He shook his head, stunned that she would think him so cavalier that he would ever neglect her. “I would always take care of you and any children we’d have, no matter what.”
She set aside her pencil, her brown eyes looking at him with steadfast resolve. “That’s something you’ll have to prove, if you truly want to marry me now. You’ve lost my trust once, and before I would ever consider accepting you now, you would have to show me beyond a shadow of a doubt that you would be a responsible husband and father.”
If Beatrix had hoped throwing down the gauntlet would dampen Will’s determination and make him go away, she realized at once that she had severely underestimated his resolve.
His eyes locked with hers, and he nodded. “Fair enough. But,” he added at once, “I think this sort of thing works both ways.”
She frowned, puzzled. “Both ways?”
“Yes. You say you don’t trust me, and . . .” He paused to draw a deep breath. “I admit, you have cause for your distrust. I’ll be honest. I never thought about children. I should have, I know, but in my defense, let me say that most men don’t. Not until we have them.” A hint of wry amusement came into his eyes. “When you and I used to meet in the gardens at Danbury, for instance, children were never what I was thinking about.”
Heat flooded her face, and she looked away. If she wanted to be brutally honest, she could have conceded similar feelings, for all those times when they’d met secretly and she’d been in his arms, the only thing she’d been thinking about was how wonderful it felt. But she decided at this point, it served no purpose to be that honest.
“Irresponsible of me, I admit,” he went on, “but true. And when Sir Edmund asked me to go to Egypt with him, I jumped at the chance. I was twenty-three years old, with my entire future already planned for me, and I realized that I might not ever have another opportunity like that. I knew that if I didn’t go, I would regret it for the rest of my life. I cabled him back and accepted without talking it over with you because it honestly never occurred to me that you would refuse to come with me.”
“It should have.”
“Perhaps, but please let me finish. Most of our lives, you’ve gone along with me, with what I wanted. A few exceptions here and there, like the cliff at Angel’s Head, and not riding horseback as fast as I would like, and putting certain limits on things. Three buttons, and things like that—”
“Do you have a point?” she cut in, feeling the heat come up in her cheeks.
“But for the most part, you’ve tagged along on whatever crazy thing I wanted to do, as long as I could persuade you that your father wouldn’t find out. And we were about to be married, so I think it’s fair to say you never gave me much cause to doubt that you would come with me to Egypt.”
“Why?” she shot back. “Because a good wife goes with her husband whether she wants to or not?”
“No, damn it! Because we loved each other. Because I made you happy. Because you wanted to be with me and go on adventures with me. When I dug up that barrow, you enjoyed it, too, and you loved sketching all the artifacts. You loved sneaking out to the pixy cave when we were children, and listening to me read Poe and being scared, and you loved meeting me at midnight, the thrill, the possibility of getting caught. You love adventures, Trix. You do,” he insisted when she shook her head, trying to deny it. “When your mother left, you were only nine years old, and from then on, your father tried to wrap you up and lock you in and keep you from doing anything that might take you away from him. He smothered you, and I think one of the main reasons you fell in love with me is because I enabled you to get away, to be free.”
She jumped to her feet. “Don’t you dare try to blame the fact that you jilted me on my father!” she cried, her temper flaring. “That’s all your own doing.”
“Not all my doing, Trix. Be fair and admit that you bear some of the blame, but more to the point, so does your father. And you’re angry,” he added at her sound of outrage, “because deep down you know I’m right.”
She shook her head again, still denying it, hating the fact that it was absolutely true.
“You want to know what I think?” He rose and came around to her side of the table.
She folded her arms and took a deep breath, striving for control. “Not particularly.”
He paid no attention, of course. “Maybe it was cocky of me to be so sure I could persuade you to go to Egypt, but I think I would have succeeded, and you would have had the time of your life. There was one thing, though, that I didn’t take into account. And because of that one thing, I lost you.”
“What one thing?”
“Your father. His absolute determination to keep you from ever leaving him. I know damned good and well the only reason he agreed to our marriage was because if you had to marry anyone at all, you would at least be marrying someone who only lived a few miles away. He wanted you to be right by him forever and never leave him. Hell, I think if he hadn’t been able to talk you out of coming with me to Egypt, he’d have locked you in your room.”
“That not fair! And it’s not true!”
“When you issued an ultimatum and told me to choose between Egypt and you, I couldn’t believe it. I thought you’d welcome the chance to finally, truly be free. But then I realized what you were really doing was throwing down the gauntlet because you’d already made your choice—dear Papa rather than me. That’s why I went without you. How could I stay, knowing that until the day he died, you’d always choose him over me?”
“So why didn’t you come home when he died?” she cried, tears stinging her eyes, furious that she was about to cry when she’d sworn ages ago she’d never shed any more tears because of Will. “Not that it would have done you any good,” she added at once. “But didn’t you even think that I would be free to choose a different path then? One with you?”
“After five years? I thought it was too late, that it was over between us, and that we couldn’t ever reconcile because—” He broke off and looked away for a second, rubbing a hand across his forehead. “I can be afraid of things, too, Trix. Can you understand that? What if I came all the way back here, with nothing to offer you, and you turned me down again? Then what? And then you got engaged to Trathen, and that seemed to be the final nail in the coffin for us. But when I saw you again, that day on the Stafford Road, I knew it wasn’t over.”
“It is over! How many times do I have to say it?”
He tilted his head as if seriously considering that question. “At least four hundred eighty-six thousand, seven hundred and fifty-two times. Then I might—might—start to accept it. Although, really, knowing how hard I tried to get over you before, I doubt even that would be enough.”
“I told you, I can’t trust you. I can’t rely on you. You’re irresponsible, and reckless, and . . .” She paused, running out of adjectives. “And just too cavalier about things. How would I know you would be a good father?”
“Well, I certainly wouldn’t be like your father, a fact which tells in my favor, if you ask me. But,” he added before she could dispute that point, “you told me a moment ago that I would have to prove myself, so that tells me I have a fighting chance. I propose we make a bargain.”
Beatrix frowned, wary, sensing there had to be a trap of some sort involved in any bargain he proposed. “What kind of bargain?”
Instead of answering, he pulled out his chair and sat down, then reached for his dispatch case. Opening it, he extracted a sheet of paper, opened the inkwell, and pulled the quill out of the inkstand. Whistling to himself, he began to write.
“What kind of bargain?” she repeated, watching him.
“Just wait.” He resumed whistling and writing what seemed to be a list, while she watched him, growing more apprehensive by the moment.
After a few minutes, he stopped and put the quill back in the inkstand. He picked up the sheet of paper, reviewing whatever he’d written as he blew on it to dry the ink. Giving a nod as if satisfied, he rose and came back
to stand in front of her, presenting the sheet to her with a flourish.
“ ‘Report and catalog for the British Museum,’ ” she read. “ ‘Article for the Times, Presentation to the Archaeological Society—’ ” She stopped reading and looked at him. “I don’t understand. What is this?”
“The things I need to do while I am here in England. You’ve told me, and quite rightly, that I have to prove I can be a responsible husband and father. But I also know that the crazy things I’ve led you into have made you happy. So to prove all these things, and remind you of just how wonderful our life would be together, I propose that I demonstrate my ability to be responsible by accomplishing each of these tasks, and every time I cross one off the list, you have to come on an adventure with me.”
Pressing a smile from her lips, she tapped her finger against one item that had a big black line through it. “You already have something crossed off.”
He leaned over the sheet, reading upside down. “Ah, yes, finding a sponsor for the excavation. That task is already done. Marlowe has agreed to sponsor it for the year.”
“And you wrote it on this list anyway because . . . ?”
He didn’t blink an eye. “An hour after everyone’s gone to bed,” he whispered. “At the dock.”
This time she did laugh, but she couldn’t help it. He was so outrageous. “Oh no, no. This is crazy.”
“True, but it’s also an adventure. So you’ll come?”
She bit her lip, wavering. She had to admit, having adventures with Will again did sound like fun. On the other hand, life couldn’t always be fun and games.
As she struggled to decide, Julia’s voice echoed to her from their quarrel the other day.
It all started when Will went away . . . it was as if his leaving had sucked all the joy of life out of you.
It was true, she realized. How nauseating to know she was so susceptible to this man, that even now, he could pull her into things she knew she really shouldn’t do.
She gave an aggravated sigh, sensing she was about to make a huge mistake, scared that the only thing she was going to get out of this was more crushed dreams and shattered hopes, and possibly a damaged reputation. And yet, despite all that, she could feel excitement rising inside her, a gigantic bubble of anticipation. She felt as if . . . as if it was June again and Will was coming home from Eton, or Cambridge, or Europe, or wherever he’d been, and she was watching the lane from her window at Danbury, knowing he was home, waiting for his horse to come racing up the lane to her house, dying to know what new adventure he had in store.
“All right, all right,” she said, giving in. “It’s a bargain. But only if you accomplish your work first.”
He grinned and returned to his side of the table. Pulling out his chair, he sat down opposite her. “Well, come on,” he urged as she remained standing there staring at him in chagrin. “It’s your work, too, remember? So stop lollygagging and get started or we’ll never be able to go play.”
“I’m going to regret this,” she murmured, sinking back down into her chair. “I really don’t know how I let you talk me into these crazy things.”
He chuckled as he dipped his quill in the inkwell. “You’ve been saying that ever since you learned to talk.”
Chapter Fourteen
By teatime, Beatrix had managed to draw only three of Will’s Egyptian artifacts. It was slow going, for each piece had to be drawn from several different angles, but she found herself getting caught up in the work, just as she had when they were children and he’d dug up that Roman barrow at Sunderland Park. It was rather exciting to sketch things so ancient, and fun to speculate about the people to whom these things had belonged.
Despite that, however, she did find her attention wandering to the man across the table. She couldn’t resist darting quick glances at him over the top of her sketchbook as he composed the descriptions and notes that would accompany each of her drawings. Not once did she catch him looking back at her. A fact that she found just a little bit aggravating, especially since she was the one demanding proof that he could be responsible.
At this moment, he was composing a detailed description of the alabaster kohl jar that sat between them on the table, their last piece of the day. He was in his shirtsleeves, with the cuffs rolled back, and as she watched him write, she could see the flex of sinew and muscles in his forearms, making her remember the strength in his arms as he’d pulled her hard against him the other day. When he stopped to pick up the piece of alabaster for closer study, she studied his long, strong fingers, remembering the caress of his fingertips against her cheek. When she dared a peek at his face, memories of his lips on hers in that lavish, open kiss sent warmth radiating through her body.
He set the piece back down on the table. “Is there a problem?”
“Hmm? What?” She came out of her reverie with a start, lifting her gaze from his mouth to his eyes. “I beg your pardon?”
“I asked if there was a problem. You haven’t put pencil to paper for at least five minutes. Instead, you’ve been staring at me.”
“Sorry. I . . .” She paused to compose a reason for staring at him, but she realized there was none, at least none that wouldn’t be terribly embarrassing to admit. “I wasn’t staring at you,” she said, her face coloring up as she uttered the lie, her gaze returning to her sketchbook. “I was . . . I was staring into space and thinking about something, that’s all.”
“I see,” he murmured. “What were you thinking about?”
She resumed sketching, but she could feel his amused gaze on her, and since she couldn’t confess that she’d been admiring his body and remembering his kisses, she invented an excuse to be staring at him. “I was wondering about this adventure you’re taking me on tonight. What do you have planned?”
“I can’t tell you. If I did, it wouldn’t be an adventure, would it?”
She gave an aggravated sigh. “You have to at least give me a hint.”
Stubbornly he shook his head. “No hints.”
“But what do I wear?”
He grinned. “Nothing?” he suggested, sounding hopeful.
She blushed again, threw a drawing pencil at him, and gave up, but all through tea, and dinner, and entertainments in the drawing room afterward, her thoughts kept returning to what lay ahead. With Will, she knew it could be anything, and by the time everyone went to bed around half past eleven, her anticipation, curiosity, and excitement were making her feel as jumpy as a cat on hot bricks.
Dressed in her Turkish trousers and a simple shirtwaist, she sat by the window in her darkened room, staring out into the night, waiting as the clock in her room ticked away the minutes. She couldn’t see the dock—it wasn’t visible from here. She could only make out the tip of the Maria Lisa’s mast in the moonlight, but she knew he was already down there, waiting. She’d seen him in the moonlight a few minutes ago, walking down the path.
She didn’t dare follow him until she was sure everyone was asleep, and time seemed to crawl by. With each minute that passed, she felt her anticipation grow, and her doubts with them. What if they were caught? She’d have to marry him then. She wouldn’t have a choice.
Perhaps she shouldn’t go.
But even as that thought passed through her mind, she dismissed it. Who was she trying to fool? She’d go. She’d known that all along. After all, she reasoned as the clock struck one and she slipped out of her room, a bargain was a bargain.
Would she come?
Will didn’t know. She might lose her nerve. Trix did that sometimes, usually just at the moments when he was sure she wouldn’t.
But then he heard the delicate crunch of gravel on the path, and a moment later he saw her, hurrying toward the dock in the moonlight, and he let out a slow breath of relief. He walked up the dock to meet her and took her hand. “C’mon.”
“What are we doing?” she whispered.
“It’s an adventure, remember? You’ll just have to wait and see.”
With he
r in tow, he retraced his steps to the end of the dock, where a rowboat was bobbing in the water. “In you go.”
She eyed it doubtfully, but allowed him to help her in. “Where are you taking me?” she asked as she seated herself in the stern.
He didn’t answer. He stepped in after her, took the center seat, and pulled the oars from the bottom of the boat. After popping them into the locks, he held the ends with one hand and leaned toward the dock, using his free hand to untie the rope and shove them away from the quay. The boat went gliding silently out into the cove.
“Are we going to Diana’s Cove?” she asked, obviously impatient with his refusal to answer any questions.
“Save your breath and stop guessing.” He used one oar to turn the bow seaward, and then, with a glance over his shoulder, he began rowing. “I’m not telling.”
She made a sound of vexation. “I’d forgotten how stubborn you are about these things,” she muttered under her breath, but when he brought the boat out of the cove and began rowing south along the point, she began to laugh. “I know where we’re going.”
He grinned at her in the moonlight and pulled on the oars. “Do you now?”
“We’re going to Smuggler’s Island.”
His grin faded, and he sighed, shaking his head. “Really, Trix, I wish you wouldn’t guess these things so quickly. It’s much more fun when I can keep you in suspense.”
It took about ten minutes for him to bring the boat around the point, into the bay beyond, and over to the wooded island several hundred yards off shore. He brought the boat in until the sand scraped bottom, then removed the oars from their locks and returned them to their place beneath his seat. He yanked off his boots and socks, rolled up his trousers, and jumped into the water. He held the boat in place as she removed her own shoes and stockings, and though it was just torturing himself to watch her do it, he didn’t look away. The view of Trix’s pretty feet and shapely calves was just too tempting a sight for him to resist.
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