The Perfect Bride (23 page)

His gaze narrowed. She kept staring, boldly, and he knew it best to end the interview now. “Let me draw up a bank check,” he said.

He went to his desk, took the checks from a drawer, and drafted a generous sum. She had followed him to the desk and watched while he wrote it out and signed it. He straightened and handed it to her.

She folded it and slid it into her bodice, between her breasts. “I am a very passionate woman, as you know.”

He tensed.

“And we both know you are a very passionate man. I imagine it has been hard for someone like you, who likes his bed warmed every night, to go so long without.” Her eyes gleamed and she reached for his hand. “I don't mind giving you a proper farewell, Sir Rex. I should enjoy it very much.”

Her tone was throaty and signified the potential for so much lusty sex. As she laid her hand on his chest, he said softly, “I am sorry, Anne. I cannot. Such behavior would be shameful—on my part, not yours.”

That light flickered in her eyes again, and he wondered if she was not as accepting as she seemed. He wondered if he had seen a flash of malice. “It is not shameful to be lusty, Sir Rex,” she whispered. “And you are not wed yet.”

He removed her hand, becoming annoyed. “Why don't you gather up your things?”

Now she stared, her face not quite impassive, and while he could not read her emotions, he felt them. He felt the malice he had thought he had seen.

But she curtsied and turned to go.

And he saw Blanche standing in the doorway, staring at them with wide eyes, her skin ashen, her hair wet.

He was horrified.

Anne hurried from the room, brushing past Blanche as she did so, and Blanche's cheeks turned pink. “I did not mean to interrupt,” she said hoarsely.

“That is not what it appeared to be!” He thudded over to her. “Blanche!”

“No!” She backed up, appearing breathless. Then she smiled. “I mean, we aren't married, she is right, and you have every right to your privacy—”

“Like hell!” he cried. He seized both of her hands. “I made vows. They were effective the moment I made them. I will not break them! I won't deny the maid made an advance, but I have just dismissed her.”

“If you wished to be with her, I would understand,” Blanche gasped, trembling.

“Did you hear a word I said?” he cried. How could this have happened—already? “Blanche, I dismissed Anne. I have given her a month's wages and she is gathering up her belongings.”

Blanche met his gaze. “Oh.” She wet her lips and pulled free of him.

He followed her. “I don't want her,” he said harshly. “I want
you.
”

She turned and smiled uncertainly at him. “I am behaving very foolishly.”

“You are not. I have already disappointed you.”

Blanche inhaled. “Sir Rex, stop. I overreacted…I had a headache.”

He froze. “How bad was it?”

She smiled quickly—falsely. “It wasn't half as bad as the others.”

Was she lying to him? He refused to believe it. Blanche could not lie if her life depended on it—he had always been certain of her honesty and integrity.

“I was a bit shaken,” she added, “when I walked in. Anne's presence here merely added to my confusion.”

He nodded. “I hope you mean it. Because I am not tempted by a housemaid, how could I be? I have you.” He didn't smile, he couldn't.

But she finally smiled. “I am glad you dismissed her.”

He held out his arm. “Come into the great room with me. I see you were caught in the rain. We can sit before the fire and you can tell me what it is you wish to discuss.” He finally smiled, too.

“Am I so obvious?” she asked with another, even lighter smile.

“You are.” They strolled into the hall and sat on the sofa. “But I can guess. You wish to discuss our wedding.”

She smiled widely. “What woman does not wish to plan her wedding?”

“I will agree to everything you want.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

“I would like you to enjoy our wedding, too.”

He had to smile and he took her hand. “Oh, I will. You may count on that.”

Their eyes met. “I was thinking of a very small affair. My few dearest friends and your very large family.”

His heart soared. “Are you trying to please me? Because if so, I am pleased. But I had expected you to want a society wedding—a very large, elaborate affair.”

She shook her head. “We are thinking alike,” she exclaimed.

“Apparently so.” He could not resist. She was as delighted as a child. He took her face in both his hands and kissed her. He meant to be gentle, but the moment his lips touched and tasted her, he felt a conflagration of desire. In that moment, he wanted to plunge deeply inside her, and his loins swelled, confirming a desperate need. This great woman was going to be his wife. He wanted to possess her now—and show her so much pleasure. He released her.

Her eyes sparkled. Her smile was shy but pleased.

He had almost ruined everything a moment ago, he thought. But miraculously, he had not. Because, apparently, Blanche trusted him—and would think the best of him no matter what. Her nature was simply too generous.

He had to match her. “Have you planned our supper party yet?” he asked casually.

She started, eyes wide. “I was thinking about it, but then I decided there was no rush. After all, we have our wedding to plan.”

He smiled, still dreading such an evening, but now, he was determined to make that evening a success for her. “Our wedding is what? Six months from now? A year? A supper party can be tomorrow if you wish.”

She stared at him, unsmiling. “Sir Rex—”

“Rex!” he corrected, smiling.

She bit her lip, hesitating. “Sir Rex, we don't have to rush into entertaining—”

“But I want to. As you said, it is overdue. And now I have a hostess.” He took her hand again, simply because he wished to touch her.

“Well,” she said, clearly debating, “I know the Farrows would be thrilled to receive such an invitation. We could invite Dr. Linney, too, and his wife. Just to round things out,” she told him.

“Whatever you wish,” he said firmly. “You tell me the time and what I should wear, and I will be here to greet our guests.”
Our guests.
The words echoed in his mind pleasantly.

Blanche sat back, clearly thinking. Then she looked at him. “I will have to ask Anne to help with the supper. Meg doesn't cook. Fenwick needs to serve.”

He knew that Anne should not stay on, not for even a single affair. “Can't you find someone else in the village?”

“I can try. But Sir Rex, you have paid her handsomely for an extra month, she knows the kitchens inside and out, and her cooking is passable.”

He hesitated, aware of a distinct sense of foreboding.

Then she said, “Why don't we simply wait until after we are wed to entertain?”

He loved that idea. He thought about what she had walked in on—and not just that afternoon. He wanted to please her with a successful supper party. “I will tell Anne she needs to stay on until after the supper affair.”

 

B
LANCHE HAD DECIDED
to dress for her first supper with her fiancé. She had brought one other evening gown to Land's End, a pale ivory-and-rose creation. She was making a final inspection in the mirror, trembling with anticipation, as if a girl of sixteen. Her heart soared.

And then the monster leered at her, revealing yellow, wet teeth.

The horse screamed in torment and anguish, somewhere close by.

Blanche cried out, clasping her hands to her ears, all of her happiness vanishing, replaced with terror. The memory had become engraved on her mind earlier that afternoon, but now, it wasn't a memory. The man was reaching for her and she knew, without a doubt, he was about to seize her. In that moment, she was a small child, alone and terrified. Where was Mama?

They had taken Mama away, dragging her from the carriage.

The pale-eyed monster reached for her. She jumped away and ran, not across the room, but through a seething crowd, on a London street, slipping on bloody cobblestones. As she ran, the horse's screams dimmed. The leering image of the man faded, and she looked back, but he wasn't real now—he was just another terrible memory, etched forever upon her mind. Blanche realized she was clinging to the banister at the end of the hall, panting, her heart thundering painfully. Tears tracked her cheeks. She didn't dare release the rail to wipe them. She didn't know how she had gotten from her bedchamber to the top of the stairs.

She breathed hard but continued to hold on to the post for support. Total comprehension began. She had just been flung back into the past—but she wasn't in the past, she was at Bodenick, on the verge of marriage to Sir Rex. This had to stop. She had to find a way to stop this horrific recall. And why was she experiencing bits and pieces of that riot
now?

Was she truly mad?

Sane people did not forget who, what and where they were! Sane people did not suddenly travel into the past, as if through time, with no awareness of anything else!

“Blanche?”

She flinched as she realized Sir Rex stood at the bottom of the stairs, waiting for her. However, he was smiling—he had not seen her fit of insanity. And as she looked fearfully into his eyes, the roiling panic eased slightly. He had dressed for supper in a white dinner coat and he had never been as compelling or as handsome. Standing below her, it seemed terribly important that she rush to his side. Somehow, he was a safe harbor, a certain destination, a place she must go.

But he had every right to know what was happening to her.

She came downstairs, quickly rearranging her expression and slowing her breathing, so he would not suspect anything to be wrong. “I see we both thought to dress,” she said. She must not tell him a word of what had just happened; he would think her as mad as an inmate in an asylum! Her shame would know no bounds.

His gaze was searching. “Is anything wrong?”

She hesitated. But how could she not tell him? He was her fiancé. He had every right to know. In a way, it would be a relief to tell him that she was beginning to remember that long-ago riot. It would be a relief to fall into his arms and confess that something terrible was happening, and making her feel six years old again. But he would think her mad and he would leave her—as he should. Because if these fits didn't cease, he deserved far better than what she had to offer.

Blanche stiffened. She was
not
insane. There was an explanation for what was happening; there had to be. And soon, dear God, it would all go away. The memories would vanish and be forever forgotten and she would never relive another moment from that day. It had to cease, because she was finally in love!

Fear and panic clawed at her. What if she was on an irrevocable path? What if the fits continued? “Nothing is wrong,” she somehow said.

She reached his side and he took her arm but did not move. She wanted to press closer.

“You look frightened,” he said softly.

Blanche tensed. And she lied, when she was not a liar, when she would rather lose everything than lie to Sir Rex. “I am a bit nervous about the supper party.”

He smiled, but it did not reach his eyes. “Sometimes, I have the very strong feeling that you are keeping secrets.” His tone was light.

Her smile remained firmly in place with an effort. “I do not have any secrets worth keeping,” she said as lightly. But until then, there had been one secret, and now there was another one, far more significant than that of her defective nature.

“I did not mean it in a derogatory way,” he said swiftly. But his penetrating stare did not waver. “Blanche, are you in trouble?”

“I'm not sure what you mean,” she said. “The only trouble in my life is the complicated fortune my father left me—and that is about to be placed in your hands, making my life quite carefree.”

His smile was uncertain. “I was hoping we might go to town soon. I know you will probably wish to announce our engagement, and there will be many plans to make, even for a small wedding.”

Blanche couldn't smile now. “You hate town—and now, you wish to rush there immediately?”

He shrugged far too casually. “The countess will be overjoyed to hear our news.”

She stared at him.

“Very well.” He was grim. “I want you to see a physician there. I am worried about you.”

Had Anne told him what had happened that afternoon? More panic set in, and with it came the unfortunate images of the dying horse and the leering monster-man, reaching for her. How could a doctor help her if she did not confess everything? And how could she confess to being reduced to moments of near madness? Somehow she was going to control the memories and never go back to that day again. And she would be a good wife to Sir Rex—not a sickly burden. All she had to do was find a great strength, somewhere deep within herself.