I Thee Wed (24 page)

O
RION would put off the inevitable for one more moment. He would allow himself to luxuriate in the entirety of that instant in time: Francesca's wild curls across his chest, the sound of her slow breath, the gentle brush of her fingertip traveling down the center of his chest.

Such intense pleasure. Such sweet release. And now, the bone-deep calm that blanketed their bodies, their minds, their hearts.

The wonder of it. Orion had just made love to a woman, and the event went far beyond mere bodily gratification. He knew why. Francesca was the woman who had accompanied him on the journey. She had given herself freely to him, body and soul, and the gates to heaven were flung wide.

He should not have given in to her, but he had. Now he could not bring himself to regret it . . . yet. He wanted to savor this moment, in the hopes that the memory might ease the pain of all the moments still to come.

Francesca stirred. He pressed his palm to her warm, bare back, attempting to hold her still. He was not ready for words.
He was not ready for what must come next.

She kissed his cheek. Orion closed his eyes and let her go. Francesca popped up on her elbows, a knowing smile on her lips. “See?” She brushed a finger through his hair and giggled. “I told you! You do not love Judith—you love me!”

Orion felt his face go hard and cold. It had to be done. There was no other way. No, he had not intended to make love with Francesca when he accepted her invitation. Yes, she had seduced him with food and wine and her own magnificence. But he made the choice. He fell into her arms, her body, her love. He was the man who took her chastity. And only he would be culpable for all the tragedy now to come.

He had compromised her but could not marry her. If he did, Sir Geoffrey would make good on his plan to ruin him, which would in turn ruin his wife. In Society's eyes, she would be the wife of a rapist, a criminal. Francesca would serve a life sentence for a crime no one committed. He could not do that to her. The pain of his rejection would fade, but social ruin was forever.

And though he wished to tell Francesca the truth, he could not. Again, it was for her own protection. Orion had gone over the possibilities again and again while pacing his bedchamber, but there was only one outcome. If Francesca knew of Sir Geoffrey's repeated theft, she would vow to seek justice. If she learned of how he used engagement to his daughter as bait to attract assistants, she would become Judith's champion, damn the consequences. If she knew how Sir Geoffrey threatened Orion with ruin if he did not marry Judith and would take credit for all his scientific work, she would declare an all-out war.

He knew Francesca. He knew she was too impassioned to hold these facts close, to say and do nothing. The instant she spoke her mind, Sir Geoffrey would go in for the kill. With a word he would destroy Francesca, ruin her reputation, and leave her no choice but to return to Italy, carrying the shame of the false accusations back home to her family.

And then there was the scientific breakthrough . . .
Francesca was the first and only person with whom Orion had longed to share his moment of triumph, Now, with all that had happened, he would never be able to tell her about the discovery, because Francesca would confront Sir Geoffrey the moment he took credit.

Orion studied her beautiful face, sure this would be the last time he saw her eyes filled with joy. His next words would surely break Francesca's heart.

“Did you not hear me?” She leaned down and kissed his lips playfully, her hair tickling his cheeks. “I said you love me. Admit it!”

“I am to marry Judith. Our engagement will be announced at tonight's Fraternity presentation.”

Her first inclination was to laugh, but when she saw no mirth in his expression, she quickly corrected herself and frowned. “What?”

“I cannot love you. I'm sorry, Chessa. I will marry Judith as planned. It is decided.”

It was torturous for Orion to watch as Francesca allowed his words to find purchase in her mind. Her eyes widened. Her lips parted. It pained him when she pushed herself up and balanced on her knees on the bed, staring down at him. “You are not jesting, then. You and Judith are to marry.”

“It is no jest.” Orion sat up and leaned against the headboard. He felt as if he were submitting himself for a flogging—one that he deserved.

“You . . .” Francesca waved her hands about her head, clearly nonplussed. “You are
that
determined to marry your way to success? Is that it?”

He let out a sigh of resignation. “I would be mad not to.”

“How can you. . . ?
Dio aiutami!
God help me!” She flung herself off the bed and stood, snatching the coverlet to hide her exquisite body. He could see she was shaking with emotion . . . anger, shock, sadness. He knew that one day soon she would hate him.

Orion wished there was something—anything—he could
do to spare her this suffering.

“Francesca—”

“I fell in love with a man who did not exist, a mere product of my imagination.” Orion watched the life drain from Francesca's face. “They are right about me—I am a silly dreamer.”

He sat straight. He longed to go to her, but he could not. Frozen with grief, he heard the cold words come from his lips: “Far too much of a dreamer for this world, I'm afraid.”

She gasped as if burned. Francesca turned away and bent to retrieve the ill-fitting gown he'd slipped from her curves only hours before. With her back to him, she let the coverlet drop. She stood in the firelight, her supple thighs, rounded hips, and flawless, golden back on display. For the last time, he gazed at the perfection of her luscious bottom.

Orion choked. Her splendor would be forever lost to him.

“Where are you going, Francesca?” She looked a tousled mess. In fact, she looked exactly what she was—fresh out of bed with her lover.

“Anywhere but here!” She spun around, her dark hair falling wildly about her shoulders, her bosom rising and falling. Francesca's eyes were as hard as dark glass. “I find I have had enough of this house, and this climate—you English are all so cold. Perhaps I should return to Italy.” She glared at him, but he knew she was begging him to tell her not to leave.

He ached at the abruptness of her decision but nodded gravely. “Perhaps you should.”

With the release of a single agonized sob, Francesca ran to the door and slammed it behind her. She was gone.

His heart pounded fruitlessly against his prison walls.

*   *   *

I
T WAS NOT
enough to leave Orion's bedchamber. Francesca kept going, down the stairs, through the main floor, and out the back door of the house.

The walls of the rain-soaked garden threatened to close in
upon her. It was not enough to leave the house.

I cannot bear to stay here and watch him marry Judith. I cannot force myself to sit at the dinner table across from Mr. and Mrs. Worthington
.

Orion was quite correct, as usual.

I must go
.

Go? Leaving Orion would mean tearing her heart from her body and leaving it behind.

Yet staying would be worse. She paused her pacing near the fountain to press her palms over her burning eyes. Wouldn't it be better for her poor heart to die quickly than endure a long and tortured demise?

Her spirit threatened to leap from her body if she did not keep moving. She circled the fountain, walking fast with her arms wrapped about her midriff and her head bowed. She paid no notice to the grass soaking the hem of her gown. If she could, she would walk away now. She would keep putting one foot in front of the other until she walked across the sea, back to Bologna.

Yet nothing awaited her there. Her sensible Italian family, although perhaps having sympathy for being disappointed by love, would expect her to resume her place in the family structure—that of a loved but disappointing child, fondly snubbed as a dreamer, one who was far too English. Her efforts to pursue her own branch of science would still be overshadowed by the shining achievements of the others before her.

In truth, she loved them all, but she had enjoyed the freedom of expectation that she had found here. It had allowed her to find her own way. She knew what direction her research should take. As a scientist, she believed in herself at last.

As a woman, she considered herself a miserable failure. She had given her heart and her body to a man who did not want her.

Her rapid path led her by habit to the door of the laboratory. She stared at the latch with hot eyes. How she'd dreamed of
coming to this place. How she'd hoped to find what had eluded her in Italy.

She had learned so much since then.

Falling in love with Orion had taught her a great deal. His discipline coupled with his creative thought processes had shown her how to dream in a way that made it seem possible for those dreams to bear fruit in reality. And he had accepted her in his sphere—

No, he hadn't.

Far too much a dreamer for this world.

The pain twisted deeper. Her broken heart fought with her shattered pride to win the prize for greater injury. She heard voices in the garden, the servants passing by.

The instinct to hide her reddened eyes and nose drove her inside the lab. The large barn door closed behind her with a dull thud. She blinked to banish the dazzle of daylight—and her threatening tears. She pressed her palms to her heated forehead.

“Are you ill, Cousin?” asked a voice.

*   *   *

U
NABLE TO REMAIN
within the confines of his nicely appointed cell, Orion dressed and left Blayne House. His prison was one of blackmail and dread, but he could leave it, for Sir Geoffrey knew he would always come back.

Orion found himself walking slowly through the soaked streets of London. The rain had abated. He'd not noticed when, for he'd been far too busy pleasuring his lovely Francesca.

And then losing her.

His long strides ate away at the distance, and it was not long before he found himself at a familiar door.

Worthington House.

With a sound like a dog that had been kicked, he flung himself up the steps and into the welcoming chaos of home.

“Rion!” Archie was seated on the floor of the foyer, sorting through a stack of moldy books. Orion's father blinked up at
him with vague happiness. “I cannot find Beatrice and Benedick,” Archie complained cheerfully.

Orion gazed down at his father with desperate fondness. The house probably contained a dozen copies of
Much Ado About Nothing
. “Have you looked on the stairs? Shakespeare's comedies always seem to gravitate to the landing.”

“Ah!” Archie smiled sweetly at Orion. “I knew you could help.”

Help? Orion felt ill. He'd wedged himself into a vile situation with his arrogance and his eagerness to walk out on his kin. The consequences of his error threatened everything his beleaguered family had left.

His long-shielded heart, cracked open by Francesca's generosity and warmth, shattered by her loss, now melted completely beneath the fierce and sudden vehemence of his love for his family.

How could I ever believe I could leave them all behind me? I would wed a hundred Judiths to protect them. I would enslave myself for several lifetimes to keep any more heartbreak from them
.

Attie wandered into the front hallway, eating an apple. For once, her wild auburn hair was tamed into two relatively tidy braids. If anything, it only made her seem more alarming, at least to someone who knew her well.

Orion half expected a joyous greeting, but she only glared. “What are you doing here? I thought Sir Pompous was having his grand to-do tonight.”

Attie's disrespect grated. “How about, ‘Thank you for making sure I wasn't doused with acid'?”

Attie just looked sour. “You survived just fine. I'm still pondering my revenge on that cook. And I hate the rain.” Then she proceeded to stomp her way up the stairs, still munching.

Miranda appeared just where Attie had emerged. She held a hairbrush in her hand. She looked very pregnant and very weary. “I'm afraid she's just realized that the damp makes
her hair frizz.” She smiled at Orion and tucked the brush into the pocket of the vast pinafore stretched over her future blessed event. “It is nice to see you again so soon. Shall I tell your mother that you have arrived?”

Orion shook his head. “Formalities are wasted in this house. You know that. Go, sit and rest. I can find Iris on my own.” He nudged his distracted father with his knee. “Archie, Miranda needs a cushion for her back and a pot of tea.”

Archie looked up, blinking vaguely. “She does? Oh, hello, dear! My, you do look fatigued. I mean, blooming and lovely—but fatigued.” He rose to his feet, still spry, if a bit creaky in the knees. He held out his arm to Miranda. “Let's get you in a chair by the stove. I shall make you the most wonderful tea.”

“Check the teapot for turpentine, Archie!” Orion called after them.

Since he had no real purpose in his unplanned visit, Orion wandered into the front parlor where Iris was usually to be found. Sure enough, she stood at her easel with a paintbrush in one hand and a cup of tea in the other.

Orion's cousin, Bliss, sat in a purple-draped chair, holding a purple ball of knitting yarn and wearing a quilted purple doublet with round hose. Her fair locks, blonder even than Elektra's, were stuffed haphazardly into a bulbous padded cap. Bliss's buxom country beauty looked rather odd crammed into an Elizabethan men's costume.

I am most assuredly home
.

“Hello, Bliss.”

“Good afternoon, Orion.” Bliss remained entirely still. Patient and even-tempered by nature, she was a far better artistic subject than Orion had ever been.

He moved to stand behind Iris. “
Shakespeare with Yarn
?”

Iris chuckled warmly. “Don't be silly, dear. It is titled
Shakespeare with Purple Yarn
.” She lifted her cheek for a kiss without a pause in her work. “Welcome home, sweet boy.”