about in his mind in a hundred variations as Zeus, through lack of direction, meandered home. At length, Cord took himself in hand. Why the devil was he so surprised? He had spoken of falling in love with Gillian just the night before. Somehow, however, falling in love signified a pleasantly vague state of mind. The words did not have the same ring as “I love Gillian Tate.” No, the prospect of falling in love did not involve a blinding flash of revelation that even now threatened his equilibrium, to say nothing of his sanity. All he knew was that he did not want to think about spending the rest of his life without Gillian. He wanted her—no, needed her—by his side in this new phase of his life. She had become as important as air to breathe and water to drink. When he was not with her, he felt as though some critical part of him was missing, and he was complete only when they were together.

How this state of affairs could have come about after only a few weeks’ acquaintance, he could not fathom. He had remained happily heart-whole for well over a quarter of a century, but after little more than a fortnight in Gillian’s company he had toppled like an oak to the woodman’s axe.

So—what was he to do now? Under ordinary circumstances, when a man found the only woman in the world for him, the next step was to ask for her hand in marriage, was it not? A cloud of depression settled on Cord. He had no idea of Gillian’s feelings toward him. She had just told him that she valued his friendship, but that was a cold substitute for what he really wanted from her. She apparently feared the idea of his loving her, and he had no idea how to overcome this problem. To be sure, many women formed friendships with men for whom they would never have deeper feelings.