Secrets of a Perfect Night (21 page)

He caught his breath. “I thought you—”

“I don’t care what you thought!” She whirled to face him. “Don’t you understand? It no longer matters! I have put all of this in the past and it shall stay in the past. I have gone on with my life. And you have no place in it.”

“And you married George,” he said quietly.

“Yes,” she hissed. “I married George because George wanted me. Wanted me for his wife and not merely a moment’s pleasure—”

“No, Rachael.” Her words stabbed him like a sword. “It was never—”

“Wasn’t it?” The accusation rang in the room. “I
don’t believe you. I never should have believed anything you said then and I am far too wise to believe you now.

“George wanted more from me. And wanted it in spite of knowing what you and I had been to each other. In spite of knowing you could have left me with child—”

“Were you?” he said, almost afraid to hear the answer.

“No!” Rachael spat the word and it echoed in the room.

He stared at her for a long, tense moment.
She doesn’t know
! She didn’t know any of it. Not why he hadn’t come that night. Or why he’d never contacted her. He clenched his fists at the fury swelling within him.

No wonder she hated him. And hate, it was. He could see it in her eyes, hear in it her voice. Hate born from the despair of betrayal. All she knew of the events of seven years ago was her own pain.

She didn’t know the anguish and grief he’d suffered thinking she was dead. And thinking he was to blame. Surely when she knew…

She bit her bottom lip in an obvious effort to regain her composure and stared at the carpet between them. Her voice was soft. “I couldn’t wait for you, you see. Not forever. I know I promised, but…” She shook her head. “How could I? You had left for America without me…” She shrugged and met his gaze. “And so I married George. I really had no other choice, but I have never regretted my decision. He is dearer to me than I could ever have imagined.”

An odd ache spread from his heart to his throat and he had to force a steady note to his voice. “Do you love him?”

“He loves me,” she said simply. Her gaze locked with his and endless moments ticked by.

There were so many things he should say. So many lies and half-truths to dispel. So much misunderstood between them. Yet not a single word came to his lips.

“Why did you come back?” Her voice was weary.

“George wrote that he was ill.”
And you’re alive
.

“George writes to you?” she said sharply.

He studied her carefully. “You didn’t know?”

“We don’t speak of you.” Abruptly her manner was cool and remote.

“I see.” He drew a deep breath. “How is George?”

“Not well at the moment, but there was no need for you to come.” She brushed an errant strand of dark hair away from her face. “I have no doubt that he will recover.”

Even as she said the words, he knew it was a lie. Knew from the touch of fear in her blue eyes and the determined set of her shoulders. Did she know it as well?

“I imagine you wish to see him.” She crossed the room to a bellpull and tugged sharply. “Mayfield will see you up.”

“Rachael, I—” Again he stepped toward her.

“Our interview is at an end.” Her gaze was as unyielding as her voice. “We have nothing further to discuss.”

A discreet knock sounded at the doors.

“Please go.” She turned away in dismissal.

He hesitated; they had a great deal yet to discuss. But now was not the moment. He needed to confront George first. “Very well.”

He strode to the doors, opened them, and joined Mayfield in the foyer. The butler greeted him with a curious glance, then led the way toward the stairs.

Jason glanced over his shoulder. Rachael stood unmoving where he had left her, as rigid as a marble statue, her shoulders slightly slumped. In what? Resignation? Then she straightened, and lifted her chin as if she were once again ready to face whatever life had in store.

There was a strength about her he’d never suspected she could possess. A strength forged in the fires of loss and heartbreak. Once more he ached to return to her side and take her in his arms and refuse to let her go.

His heart twisted with the realization that that may well be the one thing he could never do.

Five

“M
Y LORD, YOU
have a visitor.” Mayfield’s voice sounded from George’s chamber. Jason stood in the hall waiting impatiently for admittance.

A moment later Mayfield opened the door wide and indicated for the younger man to enter. Jason stepped past him and the butler exited, closing the door gently in his wake.

The room was dim, although the curtains were drawn open. The day was overcast, the light from the windows weak. Jason moved toward the massive bed, its four posts like giant corkscrews, at once reminding him, as they always had, of wooden snakes crawling toward the heavens. George had occupied this bed and these rooms for as long as Jason could remember.

“Jason?” George’s voice sounded from the shadowed figure on the bed. Delight rang in his tone. “Is that you?”

“Indeed it is.” Jason forced a level note to his voice. He strode to the bed but was hard pressed to keep his expression impassive.

With every step, Jason could more clearly see what the faint light had concealed from the doorway. And with every inch closer, his anger faded. Regardless of what had happened in his absence, he loved George as he would a brother or a father. The figure before him now was not the man Jason remembered.

George reclined on the bed, propped up with pillows. His face was gaunt and Jason could not help but notice the sallow, unhealthy look of his complexion. His cousin’s once broad chest and shoulders were thin, and the outline of his body beneath the bedclothes seemed shrunken.

“What a wonderful surprise. My dear boy, I was not expecting you so soon.” George held out his hand and Jason gripped it, trying not to notice George’s once powerful grasp was as weak as a child’s. “Why didn’t you let us know you were coming?”

“There was no time. And given the precarious political situation, I booked passage as soon as I received your letter.” Jason pulled a chair closer to the bed and sat down, his anger forgotten. “How are you?”

“Far better than I look, I assure you.” George raised a brow. “You needn’t try to hide your reactions, you know. I am well aware of the state of my appearance.”

“Come now. You look a bit pale perhaps, but other than that—”

George snorted. “You never did lie well.” He paused and studied Jason thoughtfully, then drew a deep breath. “They tell me I’m dying.”

“Surely not, George. You are far too obstinate to die.” Jason adopted a lighthearted grin.

“The forces of fate may be more stubborn than even
I.” George grimaced and turned his gaze toward the window, obviously lost in his own thoughts.

A heavy weight settled in the pit of Jason’s stomach. Regardless of his words to the contrary or Rachael’s confident assertion, no one who saw George could fail to see the reaper’s hand hovering nearby.

How hard was all this for her as well? Jason had been in George’s presence for only a few moments, yet already the beginnings of the grief to come stirred within him. How much more difficult would it be to see George growing weaker every day?

George turned to meet Jason’s gaze, the look in his eyes intense. “Have you seen Rachael yet?”

“We spoke downstairs.”

“And?”

“And she despises me,” Jason said shortly.

“I am sorry.” George sighed. “I should have told you both everything long ago.”

All the questions Jason wanted to ask, had fully intended demanding George answer, crowded his mind. But faced with the shocking reality of George’s state of health, they paled next to issues of life and death.

“Don’t be a fool, boy, I know what you’re thinking.” George’s eyes narrowed. “You want to know why I didn’t tell her the truth about why you left her. And why I waited so long to tell you she was alive. And wed to me.”

“I did,” Jason said slowly. “But I’m not certain it matters anymore.”

“Of course it matters,” George snapped. “Don’t you think you have the right to know?”

“Do I?” Jason’s voice was hard. He pulled himself to his feet and paced beside the bed, giving voice to the questions that had plagued him since the moment he’d learned Rachael was alive. “Or have I forfeited that right? Can’t the fault for much of this be placed on my head? I knew better than to trust her father. And I should have trusted her. How could I have believed she would take her own life?” He combed his hand through his hair. “At the very least, I should have demanded proof.”

“For God’s sakes, Jason, it was Gresham who told you of her death.” George’s voice rose. “Bloody wicked man. He’s dead now, you know. Broke his neck when his horse threw him. The animal probably earned his place in heaven for that. What kind of devil lies about the death of his only child? And who would fail to believe a father who makes such a claim?”

“At the very least I should have—”

“You should have tried harder to find me, but beyond that, you were young and beset by grief and guilt.” George shook his head. “The blame here is not yours.”

“Then whom do I blame?” Jason snapped without thinking.

“Gresham.” George paused. “And me.”

“You?” Jason scoffed. “As much as I want to, how can I? You rescued her. You made certain she was not the center of scandal and ridicule. You gave her a home. You made her your wife!”

“I kept her for myself!”

For one brief moment, Jason hated him. “Yes, damn it to hell, George, you did! How could you? You let the
woman I loved believe I had abandoned her. How could you do that to me? To her?”

“Because I was as lacking in courage then as I am now!” George averted his gaze and plucked at the coverlet. “I should have told her the moment you wrote to me and I learned the truth. And I should have written you at once, but I couldn’t. We were already married, and”—his gaze met Jason’s—“I couldn’t bear the thought of losing her. Not even to you.”

George blew a tired breath. “Sit down. Jason, it is fatiguing enough to discuss this without having to stare up at you.”

Jason returned to his seat.

“That’s better.” George fell silent. When he spoke his voice was weary. “She should know that her life, our life together, was built on deception. I have been selfish and unfair. I want you to tell her the truth now, Jason.” George’s voice was soft. “I cannot.”

“You love her, don’t you?” Jason held his breath.

“She is my life.” George shook his head. “And she deserves far better than being tied to a feeble old man awaiting his own death.”

“Scarcely old. You’re not yet six and forty.”

George ignored him. “I want Rachael to have the happiness she should have had all along. With you.

“But even now I don’t have the courage to tell her that, all these years, I’ve had it within my power to alleviate the pain she’s carried. I can’t bear the thought that she would detest me for it and the affection in her eyes would be swept away by disgust.”

“The risk is the same whether it comes from me or you.”

“I know.” George paused, and at once Jason knew the older man was wrong. He had far more courage than he suspected. “But my days are numbered and I have few chances to set things right. It’s past time she knew. Tell her, Jason.”

“No.” Jason made the decision even as he said the word, and knew it the only decision possible. “What good would it do any of us? She is your wife.” He disregarded a stab of pain at the words. “I will not jeopardize that.”

“Then you are as much a fool as I.”

Jason chuckled, an odd sound, without humor. “The same blood runs in our veins.”

“My happiness then at the expense of yours?” A wry smile quirked George’s lips. “How can I die in peace knowing that?”

“You’re not going—”

“I am.” He waved away Jason’s objection. “Physicians are an incompetent lot, but I cannot deny what my body tells me.”

For a long moment he was silent, and Jason watched the play of emotions on his face. Sorrow gripped him for this man who had given him so much. How frightening it must be to face one’s own death. To take account of one’s own life and find it lacking.

“Now then.” George’s voice took on a brisk tone. “We have your inheritance to discuss.”

“I really don’t think—”

“Don’t be an idiot, Jason. Forget about your heart for a moment. Use that head of yours that turned what I sent you into a tidy fortune.” George seemed to
gather his strength. The talk between them was obviously taking a toll.

“We have not been fortunate enough to have children. It is my deepest regret. I should have liked to see Rachael surrounded by children of her own. Therefore you will inherit my title, the estate, and Lyndhurst Hall.”

“And Rachael?”

“She was her father’s only heir.” George grinned.

“Wonderful twist of fate there. Upon his death she came into a sizable fortune. Rachael sold the London house. I would not allow her to sell the estate, yet she has never returned there and has, in fact, leased Gresham Manor. However, she did insist on tearing down some unused stables on the property, claiming they were a danger.”

“Of course,” Jason murmured, swallowing the lump that rose to his throat.

“I have had the money she received from her father, the profit from the sale of the house, and the rest of it set aside for her. She will be financially independent upon my death.” He considered Jason carefully. His words were measured. “In addition, I wish her to have this house. It is not part of the entailment. I know it has always meant a great deal to you, but it is very much her home now.”

“I would not have it otherwise,” Jason said quietly.

“I didn’t think so.” George smiled with satisfaction. “Perhaps when I am dead, you and Rachael—”

“When you are dead I shall have lost my only relation left in the world.” He leaned closer and took George’s hand. “I shall have lost the man who took me
in and raised me more as a son than a cousin. I will have lost my benefactor, my mentor, and my dearest friend.”