Nobody's Angel (42 page)

For all their pretending, she was his mistress, not his wife. As she faced the truth of that, Susannah felt like Eve seeing her nakedness for the first time—she was flooded with shame. She had not been raised to be a man's mistress. It went against everything she had ever been taught.

How her father would grieve if he could see the depths to which she had fallen! Picturing his face, and Sarah Jane's, and Mandy's, and Em's, if they could see her as she was at that moment, Susannah felt sick. She was no better than a harlot, a common whore. She had sinned, and gloried in the sinning! Most of the members of her father's congregation would likely consider her doomed to eternal hellfire.

Susannah shivered and looked down at Ian, to discover his gray eyes open and narrowed on her face.

"What's amiss?" he asked without preamble. Susannah hesitated a moment and then decided to say what was on her mind.

"I cannot continue on in this way any longer," she said, not looking at him. "I must go home."

"What?" He sat up then and brushed the hair back from his eyes. "Don't be ridiculous. You can't go home. You have to marry me."

As proposals went, that one was decidedly lacking.

"Are you asking me?" she inquired with a flicker of hope.

"Hell, no. What is there to ask? You've been with me now for almost three months. Neither one of us has a choice anymore. We have to get married, or you'll spend the rest of your life branded as a whore."

That hurt. It hurt so much that Susannah walled it up inside and refused to think about it.

"It's very good of you to worry about my reputation." If there was an edge to her voice, he missed it completely.

"It is, isn't it?" He stretched, yawned, and rolled out of bed. "Now that you've awakened me, I might as well get dressed. I need to see Dumboldt about some matters. You may amuse yourself shopping or however you like." He paused, as if struck by an idea. "Since we both agree to the necessity, I might see about getting a special license while I'm out. I have a friend whose uncle is a bishop, and he might be able to oblige me. If I can get the license today, we can be wed tomorrow, if that suits you."

"So soon?"

"If it were done when 'tis done, then 'twere well it were done quickly," he quoted, and grinned at her before he padded into the anteroom to shave. "Take a maid from the hotel with you when you go out. It's not done for a marchioness to go about alone in London, remember."

Susannah watched him dress, as she had every morning for nearly three months, and brooded. When, fully clad, he leaned over to drop a kiss on the top of her head and a wad of banknotes in her lap, she knew she had her decision made.

So, when he would have turned and left her, she reached up to wrap her arms around his neck and kiss him an almost desperate good-bye.

"I can stay," he said on a surprised note, and put one knee on the bed as if he would come into it with her.

For an instant longer Susannah clung. She forced a laugh and released him. "Go do your business," she told him and smiled.

"You're looking very tempting."

She had the sheet tucked under her armpits, but he was as familiar with her body by now as she was and his eyes ran over the shapely form beneath the thin linen knowingly.

"Later," she said, waving him off, though the word stuck in her throat.

"All right, later," he agreed, "but only because I need to see Dumboldt. When I come back you just might succeed in luring me back to bed."

"What an exciting prospect," Susannah managed dryly, smiling though she wanted to cry. But her insouciance had the desired effect. With a wave and a grin, he was gone.

Once the door shut behind him, she did cry. Then she sat up, mopped her eyes, dressed, and packed her clothes. Fine feathers do not make fine birds, and she was no more a marchioness than he was a farmer. She was going home, back to Beaufort where she belonged, and he would be relieved of the burden of having to wed a bride who would never fit into his world. He had never meant to bring her to England with him; indeed, he had left her behind when he had left the farm. If she had not stumbled across him on that Charles Town dock, she would in all likelihood never have seen him again. Because she still didn't believe his protestations that he would have come back for her.

What they had shared had been as close to heaven as she was likely to get in this life. But now it was finished, and it was time for her to go home.

43

A little over two months later, Susannah had once more settled into the routine of her life in Beaufort. She and her sisters had had a tearful reunion, and that first night home, tormented by guilt, she had confessed some part of what she had done to her father. She'd half-expected him to order her from his doorstep like a biblical father of old, but instead he'd put an arm around her shoulders and hugged her close.

"Daughter, the love of a woman for a man is a godly thing in itself. As long as what you did was done in love, there's not so much shame in that."

Then she'd wept on his shoulder.

Sarah Jane (who'd broken her betrothal when Peter Bridgewater had insisted on going ahead with the wedding whether or not Susannah was present) and Mandy and Em treated her like an honored guest for about the first forty-eight hours, and then they rapidly slid back into their old ways of depending on her to run the household and the farm and see to the needs of the congregation. Within a week, it was as though she had never left.

A fortnight after her return, Susannah was kneeling in the garden weeding when Em, who was helping her, looked up, shading her face with her hand as she peered down the road. Susannah didn't pay much attention, concentrating as she was on clearing the dandelions out from among her carrots. When Em got to her feet and stared openly down the road, Susannah only glanced up at her with some annoyance. Really, Em was getting almost as bad about doing chores as Mandy.

"Susannah," Em sounded slightly uneasy. "If you were getting ready to have a really important visitor and you were down in mud getting all dirty, would you want to know about it in advance so you could run in the house and at least wash your hands?"

"What are you talking about, Em?" That made so little sense that Susannah stopped work to look up at her.

Em opened her mouth to say something, then shrugged fatalistically. "See for yourself," she said, and nodded toward the road, where a man on a large roan horse was just pulling up in their front yard. Brownie stood up on the front porch and barked half-heartedly. Clara, on the railing, didn't even bother to stretch.

"Oh, good grief," Susannah said, getting to her feet. She was in no mood for guests at the moment. She had to get the weeding done, and then put supper on, and . . . Her eyes widened as she took a good look at the man swinging down from the horse.

She stood frozen stiff as a statue as he tied the horse to a bush and came walking toward her, scattering clucking chickens before him as he came. Beside her, Em was wide-eyed as she looked from her sister to their visitor and back.

He was the first one to speak. "Hello, Susannah," he said dryly. Then, with a nod at the younger girl, "Hello, Em."

"Your—your—marquis-ship," Em, who'd been filled in on some if not all the details of Susannah's adventure, stuttered.

"Ian," he said. "You can just call me Ian."

His eyes moved to Susannah. He stopped walking and stood with his booted feet planted apart and his arms crossed over his chest, surveying her almost grimly. Susannah, looking back, felt her heart unfreeze and start to pound in her chest. Her eyes ran over him almost greedily. Not to anyone, and barely to herself, had she admitted her hope that he might come after her. Now he stood before her, clad in an elegant blue coat and black breeches, his black hair gleaming in the sun, his perfectly carved features almost grim, his sensuous mouth unsmiling. A faint dark stubble shadowed his cheeks and chin. He was as sinfully handsome as she remembered him, and clearly put out with her.

"What are you doing here?" she managed. His gaze started at the top of her head and traveled, with slow censure, to her feet, then worked its way back up again. Susannah was suddenly conscious that she had bundled her hair up in its customary style and that the gown she wore was one that she had made herself and been accustomed to wear for gardening when he had been their bound man, and before. It was sacklike in its proportions, and dirty to boot. Clearly it found no favor in his eyes.

"What do you think I'm doing here, Miss Susannah Redmon?" he asked in a tone that managed to convey that he was keeping a tight rein on his temper. His gaze shifted to Em.

"Would you mind if I talk to your sister alone?"

Em, eyes widening, glanced at Susannah, who nodded.

"It's all right," she said. But her eyes barely left Ian. Em almost ran into the house.

"You've led me a pretty dance," he said furiously when they were alone. "And why, pray tell? I was prepared to marry you, God damn it! I told you so!"

"I don't want someone who's 'prepared' to marry me." Susannah felt her own temper begin to heat. "And I'll thank you not to use profanity here."

"You're enough to drive a man to profanity," he said through his teeth. "What do you mean, you don't want someone who's prepared to marry you? That is the most asinine thing I've ever heard in my life!"

"Then I must be asinine, because that's how I feel."

For a minute she thought he was going to step forward and shake her. But he controlled himself after a single hasty step and settled for a glare.

"Do you have any idea how I felt when I got back to the hotel, special license in my pocket I might add, and found you gone, lock, stock, and luggage? All you left for me was a two-word note: Be happy. You didn't even have the common courtesy to tell me you were going!"

"I thought you'd try to stop me." Susannah's heart was pounding now, and she was beginning to feel a sharp gladness sing through her veins. He was as mad as fire, but he had come.

"You're damned right I would have tried to stop you. Hell, I would have stopped you! I would have tied you to my wrist, if I'd had to, to keep you with me until we were safely wed."

"That's why I didn't tell you!"

He made a furious sound under his breath and reached her in one quick stride. His hands closed over her upper arms and he again looked on the verge of giving her a good shaking.

"I'm going to have to ask you to unhand my daughter, sir." The voice was her father's, and, looking over Ian's shoulder, Susannah was surprised to see him standing just a little way away, fragile-looking in his black preacher's suit with his white hair ruffled by the faint breeze, a frown in his gentle eyes as he surveyed the pair of them. Beyond him stood Sarah Jane and Mandy and Em in a cluster, staring.

"Hello, Reverend." Ian nodded without releasing Susannah. "I'm trying to persuade her to marry me, sir."

There was a moment of profound silence.

"Susannah, you finally got an offer!" Em squealed, only to be shushed by Sarah Jane and Mandy, who both looked appalled at their younger sister's gaucherie.

"Why?" Susannah shot at Ian, disregarding Em's comment completely. "Because you have to?"

"Now, that's interesting, daughter," the Reverend Redmon said, taking a step closer as his frown cleared. "You didn't mention he wanted to marry you."

"No, not because I damned well have to!" Ian shot back, ignoring the background comments as completely as Susannah did. "I didn't have to come all the way after you from England, did I? I'm even prepared to live here, if you want to. If this damned hellishly hot country is what it takes to make you happy, then we'll buy a place."

"I have to admit I didn't care for the thought of you taking her back to England with you," her father observed thoughtfully.

"What about you?" Susannah asked Ian slowly. "Won't you want to live in England? After all, you're a marquis."

"Well, don't say it like it's a deadly affliction. I can't help it, you know, any more than you can help having curly hair. I guess I can be a marquis as well here as I can there. Better, if I have you with me. We can travel to England every once in a while."

"Are you saying that you truly want to marry me?" Susannah was still cautious, although she was starting to smile.

"It surely looks that way to me, daughter," the Reverend Redmon said.

"Of course he does, Susannah!" Mandy sounded disgusted. "Why else would he come all the way across the ocean after you?"

"Yes, Susannah, I truly want to marry you. I love you, damn it. Now what do you say?" There was a red tinge to his cheekbones, as if the idea of having an audience to such private talk was beginning to embarrass him. His arms were still crossed over his chest, and he looked positively belligerent.

"Say yes, Susannah! Say yes!" the girls squealed in chorus.

"Yes," Susannah whispered, then practically flew into his arms, dirt and all. They opened to receive her, and he kissed her with a heat that brought admiring applause from the three female members of his audience when he released her—at least until their father glanced around at them, when they stopped abruptly.

"Welcome to the family, son," the Reverend Redmon said, and held out his hand to Ian. Keeping one arm around Susannah, who was beaming and clinging to his side, Ian shook it warmly.

"Thank you, sir. I'll take good care of her."

"If I didn't think so, I wouldn't let you marry her." Her father's voice was gruff, but there was a twinkle in his eye as he leaned down to give Susannah a kiss on the cheek. "She has a tendency to want to rule the roost, you know."

"I know." Ian glanced down at the top of Susannah's head. "But I think I can keep her in line."

She pinched his side admonishingly. He jumped and clapped a hand to the threatened part.

"Susannah, you know that blue dress you brought home with you? Do you suppose I could wear it to your wedding?" Mandy asked on a wheedling note.

"I suppose."

"And maybe to the church social next week?" Mandy's voice was hopeful.