Say You Love Me (13 page)

She blinked. But her fingers came up automatically to touch her nose, and the rawness she felt there gave her an inkling of what he was referring to. She’d gotten so used to not having a mirror at the cottage that she hadn’t even thought to look in one at the town house, but she could imagine the damage all that nose blowing had done.

“I have a cold,” she began, but the very mention of it cleared her muddled state and brought her anger surging forth. “Imagine that. A cold I caught while walking to Bridgewater. Why would I do something so silly, with the weather as cold as it was, you might ask? Well, I was starving, you see, and with there being no food in the cottage, and none miraculously appearing, I was forced to use the only transportation I had, my feet, to go and get some. Of course, I had no money to do that, so I was also forced to find work just so I could eat.”

The heavy sarcasm at the start of her diatribe stopped him cold, but it was that bit at the end about finding work that stuck in his mind. He equated work for someone of her profession as only one thing, what she would find easiest and most familiar, which was selling her favors.

That this is what occurred to him became apparent when he asked sharply, “And just what kind of work did you find in Bridgewater?”

That that was all he was interested in knowing, after everything she’d said, had her hissing, “Not what
you’re
thinking! But what if it was? Would my starving have been preferable?”

That she was obviously accusing him of something brought up his defenses. “I’m deuced if I know what you’re talking about,” he snorted. “How could you have been even close to starving, when I sent you several weeks’ worth of food? And my driver was left there at your disposal, so there was no need for you to walk anywhere unless it was your choice to do so.”

She stared at him incredulously. Either he was suffering some sort of delusion or he was lying. And what, after all, did she actually know about him to indicate that he wasn’t a liar? He had
seemed
nice enough. He had
seemed
kind. But that could have just been some ploy so she wouldn’t suspect that he enjoyed making people suffer deprivation, and panic, and fear. And if the latter was true, then she was in a much more horrid position than she had assumed, being bound to him because of the auction until
he
decided to end their relationship.

That so infuriated her, that he actually might be that cruel, she came to her feet and started throwing whatever came to hand at
him, stressing with each throw, “There was
no
food delivered! Your driver did
not
show up until today! And if you think you can deceive and confuse me with denials to the contrary, you—”

She didn’t get any further because he didn’t just stand there letting her aim missiles at him. He easily dodged the first one, and the second went over his head as he dived at her, pushing her back down onto the couch with himself landing on top of her.

After she got her breath back from the impact, she shrieked, “Get off of me, you clumsy clod!”

“My dear girl, there was nothing clumsy involved in the position you now find yourself. It was quite intentional, I do assure you.”

“Get off of me anyway!”

“So you can resume your spat of violence? No, no. Violence is
not
going to be part of our relationship. I could’ve sworn I already mentioned that.”

“And what do you call squashing me like this?”

“Prudence, actually.” And then he paused, his eyes getting greener by the second as he stared down at her. “On the other hand, I’d also call it quite nice.”

Her eyes narrowed. “If you’re thinking about kissing me, I wouldn’t advise it,” she warned.

“No?”

“No.”

He sighed. “Ah, well.” But then a half grin
formed as he added, “I don’t always take good advice.”

There was no way to stop him from kissing her, in the position she was in, especially when his hand came to her chin to keep her from even turning her head to the side. But his lips brushed hers for no more than a second before he jerked back as if he’d been burned, and in fact, it was the heat of her fever that he’d felt.

“Good God, you
are
ill, aren’t you? You’re bloody well burning up. Have you seen a doctor?”

“What, pray tell, would I have paid a doctor with,” she asked tiredly, “when I only earned enough coins with my sewing to feed myself?”

At that his face flushed angrily, and he shot to his feet to growl down at her, “Explain yourself. Were you robbed? Did the cottage and everything in it burn down? Why didn’t you have any food, when I sent down plenty?”

“So you say, but as nothing arrived, I would say you didn’t.”

He stiffened. “Do
not
accuse me of lying, Kelsey. I don’t know what happened to the provisions I arranged to be brought to the cottage, though I
will
find out. And I
did
make those arrangements. I also left the coach and driver there for your disposal.”

He sounded sincere, he really did. She wished she could know for certain that he was. But she allowed it might be prudent now
to give him the benefit of the doubt until she had proof to the contrary.

“If you did,” she said as she slowly sat up, “I certainly didn’t see hide nor hair of him, at least not until this morning.”

“He was to check with you daily, to see if you would need him. You’re saying he never did?”

“How would I know if he did or not, when I was rarely there? Or didn’t you hear me say I had to walk to town each day just to buy my food?”

It finally dawned on him just what she had faced—alone. “Good God, no wonder you jumped down my—that is to say—oh, Kelsey, I am
so
sorry. Believe me, if I’d had any idea that you weren’t comfortably settled in the cottage, I would have returned immediately.”

He looked so appalled that she felt like reassuring him. Actually, aside from the panic and worry, it wouldn’t have been so bad if it weren’t winter, and if she hadn’t caught a cold. And now that the anger was leaving her, the symptoms of that cold were becoming overly noticeable again.

She leaned back against the couch, feeling weak after expending all that angry energy. “I believe I could do with some rest—”

“And a doctor,” he cut in as he scooped her up and started to carry her from the room.

“I can walk,” she protested. “And a little rest is likely all I need, now that I can stay out of the cold.”

He winced, though she didn’t notice. She
was getting dizzy as the walls passed by her at what seemed an alarming rate of speed. Was he running up the stairs? No, she was merely fainting, which she promptly did.

16

“
Molly?
”

She awoke slowly, but smiled at Jason when she turned to find him sitting on the side of her bed. She hadn’t expected him to return to Haverston that night. He had planned to stay over in the London house since Amy’s wedding reception would likely go on so late. But that he was suddenly there in the middle of the night, and in her bedroom, was a normal occurrence, not one to give any alarm.

“Welcome home, my love.”

He was that. Jason Malory had been her love for more than half of her life. Molly had always been a little bit incredulous that a man of such consequence as the Marquis of Haverston could fall in love with her. But she no longer doubted his feelings for her.

In the beginning, he had dallied with her as a young lord would with any pretty maid he suddenly discovered living under his roof. He’d been twenty-two and unmarried. She’d just turned eighteen, and had been dazzled by his handsomeness and the charm that very few people ever witnessed.

They had been discreet, of course—very secretive, in fact—because he still had younger brothers living with him, and he felt he must set a good example. He’d even tried to end their affair once when they’d nearly been discovered by one of his brothers. He’d tried to end it again when he felt duty bound to marry. He should have sent her away, but of course he couldn’t, not after the promises he had made to her.

He actually managed to stay away from Molly for almost a year, though. But then he’d come upon her one day when she was alone, and in an instant their passion had flared as if it hadn’t lain dormant for all those months, and of course, it hadn’t. It was almost a physical pain for them both if they couldn’t touch when they needed to touch. They suffered too much, each of them, during those separations. And after he’d ended the last one he’d sworn, never again.

And he’d kept his word. She was nearly a wife to him in every way but one, the one that would actually make her a wife. He discussed his decisions and concerns with her. He cherished her when they were alone. And he spent every night with her when he was at home, with no fear of discovery, since he had installed a secret panel in her room that led to the one that had already existed in his room.

Old as Haverston was, there were numerous secret exits from the house that had been needed in years of political and religious turmoil. The concealed exit in the master’s bed
room led to stairs and passages that ended in the cellar, where there were two other hidden exits, one led outside, and one led directly into the stable. But the passage to the cellar passed behind the servants’ quarters as well, and it had been a simple thing for Jason to put in another hidden opening right into her room, which they had both been using ever since.

Jason had brought a lamp with him as he always did, but it still took Molly a few moments to discern that something was wrong.

She brought a gentle hand to his clenched jaw. “What is it?”

“Frances wants a divorce.”

Molly grasped the complications of that immediately. Divorce might be quite common among the lower classes, but it was next to unheard of among the gentry. That Lady Frances, an earl’s daughter, a marquis’s wife, would even consider such a thing…

“Has she lost her senses?”

“No, she’s having an affair with some little twit she met in Bath and now wants to marry him.”

Molly blinked. “Frances has a lover?
Your
Frances?”

He nodded with a growl.

Molly still couldn’t quite believe it. Frances Malory was such a timid little woman. It was quite possible that Molly knew her much better than her husband ever had, because they had spent so much time together whenever Frances was at Haverston. She knew that Frances was intimidated by Jason. One of his
tirades could bring the poor woman nearly to tears, even when his wrath wasn’t directed at her. She also knew that Frances detested Jason’s size—huge, strapping male that he was—because it added to her fear.

Molly had always been in an awkward position, having to deal with Frances as the lady of the house, and listen to her female confidences, when she was Jason’s lover. On the one hand, she was grateful that Frances didn’t love Jason, because she wasn’t sure if she could ever have handled the guilt that would have caused. On the other hand, it had always annoyed her whenever Frances would ridicule or demean Jason for no good reason. Molly could find no fault with him. Frances found nothing
but
fault.

“I find this quite…amazing,” Molly said thoughtfully. “Don’t you?”

“That she wants a divorce?”

“Well, that too, but more that she has a lover. It’s just so—well, it’s not her, if you know what I mean. An idiot could figure out that she doesn’t like men in general, at least that’s the impression she gives when she’s around them. And we’ve spoken of it before, if you’ll recall. We even concluded that her aversion stemmed from a fear of sex. But obviously, we were wrong—or she got over her fear.”

“She got over it, all right,” he fairly snarled. “And this has been going on behind my back for I don’t know how long!”

“Jason Malory, you are
not
going to get up in arms because she’s been having an affair with another man, when you have never touched her yourself, and while you have been—”

He cut in, “It’s the principle of the thing—”

She cut back in, “So?”

He sighed, the angry stiffness leaving his body. “You’re right, of course. I suppose I should be glad that Frances has found someone else, but blister it, she doesn’t have to marry him.”

She smiled at him. “I assume you have no intention of agreeing to a divorce, because of the scandal. So what’s actually got you so upset?”

“She knows, Molly.”

She became very still. She didn’t have to ask for an explanation. Just by his expression, she knew it wasn’t their affair he was referring to, which she had always suspected Frances was aware of and was even relieved about, because it kept Jason out of her own bed. No, this was about their other secret.

“She can’t know. She’s just guessing.”

“It makes no difference, Molly. She’s still threatening to tell Derek
and
the rest of the family. And if the lad asks me outright, you know I won’t lie to him. We thought only Amy knew about us, from that time she walked into my study and found me kissing you that Christmas several years ago. Blasted punch, that I know damn well Anthony
spiked, didn’t give me sense enough to keep my hands off of you.”

“But you spoke to Amy, and said she swore she would never tell.”

“And I’m sure she hasn’t.”

Molly was beginning to panic.
She
was the one who had wanted the secret kept, and Jason had given in to her insistence because he loved her. But from the day he had decided to make Derek his official heir, she had been horrified that the future Marquis of Haverston would be embarrassed if he knew that his mother had been a mere parlor maid. She didn’t want him to know. It was bad enough that he was illegitimate. But at least he assumed his mother had been a member of the gentry, if a promiscuous one, and that she had died shortly after his birth.

In not telling Derek, she had given up her right to be a mother to him. That hadn’t been easy, but at least she had always been nearby, had been there to watch him grow and knew she always would be. Jason had sworn to her that she would never be sent away where she might never see Derek again.