The Perfect Bride (11 page)

After all these years of believing she would never feel passion, the womanly part of her had finally awoken. How could this be happening? Sir Rex was not for her and last night had shown her that. He was dark, dangerously, frighteningly so. His virility was equally as threatening. He had many wonderful qualities, but these were overshadowed by his torment and male nature. She must cross him off her list of one, mustn't she?

What if he had kissed her?

If she stayed on at Bodenick a bit longer, would he kiss her?

Blanche didn't know what to do and what to think. She could accept the astonishing fact that she was interested in a kiss. It was about time. Bess and Felicia would encourage her. But what if it led to something else, something more?

Wanting a kiss in the dark of the night was entirely different from wanting passion fulfilled. And she wasn't the kind of a woman to take a lover, especially not now, when she was trying to find a husband. The best thing, she decided, would be to leave Land's End immediately. Before one thing led to another, before there was any more intimacy, before there was no way out.

But couldn't Sir Rex take those weapons off the wall before she left?

If she had her way, if she could help him at all, she would get rid of that display so he might eventually forget the war and whatever ghosts were haunting him. And who was the woman who had broken his heart?

Lizzie had once said, very proudly, that when the de Warenne men fell in love, it was once and forever. Blanche believed it. She knew the family so well. She had watched Tyrell's love for Lizzie blossom after she had broken off the betrothal, and it was still in full bloom, years later. She had heard the shocking news when Eleanor had been abducted at the altar by Sean O'Neill, and their romance continued unabated. Two years ago Cliff de Warenne, the most eligible bachelor in the ton, and the most notorious one, had come home with a homeless pirate's daughter—only to marry her. While still in the royal navy, Devlin O'Neill had defied the admiralty and abducted Virginia to gain revenge on his enemy—and they were now in Paris on their ninth anniversary. They adored each other as much as ever. And of course there was the earl and the countess.

Sir Rex was going to pine for some paragon of womanhood until the day he died, she thought. And she was so saddened for him. He deserved so much more than the hand life had dealt him. Now she began to realize why he toiled so endlessly. In the light of day, he left his ghosts behind through hard labor, and at night, with his bottle of wine or brandy.

She should probably leave Land's End, and focus on a proper list of suitors who were interested in more than her fortune, but she had to do
something
before she left, something to make Sir Rex's life easier and even, perhaps, to infuse it with some joy.

A shadow fell across the dining hall. Blanche tensed.

She did not have to look up to know that Sir Rex stood on the threshold. His presence was huge. In that instant, her blood raced and she became breathless and she forgot his demons, instead recalling being in his arms with utter clarity.

She summoned a smile, hoped she was not flushing, and looked carefully up at him.

His gaze was terribly, uncomfortably direct. He also appeared no worse for wear, and she would have never guessed that he had been foxed last night. “Good morning. I am surprised to see you.” He flushed.

Blanche couldn't speak. Her heart fluttered madly as she stared into his eyes, which shimmered with remorse and regret. He recalled their conversation last night. She wished he had not. She looked at his mouth, which was pressed in a firm line. But no amount of tension could change the perfect bow or the fullness of his lips. “Good morning,” she managed, hoping he would not continue on with this subject. “It is a lovely morning,” she began firmly.

“I hadn't noticed.” His stare did not waver and he was clearly determined. “I realize I have committed yet another unpardonable offense, or rather, a series of them.” The pink stain on his cheekbones deepened.

She bit her lip. He looked so unhappy and clearly, he was condemning himself yet again. “Sir Rex,” she offered, “shall I pour tea for you?”

He made a harsh sound. “I thought you would have already left, but I realize you are leaving now—I saw your coachman readying the team. I must offer my sincere apologies once again. You have suffered the rudest remarks possible—as well as brazen behavior. I had no right to address you as I did. I had no right—” he hesitated, and she could not look away “—to toy with you.”

Her heart slammed. His words should have been rude, but they were not—they conveyed too much sensuality. Had he “toyed” with her last night? Had he intended to discomfit her with his aggressive sexuality?

“I didn't realize,” she managed, very undone now, “that the honest conversation we shared was something else for you.”

“Didn't you?” His gaze blazed. Then, “There is no adequate excuse to make for my behavior.”

Blanche knew a terrible distress. She stood, trembling. “The truth is that I should not have intruded last night.” She found her voice and was firm. “This is your home. You have every right to enjoy your great room after supper.”

“You are my guest. You had every right to join me. I asked you to stay—or do you not recall it?”

She tensed, wanting to defend him. “Please, Sir Rex. Do not castigate yourself. I haven't given last night a single thought.” And as she lied, she felt her cheeks flame.

He stared darkly, with disbelief, and she knew he did not believe her.

She looked at her teacup. “We had an unusual conversation.” She inhaled. “It was remarkable—refreshing, nothing else.” And she glanced up.

His gaze widened. “Surely you do not believe that. Surely you will condemn me now.”

“There is nothing to condemn. Bess and I discuss all kinds of subjects. She is very frank—shockingly so, at times.” She managed a smile when she was so nervous her knees were weak.

“I am not Bess.”

“Friends speak frankly. I am certain you meant to advise me, not offend me. You did not offend me,” she added with conviction. “I have never had a male friend before.”

“A male friend,” he repeated flatly. “I am now a male friend?”

She hesitated.

Very slowly, he said, “You are impossibly gracious. You set an example everyone—ladies and gentlemen—should follow.”

She blushed, terribly thrilled by his praise. “Not really.”

“I am more certain than ever that your kindness is without peer. I wish I had let you enjoy your nightcap alone.”

She bit her lip, as she had last night. “You wished for company. That is not unusual, Sir Rex.”

She saw recollection flare in his eyes and he glanced aside—she felt certain he was remembering confessing to her that he was lonely. Her heart ached for him now. He was lonely—he needed a true friend. “Besides,” she said softly, “did I not offend you? I also pried. And I did so deliberately, Sir Rex, and you cannot deny it. Perhaps I should be the one to apologize to you for my behavior?”

He emitted a short, harsh laugh. Incredulous, he shook his head. “Once again, you try to turn the tables and make your behavior seem faulty. You are trying to spare my feelings.”

She dared, “I meant what I said last night. You are a good and honorable man. I have always and will always hold you in high esteem.”

He started. “I feel as if we have somehow survived another storm, one of hurricane proportions.”

She smiled, relieved. “So do I.”

He finally smiled, but briefly, his gaze searching. “So we will part company on good terms?”

Blanche stared into his dark, enigmatic eyes and realized she didn't want to leave. Not today, anyway. Maybe tomorrow she would feel differently. “We have known one another for a very long time.”

“Yes, we have. It has been eight years.”

Her heart jumped. Why did he remember the date? “I do not wish to jeopardize our friendship.”

“Neither do I,” he said instantly. His intense tone startled her.

But she smiled. “Besides, friends often share their secrets.”

He sent her a sidelong glance, not quite as potent as the night before, but a stare direct and probing enough to make her breathless. “I believe it was one-sided.”

She flushed. “Perhaps. Sir Rex, it is a blessing to have a true confidante.”

“Women are different. Men do not speak as openly—unless under the influence.” And finally, she saw his guarded stance shift and relax slightly. “But apparently I am forgiven.”

“There is
nothing
to forgive.” It was odd, but she meant it. She shrugged, but was aware of miraculously having passed onto safer ground.

Until he smiled disarmingly at her. “Do you have secrets that you wish to share?”

She started, and knew she had paled.
If she ever changed her mind, if she ever approached him for marriage, she would have to reveal the truth about her defective nature.

His eyes were wide. Then he turned aside. “Obviously you do not. “A pause ensued. “I'll have Anne ready a meal for your trip back to town.”

She tensed. They had just agreed upon an odd friendship—how could she go? Had Rex needed a true friend even half as much as Bess and Felicia needed her, she wouldn't hesitate to stay. “Are you asking me to leave? If I have overstayed my welcome, I understand.”

He started. “I have assumed you were preparing to depart.”

“I was planning to go into Lanhadron. The Johnson boys were barefoot and so was the little girl. I really hadn't thought about my eventual return to town.” And she smiled directly at him. “Now I must confess, in broad daylight. I am not ready to return to the hordes of suitors at Harrington Hall, Sir Rex. I dread the choice I will eventually make.” And she smiled again, hoping he would let her stay. If she had known how to bat her eyelashes at him, she would have done so.

His intense gaze made her feel as small and feminine as she had last night. “I cannot say I blame you. There is obviously no rush. Your fortune will hardly vanish overnight and therefore, neither will your slew of suitors.” His gaze became bland. “You are welcome to stay on as long as you like.”

She wondered if he truly meant it. “If I ever become an imposition…” she began.

He held up his left hand. “You could never impose.”

Her heart leaped and then raced. He could be as gallant as the best of them, she thought. “Thank you. I should love to stay on a bit longer.”

He gave her another long, searching glance, one that made her tremble.

Why was she dismissing him as a candidate for marriage? In that moment, it was so unclear. In that single moment, his flaws seemed irrelevant. What seemed relevant was the way he kept looking at her, and the odd and insistent dance in her heart.

His gaze moved to her mouth. “I have a meeting in the village at noon. If you will wait another hour, I will be delighted to escort you.”

Blanche murmured how lovely that would be.

H
ER HEART FEELING
strangely light, Blanche handed her purchases for the Johnson family to her coachman. “Have you seen Sir Rex, Clarence?”

“I am afraid not, my lady.”

She had been shopping in the quaint village for close to two hours, and she had even purchased a new hat in the haberdashery. She hadn't seen Sir Rex leave the meeting he was attending in the village church. He had ridden into the town on horseback, so there was no pressing reason to wait for him, but she wanted to do just that.

She kept thinking about their conversation that morning, and the odd friendship that had arisen from the ashes of last night's encounter. She kept thinking about Sir Rex's character, both his attributes and his flaws. No one was perfect. She was hardly perfect. Her flaws made his seem delightful.

She wished Bess could come down to Land's End. She so needed her advice. But she knew what Bess would say and do, at least partly. She would encourage Blanche to rush into Rex's arms and experience her newfound passion.

Blanche blushed. The more she thought about it, the more she knew she wouldn't mind a kiss.

“My lady?” a woman asked uncertainly.

Blanche turned. The young woman who had addressed her had been shopping in the haberdashery, too. Blanche had been aware of her indiscreet glances earlier, while she had been purchasing her hat. “Hello,” she returned pleasantly.

The plump brunette curtsied, her cheeks red. “I pray I am not offending you,” she cried, “but I couldn't help overhearing that you are a guest at Land's End.”

Blanche's attention was riveted now. “Yes, I am an old family friend. I am Lady Blanche Harrington,” she said carefully. The village was small, the size of no more than two London streets, and in such a town, everyone probably knew or knew of everyone else. What did this young woman want?

She curtsied again. “I am Margaret Farrow. My husband and I are Sir de Warenne's neighbors.”

Blanche's surprise crested. “Then I am very pleased to meet you,” she said seriously. This was so opportune, she thought. She now noted that the flushed and breathless woman seemed to have a pleasing look in her eye, never mind her nervousness. She did not seem frivolous or vain; she seemed like a young gentlewoman of both good character and some means.

Relief covered Margaret's face. “We live but a half hour from the castle, you know. I just thought that visitors are so scarce and I should meet you.”

“So you must be well acquainted with Sir Rex,” Blanche said, her interest keen.

Her eyes wide, Margaret hesitated. “I'm afraid not.”

How was that possible? Blanche wondered. “I know he does not care to entertain, but you are close neighbors, so surely you are acquainted,” she said.

Margaret flushed. “I married Mr. Farrow five years ago and we have never been invited to the castle. We invited him to Torrence Hall a few times, just after we were wed, but he declined the invitations.”

Blanche was disbelieving.

“But we admire Sir Rex, very much! We know he prefers to keep to himself. He is a very civic-minded gentleman. He has done great deeds for the parish.”

It was shocking, Blanche thought, that Sir Rex had not invited his closest neighbors to dine, and that he had failed to accept even a single invitation from them. Blanche had to defend him. “He is lacking a hostess and has admitted it.” She smiled. “Once he marries, which he will inevitably do, he will begin to entertain. He was probably in London when he received your invitations. He must be well acquainted with your husband, however. Surely they fish and hunt?”

Margaret smiled anxiously. “We have a mine at Torrence Hill, so they do have some matters in common, like the meeting today. But otherwise, they do not know one another and they have never gamed together, not to my knowledge. But I have only been in the parish these five years,” she added in haste.

Blanche felt as if she were reeling. This young woman was of a very pleasing disposition. Was her husband an ogre, then? It was more likely that her host was the ogre, she thought grimly.

He was lonely. He had confessed. Well, there was certainly a way to do something about that.

“Sir Rex did not tell me about the meeting.”

Margaret said eagerly, “Once every month or two, Sir de Warenne asks the miners for an assembly. He is very interested in the conditions of the local mines. There are eight in the parish. We had a terrible cave-in three years ago. Ten men died that day. Ever since, Sir Rex has demanded that the mines be carefully maintained.”

Blanche was not surprised that Sir Rex would wish to oversee the mines in the parish with the notion of securing the welfare of all the miners. “Yes, Sir Rex has a charitable nature.”

“Oh, he does—he gives a percentage of his profits to the hospice at St. Jude's,” she said breathlessly. “And it was his idea to refurbish the old Norman church, which the village had let lapse into ruins. Our poorest families know they can always find something to eat behind his kitchens.”

“Is that where the meeting is now, at the refurbished church?” Blanche found it very interesting that Margaret Farrow held Sir Rex in such high esteem, when she could have so easily held him accountable for his social failures.

Margaret pointed down the block. “It is at the end of the street. You can just see the steeple from here. Will you be with us for very long?”

“I haven't decided,” Blanche said. “But I do hope our paths will cross again, and soon. Perhaps they will cross at a supper at Bodenick?”

Margaret Farrow gaped. Then she said eagerly, “Oh, we should love to come to supper. Mr. Farrow truly admires Sir Rex. He said he is a war hero—his cousin was in the 11th Light Dragoons, too, on the Peninsula.”

Blanche's heart sped. “Was that Sir Rex's regiment?”

“That is what Mr. Farrow believes.”

Blanche felt a moment of excitement, followed by a moment of doubt. Margaret's husband might know what haunted Sir Rex. On the other hand, Sir Rex might not care to have any discussion of the war at his supper table. She knew she must proceed with great caution. “I will plan an evening, if I can,” she said frankly. “May I call you Margaret?”

“Oh! Please, do!”

“But do caution Mr. Farrow. Sir Rex does not care for talk of the war.”

“Yes, I will advise him.”

A moment later, the two women parted company. As there was still no sign of Sir Rex, or any miners on the street, Blanche decided to proceed to the church. She wasn't sure how she would get Sir Rex to agree to a small supper affair, but she was going to introduce him to the Farrows, one way or another. He might claim he liked living in complete isolation, but it was not conducive to his welfare, not in any way. Blanche had never so boldly interfered in anyone's life before. It was not her nature. Bess and Felicia would be shocked to know what she was planning. But she had never been more certain that what she was doing was right for Sir Rex.

Blanche had reached the small walk leading to the old stone church. And as she arrived at the front door, she heard many voices, raised and heated, arguing at once. Tension assailed her.

A huge debate raged inside. She told herself not to worry—a fervent discussion was probably common in a village meeting. She really wouldn't know, as she had never been to a village meeting of any kind. She did not especially like crowds. She had fainted at a May Day festival when she was eight years old, and at a circus a year later, and she had avoided raucous crowds—common crowds—ever since. But that had been a long time ago.

It was silly to feel uncertain now. Besides, she was very curious about the meeting—and about Sir Rex's part in it.

But from inside, someone started shouting and he was angry.

Blanche froze, suddenly afraid. The desire to turn and flee was instantaneous and overwhelming. And for one second, she recalled waking up at that May Day celebration, on the ground, in her father's arms, surrounded by a dozen farmers and their wives, fear like talons inside her. She had experienced the exact same painful feeling of fear upon awakening after her swoon at the circus, too. Those claws were in her belly now.

She tried to shake it off. There was no cause for anxiety or even panic. It was only a meeting, she reminded herself. And she did not need to avoid crowds. She had never had a problem with the crowds in a ballroom or a museum. What was wrong with her?

And suddenly she was aware of the dark, unfocused images in her mind, images she had lived with for years, ignoring them the way castellans ignored castle ghosts. But the images weren't dormant now. They were somehow demanding her attention, as if waving at her urgently, and she knew that these images were frightening and violent. Blanche felt a pain stab through her head.

What was happening? More panic began. Why did she have the terrible feeling that if she tried very hard, those images would finally become clear, after so many years of being indistinct? She had no interest in recalling that long-ago riot.

Then she heard Sir Rex speaking, calmly and quietly.

It was as if he had reached out and caught her before she fell, bringing her back to firm ground. She breathed. The clawing eased. He was a man anyone could depend on. She could certainly depend upon him now. She took a deep breath and walked up the steps and entered the end of the knave. How silly to think that the ghosts of over twenty years past might suddenly demand her attention.

Blanche glanced around. Perhaps fifty or more miners filled the church. It could not possibly be more crowded—every pew was filled and men stood in the aisles. Sir Rex stood with four other gentlemen before the altar. And the moment she espied him, he saw her, too, and their gazes met.

His surprise vanished, he smiled.

She smiled back, relieved. But it remained difficult to breathe.

And a dozen men began speaking at once. Blanche's tension not only renewed itself, it escalated wildly. She glanced around at the passionate crowd. Instantly she knew she should not have come inside.

Those jumbled dark images now danced in her mind, as if about to come forward.

What was this? What was happening? She couldn't breathe. There was no air. There was so much shouting!

Blanche felt faint. She had to escape this crowd. She reached blindly out, and her hand touched a wool-clad shoulder. She jerked away. Across the men, she looked for Sir Rex, trying not to give in to a severe panic.

“The shaft collapsed! He won't tell ye, so I will! It bloody collapsed and it's only God's will that the last man was out!” someone shouted.

A dozen furious voices began shouting out in agreement.

The ground seemed to tilt wildly. Blanche knew she had to escape before she fell or swooned.

A hand closed on hers as she turned. She met a pair of pale eyes—and saw hatred there. She screamed. For the man was leering at her, about to seize her, and there was blood everywhere.

“Blanche!”

She fought to free herself. Chaos erupted. So many bodies, so many men, she pushed and shoved and turned, but was seized from behind. It was too much.
They had taken Mama. Mama!

“Blanche!”

Blanche staggered against the wall, imprisoned by arms that would not let her go, looking wildly at the mob. Fists pounded the air. Features became blurred. Saliva dripped from teeth and gums. Pitchforks and shovels waved.

Somehow she pulled free. She tripped on the steps and fell into the street, rocks and gravel biting through her gloves and the skin of her cheeks.
So much hatred and blood was everywhere, she was lying in it, and Mama was gone…

She fought to breathe but it was too late. The shadows loomed over her, shadows of violence and death—and then there was only darkness.

 

H
E LET HER GO
when he realized she was out of her mind. She ran from the church and fell down the steps. In horror, he rushed after her. The men knew him and parted instantly for him. He charged outside, at an impossible speed given his handicap, and somehow crashed down the stairs and landed on one knee at her side. “Blanche!”

Rex tossed the crutch aside, pulling her into his arms. She was as white as a sheet. Her cheek was scraped.

Fear joined the horror. He found her pulse and it was strong but much too rapid. “Blanche, wake up,” he said harshly.

“Sir Rex.”

He realized his foreman was handing him salts. He held them to her nostrils and she coughed instantly, her lashes fluttering. He embraced her more tightly, and as her eyes opened, he became aware of a terrible relief. “It's all right,” he told her quietly. “You have fainted. Lie still for a moment.”

But it had been far more than that, he thought grimly. He had seen terror in her eyes.

Her blue-green eyes met his. Color began to return to her cheeks. Then she looked past him and he saw fear widen her gaze. He glanced up—every man from the assembly encircled them. “Stand back! She needs air.”

The men obeyed at once.