Say You Love Me

by Johanna Lindsey

  So at least she wasn't penniless now. She'd even bought her own lunch at the inn the driver stopped at around noon-and some extra food to take with her, just in case.

  After having experienced such panic that first day she'd been left alone, it was going to take a while for her to stop wor-

  rying about where her next meal was going to come from.

  Derek Malory had a lot of explaining to do, and Kelsey hoped she could keep her temper under control long enough to listen to what he had to say for himself. But all the way to London she had simmered, and she had been so tense that by the time she arrived late that afternoon, her whole body ached. Added to the cold and the fever she was still running, and the fact that neither Derek nor anyone else was there to greet her, it just made her more irritable.

  There was about an hour of daylight left for her to explore the town house. The driver had stayed long enough to get the fireplaces lit before he departed. And there were ample lamps and candles about for the evening.

  It wasn't a large town house by lordly standards, though each of the seven rooms was a nice, comfortable size, and it was in a nice neighborhood with a small park in the center of the square. There was a separate kitchen with one bedroom for a servant or two next to it-it contained two narrow beds-a dining room with a table large enough to seat six, a parlor, a small study, and two bedrooms upstairs.

  The fact that it was so completely furnished, even to having a wall of books in the study, finely framed paintings or, the walls, knickknacks on tables, ample bedding and lin-

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  ens, and basic long-lasting staples in the kitchen, led her to believe it was someone's home. Many lords were in the habit of renting out their town houses for long periods of time while they were off on the Continent or firmly entrenched in their country estates. But she was assuming again, which she had told herself she wouldn't do anymore.

  There was a full modern bath off the larger bedroom, which Kelsey decided would be hers-if she was to stay there. As she ended her exploring she took a bath. The uncomfortable tub at the cottage-with barely warm water, since she'd had to heat and carry her own-had not been at all satisfying. This one was, though she didn't linger, not knowing when Derek might show up.

  There was no fresh food to be found in the kitchen, so she made do with what she had brought along from the inn. She could have fixed up something from the staples, but she didn't really feel like cooking, her fever having increased a few degrees, as it did each evening. She hoped she'd be able to shake the cold now that she was back in London. Those long walks to Bridgewater each day in the frigid air, once in the rain, hadn't allowed her condition to improve.

  It was the fever that put her to sleep on the couch in the parlor, that and the plentiful meal and hot bath, and the nice cozy fire. But when the front door opened she woke, giving her enough time to sit up before Derek was standing in the doorway. It didn't give her enough time to look awake.

  Her eyes were barely open; the pins had come loose from her hair, letting it spill over her shoulders; her nose had been running, as usual; and she was just giving it a loud blow into the hanky she kept constantly in hand when there he was. And good grief, she had forgotten how truly handsome he was, especially done up all formal as he was. Whatever gathering he'd just come from or was soon going to was a special one, to have him looking so fine.

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  "Hullo, Kelsey, m'dear," he said with a tender smile. "It's

  a bit early to be sleeping. Was the trip that tiring?"

  She nodded, then shook her head. Damn, this was no time to have her mind muddled with sleep. "I would've been here sooner," he continued as he started forward. "But the wedding reception I just came from had all my family present, and it's deuced hard getting away from family. By the by, what's happened to your nose?"

  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 starv-

  ing, 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 everytiling she'd said, had her hissing, "Not what you're thinking!

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  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 ever, 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

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  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. "Go
od 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

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  know what happened to the provisions I arranged to brought to the cottage, though I will find out. And I did ma those arrangements. I also left the coach and driver there f your disposal."

  He sounded sincere, he really did. She wished she coul 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. if

  "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 ex-., pending 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."

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  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.

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  l -@OLLYT' b 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 hand- someness and the charm that very few people ever witnessed.

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  They had been discreet, of course-very secretive, in factbecause 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 bedroom 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

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  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.

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  "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, b
ut 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

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  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 ,A ould never be sent away where she might never see Derek again.

  Derek was grown now, was rarely at home anymore, but her feelings still hadn't changed. She still didn't want her son