Cheryl Holt (40 page)

Any marriage could be difficult, but with a bridegroom who was adamantly opposed to the nuptials, it would be awful.

Why had Penny pursued such a rash path? Had it been immaturity? Her typical recklessness? Or was it due to her quintessential obstinacy? She’d been fixated on doing what she wanted and couldn’t be dissuaded from delinquency.

Well, her stubbornness had caught up with her, and over the pending months and years, she’d learn some harsh lessons. Whatever befell her would most likely be deserved, and Winnie wouldn’t concern herself over it.

No, Winnie would be occupied in deciding what to do with Margaret. The older woman’s discovery of Penny’s antics had been too much for her. Her mind had snapped, causing her to attack Mr. Blaine, but after the initial commotion had been contained, and Phillip had subdued her, it was obvious that there had been a significant shift in her mental functioning.

She was down the hall, solidly sedated with laudanum, and tied to a bed, lest she wander and assault someone else.

Aside from juvenile Penny, Winnie was Margaret’s sole living relative, and thus she had a responsibility to supervise her treatment and recovery. Hopefully, Margaret would regain her sanity, but what if she didn’t? What should be done with her?

The tables had been deftly turned, and for a change, Margaret would have to rely on Winnie. Though it was a
diabolical aspiration, she wanted Margaret to have occasional episodes of lucidness, just so she would realize that she was beholden to Winnie for everything. It was a petty retribution, but gratifying nonetheless.

In her prevailing mood, Winnie would be tickled to condemn her cousin to an insane asylum, so that Margaret could personally experience the indignity and horror. But Winnie never would. She might be Margaret’s kin, but she possessed none of the woman’s malice or evil.

“Don’t worry about Margaret or Penelope,” she soothed Rebecca. “And be sure to tell Helen that she needn’t worry about them, either.”

“I will.”

“She won’t have to see them again.”

“She’ll be relieved.”

“Now, it’s very late. Try to close your eyes.”

“I can’t seem to doze off. Too much has happened.”

“You’re right about that.”

Rebecca stared and stared, as though cataloging her features. “Will you be here in the morning?”

“Of course I will. I’m never leaving.” Winnie took Rebecca’s hand and squeezed it. It would probably be ages before Rebecca trusted her. “Would you feel better if I sat with you?”

“Would you?”

“Roll over onto your tummy.”

Rebecca hesitated, then did as Winnie had requested, and Winnie patted her back as if she were a tiny babe. Within minutes, she was slumbering soundly, her breathing languorous and steady. Winnie tarried, imprinting every aspect of the precious contact into her growing store of memories.

Slipping off the bed, she pulled up a chair, observing, pondering everything she’d missed. How long would it take to make it up to the poor girl? How many acts of
contrition would she have to accomplish before Rebecca could forgive her? Would there be a sufficient number of years to atone?

She felt Edward’s presence before she saw or heard him. He was in the doorway that connected the two bedchambers. Silent, patient, he was watching her, waiting for her to acknowledge him. She had been expecting him for hours, though she was torn about meeting with him.

After her providential interruption of the wedding, they’d chatted briefly. He’d been kind, asking about her adventures with Phillip in London, and he’d offered her lodgings at Salisbury until her affairs were settled. She’d thanked him, then had surrounded herself with the children so they wouldn’t have another opportunity to converse. He’d been busy, tackling the wild messes created by the failed ceremony, Margaret’s hysterics, and Mr. Blaine’s depravity, so she’d been able to avoid a confrontation, and she wished she could put it off forever.

She wasn’t sure what she wanted to say to him. Many angry remarks were fermenting inside her that shouldn’t be voiced aloud. Upon her declaration that she’d birthed a child out of wedlock, he’d been shocked. Whether his reaction had been induced by disgust at her immorality, or her shady history, she cared not. She wouldn’t apologize for having had Rebecca.

In light of his past, who was he to point a condemnatory finger anyway? At least she’d loved Rebecca, had pined away, heart and soul, while he scarcely evinced interest in his own two offspring, the only ones he might ever have. Who was he to throw stones?

She rotated in her chair, and they studied each other, separated by an unbridgeable expanse. He was dressed in his trousers, his feet bare. A robe covered his torso, but it was open at the front, revealing his handsome chest, his broad shoulders.

They were the sort of shoulders a woman could lean on when her burdens were heavy, when she was alone and scared and at a loss as to what she should do next, but she refused to be affected by the sight of them.

Because she’d been afraid of dishonor, she’d tossed away the most important thing in her life. She’d relied on others, praying they would rescue her from her many follies, but she never would again. She would fend for herself. Whatever path fate chose to contrive, she would persevere and hope for the best.

After an interminable pause, he extended his hand, beseeching her to cross the floor and take it. She gaped at him but didn’t move.

He murmured to her, anxious to coax and cajole her into going to him. Concerned about waking the girls, she motioned for quiet, then stood and walked by him into her room. He shut the door.

His eyes searched hers, but the shadows kept him from reading what was written there. Reaching out, he grazed her cheek, then bent down, attempting to kiss her on the mouth, but she turned away, and his lips brushed her hair instead.

Imposing distance, she went to the window, away from him.

He muddled her, making her brood and chafe over what she wanted and how she should proceed. When he touched her, she became confused, couldn’t be strong, accurately appraise events, or hold on to what she recognized was proper for her.

“You shouldn’t have come,” she said, though she’d never doubted he would. She hadn’t bothered to bar her door, for a lock wouldn’t have dissuaded him.

“You knew I would.”

“Yes, so please say whatever it is you’re determined
to say. Get the whole bloody harangue off your chest, then depart. I can’t abide any more emotional upheaval.”

She was being petulant, far beyond the bounds of civility or courtesy, but she couldn’t desist. She wanted to lash out, at everyone and everything, and she couldn’t find the mercy or compassion she usually harbored for others.

Very likely, he was hurting, too; after all, he’d had a few bad days. But she was beyond empathy, beyond agonizing over what he might need, or how she could comfort him.

He gazed at her so poignantly that she wondered if he would ever speak. Or perhaps he couldn’t verbalize his comments. He looked pained, as though the words were stuck in his throat.

Ultimately, he announced, “I’m sorry.”

He
was sorry? Why? What had he done but be himself? He’d been attracted to her, and he’d acted on his attraction. Out of loneliness and discontentment, she’d succumbed.

“You’re
sorry?
Whatever for?”

“For judging you. For believing you weren’t good enough for me.”

There was nothing quite so brutal as a bit of candor. Nothing like being apprised—to your face!—of precisely why you were unsuitable. “Apology accepted. Pardon granted. We’re finished. You may go.”

Scrutinizing her, his attention roved over her curvaceous form, which was concealed solely by her flimsy summer nightwear.

“It’s not
over
.”

“Yes it is.”

He took a step toward her, then another. Gradually, he approached, and panic flickered in her mind. What
did he intend? He couldn’t suppose she’d be willing to rekindle their liaison.

She had too many new burdens and couldn’t complicate matters with another fling. Her physical desire had fled, and she couldn’t conceive of how it would reappear. Her base instincts had caused her enormous trouble, and she wouldn’t yield to any of them again. Despite how much she’d treasured Edward’s company, she was an adult who could and would control herself.

From now on, she planned to carry on like a celibate saint.

He advanced on her. “I never told you how much you mean to me.” Another step. Another. “Or how much joy you brought me.”

The admission startled her. “Well, you don’t need to confess at this late date.”

“Yes I do. I absolutely do.”

He neared until they were toe to toe, and astoundingly, he fell to his knees and clasped her hand. “Winifred Stewart, I love you. Will you marry me?”

He
loved
her? He wanted to . . . to . . .
marry
her? This couldn’t be! Of all the scenarios she’d imagined, a proposal hadn’t been in the realm of the most preposterously fanciful potentialities. Her ears had to be playing tricks.

She started to tremble, her legs barely supporting her.

“Don’t be absurd. No, I will not marry you.” Tugging on his wrist, she tried to drag him to his feet, but he wouldn’t budge. “Stand up. You’re embarrassing me.”

“I haven’t begun to
embarrass
you.” He wrapped his arms around her waist, his fingers on her buttocks, his nose buried in her cleavage.

Her body reacted, her breasts swelling, her nipples throbbing, and she longed to quell the response, but indifference was impossible. The man affected her as no
other ever had; he titillated and aroused and thrilled, and she couldn’t feign apathy, although she didn’t have to make a fool of herself, either.

Her enchantment might still be potent, but she didn’t have to submit to it.

“All I ask,” she said, as calmly as she could, “is that you let us stay until I can chart another course. You’ve already agreed, so we have nothing further to discuss.”

“Oh, we have a few more items to consider than that.”

“I can’t fathom a single one.”

“You can remain at Salisbury, but on my terms.”

She stiffened. “Which are?”

“Marriage. To me. As soon as the details can be arranged.” His hands left her bum and slithered down, dipping under her nightgown, then commencing a leisurely journey up the backs of her thighs.

“You’re mad.”

“I’m sure you’re correct.” Chuckling, he located her bottom once more, but this time with no fabric as a barrier. He rubbed in enticing circles, and she tightened her leg muscles, forcing restraint.

“I’m completely inappropriate,” she felt obliged to point out. “I have a scarlet past.”

“Yes, you do.”

“I’m an indigent commoner.”

“Yes, you are.”

“I haven’t a drop of the precious blue blood you’re so determined to mix with your own.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Lunacy runs in my family,” she mentioned, referring to Margaret’s mental breakdown.

“And it’s a vicious strain.”

“God, stop being so flippant!” She shoved him away and stomped off, but he rose and came up behind her.

“Let me take care of you, Winnie. For the rest of your
days.” He nestled her to him, her back spooned to his front, his tone low and tempting. “Let me be a father to Rebecca, and a husband to you. Let me give you more children, an entire houseful, whom we will love and raise together.”

He sounded so sincere! Why would he offer her so much—she who deserved nothing at all? “You’re not serious.”

“I am!” He nibbled at her nape, sending shivers down her spine. “I want to be happy, Winnie. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.
You
make me happy.”

Her pulse was racing. He was eager to lavish her with everything she craved, everything for which she’d dreamed. Why, then, was it so difficult to furnish him with an affirmative answer?

Didn’t he realize how far down he would be stooping? His peers would never forgive him, and she was desperate to save him from himself.

“You couldn’t show your face in London.”

“Oh, woe is me!” he mocked.

“You couldn’t socialize or visit your clubs.”

“Any man who would snub me because I’m wed to you isn’t a friend, so his opinion wouldn’t signify.”

“You maintain as much now—”

“As I will tomorrow, and the next day, and the next after that.”

“This morning, you were set to marry Olivia.”

“A grand mistake, I admit.”

“You can’t have switched from one woman to another in the blink of an eye.”

“Yes I can. I’m an earl. I can do whatever I please.” With scant pressure, he spun her to him and gave her a light shake. “Marry me. Say
yes
.”

He was so insistent, burning with ardor and conviction, that a tiny spark flared deep inside her. What if she
accepted? She had naught to lose and everything to gain.
He
would suffer through marriage to her, but if he wasn’t concerned over ostracism or exclusion, why should she be?

Could this work?

She remembered the night of the thunderstorm, when she dashed inside, wet and drenched, and he’d been waiting for her. She’d felt as though he were her destiny, that he was the one and only man the Good Lord had created just for her. Her spirit had soared, her soul had eased.

Surely, their connection had a purpose. In the greater scheme of the universe, wouldn’t it be wrong to shun such an affinity?

She gazed at him. He’d claimed that he wanted to be happy, that it was all he’d ever wanted. Happiness was what she wanted, too, and there was no more marvelous gift she could bestow—on him or herself.

He would provide her with a home of her own, a family, babies to cherish, a husband to adore. It was so much more than she’d assumed she would find, more than she could have guessed she’d attain. A blessing. A stroke of luck. A boon beyond imagining.

“Swear to me that you mean it. That you’ll never regret asking.”

“Oh, Winnie! As if I ever could
regret
loving you.”

She opened her arms, and he leapt into them, hugging her with all his might.