The Bittersweet Bride

by Vanessa Riley

  Ewan strutted forward, like a peacock, a panting peacock. “You don’t look sick.”

  His shortness of breath filled her with unwanted concern. “You do. Are you very winded?”

  “It will pass. It always does.” He pressed at his chest in the spots where she’d felt his scars. “Overexerted myself climbing up here. Not quite the same as when Jasper and I did it as children.”

  “You shouldn’t have done that, Ewan. It’s too dark and dangerous to balance on my tree. Did you step on my clematis blooms to get here?”

  Bright moonlight streamed about him, making his shoulders seem broader. He chuckled and leaned against the rail, dusting his hands. “Fretting over flowers? No regard for me falling?”

  She folded her arms to keep from shoving him over the rail. “You chose to climb. No one made you. Why are you here? What if someone saw you sneaking in here?”

  “From what I remember of our time together, you were consumed with lavender, not clematis.”

  “Good night, Ewan.”

  She reached for the doors, attempting to close them upon him, but this time he was faster and both his large hands covered hers.

  Warm, rough, and alive. The heat of his skin seared her flesh, made her knees weak. “Leave me, Ewan. Please.”

  He opened the doors fully and sauntered inside. His brows popped up as his head dipped, then raised, as he circled her. “Creamy white silk is much better than dark, heavy mourning robes.”

  The glint in his eyes made her pulse race. His touch brought that dangerous, swirling, out-of-control feeling. It engulfed her, but she folded her arms about her middle like a shield. No matter how weak she was for him, he wasn’t going to make her rash. “Say what you have to say then over the balcony and out of my life.”

  He leaned on the doorframe. “I have been trying to see you for days. I’m tired of waiting. You should understand that, Mrs. Cecil.”

  She refused to respond to his baiting and held all her retorts that it was his fault she’d needed Mathew. Ewan needed his say, if only to make it right that she’d dumped him at the docks. Nodding, she said, “Continue, but be brief. I have a long day tomorrow. The festival begins.”

  “Yes, the Flora Festival. Pickens said you’ve exhausted yourself in the planning, but I’ve come with an ultimatum from the earl. He’ll triple his offer. He will pay three times the previous amount for the water leases.”

  “Triple? And just for leases. Not to buy all my land.” She tugged on her robe sash, almost turning toward her canopy bed but stopped. “Not my requested multiple of twenty?”

  His eyes squinted. He pulled a folded paper out of his pocket and pushed it between her fingers. “This is reasonable. And take hold of it. Read it for yourself. I know my notions hold little weight, but this is a valid offer to continue the water use. This will bring peace between neighbors.”

  “But Lester won’t let me agree. He wants…” She took the paper, and curled it within her fingers. “Even if what you say is true, I can’t sign this yet. It will force my hand, literally.” She moved to her desk and lit a candle. Using the light, she scanned the pages. It said what Ewan stated.

  With heavy steps, he followed. She felt his breath on her neck before she turned.

  “I can read it to you as in direct address. You used to like me reading to you, Theo. You used to like me.”

  She glared at him. “I don’t want you haunting me anymore.”

  “Yes. You made that quite clear in your carriage. But I must resolve this before the earl does. I don’t want him to hurt you.”

  The concern in his voice was palpable, heart stopping, and she had to remember that this was the same man who’d left her in fear of his father’s wrath. “I’ll manage.”

  His hand lifted, and she tensed, as if he were going to touch her.

  Frowning, he grunted something then leaned past her and picked up her letter from the baron. “Oh, how droll, teasing you about regrets. I suppose you’ll tell him how I misled you, poor innocent you.”

  He tossed the paper to the desk, then curled his palm under his chin. “Do be kind when you tell him how you never responded to my kisses, not even the ones in the carriage. No, that would be a lie, like saying, ‘I’ll wait for you to return from the Peninsula,’ when you obviously didn’t.”

  Breathing heavy in short bursts, as if he had touched his lips to hers, she slipped to the side of him. “I wish for you to take your mocking and seductions and go.”

  A smile lit his face and he moved to her again. “Seduction only works if the object is in the mood to be swayed. I’m no bounder. I’ve taken no liberties, nothing that wasn’t freely offered.”

  “I never said you took anything.”

  “Theo, you made a great performance of it in your carriage. That kiss, the sizzling one that sent me flopping out the door like a happy puppy about to feast on the cook’s soup bones—that was done well. You should manage theater. The production was quite fine.”

  “I was wrong to do that, but you used that storm to try to…confuse me. That was wrong, too.”

  He rubbed at his neck. “I didn’t mean to take advantage. I remembered how you hated storms and meant to be of comfort. But I can’t help my attraction to you. That doesn’t make me nefarious; it makes me a man. I’m not seeking to ruin you, well, not like that. Admit that I’m no bounder. Six years ago, I was a man who was alone with the woman he loved.”

  Those pretty eyes of his held her captive, but it was easy to say this truth. “Yes Ewan, you are no bounder.”

  “Good. I like my sins known.” His gaze raked over her.

  She pulled at her lacy robe again, feeling exposed to his hungry, hypnotic gaze. “You chose your elegant words to make me believe a lie, that you would marry me, honor, and protect me. I forgave you when I thought you’d died. I only tried to remember the good, not that you’d abandoned me when I needed you. But now, I see the truth, how you will use your elegant words to ruin my reputation.”

  In slow motion, he put a palm to her elbow. “I took your name out. I will not put it back in because we are fighting.”

  “What of the carriage? Ewan, you’re not in love with me, but you kissed me like you are.”

  He walked around her again, lowly humming to himself. “I’m still a man, Theo, and a little weight looks truly well on you.”

  “Haven’t you ever seen a robe before? Or a mature woman?” She wanted to add that she’d had a baby, but she didn’t, not with Philip sleeping a few feet away.

  His grin returned. “Yes. But since I’ve returned, I’ve only seen you in dark billowy garbs. Sheer looks good upon you, and you’re not pregnant.”

  What? Not ashamed of her curves, she lifted her chin. “Thank you, I think, but why would you…” She shook her head, knowing his new conspiracy would take today’s peace. “Mathew Cecil thought me very pretty. You’ve delivered your message, but you being here is not proper. Someone could catch you. They’ll think—”

  A snore whistle sounded. Soft at first, then loud.

  “We’re not alone, Theo.” Anger etched his jaw as it tightened. “Here I am trying to protect you.” His voice deepened. “Thinking this Lester fellow is bad and he’s trying to force his way into your bed, and he’s already here. Let me congratulate him with my fists.”

  “No. Ewan stop.”

  Unable to grab him, he sprang over to her big bed and drew back the canopy curtain.

  Theodosia came upon him and caught the shift in his face, the slacking of his jaw.

  Ewan saw Philip.

  But did her poor boy see Ewan?

  Another sleepy snort whistled.

  Philip didn’t even awake with the commotion.

  Relief sweating through her pores, Theodosia pulled Ewan’s hands away and yanked the curtains closed. “Stop before you wake my son.”

  Ewan took another peek before turning to her. “I’m sorry, Theo. You make me cork-brained.”

  “I can’t make you anything.”
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  “Yes, you do. I’ve never been a jealous man. I’m a second son. I missed titles and wealth by the virtue of birth order.” His palm curled about the knurled post of the footboard. “I lost this estate to Cecil by the premature reports of my death. None of this deeply cut, not until I found out he had you. And you have born him a son.”

  He looked as if he’d go back to Philip.

  Against her resolve or even better judgment, she reached for Ewan and rubbed his forearm. “I’m sorry, but he’s a good boy.”

  “Little comfort, Theo. I’m envious, stewing inside. Cousin Cecil married you. From all accounts, you two seemed happy and you have a boy. If I’d stayed, if you hadn’t thought me dead, he could be my son.”

  Gulping in her guilt, she fought the urge to shout to him, Yes, Philip is yours! The truth dangled upon her tongue but so did the fear of what would happen next. More fussing, and Ewan would steal her boy’s honorable name and not defend him to the world. His Fitzwilliam family would come first, not the flower seller’s. She’d rather die than allow anyone to call Philip the names she bore, the names her dear Frederica had to endure. With a yank, she stole back her hand and clasped her elbow. “We can’t look back.”

  “Well, now I know why Cecil married his mistress. He wanted his boy to have a name. Someone he could leave a legacy.” He punched at his hand. “Blasted Cecil, you standup fellow.”

  She looked down at her robe and scooped up the sash. “This is for the best. You think your father would want a mulatto heir? I know he wouldn’t. Your mother wouldn’t want that, either.”

  Ewan ran his fingers through his hair. “My mother would love my son. She’s nothing like Lord Crisdon. But it matters not what anyone thinks.”

  “It matters to you, Ewan. I remember how it tormented you not to have their blessing.”

  He frowned. “All I know is my cousin was the luckiest man.” Ewan chuckled as if he’d gone mad. “I truly hate him.”

  She followed behind him out of the house and into the night, watching those broad shoulders sag. His emotions had to be as raw as hers. The man had seen his son. He said he was jealous of Mathew’s claim to Philip. Even now, tears threatened at the costs Ewan bore. Once upon a time she was the one with whom he’d shared dreams. And she’d treasured those moments. Now, she was part of his nightmares. She put a hand to his shoulder. “I am so sorry. What’s done is done.”

  He turned it and clutched her hand to his chest. “Is it? Or is it to be repeated. I can’t deny my attraction to you is still alive.”

  “I’m a threat to your Fitzwilliam family, remember? You wrote me as a villain in your play. Go home. Maybe read some more of that foul Shakespeare you’re so fond of.”

  “You remember?”

  “Yes, Ewan. I remember. I remember everything. I did like you reading to me.”

  He didn’t release her hand and swung her until the big bright moon seemed reachable. “Well, we are on a balcony. Come, gentle night; come, loving, black-browed night. Give me my Theo; and, when I shall die, take her and cut her out in little stars, that will make the face of heaven so fine. All the world will be in love with night.”

  It was hard to breathe. The cheek he touched burned as if branded. “You and your fancy words.”

  “They’re foul Shakespeare’s from his Romeo and Juliet, a forbidden love from opposing families.”

  “We’re the same family now, sort-of-cousin.”

  Ewan lips brushed her forehead. “Let me make this plain. I still want you, Theo. And you should admit that part of your kisses were true. You still feel something for me.”

  Her heart stopped, and it would never beat right again if she started believing in him, if she again gave in to that desperate-for-her look in his eyes. She stepped backward. “You have your play. Once I’m married, I’ll sign the papers you brought. Your father will be proud of you handling this.”

  “That solves his problems, Theo. Not mine.”

  With a slow step, he stood within inches of her, but kept his hands to his side, not wrapping her in those arms that would make her wilt against him like a lily lacking water. “Choose to kiss your cousin.”

  For a moment, she imagined pressing into his arms and waiting for him to take away her breath. In the carriage, Ewan had proved his kisses were the same as six years ago, dangerous and wild.

  But she couldn’t think of herself, only Philip. He needed a champion more than she needed to be held in arms that wanted her. Taking another step back, she shook her head. “Go home, Ewan.”

  “Theo. Everything has been frozen inside of me.”

  “You don’t know me anymore. I still hate thunderstorms, but I’m different. I have a son who needs a mother he can respect. And I mourn a husband who made sure we were safe. He didn’t care one whit about what others thought. He was our champion. I knew I was completely safe. His promises never changed.”

  “I was young. I had to be able to provide for us, and I didn’t think we could survive with the earl against us. I should’ve believed more in us. He stopped my first play from being sold. That’s the only reason I agreed. He never changed my mind about you. I left for war, thinking it would be a quick year and you and I would be free, with nothing to stop us.”

  She wanted to believe him, but too much was at stake. “We can’t go backward. And it’s not proper for you to be in my bedchamber or meeting me in the fields saying such things. Please, as your cousin’s widow, if you care anything for me, go back to Grandbole as quietly as you came.”

  Standing erect, he reached for her hand and kissed it. “Then it’s time to move forward.” Gripping her palm high he spun her again, as he had at the beginning of his fine speech, as he had on the hill, as he had so many years ago. “I will court you again.”

  On the balcony, he twirled faster and faster until she clasped him tight to stop the world from spinning. He dipped his head atop hers and held her.

  “I am Fitzwilliam. You know that makes me determined to win you. I will not be deterred. You need a husband and father for this boy or you wouldn’t have placed an advertisement for one. Let it be me. Let me tend to you, Theo.” He bent his head. His mouth neared hers. “Like it should’ve been before. Let me be the one. Turn to me.”

  His heart pounded in her ear and the scent of him—tangy sagebrush mixed with sweet oak from the tree he’d climbed—enveloped her. Right or wrong, she parted her lips, wanting to swirl away, lost in him.

  “Open your eyes, Theo.” Ewan pushed her shoulders and eased her rising tiptoe stance back down. “The right way this time. With a minister…and a bed, a wide bed. Let’s elope now.”

  “Ewan, my husband’s festival is tomorrow.”

  “Late husband, remember. You’re querying for a newspaper groom. Do I need to respond to your advertisement?”

  It was good he didn’t kiss her. One kiss might lead to another and tomorrow would disappear. She could feel herself falling for his teasing, but would he be there to catch her? “Ewan, we were young and not smart enough to keep our love. I must tell you. Something that I don’t think you will forgive.”

  “It doesn’t matter. It’s the past, backward.”

  “But what I must say will ruin things. I must tell—”

  He did kiss her this time, cutting off her words, her reservations, even the power to reason. His palms molded her against him and took possession of her breathing. He became air and she savored how he filled her chest with love. She levitated in his arms, so high, so fast that tomorrow didn’t have to appear.

  “No, sweet Theo. Not until the banns are read, then you’ll be mine completely.” He put her feet back onto the balcony and held her until his heart stopped racing. “Consider this a verbal application to your advertisement. I want equal, no, all of your consideration. We will elope after the festival. I’m not taking no and if I have to kiss you all the way to Scotland and back I will.” With a safe kiss to her brow, he turned and threw a leg over the rail. “See you tomorrow, Theodosia Cecil,
soon to be my bride.”

  He said her name, her whole one. “Fitzwilliams don’t come to the Flora Festival.”

  “This one is. I’m coming to honor my cousin and his widow and formally meet his son. I am to be the boy’s new stepfather tomorrow. He should meet me and get used to me. I will be around this time because we elope once the festival closes.”

  Her traitorous lips didn’t say no. She watched Ewan lower himself into the tree and disappear into the night.

  Going inside, she closed the door and leaned her head against the panes. The determination in his eyes was different than it had been six years ago. That scared her more than anything. How was she going to keep Philip safe, safe from angry in-laws, horrid business partners, and out-of-control passion?

  She’d tell Ewan the whole truth tomorrow. Then he’d know why she couldn’t marry him. Ewan would either despise her again or understand why she wouldn’t expose Philip to Fitzwilliam hate.

  If she couldn’t marry Ewan, she still needed a husband. She dropped into her desk chair, pushed aside Ewan’s lease paper, and began penning her greatest regret to the baron: she’d been so focused on the memory of a lost love, that she had fallen prey to hard times and almost starved to death, hurting her child. She’d send this note off tomorrow. If the baron dared to write back to newspaper advertisement number four, then he was the man who would stand by her and defend her to the Court of Chancery. If not, she’d marry the squire, anyone whose name wasn’t Fitzwilliam.

  A man who could be counted upon was who she needed, not a ghost who suddenly wanted to live again in her heart.

  …

  The musicians could be heard all the way up to Grandbole. Ewan had his youngest scamp niece dressed and ready to join the fun below, the Flora Festival. The air held the tart smell of fresh-cut hay.

  They hopped all the way to the patio and spent countless minutes numbering the gathering crowds. The parish church bells rang and gonged in symphony with shepherds, who set and pitchforked hay bundles on the edges of Cecil property. It was medieval and wonderful.