Candice Hern (41 page)

Oh God, but she was a passionate little thing!

And so now she was apparently going to play hard-to-get. He found himself feeling a twinge of disappointment that his Mary would stoop to such hackneyed tactics. He would not have expected it of her. But he must remember that after all, she was a woman, and when it came right down to it, they were all the same. She was no better than Suzanne, who had convinced him of her affection then jilted him for a grand title. His young and naïve heart had been further outraged when Suzanne had made it clear that, though married to another man, she was willing to bestow her favors upon Jack if he was interested. This, from the woman with whom he had shared what he thought to be the purest love. What a young fool he had been.

He had vowed fifteen years ago that he would never again allow a woman to claim his heart. Suzanne had taught him a valuable lesson. All women were faithless, inconstant, scheming manipulators. Even Mary. All right, then, he would play along with her little game. He could be as manipulative as any woman.

She was breathing heavily. Jack watched the rise and fall of her bosom with some admiration. If he could just get beyond this obligatory scene, he began to believe that marriage to Mary, with her sweetly rounded little body and her passionate nature, would not be so very unpleasant after all.

When his eyes strayed from her splendid little bosom, he saw she was gripping the back of a chair so tightly that her knuckles were white with the strain. There was nothing coy in her attitude. Her eyes were downcast. She had not spoken.

"Mary?" he prompted in a soft, coaxing tone. "Tell me why you cannot marry me."

She looked up at him finally, a haunted look in her eyes that stunned him with its intensity and pain. There was a crease of anxiety across her brow. Was there something after all, some insurmountable obstacle to a marriage between them? All at once his stomach knotted in fear that his plan might actually fail.

She took a few more steadying breaths. "I know that you need to marry, Jack." Her voice was not the usual deep, husky purr he had grown so fond of, but instead was a fraction higher in pitch, as if her throat were tight. "And I know you have said you do not much care who you marry. But you must not allow that indifference to extend to me, Jack." Her voice had become higher and more plaintive. "I am not the right woman for you. You know I am not. You would be better suited to Miss Carstairs ... or Lady Camilla Redbourne."

She let go of the chair back and began to pace the short distance in front of the fireplace, the skirts of her striped sarcenet dress swirling about her as she walked. Her hands were clasped tightly in front of her. Finally, she looked up at him, her brow still creased.

"Jack, you are handsome and titled and important. Surely you owe it to your family—your mother, at least—to choose someone more appropriate. Someone," her voice cracked after a brief pause, "someone young and beautiful and innocent."

This may not after all be the typical cat and mouse game he had expected. Her distress seemed genuine. He did not believe the anguish in her eyes could have been feigned. Poor Mary. Was she really so convinced of her own worthlessness? Jack suddenly realized that his concern for her feelings was very real. He wanted more than anything to persuade her that he wanted her, if only for her own self-esteem. He hated to see her so downcast and vulnerable. He wanted his sunny, cheerful Mary back.

He reached out and gently unclasped her hands—dear God, they were trembling!—and took one in his own. "Mary, my dear," he said softly, looking down into those huge hazel eyes, "youth and beauty are extremely tenuous ideals, open to a vast array of individual interpretations. Let me make my own judgments. How old are you, Mary?"

She looked at him for a long time before answering. "Twenty- nine," she said at last, her eyes dropping to watch their entwined fingers.

"A full eight years my junior," he said, gently squeezing her hand. "Compared to an old ruin like me, my dear, you must certainly be considered youthful." He flashed her a grin, hoping to tease her into a smile. But when she raised her eyes to his, her brow was still furrowed—whether in confusion, disapproval, or disbelief, he could not be certain. He smiled and brought her hand briefly to his lips. "And so we can eliminate age as an obstacle. And now," he said taking her chin in his other hand, "let us address the issue of beauty."

Her head snapped downward, but he gently forced her chin back up so that she had to look at him. He must tackle this subject with some caution.

"It is true, my dear, that neither of us can claim the sort of classical beauty that Society and Art have idolized as the latest fashion. But just because we are not perfect does not mean we are unattractive."

"Of course not!" Mary said with some vehemence. "You are very attractive, Jack, very handsome."

"As are you, Mary."

"No!" She tried to twist her face away from his, but he kept her chin firmly tilted up to look at him.

"Yes, you are handsome, Mary."

Her eyes darkened momentarily in what seemed like anger, but she blinked and it was gone, replaced by a look of weary resignation. "You don't have to lie to me, Jack," she said in a whisper so soft he was barely able to hear.

"Mary, Mary," he said, stroking her jaw. "I am not lying. It is true that you don't have the beauty of, for example, Lady Bradleigh. Or Miss Langley-Howe. Not many are so fortunate. But there is so much more to you, Mary. Don't you realize that a man could drown in your eyes, my dear? They are the most beautiful eyes I have ever seen. And your skin," he said, running the back of his fingers along her jaw and down her throat, "is positively translucent, like the purest alabaster. And your smile"—he ran his thumb along her lower lip—"can light up an entire room."

She looked up at him in confusion. Had no one ever before told her these things, ever complimented her? The words he had spoken were not false flattery, but were absolutely true. Had no one ever told her she was attractive? Ah, Mary. He pulled her close and held her against him, gently running his hands along her back. Had this sweet, talented woman been overlooked for so long that she could not recognize her own worth? How he wanted to smooth that furrowed brow.

"And I absolutely adore your crooked nose," he said, planting a quick kiss upon it.

"Really, Jack!"

"But I do," he said, kissing it again. "It gives you character."

"Character!"

"Yes," he said, pulling her closer, "a far more valuable commodity than surface beauty, my dear. It will serve you well in later years. When Miss Langley-Howe has faded to a bland middle age, you will still be a handsome woman with a face of great character."

He bent down to nuzzle her neck and felt her suck in her breath. She might not trust him yet, but at least she was not indifferent to him physically.

"You are sweet to say such things to me," she said at last in a raspy voice. "In fact, you cannot imagine how much it means to me. But, Jack, this is madness. We both know I am not the sort of woman you desire."

"Mary," Jack said roughly, his lips hovering just above hers, "if you do not believe I find you desirable, then you have not been paying attention."

He kissed her, pulling her body close against his. She responded by curling her arms tightly around his waist and returning his kiss. And then almost immediately he felt her pull back. He continued kissing her nonetheless, until her hands moved to his chest and pushed. He let go, and she moved away at once. Her hands flew to her mouth, and her eyes were wide and unnaturally bright. She turned her back to him.

"Mary?" He placed a hand gently on her shoulder, but she shrugged him off, taking a step farther away from him. "What is it, my dear? Are you upset that I kissed you? Well, I will not apologize. I have told you that I find you desirable. I am afraid I also find you quite irresistible." He took a step closer, but did not touch her. "Come, Mary. Admit that you enjoyed it as much as I did. You see how compatible we are? That is important in a marriage."

Although she was still turned away from him, he could see her swallow almost convulsively and thought she might be crying. Oh, Lord. This was turning out to be more difficult than he could ever have imagined.

"Marriage is out of the question," she said at last in a trembly voice. "I have told you that I am not the right woman for you Jack. I have told you that you need someone young and beautiful and innocent."

"And I have told you, Mary," he said as he stepped closer and placed both hands lightly on her upper arms, "that I find you both young and beautiful. I thought we had effectively eliminated all your misconceptions of unsuitability."

"Except one," she said in a husky whisper.

He felt her stiffen beneath his hands, though she did not shrug him off. She stood very still and said nothing.

"Mary?"

After what seemed an interminable silence, she turned around once again to face him. Her stricken look was almost enough to break Jack's heart. He moved his fingers slowly down her bare arms and took her hands. She clasped them tightly in return, digging a fingernail painfully into his palm. He ignored the discomfort as he studied the anguish in her face. What could possibly be causing her such distress? He was fairly certain it had nothing to do with him.

Suddenly, he experienced another moment of fear that this scheme of his wasn't going to work after all. She was going to tell him something—something that would make it impossible for him to marry her. He held his breath as he waited for Mary to continue, for all his plans to crumble into so much dust.

"Young and beautiful and innocent," she repeated. He watched her swallow with difficulty and take a deep breath. "I cannot marry you, Jack. Nor anyone else. I am not... innocent."

Chapter 9

"Mary? I do not understand.

He looked thunderstruck. Mary was mortified. How she wished Jack had never kissed her, and never filled her head with all those sweet lies, had never forced her to tell him what she knew she had to tell him. She pulled her hands from his, stepped back slightly, and dropped her gaze to the floor. She could not look at him. She could not bear to see the scorn, the disappointment, the disgust she knew would be in his eyes when she told him.

She opened her mouth to speak, but no words would come. It was as though her throat had swollen shut, allowing no sound to pass. She swallowed with difficulty and tried again. But once more, no words came. She could not seem to catch her breath. Her mouth was open, but she could not seem to breathe. She began to feel disoriented and dizzy.

Oh, my God.

"Mary!" Suddenly Jack swept her into his arms and carried her to the sofa where Olivia and Mr. Maitland had sat earlier. He roughly knocked aside Olivia's workbag, sending an embroidery hoop clattering across the floor, and gently laid Mary onto the sofa. All at once his hands were roughly moving over her thighs, and Mary felt as if she ought to panic, but did not seem to be able to focus her thoughts enough to do so. She felt him rummaging through her skirts and finally locating a hidden pocket. He reached inside and pulled out a tiny silver vinaigrette that Mary always kept with her, though she had seldom needed it. He flipped open the lid and thrust it under her nose. Though she kept the tiny sponge soaked in lavender water rather than vinegar, the fragrance was nevertheless soothing.

"Take slow, deep breaths," Jack said. "That's it. Breathe deeply. You will be all right in a moment."

She listened to his words and obeyed. And he was right. In a few moments she was breathing easily and very conscious of Jack leaning over her in a disturbingly intimate manner. Good heavens, had she almost fainted? How mortifying! This was indeed turning into the second most humiliating experience of her life.

Embarrassed for Jack to see her in such a state, she attempted to sit upright, but a firm hand on her shoulder kept her down.

"A few more minutes, Mary," he said. "You will only make yourself dizzy if you sit up too soon." He gently massaged her hand, which Mary suddenly realized he had been holding the whole time. "Are you feeling better?" he asked after a few moments.

"Yes," she muttered.

"Good girl. Now, let's very slowly raise you up." He took both her shoulders and gently brought her upright. She swung her feet to the ground. "All right?" he asked.

"Yes. Jack, I'm so sorry—"

"Is there a sherry decanter nearby, or shall I ring for one?"

"No, please, don't ring. There is a decanter on the table over there, just on the other side of the pianoforte."

Jack rose and walked across the room. Mary watched, still embarrassed, as he poured her a glass of pale sherry. She grabbed the vinaigrette, which Jack had placed on a nearby side table, and stuffed it back into her pocket, not wishing to be reminded by the sight of it of her missish behavior. He returned to the sofa, sat down next to her, and placed the glass at her lips.

"Drink this," he ordered.

She took the glass from his hand and sipped the sherry. When Jack gave her a stem look, she took a long swallow. The smooth, nutty-flavored liquid traced a warm path down her throat. She felt its calming effects almost immediately. Jack took the glass from her and placed it on the side table. He then reached for one of her hands and held it between both of his own.

"Mary? Are you—"

"I am fine now, Jack," she said quickly, interrupting him. "Thank you. I... I am so sorry. I do not usually ... it is just that I... Oh, God. I am so embarrassed." She turned her face away from him.

"Don't be." He placed a hand softly on her cheek and gently turned her face toward his. "You were upset, distraught." He stroked her cheek and jaw briefly before dropping his hand. Her face felt warm where he had touched her. "If you are feeling better now, I would like to try to continue our conversation. It is very important to me. Do you think you can, Mary?"

"Oh, Jack. This is so hard for me."

"I know, my dear."

"No," she said forcefully, "you do not know. No one knows. Well, except for Olivia. But I have never spoken of this to anyone else. I wish ... I wish I did not have to speak of it to you. But your marriage proposal gives me no choice."