Perilous Risk (20 page)

“I couldn’t bear to. I couldn’t bear to think on how I had betrayed her by going away. She was not strong enough—or rather, I did not believe she was strong enough—to follow the drum.”

“But you were just a boy. What else could you have done?”

“I could have sought gainful employment in England and stayed by her side.”

“But you were young, you surely had no skills.”

“I could have swept chimneys. I could have mined coal, anything. I can see it all so clearly now. But then I had limited vision. I had been sheltered by my parents and was unprepared to cope with the things that life had to offer me.”

“You are very harsh with yourself.” Hurt settled in her chest like a cold ball of lead. “You didn’t tell me. Why would you not tell me?”

“This world is a cold, cruel one. It does no good for us to go easy on ourselves.”

“Yes, it is true our world is cold and cruel, but surely we may seek sympathy from those persons who are disposed to feel warmly towards us?”

“I’ve hurt you with this silence?”

“Yes.” She was surprised by how much it did hurt her. She had thought they were friends, all those years ago. She had thought he had trusted her.

He gave her a pained look. “I couldn’t speak of her.”

“Well, I am very sorry for your loss. If I am hurt by your previous silence it is only because I wish I could have given you comfort for your pain.”

A trace of a smile curved his sensual lips. “Thank you for that.” He shook his head. “But you see, I can never see crops or whips as anything but objects of the most heinous torture.”

She didn’t know what to say to that, so she kept quiet.

“You think because your life with Ruel contained much novelty and excess that you must always have those things to find satisfaction with a man.”

Her face flamed hotter than before.

“If you have guessed these things about me…” Embarrassment choked her voice and she had to pause and take a deep breath. “I understand how you could want to possess me for tonight. I wanted that too. But why would you want to pursue a deeper, longer attachment with a woman like me?”

He turned her hand over and traced the skin the inside of her wrist. “I can still be what you need.”

She didn’t know about that. So again, she kept quiet.

“I’d love to have the time to prove it to you, Rebecca.”

“We had a rare and compelling attraction for each other. We acted on it and we had a lovely time.”

He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it. Passionately.

She laughed, experiencing a flush of pleasure now. “But I don’t think we have a lengthy future ahead of us.”

“No, don’t be so dismissive. Not yet. Let time be the judge.”

“I am sorry but I don’t think I can love anyone in the way I loved Jon.”

“You are a kind, loyal, loving woman.”

“I betrayed a husband.”

“You speak of my silence about my sister. What of your silence about your unhappiness in your marriage to Donald Howland?”

“You were just a boy. How could I have possibly confided such intimate matters?”

“He did not love you?”

“He did not even desire me. He couldn’t.”

“He preferred men?”

“No, he preferred books. Dreams. Clocks and other gadgets. I don’t think he had a normal man’s measure of desire.”

“So he lost nothing as a result of your betrayal.”

“It hurt his pride mightily.”

“It must have hurt your pride a great deal to be ignored in favour of a clock.”

“I suppose it did.”

“And the Earl of Ruel gave you solace?”

A wistful little pang in her chest made her smile. “He was plain Captain Lloyd then. He so dashing, so young, so brave. He came into my life like a tropical gale. I was never lonely again.”

“Impossible.”

“What do you mean?”

“He had scores of other women.”

She sighed. “Yes, I never begrudged him that.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I am quite sure.”

“You couldn’t really be that close.”

“Of course we were close.”

“Lovers who care about each other spend time together. Daily.”

“We spent most of our days in Dragoons together.”

“Yes, but that changed when you came back to England, did it not?”

“Gentlemen always have their side amusements. He cared for me in his fashion, as much as I thought he could care for anyone.”

“Ruel was an adjunct to your life.”

She compressed her lips. His prying into her previous life was growing tiresome. “He smothered me with freedom.”

“He wouldn’t allow you to be with me.”

“He would too have allowed it. You ruined it. You wouldn’t play by our rules.”

“
His
rules. You wanted to be with me, alone.”

She glanced down at the coverlet.

He put his fingers under her chin. “Look at me, Rebecca.”

She obeyed.

His eyes were dark as night. Warm. Sincere. “If you decide to stay with me, I mean past this trouble you are facing, you should understand one thing. If we become lovers, pledged to each other, I shall be your life. And you shall be mine.”

* * * *

Rebecca lay listening to Stephen’s deep, regular breathing.

That was nice. To be close to a man like this again, to share a bed was heaven.

But could she risk allowing the situation to last more than one night?

She swallowed against the dryness in her throat. Moonlight shone through the sheer white curtains. The plaster of the wall by the window bore a large crack. Intricate lines branched out from the main one. It reminded her of all the maps Jon used to pore over in their days in the Dragoons. It reminded her of travel. Of freedom. Each line represented an untaken choice, an unknown possibility. Endless destinations.

Was she really ready to limit the destination of her life?

She had already limited her life, the past few years, living with Father again, working in the shop. Devoting herself to family duty.

Her throat began to grow tight. The air seemed too thin. Well, she was forty-four years old, surely the possibilities were beginning to be limited for her in any case.

If we become lovers, pledged to each other, I shall be your life. And you shall be mine.

Could she devote herself to just one man? One man for the remainder of her life?

The notion made her heart go all fluttery and her knees weak. A sort of perverse excitement, much like when she had been a girl and spun wild visions of running away to France, shearing the locks from her head and becoming a nun.

All right, so the idea of someone else imposing chastity upon her was oddly intriguing. Arousing even.

But her life belonged to Father and her family now. She had had a good long, wild run as a young woman. Now that was all behind her. Her throat went tighter and the air seemed thinner than ever. Her neck began to ache. The pillow was like a rock. She tried to bunch it up but it remained hopelessly flat. She sighed.

Stephen groaned in his sleep and stirred.

Reluctant to disturb his sleep further, she arose from the bed and pulled on her chemise. The cloth on the little table glowed brilliant white in the moonlight. She parted the curtains, opened the window, put her palms on the sill and leant her face into the cooling breeze. Gooseflesh rose on her shoulders and her nipples grew tight. But the blast of cooler air was delicious, refreshing her mind.

A rustling sound drew her attention to the floor. The leather-bound book that Stephen had been scribbling in at times during their journey lay on the floor, open, with the pages ruffling. Loose pages were beginning to scatter on the floor.

She closed the window and hurried to retrieve the pages.

She laid her hand on one page and caught her breath.

A detailed sketch of herself.

No, quite a bit more comely, an idealized image of herself, but it could be no one else.

He had drawn this?

Her heart began to pound, hard.

Was this how he saw her?

So inhumanly beautiful. Perfect.

She glanced up at his sleeping form. What did he expect from her?

Sudden panic welled up inside her. She ran to the bed, flung herself down beside him and shook his shoulder. “Stephen?”

He stirred. “Hmm?”

“Stephen, you must wake up.”

He laughed, the sound deep and husky, his voice more hoarse sounding with sleep. “Is the inn afire?”

“Please don’t laugh. I have to tell you something.”

He caressed her arm and his face wrinkled with concern. “What is it, sweeting?”

Nausea swept through her guts and she was breathing too quickly. She made an effort to take slower breaths.

His frown deepened. “You’re so pale. What’s the matter?”

“Oh, I cannot have you think… You don’t understand about Donald and me.”

He seemed to shake himself, as though he would shake off his sleepiness, and he pulled himself up and drew her into his arms. “Tell me, then.”

“Donald had never struck me before.” She took a shuddering breath, feeling the cowardice of one who does not want to admit a hard truth. “It was all my fault.”

He frowned again. “How could it be your fault?”

“Just…wickedness.”

“Wickedness? You could never be wicked.”

“That’s what you do not understand. Of course I can be. I was horribly wicked. The worst kind of wife.”

“You are shaking.” His voice rang with concern. He took her hand. “And your hands are clammy. What could ever be so terrible?”

“As I told you, Donald was…well, I suppose it was me, I wasn’t the wife he had expected me to be. I tried, oh Stephen, I tried so hard.”

“Of course you did.” His lips brushed the top of her head.

Just like that, warmth settled over her. That was how he would love a woman, she could see that clearly. With protectiveness, with strength, yes, but also with gentleness and compassion. She wished so desperately that she could be worthy of a love like that.

“I couldn’t be the right kind of wife. He turned from me.”

“You mean sexually.”

“Yes.” The word was torn from her, full of anguish.

“It wasn’t your fault. It was a flaw within him.”

She shook her head. “I tried to be understanding. To accept that I just couldn’t be what he needed. But sometimes…oh sometimes…”

“Sometimes it was hard to be married yet chaste in your bed?”

“Yes.” The admission was a bare whisper.

He was stroking her hair. “It’s all over now.”

“Yes, but you see, you don’t understand. That night—the n-night he-he—”

“What happened that night?”

“I couldn’t bear it. I lay next to my husband, in the cold and dark, near but not touching and I couldn’t bear it any longer. I asked him—no, no, I cannot lie, I begged, I pleaded, I pressured, I cajoled him.” She cringed inside at the memory but she must continue. “I tried to seduce… Oh, God, what stupid, foolish girl I was. He became so vexed with me. So outraged. I shamed us both.” She drew a shuddering breath. “He was in his rights to punish me.”

“No, he wasn’t.” Stephen said this so firmly, she almost believed him.

“A wife should never shame a husband in their marriage bed.”

“A husband should never neglect his wife in their marriage bed.” He lay back and pulled her along with him.

She settled against his chest, right in the crook of his arm, as though she really belonged there. “A woman should be able to be chaste if her husband needs her to be chaste.”

“That’s complete hogwash, Rebecca. Surely, you know that’s hogwash.”

“I am not perfect.”

“No one is perfect.”

“I wasn’t even an
adequate
wife.” Or daughter, she might have added.

Only with Jon had she been adequate.

Because he asked so little from you.

A burning lump swelled in her throat at the self-betraying thought. No, no, that hadn’t been how it was at all. They had been friends, lovers. They had understood each other when no one else had. They had provided something to each other that no one else ever could have.

You shared perversity with Jon and in the end, it wasn’t enough for him. He found someone else for his real, deeper needs. Someone fresh, pure, innocent and, most of all, young.

Stephen caressed her back, startling her out of her thoughts.

He was staring at her with tenderness. Acceptance.

Oh God.

She gaped at him, stupidly. Had he heard nothing she had told him?

“You need sleep,” he said. “We’ll talk on this further but now you need sleep.”

Soon his breathing became regular and deep.