Minx (44 page)

Henry didn't feel the rage coming on. It descended on her like a fury, and before she realized what was happening, she was screaming. "Go then! Go! Go to London and have your women! Go and sleep with Christine!"

Dunford went utterly still, his face pinched and white. "What," he whispered, "are you talking about?"

"I know you still keep a mistress," she choked out. "I know you slept with her even while we were engaged, even when you professed your love for me. You said you were playing cards with friends, be-because you wouldn't be seeing very much of them after we married. But I followed you. I saw you, Dunford. I saw you!"

He took a step toward her, his clothing slipping from his fingers. "There has been a terrible mistake."

"Yes, there has," she said, her entire body shaking with emotion. "I was mistaken to think I could ever be enough of a woman to please you, to ever think that I could learn what it means to be anyone else but me."

"Henry," he whispered raggedly, "I don't want anyone else but you."

"Don't lie to me!" she cried out. "I don't care what you say, as long as you don't lie. I can't please you. I tried so hard. I tried to learn the rules, and I wore dresses, and I even liked wearing them, and still it wasn't enough. I can't do it. I know I can't, but I— Oh, God." She crumpled into a chair, overcome by the force of her tears. Her entire body shook with sobs, and she clutched herself, trying to keep from going to pieces. "All I wanted was to be the only one," she gasped. "That's all."

Dunford knelt in front of her, took both of her hands in his, and raised them to his lips in a reverent kiss. "Henry, minx, my love, you're all I want. All I want. I haven't even looked at another woman since I met you."

She looked up at him, tears streaming from her eyes.

"I don't know what you thought you saw in London," he continued. "I can only deduce it was the night I told Christine she would need to find another protector."

"You were there so long."

"Henry, I did not betray you." His hands tightened around hers. "You must believe me. I love you."

She stared into those liquid brown eyes and felt her world come crashing down around her. "Oh, my God," she whispered, shock squeezing her heart. She jerkily rose to her feet. "Oh, my God. What have I done? What have I done?"

Dunford watched the blood drain from her face. "Henry?" he said hesitantly.

"What have I done?" Her voice grew progressively stronger. "Oh, my God." And then she bolted from the room.

Dunford, unfortunately, was a bit too naked to follow her.

Henry ran down the front steps and into the fog. She kept going until she was shielded by trees, until she was sure not a living soul could hear her.

And then she cried.

She sank into the damp earth and sobbed. She had been given a chance at the purest joy on earth, and she had ruined it with lies and distrust. He would never forgive her. How could he, when she could not forgive herself?

Four hours later Dunford was ready to claw the paint from the walls with his fingernails Where could she be?

He hadn't considered sending out a search party; Henry knew the land better than anyone. It was unlikely she'd had an accident, but it was starting to rain, damn it, and she'd been so distraught.

Half an hour. He'd give her half an hour more.

His heart twisted as he relived the agonized expression on her face that morning. Never had he seen such a look of pure torture—unless, of course, one counted the times he'd looked in the mirror this past month.

Suddenly he had no idea why their marriage was such a shambles. He loved her, and it was becoming increasingly apparent that she returned his love.

But there were so many unanswered questions. And the only person who could answer them was nowhere to be found.

Henry stumbled home in a daze. The rain pelted her, but she barely felt its sting. She looked straight ahead, repeating to herself, "I must make him understand. I must."

She had sat at the base of a tree for hours, sobbing until her tears ran out. And then, when her breathing had quieted, she wondered if perhaps she didn't deserve a second chance. People were allowed to learn from their mistakes and move on, weren't they?

And, above all, she owed her husband the truth.

When she reached the front steps of Stannage Park, the door was savagely wrenched open before she could even grasp the knob.

Dunford.

He looked like an avenging, if slightly disheveled, god. His brows were pulled into a firm line, his color was high, his pulse was beating rapidly in his neck, and...and his shirt wasn't buttoned properly.

He hauled her unceremoniously into the front hall. "Do you have any idea what has gone through my mind in the last few hours?" he thundered.

Wordlessly, she shook her head.

He began to tick off his fingers. "A ditch," he bit out. "You could have fallen into a ditch. No, don't say it, I know you know the lay of the land, but you could have fallen into a ditch. An animal could have bitten you. A tree branch could have fallen on you. It's storming, you know."

Henry stared at him, thinking that the windy shower hardly constituted a storm.

"There are criminals," he continued. "I know it's Cornwall. I know it's the end of the earth, but there are criminals. Criminals who wouldn't think twice about...about...Christ, Henry, I don't even want to think about it."

She watched as he raked his hand through his already mussed hair.

"I am going to lock you in your room."

Hope began to flare in her heart.

"I am going to lock you in your room and tie you up and— Oh, for love of God, will you say something?''''

Henry opened her mouth. "I don't have a friend named Rosalind."

He stared at her blankly. "What?"

"Rosalind. She doesn't exist. I—" She looked away, too ashamed to meet his gaze. "I wrote the letter knowing you would get it. I wrote the letter to try to goad you into breaking off the engagement."

He touched her chin, forcing her gaze back to his. "Why, Henry?" he asked, his voice a hoarse whisper. "Why?"

She swallowed nervously. "Because I thought you'd been with your mistress. I couldn't understand how you could be with me, then be with her, and—"

"I didn't betray you," he said fiercely.

"I know. I know now. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." She threw her arms around him, burying herself in the haven of his chest. "Can you forgive me?"

"But, Hen, why didn't you trust me?"

Henry swallowed uncomfortably, shame coloring her cheeks pink. Finally she told him about Lady Wolcott's lies. But she couldn't blame Lady Wolcott for everything; if she had been truly secure in Dunford's love, she wouldn't have fallen for her lies.

Dunford looked at her in disbelief. "And you believed her?"

"Yes. No. Not at first. Then I followed you." Henry paused, forcing herself to look him in the eye. She owed him that measure of honesty. "You were in there so long. I didn't know what to think."

"Henry, why would you think I would want another woman? I love you. You knew I loved you. Didn't I tell you enough?" He leaned down and rested his chin against the top of her head, breathing in the heady fragrance of her wet hair.

"I suppose I thought I didn't please you," she said. "That I wasn't pretty enough or feminine enough. I tried so hard to learn how to be a proper lady. I even enjoyed learning. London was so lovely. But deep down I'm always going to be the same person. The mannish freak—"

His hands grew fierce around her upper arms. "I believe I told you once before never to refer to yourself that way."

"But I'm never going to be like Belle. I'm never going to—"

"If I wanted Belle," he cut in, "I would have asked her to marry me." He pulled her more tightly against him. "Henry, I love you. I'd love you if you wore a sackcloth. I'd love you if you had a mustache." He paused and tweaked her nose. "Well, the mustache would be diflicult. Please promise me you won't grow one."

Henry giggled despite herself. "You truly don't want me to change?"

He smiled. "Do you want me to change?"

"No!" she said, very quickly. "I mean, I very much like you the way you are."

This time he grinned—that familiar deadly grin that always made her go limp. "You only like me?"

"Well," she said coyly, "I believe I said I very much like you."

He tangled his hand in her hair and gave it a tug to tip her face up toward his. "Not good enough, minx," he murmured.

She touched his cheek. "I love you. I'm so sorry for making a muck of everything. How can I make it up to you?"

"You could tell me you love me again."

"I love you."

"You could tell me tomorrow."

She grinned. "I won't need even the tiniest reminder. I could even tell you twice."

"And the next day."

"I could probably manage that."

"And the next. . ."

Epilogue

"I'm going to kiiiiiillllll him!"

Emma touched Dunford's arm. "I don't think she meant it," she whispered.

Dunford swallowed, his face pinched and white with worry. "She's been in there so long."

Emma wrapped her hand around his wrist and pulled him away from the sickroom door. "I was even longer with William," she said, "and I emerged healthy as a horse. Now, come with me. You shouldn't have come to the door. You'll make yourself sick, listening to her screams."

Dunford let the duchess lead him away. It had taken him and Henry over five years to conceive. They had wanted a baby so desperately; it had seemed a miracle. But now that Henry was actually giving birth, a baby no longer seemed quite as necessary.

Henry was in pain. And he couldn't do anything about it.

It ripped his heart apart.

He and Emma made their way back down to the sitting room, where Alex was playing with his children. Six-year-old William had engaged the duke in a mock duel and was soundly trouncing his father, who was somewhat handicapped by the presence of four-year-old Julian on his back. Not to mention two-year-old Claire, happily wrapped around his left ankle.

"Did she have it yet?" Alex asked, a bit too flippantly for Dunford's taste.

Dunford made a growling sort of sound.

"I believe that was a no," Emma said.

"I've killed you now!" William screamed gleefully, stabbing his sword into Alex's midsection.

Alex shot his best friend a sidelong glance. "And you're sure you want one of these?"

Dunford sank into a chair. "Just so long as she's all right," he sighed. "That's all I care about."

"She'll be fine," Emma said soothingly. "You'll see— Oh, Belle!"

Belle stood in the doorway, a bit sweaty and disheveled.

Dunford sprang to his feet. "How is she?"

"Henry? Oh, she's—" Belle blinked. "Where is John?"

"Out in the garden rocking Letitia," Emma replied. "How is Henry?"

"All done," Belle said with a big smile. "It's a— I say, what happened to Dunford?"

The new father had already run out of the room.

Dunford paused briefly when he reached Henry's bedroom door. What was he meant to do now? Was he supposed to go in? He stood there for a moment, a blank expression on his face, until Belle and Emma rounded the corner, both out of breath from running up the stairs after him.

"What are you waiting for?" Emma demanded.

"I can just go in there?" Dunford asked doubtfully.

"Well, you might want to knock first," Belle suggested.

"It won't be too...female?

Belle choked on a laugh. Emma took the initiative and knocked on the door. "There," she said firmly. "Now you have to go in."

The midwife opened the door, but Dunford didn't see her. He didn't see anything other than Henry—and the tiny bundle she held in her arms.

"Henry?" he breathed. "Are you all right?"

She smiled. "I'm perfect. Come sit with me."

Dunford crossed the room and perched next to her on the bed. "You're certain you're not ill? I heard you calling out quite vehemently for my demise."

Henry turned her head sideways and dropped a kiss on his shoulder. "I'd rather not endure childbirth every day, but I think it was worth it, don't you?" She held out the baby. "William Dunford, meet your daughter."

"A daughter?" he whispered. "A daughter. We have a girl?"

Henry nodded. "I checked very closely. She's definitely a girl."

"A girl," he repeated, unable to keep the wonder out of his voice. He gently pushed back the blanket so he could see her face. "She's beautiful."

"I think she looks like you."

"No, no, she definitely looks like you."

Henry looked down at the baby. "I think perhaps she looks like herself."

Dunford kissed his wife's cheek. And then he leaned down and ever so gently did the same to his new daughter.