Candice Hern (32 page)

"What do you know about a pact?" she asked.

"I know that you are all on the hunt for the best lovers, and you play at kiss-and-tell. I have no doubt every move I ever made with you has been duly reported."

Beatrice blanched. She could hardly deny it. And what difference did it make if the Merry Widows shared personal secrets? Men probably talked about their mistresses to one another in the same way.

She drew herself up tall and faced him squarely. "Not
every
move."

"You little bitch. How dare you share our private intimacies with your friends?"

"So what if we share a few intimate details? What difference does it make? At least I don't keep a little slave boy at home to cater to my sexual needs."

"
What
?"

She'd never meant to confront him on this, but, blast it all, he'd provoked her. And she was angry enough to provoke him right back. "I know all about the Indian slave girl you keep at home. The one who probably instructs you in all those positions you taught me. I even know her name, Gabriel, so you cannot deny her existence. Chitra."

His brows lifted in surprise. "Good God. What do you know of Chitra?"

"I know that you brought her, and who knows how many other slaves, back to England with you. You probably keep an entire harem, for all I know. So don't get self-righteous with me over a few private conversations with my friends."

He scowled furiously. "I do not know where you heard such lies, but it's ridiculous. I thought you knew me better than that. You really believe that I keep slaves?"

"So, you never once bought and sold slaves while in Asia?"

"I never sold a slave in my life."

"But you bought them?"

Silence.

His hesitation almost broke her heart. Until that moment, she had believed him, believed that what Ophelia had heard was all a lie. But he could not deny buying slaves. Nor had he denied bringing them back to England with him. And he as good as admitted there was a girl named Chitra.

She groaned her disappointment aloud and looked away from him. Beatrice wished to God she'd never mentioned slaves or Indian girls. She did not want to know any of this.

"So this is what you think of me." His voice had a steely edge that was almost frightening. "This is the sort of man you think I am. I wonder you can bear to be in my sight. I certainly have no wish to remain in yours." He turned away and took a step up into the carriage, but stopped, and swung back around to face her.

"I wish to say one thing before I go. I am truly sorry, Beatrice, that I have been such a disappointment and a burden to you. And I take full blame for all the business that started at that wretched ball. It was my fault, all of it, because I insisted on coming here that night. My only excuse is that I love you. Oh, yes, Beatrice. I love you." He shook his head and sighed. "But now I wonder how I could possibly love a woman who thinks so little of me. Good night, ma'am."

He stepped up into the carriage and closed the door in her face.

Beatrice walked to her front door in something of a daze. She barely noticed Jeremy and Emily jump apart as she approached. Jeremy said a quick good-bye and dashed down the walkway to join Gabriel in the carriage.

When Beatrice and Emily entered the house, Emily was agog with excitement about her new relationship with Jeremy. "He has asked me to marry him, and I have accepted. Is that not wonderful, Aunt Beatrice? I am bursting with joy." She threw her arms around Beatrice and hugged her.

And all at once, tears were streaming down Beatrice's face. She could not stop them. She hugged Emily tight, and told her how happy she was for her.

"I feel like crying, too," she said when Beatrice had released her. "For happiness. Who ever thought things could work out so well after all that has happened? It is a miracle. It is —"

"Serendipity."

"Yes! That's it. Oh, I feel like shouting the roof down!"

"Not tonight, I beg you. I am exhausted, Emily. Let's go up to bed, if you please."

It was not until much later, after Dora had finished with Beatrice and gone to her own bed, that Beatrice was able to sit quietly and consider Gabriel's parting words.

I love you.

Such a simple thing. A simple phrase. Three little words. But in all her life, in thirty-five years, no one had ever said those words to her.

Not Somerfield. There had been affection between them, but no words of love. Her parents had never said they loved her, though she was quite certain they did. Her daughters had never said so, either, but then, she had never told them how much she loved them. Love was something that had never been spoken of in her life. Oh, she had heard it said about other people. Only tonight Jeremy had said he loved Emily. It was certainly not a foreign concept. But in
her
life, it was not spoken of. Neither to her nor by her. Love was simply there, or it was not. But it was never acknowledged. The words had never been spoken aloud.

Until tonight.

It was astonishing the difference it made to hear those words spoken
to
her. To hear them from Gabriel had shaken her to the core of her soul. Almost paralyzed her. She had not known how important those three words could be. It made love more tangible, more real. Surely words were not as important as love itself. Or were they? Did Georgie and Charlotte really, truly know that she loved them? Did Emily? Did her friends know she loved them?

Perhaps they did, but she had never told any of them — not even her much-beloved daughters — so how could they be sure?

And Gabriel. Dear Gabriel. The only person in all her life who had spoken those precious words to her. Words that took possession of her, filling her so completely that she could hardly breathe.

Yet now he was lost to her.

What a fool she had been. She had suspected he was a little in love with her. Would she have reacted differently to his proposal if he had said the words? Considering her reaction to them tonight, she believed she might have overlooked every imaginable objection for the possibility of hearing those words from him for the rest of her life.

I love you
.

How silly it was that simple words should make so much difference to her. It made no sense that words could cause such an overpowering emotion, but hearing them changed everything, painted everything in a new light. It suddenly seemed that anything was possible, any obstacle could be overcome. All that talk of domination and control suddenly seemed so much nonsense. Even all that business about slave girls. With love, love that was acknowledged out loud and was therefore somehow more powerful, none of the rest mattered. Things could be worked out. Compromises made.

Lord, what an epiphany.

But too late. The enormity of all she had rejected suddenly threatened to overwhelm her. Gabriel. Her beautiful young man. The way he looked at her and made
her
feel young and beautiful. His dry humor. His stalwart sense of honor. His passion for India. His passion in bed. His adventurous spirit. The way he seemed to know her asno one else had ever done. Even his lordly arrogance was suddenly endearing.

What a mess she had made of things. All because she had not heard three words.

I love you
.

And now that she had heard them, nothing would ever be the same.

* * *

The next morning, Beatrice sat on Emily's bed with all three girls, as she so often did, discussing fashion or friends or the previous night's parties. This time, Emily had regaled them with the news of her betrothal, which delighted Charlotte in particular, as she was so fond of Jeremy. She also felt a certain smugness for having had the good sense to send him that note, for she was quite sure that having him come to Emily's rescue, so to speak, was all that was needed for her to recognize that he was the perfect man to marry. Beatrice had scolded Charlotte for having the temerity to send a note to any gentleman, ever, but the girl was so pleased with the outcome that the scolding had been shrugged off as unimportant.

"I want to tell you girls something," Beatrice said. "I want you to hear the truth from me rather than from gossip or rumor."

"What truth, Mama?" Georgie asked.

"The truth about why Emily felt the need to run away in the first place. You know something happened, but I do not think you know the whole story."

"I don't know any story at all," Charlotte said in a peevish tone. "Nobody tells me
anything
."

"Well, I am going to tell you everything," Beatrice said. "It is a very grown-up story, though, and you may not understand it all, but I want you to hear it. Do you remember when Emily and I made a visit to Doncaster House to visit the duchess? And how we also met Lord Thayne that day for the first time?"

And she went on to tell them a slightly edited version of all that had happened since that day at Doncaster House. She did not tell them about the masquerade ball, or details of when and where she and Gabriel had met. But she told them enough for them to understand that she had been involved in a very adult and very improper relationship with Lord Thayne, and how it had ultimately led to scandal.

"Are you in love with Lord Thayne, Mama?" Charlotte asked.

Beatrice took a deep breath and let the words come out into the open. "Yes, I am. I love him."

"Then why did you refuse to marry him?"

She told them all the things she had told Gabriel at the time, about being wrong for him, too old for him, how he would need an heir to ensure the succession.

"I already have you girls," she said. "And I love you both very much." There. She had said it. Now they would always know. "I cannot imagine having more children at my age."

"I always wished we had a brother," Charlotte said wistfully.

"Oh, me, too!" Georgie exclaimed. "I used to wish and wish that you would marry again, Mama, so we could have a brother."

Beatrice gazed at her daughters in shock. "I never knew that. You never mentioned it before."

"It was just dreaming," Georgie said with a shrug.

Beatrice shook her head at all the new revelations in her life. "I am too old to have more children, I fear."

"But what about Lady Hengston?" Emily said. "She is over forty and is still having children."

Too many children, in Beatrice's opinion. Twelve, at last count.

"And Lady Oscott, too," Emily continued. "She has a very young son, a toddler, and she is well over forty. You are not yet forty, Aunt Beatrice. You could still have children. If you wanted. If you were married."

"Oh, having babies in the house would be such fun!" Charlotte said. "Brothers. At least one must be a brother."

"A little girl would be fun, too," Georgie said. "We could dress her up and teach her things."

"Excuse me, girls, but you may stop spinning those fantasies right now, if you please. There will be no babies. I am not getting married."

Just like all the other objections to marrying Gabriel, the inability, or unwillingness, to give him an heir suddenly seemed as insubstantial an excuse as all the rest. It did not matter, of course. She had lost him.

"But wouldn’t you like to have a child with the man you love?" Emily asked. "I do. I can't wait. A child is the truest symbol of love, is it not?

And just like that, an image sprang into her mind of holding Gabriel's child in her arms. A dark-haired little boy with a tiny cleft in his chin. And Gabriel looking down upon them with love and pride as she took their son to her breast.
The truest symbol of love.

"Yes, Emily, it certainly is. But we shall have to look forward to
your
babies instead."

"Must you always smoke that ghastly thing?"

Thayne looked up to see his mother stride into his sitting room, her nose wrinkled at the smell of tobacco. She rarely visited his apartments, so he knew she must have something serious to discuss. And he could guess what it was.

He put down the mouthpiece, wrapped the tube around the neck, and moved the pipe away to burn itself out. "Not always, Mother, but it calms my nerves."

She sat down in the chair opposite and regarded him thoughtfully. "Well, then, it is no wonder you smoke so much. I imagine your nerves are often on edge of late, considering all that has happened."

"Indeed."

She sat in silence for a moment and then said, "Not to put too fine a point on it, Gabriel, but the duke and I were still hoping for an announcement at the masquerade ball next week."

"Fine. Tell me who it should be and I shall pay my addresses to her."

"You do not really want me to choose your bride for you. You have said any number of times that you will do your own choosing."

"I did choose. She rejected me."

"Choose again."

"No. You do it. I have no interest in it whatsoever. I am sure whoever you pick will be fine. You know better than anyone what is required."

Her shoulders sagged and her brow puckered into a frown. "You are breaking my heart, Gabriel. I hate to see you so unhappy. Why do you not make one more effort with Lady Somerfield? Perhaps you have given up too easily. Perhaps a bit more persuasion —"

"No. No more." He rose from his chair and went to stand by the window. He did not want to have this conversation with his mother. He'd been having it with himself for several days and was tired of it.

She was silent for long minutes and he could feel her gaze boring into his back. He really did wish she would just name some girl and be done with it. Thayne would be more than pleased to court her, whoever she was. It was more or less what he'd expected anyway. Yes, he had preached and harangued about making his own choice, but it was always meant to be from among those girls the duchess brought to his attention. He was now prepared for her to narrow that field to one. Making his own choice had not mattered to him for quite some time now. Ever since he'd become obsessed with Beatrice.

He watched a flock of birds swoop together in one direction, then the other, drunkenly weaving their way as one across the park. Which one was their leader? Who decided when to swing left, when to swing right, when to go back the way they'd come? For once in his life, Thayne was willing to be one of the follower birds, to allow someone else to send him in a specific direction. He just wished his mother or the duke would make the damned decision for him so he could finally know where he was going. He'd been chasing his own tail for too long, getting nowhere.