He wanted to shout at her until he ground her down, until she finally admitted what she’d done to him. He wanted desperately for her to tell him she’d made a mistake, that she was sorry, that she regretted it, that she would spend her life making it up to him.
He also wanted to see her, just see her, perhaps even tell her that he understood. He shook his head at himself. He was changing. He was easing.
He was ready to forgive her. He wanted to kill the comte, but not her, not Arabella. He didn’t understand himself, but there it was.
Well, damnation.
The moon hung as a slim crescent, barely lighting the vague outlines of the country road. The earl rode, head down, nearly touching his horse’s glossy neck, his body molding into the form of the animal. His intense demanding pace brought back memories of another ride in the night, so long ago in faraway Portugal, the critical dispatch folded carefully in the lining of his boot. He felt the same sense of purpose and urgency. He had been elated with the success of his mission when horse and man had very nearly dropped from fatigue at the end of the eight endless hours.
Rickety turnstiles, unpainted wooden fences, small rutted paths—all flew past in a blur of semidarkness. The earl knew of a certainty that Arabella would stay to the main road. She would want nothing to slow her escape.
As he rode, he remembered again her outburst at Dr. Branyon’s announcement. Yes, he understood, but it didn’t lessen his anger, not really.
At first he couldn’t believe his eyes. Were he not so very angry with her, he would have been sorely tempted to laugh aloud at the very undramatic scene before him. Arabella was walking in the middle of the road in full evening dress, leading a limping Lucifer.
She halted as he reined in beside her. She looked up at him with dull eyes. She said nothing, damn her. “Well, madam, I see that you have ended your own merry escape.” He swung from the saddle and faced her, legs apart, his hands on his hips.
She seemed oblivious of his anger, of the ferocious irony of his words.
“Yes,” she said, still not looking at him, “Lucifer threw a shoe. I shall have to speak to James. It is quite ridiculous that he should throw a shoe. Don’t you think that is ridiculous?”
“Yes, I shall speak to James as well.” The earl stopped and frowned. This was not at all what he had expected. “Of course, such a tame ending to your thoughtless ride must be a letdown. Just look at you. Dressed for dinner and walking beside your damned horse. Didn’t it occur to you that there are bad men out here? That they could have come upon you? You can wager that they would have licked their chops at the sight of you.
Beautiful and rich, yes, they would have believed they’d died and gone to heaven.”
“No,” she said finally, her eyes still on the road directly in front of her next step, “I didn’t think about robbers at all. You say there are bad men out here? I think there are bad men everywhere. What difference where they are? Why don’t you ride back to Evesham Abbey, my lord. There is nothing for you here. Not a single thing.” He made no answer, just walked beside her, the look on his face so forbidding that surely she would be shaking in her evening slippers.
Soldiers had quaked in their boots at that look. But she wasn’t. It baffled him. He admired her greatly in that moment.
Finally, she stopped and looked up at him. “Ah, I see now. You wish to yell at me, to strike me, perhaps? Perhaps even kill me? Well there’s not much I can do about it, is there? Have at it, my lord.” She patted Lucifer’s nose, spoke softly to him, then dropped his reins. She turned to face her husband. Lucifer neighed softly but didn’t move.
He ground his teeth and advanced a measured step toward her. She stood her ground and regarded him with at best casual interest. “Do you plan another rape scene, my lord, or perhaps a beating? If you will allow me a choice, I would far prefer the beating.” He had expected anger on her part, indeed rather looked forward to her termagant’s tongue. But there seemed to be no passion left in her. Her voice and very stance seemed uncaring, remote.
It made him so angry he wanted to spit, he wanted to push her to anger.
He said with contempt, “Despite what you may think, raping you would bring me no pleasure. I did not rape you before, but you will pretend I did, won’t you? Aye, you’ll claim I raped you on our wedding night and hold it in my face for the rest of our lives. Damn you, madam, I did not rape you; stop shaking your head at me. I wasn’t as gentle as I could have been, but you didn’t deserve anything gentle from me. You deserved to be raped, yet as a gentleman, I refrained.
“As to beating you, I would as soon waste my energies flailing a spiritless old horse. Just look at you, all flattened down and looking pathetic. Damn you, Arabella, say something, do something!” Instead, she turned away from him indifferently, saying over her shoulder, “That was quite a speech. Now, if you have done with me, then, my lord, it is a long walk back to Evesham Abbey.” She picked up Lucifer’s reins.
It sent him right over the edge. He grabbed her arm and whirled her around to face him. “Oh no, I am by no means done with you, and what I have to say to you is best done far away from the ears of your family.” She dropped Lucifer’s reins again, walked to the side of the road, and sat down on the grassy bank. She began pulling up blades of grass. She shrugged, enraging him. “Very well,” she said, “be done with it. I told you to do it before but you didn’t. I would have thought you would have yelled your head off. That you would have cursed me to hell and back. But you just tried to justify your violence on our wedding night. If that wasn’t rape, my lord, then I wonder what one would call it.” She raised her face then and stared up at him, her eyes so filled with pain that he flinched.
She watched him stride over to her. He stood over her, like a black silhouetted giant of a man, blocking the bright moonlight. She couldn’t bear to look at him. It hurt, horribly. She turned and fastened her gaze on the bank beside her, and waited.
“Damn you, Arabella, look at me.”
He was angry now, but she made no move to obey him. He dropped to his knees in front of her and grasped her shoulders, shaking her until she raised her eyes to his. “Now, you will listen to me, you rag-mannered shrew. How dared you serve your mother such a turn? Are you blind? Even the scullery maid doubtless knew that she and Dr. Branyon were in love.
Indeed, I expect he has loved her for a very long time.
“I admit that I expected their announcement to come a bit later, but it is of no importance. Life is too uncertain to be governed by ridiculous strictures. God knows, your mother deserves happiness. God knows, a good deal of the nineteen years she spent with your father were far from pleasant. Why, Arabella, why were you so unthinkingly cruel to her?” He saw flames of anger kindle slowly in her wintry eyes. “Why, damn you?” It was enough. It was too much. She jumped to her feet, shaking her fist in his face. “How dare you approve such a match? Even publicly proclaim your approval? You had no right, my lord, just as she has no right to betray my father! No, I had no idea that she had that kind of feeling for Dr. Branyon. I think her actions, as well as his, to be despicable. I will never speak to her again. As for Dr. Branyon, he is no longer welcome at Evesham Abbey. If she wants to disgrace herself and our name, then let her wed him and leave me alone.” She was panting now, bitter words spewing from her mouth. “Should I perhaps congratulate my dear mother for at least waiting for my father’s death? Just how long, my lord, do you think they have been lovers? Poor Father, cuckolded by a faithless wife and a man he trusted. God, were I a man I would kill him in a duel.”
He looked at her beautiful pale face, at the bitter fire in her gray eyes. So much pain and anger. He sought to understand her. He didn’t disbelieve what she had said, no, she had meant every word. She had spoken openly, bitterly of her mother cuckolding her father, and her rage at the belief that her mother had been unfaithful to her father could leave no doubt at the sincerity of her condemnation of such an act. Yet had she not herself taken a lover before
they had married? Had not she cuckolded him? Had she some sort of strange morality that had allowed her to take a lover before she married? And, for that matter, had she willingly given up the comte after her marriage to him? He wanted to throw her own act in her face, demand that she explain to him. Yet he found that his anger was melting away at the misery of the woman behind the facade of destructive words.
No, he had to deal with her bitter despair over her mother first. He silenced his own questions, so many questions that rose in his throat. He masked his voice with calm authority, for he knew that she would despise any gentling emotion coming from him.
“That is enough now, Arabella. I want you to listen to me now. Will you do that?”
She stared at him as if he had two heads. He merely nodded as he said, “I find it extraordinary that I, who have known Lady Ann only in passing during the past several years, would swear upon my honor that she was never unfaithful to your father. Whereas you condemn her with a snap of your fingers. You see she is in love and you assume that she has bedded the good doctor for how many years? No, Arabella, do not turn away from me. Do you honestly believe that she would be capable of such a thing?” She gazed at him, still as stone, unspeaking.
“Very well. Though you do not wish to answer me, I will assume that you are at least thinking about what I’ve said. Now, to your father.” He paused. Should he tell her the truth? There was no choice, not now. Only if she knew the truth about her father could she be brought to find forgiveness for her mother. He said quietly, “Do you remember when we first met—by the fishpond the day your father’s will was read? I see you remember all too well. You cannot deny that you thought me your father’s bastard.”
“That isn’t at all the same and you know it. Don’t you dare throw that up to me.”
“Different? Are there different rules of conduct for a husband? He is free of the restraints that bind his wife? I will tell you, Arabella, your father’s marriage to Lady Ann was a sham. He wed her only for the huge dowry she brought to him. He spoke openly of his ‘bargain’ and laughed at his good fortune. Also, he thought nothing of openly parading his mistresses in front of her nose.”
“I don’t believe that,” she said, panting hard, her words coming out in short gasps. “Why, I should shoot my husband were he to do that to me.
That isn’t true. My father would never do that, never.”
“He did and thought nothing of it. You are your father’s daughter. Your mother is gentle, quiet, trusting. Ah, she knew exactly what he did, but she kept quiet. She never tried to turn you against your father.” She tried to clap her hands over her ears.
“No cowardice from you now.” He pulled her hands to her sides.
“No, I won’t listen to you. You’re making this up to protect her.” Yet she felt the coldness of doubt sweep through her.
He gentled. “No, Arabella, I have no need to invent stories. In fact, several times when I met with your father in London and in Lisbon, even once in Brussels, I was entertained most charmingly by his mistresses. I remember him joking about his little milksop of a wife, about her coldness, her bourgeois fear of him. He said to me once, admittedly when he was in his cups, ‘You know, my boy, I have at least forced the little fool to see to my pleasure. She does not do it well, she gags and cries, but I am a tolerant man. One should be, of course, to one’s wife.’ ”
“No! He could not—Please, Justin, he did not say those things.”
“Yes, Bella, he did. He was a man of demanding, extreme passions. That Lady Ann suffered from his nature is to be regretted. But do you not see, his very nature also made him a great leader. His men trusted him implicitly, for he never showed fear or uncertainty. He launched offensives that would have left lesser men quaking in their boots.” The earl softened his voice even more. “His character also gave you a father to admire, respect, and adore. He loved you above all things, Arabella. I do not wish you to condemn him or blindly exalt him, for he deserves neither. I remember he told me once, not above a year ago: ‘Be damned, Justin, it is just as well that my Arabella had no brothers. After her, they would perforce have been disappointments to me.’ ” She said not a single word, but he knew she was listening to everything now.
“I would that you now consider your mother. She was always completely loyal to your father. More than that, she loves you dearly. She always has, she always will. She deserves your understanding, Bella, your approval, else you have dimmed her chance for happiness. And she does deserve to have her own happiness now. She gave eighteen years to you and to a man who held her in contempt. Please, Arabella, try to look at all this straight on, without fear, without anger, without pain. Will you do that?”
Arabella rose slowly to her feet and shook loose blades of grass from her skirt. He stood beside her. His eyes searched her face for a clue to what she was thinking. He sensed a change in her, yet he could not be certain.
He wondered if perhaps she was thinking of her own sham of a marriage, a marriage of convenience that she dreaded enough to seek comfort in the arms of another man. He remained silent, waiting for her to speak.
“It grows late,” she said finally, her voice far away. “If you do not mind, I would ride pillion. Would you send James to fetch Lucifer?” He looked down at her, wondering, always wondering, what was in her mind.
Then he couldn’t help himself. He cupped her face between his hands, leaned down, and kissed her. It had been far too long, since before they’d married. Her mouth was soft, just as he remembered. God, he wanted her. But he had to know, he had to. He raised his face, his thumbs lightly tracing over her lips. “Arabella, tell me the truth, just admit to me that you took the comte as your lover. I don’t believe he is still your lover, but I know that he was before we were married. Just tell me the truth, tell me why you did it, and I will forgive you. Was it because you felt forced to wed me? Tell me the truth. Then we can go back and begin again. Tell me, Arabella.” He leaned down and began kissing her again.
The sharp pain brought him to his senses faster than a bucket of ice water. He jumped back, rubbing his shin. She’d kicked him hard. She was backing away from him, breathing hard. Then she yelled at him, “Damn you, that miserable man was never my lover. You’re the blind one.” It nearly burst from her mouth that it was Elsbeth who was his lover, but she held it back in time. No, she couldn’t take the chance of telling him. The pain he could cause Elsbeth was incalculable. “Hear me, damn you! I did not betray you!”
She turned on her heel and ran to Lucifer. She clumsily climbed onto his broad back.
“Arabella, wait. Wait. Why are you still lying to me? Why? There’s no reason. I want to forgive you. I’m ready to forgive you.”
“You idiot, you wretched blind fool!” It was then that she realized that Lucifer was lame. She just sat there for a long moment, staring into nothing, then she slipped off his back. She walked directly back to Justin, drew back her arm, and sent her fist into his jaw. She caught him off balance. He flailed the air, but lost, and fell backward into a shallow ditch.
She took his own horse and was off. He was left with Lucifer. Just as well, he thought, as he dusted himself off. Both of them were lame, he in his head and the damned horse in his hoof.
Damn, but that was a good shot she’d given him. He rubbed his jaw. A very good hit.
Why wouldn’t she just tell him the truth?
The earl stood at the breakfast parlor window, sipping his second cup of coffee, staring out toward the colorful parterre. Arabella came into view, walking beside her mother. He felt something move deep inside him at the sight of her. He could still feel himself hardening as he had kissed her, wanting her more and more each instant, and then he’d asked for her to tell him the truth, just admit to him that she’d lied, that she’d taken the comte for her lover. He even told her he would forgive her, that they would begin again. She’d kicked him but good. And she’d withdrawn from him. Completely.
What else could he offer her? She had be
trayed him, not the other way around. Had he betrayed her would she have offered to forgive him? He doubted it very much. She was more strong-willed than his commanding officer in Portugal, and in his eyes, in his soul, she was the perfect mate for him. Except for the comte. Surely the English authorities wouldn’t toss him in gaol if he simply killed the little French bastard.
He watched as Arabella shortened her longer stride to match her mother’s step. He prayed then, prayed hard, that Arabella was apologizing to Lady Ann. Though he couldn’t hear a word, he fancied he saw Arabella smile.
God, he wished he could make her smile at him like that. He shook his head as he turned from the window. He was mad, utterly mad. She had betrayed him. He would ask her again tonight. He would proceed more smoothly, no, he would kiss her again, go very slowly, but make her want him, then ask her. Yes, that was what he would do.
He still wanted very much to kill that bloody comte.
“Good morning, my lord,” Crupper said as he sailed soundlessly into the breakfast parlor.
The earl nodded, then said as he passed the butler, “I shall be in the library. Ah, Crupper, if anyone cares to disturb me, they’re welcome to.” He had not gotten beyond a second column of numbers for spring market prices when Crupper most obligingly entered the library.
“Lady Talgarth and Miss Suzanne are here to visit, my lord. There is also a gentleman accompanying them—a Lord Graybourn.” The spotty viscount, the earl thought, grinning, the spring market prices forgotten.
“They are in the Velvet Room, Crupper?” He rose and shook out the fine lawn ruffles at his sleeves.
“Yes, my lord. The family are there also.” He sniffed, his left eyebrow twitching. “I might add, my lord, that the young French comte is still here. He appears to be everywhere. It is disconcerting. I cannot like it.
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