by Eva Devon
So after several days of reveling in each other’s bodies and souls, they sat atop a great ben, a basket of cheese, bread, wine and summer strawberries tucked on the corner of their blanket.
The purple heather unfolded before them in a colorful blanket down to the silver loch.
Was there such bliss anywhere else?
He never wished to leave this place or these days.
She had tucked her head against his lap and peered at her book.
Gently, he stroked her hair, fanning it over his thigh. He savored every touch, every hue of the blond locks.
Even years ago, when they first knew each other, it had not been like this. The first throes of young love had been exciting, thrilling even, but this? This touched his soul in ways he’d never imagined.
They’d both known such darkness that now the light felt all the more beautiful.
How had he existed without her? Life had been such a desert. Now, it was verdant and full of possibilities.
“Whatever are you contemplating?” she asked, as she closed the leather-bound pages of her novel. “You look quite transported.”
“I was contemplating you,” he said honestly.
“Me?” She laughed. “I am the source of such a look?”
“Yes,” he replied. “For I have never known such happiness.”
She rolled over and sat up, her skirts fanning about her and exposing her stocking-clad calves. “It is wonderful, is it not?”
He nodded as he idly plucked the heather from her gown then caressed her calf.
“You are such a remarkable person now,” she observed.
“I?” he scoffed. “I am the owner of a club of vice.”
She pushed him playfully before she took his hand and said earnestly, “And a champion of the vulnerable.”
He looked away, amazed to feel embarrassment. He had not begun those works for praise or esteem. It was why he had essentially kept himself anonymous.
“I think you are very unkind to yourself, Edward.”
It was on the tip of his tongue to say he would be unkind to himself until the day he died, for he would never be able to serve a long enough sentence for what he had done. But he did not. For if he did, it would open the wound that they were beginning to heal.
“Your good opinion of me is all I could ever wish for,” he said softly.
“Well, then, you have it.” She lifted his hand and kissed it. “I think you have proven you are a remarkable person. As I said.”
He swallowed. “Do you. . .”
“Yes?” she asked, caressing the back of his hand with her thumb.
Good God, he felt like a boy again in his hope. “Do you forgive me then?”
In an instant, her face grew guarded. “Edward, I do not—”
He leaned forward and stopped her mouth with a kiss. It had been foolish to ask. He’d nearly broken the moment.
But then she pulled back and touched his chest. “Edward, I do forgive you. I think I forgave you a long time ago.”
“You cannot mean it,” he rasped.
“I do,” she declared, her gaze burning with truth. “You were young and easily led. It did not occur to you to seek me out. But you were convinced by people you trusted of my false nature. If anything, you are a victim, too.”
“A victim?” he choked, barely able to believe how she exonerated him now.
She nodded. “You trusted them. And so you believed them.”
“I should have trusted you.”
She was silent.
“Emmaline, I am so very sorry. I—”
She lifted her fingers to his lips, but he gently pulled her hand away. “I know I apologized before but, even then, I do not think I understood the enormity of my actions. The fact that I did not trust the woman that I was to wed is beyond the pale.”
“And now?” she asked him, curling her fingers about his. “What do you know now?”
He paused, raking over his thoughts, determined to answer truthfully. “Not to judge others. Not to believe the worst of anyone until I have spoken to them, until I have irrefutable proof of my concerns. What I have learned is that we must seek to understand, not judge.”
“Then you have learned a great deal.”
“When we return to London, what will happen?” he dared to ask, shocked that the words slipped past his lips. For had he not, but a moment before, sworn to himself that he would not press her?
“When we return to London, nothing will change,” she assured him, as if that were the answer he hoped to hear. “We will go on now.”
“As lovers?” he queried.
She nodded. “We were always destined for each other, I think. I fought for so long, but I am glad I did. For though we suffered, we learned so much. For you, you are a man of so many parts, of such depth. You have experienced pain but you have not allowed that to make you hurt others in turn. On the contrary, you help others.”
Her words of esteem overwhelmed him and, suddenly, he found himself throwing himself into the breach. “Would you ever. . .”
He stopped himself. What was he doing? He was mad.
She arched a brow. “Do not be afraid, Edward. We must be past all of that. For did we not say no more lies? If we are afraid to say what is in our minds and hearts then are we still not lying to each other by omission?”
At the rightness of her words, he took his courage in his hands. “All I wish is to spend the rest of my days with you. You are my happiness. My life has been bleak without you. You are the sun upon my heart. All else is shadow.”
“Tell me what it is you envision,” she urged gently. “Tell me what you dream of for yourself.”
“My dream?” he echoed, half-terrified, half-soaring with hope. “The dream I have tortured myself with for thousands of nights but even more so since your return?”
She nodded.
“I wish us to be together, to grow together, to face this world together,” he proclaimed. “I wish to be your husband if you would allow it.”
She blinked. “You wish to marry?”
He nodded.
“Truly?” she asked, her voice low with surprise.
“I do.” He swallowed. Now that he had said it, there was no going back. So he ventured further. “I wish children. I never thought I could. Not after what happened, but. . .”
“Edward,” she said softly. “I do not know that I can ever marry.”
He stopped, his stomach dropping. “I see.”
“It is not because I do not hold deep affection for you. But as a woman, my entire independence can vanish in matrimony,” she explained gently and without acrimony. “I would become your property. All that is mine would become yours. Any children I would have would become yours.”
He nodded. “I understand.”
“Do you?” she asked as she lifted his hand and placed it on her cheek. Then slowly, she turned her lips to his palm.
“It is a great deal to ask,” he said, touched by her gesture.
“It is, but I promise you this,” she said as she continued to hold his hand. “I will think on it.”
“You will?” he gasped, astonished that she had not declined the proposition entirely.
She smiled. “I will. But promise me this.”
He waited, his entire world off balance awaiting her request.
“Promise me that my answer will not end what we have now,” she pleaded. “For you have awakened my heart again, too. I never thought to feel as I do. It is only you who makes me feel so entirely alive. Can that be enough?”
“Yes,” he said firmly, even as his heart sank, even as a moment of shadow passed over him. But he would not allow his dream to ruin their reality. For he would not be a fool again. He had Emmaline in his arms. How could that ever not be enough?
So, he cupped her face with his palm and kissed her tenderly, determined that she know the depths of his feeling for her.
As they lay back on the blanket on the heather, entwined in each other’s arms
, he knew he was the luckiest man in the world because she loved him.
Chapter 17
The Notorious Madame T has been seen frequently in the company of a certain Lord H, the owner of one of London’s most infamous clubs.
Their names were in every paper in London. Almost every day. Once again, they were on the tips of everyone’s tongues. But it wasn’t poison that was being spread. It was delicious gossip that all seemed to savor and marvel at.
Even so, Emmaline did not care. Not one whit. For she had found that after being exposed to so much scandal, being linked to the man she loved could not shake her.
Besides, she did not have a reputation to lose any longer. So many of the ladies of the ton had lovers. Many were open secrets. She had no intention of keeping secrets. After all, she was an actress. She could bloody well do as she liked.
If she was never invited into another ballroom, she would not cry. Much to her amazement, her invitations had actually increased. She and Edward were a curiosity.
“You, dear girl, look as if you have seen heaven’s gate,” Roddy teased mercilessly as he flung himself into the wood chair before his dressing room mirror.
She grinned. “Oh, I have.”
“Let the angels sing!” Roddy cheered happily. “It surely was bliss given the look upon your face.”
“Were you so very certain I had not seen it before?” she asked. He was so terribly naughty, but she adored Roddy’s good heart. For he truly cared about his friends.
He plunked his chin on his hand and gave her a knowing look. “What do you take me for, sweet young woman? I know a tulip from a turnip.”
“Are you comparing me to a root vegetable?”
He threw back his head and laughed. “Indeed, no, but you were certainly unearthed. Now, you blossom.”
“Thank goodness you have not taken to writing plays,” she drawled. “Your prose would be a travesty.”
Roddy tsked. “You adore it, my darling. I know you do! Now, you did, of course, take the proper precautions.”
She blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
Roddy turned to her, mouth agape. “You are not some ignorant house maid, Emmaline Trent. Tell me you took measures to ensure you would not increase.”
Her eyes widened.
Roddy rolled his eyes and sighed with resignation. “Dear girl, for all that you have a reputation for sin, you really are the perfect innocent.”
“I would not go that far,” she countered.
“I would.” Roddy shook his head at her. “Any courtesan could have told you. . . I could have told you.”
She scowled at him. “I did not have a vinegar sponge at hand.”
He huffed. “I do hope you have a spot in Italy picked out for when you no longer fit your costumes.”
She gasped. “You assume—”
“You’re a woman. He’s a man.” Roddy shrugged. “You have tupped. There is a natural result from such goings-on and pleasure is not always it.”
“Roddy!”
“Do not act the miss with me,” he returned. “I am your friend. And I would not see you ill prepared.”
She paused. Of course she should have given such a thing thought. She knew many women that had children out of wedlock. Wasn’t she even preparing to help those women who had no recourse?
But her own inclination and passion had driven the thought from her mind. . . Or was it simply that she had not cared or minded the possibility of a child with Edward?
Did she wish a child with him? The thought gave her sudden pause. She must have secretly been perfectly at ease with it, for she did not think she could have allowed herself to be swept up so thoroughly if she was not.
“You are well and truly gone, are you not?” Roddy sighed. “Well, I do hope he’s no longer a bounder.”
“He’s not,” she protested. “Not in the slightest. Well, perhaps a trifle. But I like him for that little bit.”
“Is he so changed?” Roddy queried through narrowed eyes.
She considered her answer, for she did not wish to sound like a besotted bit of lace. “I think he was always a good man, a misguided man, and he has learned the error of his ways.”
“You are most forgiving. And I am glad. We should not live in misery if we wish happiness.”
“I agree.” She paused and looked to her mirror, studying her own face with far too much focus. “He asked me marry him.”
“Do tell!” Roddy squealed as he picked up his grease paint. “Will you risk being denounced at the altar again?”
She winced. “I thought you just said the past—”
“I didn’t say to be a fool.”
She frowned. “So, you think I should not marry him.”
“I think you should be very careful,” Roddy replied gently. “For your heart is full just now, overruling your head. Then again, you have let your head rule for overlong. Do you trust him?”
She considered this. The truth was she had never not trusted Edward. He had never lied to her. He had never tricked her. He had been tricked. Horribly. And it had caused him to do the most terrible thing.
It had been the pain caused by his actions that she had not been able to forget.
Really, it was Lord Conrade she wished great ill.
She didn’t even loathe John who had started it all. He, too, had been hurt and betrayed by those who should have loved him. John’s own misdeeds had been borne out of the pain of being a most abused bastard son. But Lord Conrade had acted out of sheer cruelty when he had seduced her cousin and claimed it had been she. He was a man without morals or remorse.
“What will you do?” Roddy asked as he began to apply his makeup.
“I shall savor this happiness.”
“Very wise.” Roddy nodded. “I am sure the answer will come to you. When do you see him again?”
“After tonight’s performance,” she said brightly.
Roddy pursed his lips which were partially rouged. “My, he does like the theater now. I do not think he has missed a performance.”
“He has not,” she confirmed, most proud of the way Edward supported her endeavors.
“And what will you tell our dear Hart? Yea or nay?”
Emmaline breathed slowly as she opened her own rouge pot. “I do not know.”
“Whatever you do,” Roddy said with a flourish of his charcoal stick, “require a contract! Always require a contract, darling.”
Emmaline laughed, but she understood his meaning. As she went to the work of smoothing her grease paint, she pondered the possibility. Could she do it? Could she marry Edward? Did she wish to?
She certainly wished to spend the rest of her days with him. Of that, she was growing ever more certain. If they did have a child, bastardy was nothing she’d wish on her child. Oh, she’d manage, and she would shower such a child with love. But could she deny a child those advantages? The world could be most cruel. The way John had been treated for years was evidence of it.
Luckily, she was not required to make her decision immediately and, more to the point, Edward was content to wait which only made her admire him more. He had not pressed since the day he had asked her in Scotland. And every day since, he had shown her his love with notes, books, flowers, poetry, and good conversation.
He’d found her an exceptional man of business to begin her own charitable establishment and had recommended an architect to design it.
Soon, she’d meet with Mrs. Darby to select a suitable staff. And Edward had attended every single performance that had taken place in her theater, always sitting in his box and standing at the end. But he never made her feel as though she could not mingle with guests afterwards. He was content to love her but not own her.
Not once had he shown a shade of jealousy.
Still, her mind rebelled and even her heart had not been entirely able to quell its protestations.
Could she marry? Could she dare?
She felt certain that, soon, she would have an answer for him and whatever
it was, she knew he would accept it. And that? That was a very good thing, indeed, for she could no longer imagine her life without him.
Chapter 18
“Mon, are ye no’ sick to death of the theater as of yet?”
Edward laughed at Clyde as they made their way out of the Maiden’s Legs into the winding warren of London’s East End.
“Will ye truly go again?”
“Yes,” Edward replied happily. He loved to see Emmaline in her element, for she glowed upon the boards. The audience hung upon her every word.
Night was falling and, in this part of town, there were no lamps to light the narrow ways. Only the faint red tinge of dusk lit their path.
The hour was not too late for him to cross towards Covent Garden and he would make the curtain for Emmaline’s performance just in time. He had not been able to turn an invitation down from Clyde for a few drinks beforehand. After all, the man was responsible for Edward’s unexpected joy.
“I will happily sit in my box every night if it means she spends the rest of the evening with me,” Edward informed him. “And the daytime, too.”
“Yer business will fall to rack and ruin,” Clyde declared dramatically.
“Did you not say I should leave it to my man of business?” Edward reminded. “He is quite skilled. In all events, I still spend a good deal of time at the club. Her nearness now is quite a fortunate thing.”
“Curses have turned into blessings?” Clyde asked as he swung his cane.
Edward smiled, a true smile. One untouched by irony or bitterness. “More than I could ever count.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
“How did you know to invite her?” Edward suddenly asked.
“The look in yer eye, mon,” Clyde said with a sly grin. “Ye were as sick as a moon calf. I either had to invite her or put ye out of yer misery. I had a feeling she had the same feelings for ye. If she’d truly hated ye, she never would have bought a building near yers.”
Edward laughed. “You are a wiser man than I.”
“Was there ever any question?”
As they strode down a narrow street, a flash of white caught Edward’s eye from a small close. His head jerked slightly towards it.
