Bewitched

by Cullman, Heather;

  “From what I have seen and heard here at Windgate, you are still on friendly terms with your staff,” she commented, smiling tenderly at his confession.

  “Very friendly, which is the reason I chose Windgate as my retreat when I retired from society.” He pieced together several more puzzle fragments, revealing a portion of an ark with two lions, a pair of giraffes and an elephant, then sat back on his heels with a sigh. “Of all the scores of people who surrounded me when I was a child, only the servants here ever bothered to notice my loneliness and take measures to ease it.”

  “What did they do?” Emily quizzed, wanting, as she always did, to know everything there was to know about her magnificent husband.

  He smiled faintly and met her gaze, his beautiful jade eyes soft with nostalgia. “They would steal moments from their work to play games with me, or tell me stories, or teach me silly rhymes or gay country songs. Sometimes they just talked to me.” His smile broadened, as if in fond remembrance of one of those long-ago exchanges. “You would be surprised at how far a kind word or two will go toward raising a child’s spirits.”

  “No, I would not. I have always thought it extremely important for adults to notice and acknowledge children,” she declared, impulsively smoothing a long lock of hair from his forehead, which had tumbled over his brow during their conversation. “It is nice to know that there are people in England who share my belief.”

  “Just as it is nice to know that you hold them,” he countered softly, his eyes glittering from the power of some unfathomable emotion as his gaze locked into hers.

  Whatever that nameless emotion was, it touched something deep inside Emily, filling her with a sweet, savage yearning that set her heart fluttering wildly in her breast. Unnerved by her disturbing response, she tore her gaze away, her tongue feeling tied in a thousand knots as she uttered the first thing to come to mind. “Was there—er—anyone among the staff of whom you were particularly fond?”

  There was a brief pause, as if he, too, had felt whatever had passed between them and now struggled to regain himself, then he replied, “Phoebe Swann and her sister Agnes were, and still are, special to me.”

  “I have noticed that they are exceedingly fond of you as well.” And it was true. The two women couldn’t seem to do enough for him.

  He nodded. “I shall never forget how they used to invite me into the kitchen to cut and decorate my own gingerbread men. As I grew older, they let me stoke the oven fire, which was an enormous thrill for a young boy.” He paused briefly, straightening back up to resume his study of the puzzle pieces, before adding, “And then there was Isaac Juett, the Windgate carpenter.”

  “Isaac Juett?” Emily echoed, frowning as she tried to place the man. Though she had been to the carpenter’s shop on several kitemaking errands, she couldn’t recall meeting anyone by that name.

  “Unfortunately, you never had the chance to meet him. To my infinite sorrow, he died several years ago.”

  “I am sorry,” she murmured sincerely. By the tautness of his voice, it was apparent that the man had meant a great deal to him.

  He nodded once in acknowledgment to her condolence. “He was much loved here at Windgate and his death was felt keenly by all. I, for one, shall never forget him and his many kindnesses.”

  “He must have been very wonderful indeed for you to carry such a high opinion of him.”

  “He was … the best of all men, and I shall never hesitate to credit him for being my mentor. It was he who taught me the true virtues of nobility, his counsel I sought when I was troubled or confused, and his words of wisdom that guided me through the difficult transition from boyhood to manhood.” His gaze was back on hers, this time glittering with the strength of his conviction. “I can say sincerely and without reservation that I loved him and would have been proud to have been his son, humble though he was in both birth and position.”

  “It sounds as if he loved you, too,” she remarked, her already monumental respect for her husband doubling at the humility and loyalty his confession showed him to possess. “No doubt he would have been an enormous comfort to you during your illness, had he lived.”

  “No doubt,” he agreed with a smile. Tipping his head to one side to view her with the look of admiration she had come to know and cherish, he added in the next breath, “Do you know what I regret most of all about his death?”

  She smiled back, shaking her head.

  “That he shall never know you. He would have been most pleased to see me wed to you. You are exactly the sort of bride he once counseled me to take.”

  “Indeed? And what sort of bride is that, pray tell?” she quizzed, feeling herself blush beneath the warmth of his gaze.

  “Kind, generous, strong, and spirited … with fine hips for bearing children.” His lips split into a devastating grin. “You are all of that, my darling Emily, not to mention witty, charming, and a tearing beauty.”

  “And you are far too kind,” she demurred, returning her attention to the puzzle to hide her embarrassment at his effusive praise … not that she didn’t love hearing him say such wonderful things—she did, far more than was seemly.

  “No, my dear, I am simply being honest.” The gravity of his voice left little doubt as to his sincerity.

  The next few moments passed in silence as Michael and Emily resumed their work on the puzzle, discovering David and Goliath, and King Solomon’s feet. As they shifted through the pieces, busily trying, fitting, and discarding the colorful fragments, Emily’s mind reeled with questions about Michael.

  Sharing his childhood had left her hungry to know more about him … greedy, even. Not that her greed was anything new. With every passing day, with every secret they confided and memory they traded, her wish to know everything about him deepened into a keen, wistful yearning.

  True, she had learned much about him during the past weeks, but there was even more she didn’t know … private, personal details into which she hadn’t thus far dared to delve for fear that he would become angry and shut her out.

  One of those details was his experiences at Bamforth Hall, which she knew haunted and tormented him. The other was his views on children. Though she had promised never to question him on the former, she knew that it was only a matter of time before one of them was forced to broach the topic of the latter. After all, as the duke of Sherrington, it was Michael’s obligation to produce an heir. As his duchess, it was her duty to make herself accessible to him and to encourage him to fulfill his responsibility.

  Well, at least she thought it was. Having no one to guide her in such matters, she didn’t know that for certain, but it seemed to make sense. Of course, before she could encourage him or make her person accessible to him, they would have to discuss the subject. That meant first broaching it.

  Stealing a sidelong glance at her husband, Emily wondered if now might not be a suitable moment to do so. After all, they had been talking about children … yes, and he was in one of his warm, contemplative moods. Hmmm.

  Deciding that the moment was indeed as good as any she was likely to get in the future, Emily fitted the puzzle piece she held, which, appropriately enough, was the infant Jesus in his manger, next to the Joseph that Michael had just assembled, then murmured, “How do you feel about children?”

  He shot her a sharp look. “What do you mean?”

  She shrugged. “I was just wondering whether or not you like children. Many men dislike them, you know, and wish nothing to do with them.”

  He seemed to consider her words, his expressive eyes growing oddly shuttered and his handsome face remote, then he looked away again. Making a show of contemplating the puzzle pieces before him, he quietly replied, “I adore them. If I disliked them, I wouldn’t be in my current state.”

  Emily watched as he shuffled around several puzzle pieces, comparing their edges to the one in his hand, wondering what he meant. Unable
to make sense of his cryptic response, she admitted, “I am afraid that I do not know what you mean.”

  “Where do you think I contracted measles?”

  “I—I never really gave it any thought,” she confessed.

  “Neither did I, unfortunately.”

  Again she was at a loss. “Pardon?”

  “Measles. I never gave them or how very contagious they are any thought when I visited Lord Varden’s four children in their nursery, all of whom were down with the disease.” He paused to pick up one of the puzzle pieces he’d been pushing about, one depicting a pile of straw, and pressed it to the right of the manger. “The children had adopted me as a pet uncle of sorts, you see, and I had brought trinkets to cheer them.”

  “That was kind of you,” she remarked, her heart aching that he should pay such a terrible price for his benevolence.

  He passed off her commendation with a shrug. “It gave me pleasure to see them smile. Truth be told, I far preferred their company to that of many of my peers. So much so that I would inevitably end up in the nursery playing with them every time I attended one of the Vardens’ dreary social functions.” He chuckled and shook his head. “I shall never forget the look of annoyance on Lady Varden’s face every time she was forced to trudge up to the nursery to retrieve me. She fancied herself a bit of a matchmaker, I am afraid, and was always trying to shackle me to one of her friends’ daughters, despite my protests that I was waiting for her own daughter, Kitty, to grow up so that I could wed her.”

  “How old was Kitty?” Emily asked, shamed by the stab of jealousy she felt at the affection in Michael’s voice as he spoke of the girl.

  “Four, and if ever a chit was destined to be a heart-breaker, it is she. I certainly shan’t envy Varden when it comes time to bring her out. She will lead him and every bachelor in the ton on a merry chase.” He laughed softly, shaking his head. “The little minx. I can no doubt thank her for giving me the measles.”

  Emily smiled faintly, charmed by the animation on his face as he spoke of the child. “How so?”

  “Had she not demanded a kiss and insisted on sitting on my lap, I most probably would have escaped the infection.” Apparently his fondness for the child outweighed his bitterness over what had befallen him, for his voice remained free of the harshness that usually tainted it when he mentioned his illness.

  Thrilled that he had the capacity to care so for a child, she murmured on a sigh, “How very wonderful.”

  “Which part? Me catching the measles from kissing her, or me catching them from allowing her to sit on my lap?” he inquired wryly, one eyebrow arching in sardonic query.

  She waved aside his question with a bubbling laugh. “Neither. I merely meant that it is wonderful that you have it within your heart to love a child so very much. I always hoped that the father of my children would harbor that very ability.”

  By his expression, you would have thought that she’d slapped him instead of paid him what she considered to be the highest of compliments. His playful smile faded and the blood drained from his cheeks, leaving his face a ghostly mask of gravity. Alarmed by the hunted, almost wary look that had crept into his eyes, she stammered out, “D-did I say something amiss, Michael?”

  He shook his head once, sharply, then closed his eyes and turned his face away, seeming to wage a battle within himself.

  She hesitated a beat, watching him with uncertainty, then lightly touched his arm. “Michael?” Her voice had taken on a pleading tone, threaded with a note of tender urgency.

  He remained motionless for several more moments, then raggedly whispered, “I am sorry, Emily … so very sorry.”

  “Sorry?” she repeated. She frowned and shook her head, utterly perplexed by his cryptic response. “I do not understand, Michael. What have you to be sorry for?”

  “For marrying you.”

  His reply was like a stab to her heart, slashing it with a viciousness that made it cry out in desolate agony. He regretted marrying her. Feeling as though she would shatter to pieces if she so much as breathed, she stared at him dumbly, her eyes aching and clouded with hurt.

  “Oh, I am not sorry to have you for my wife,” he added fiercely in the next instant, turning abruptly to face her. “You have been a Godsend to me … my saving grace.” He shook his head once, his mouth contorting into a grim line. “I am sorry for trapping you into a sham of a marriage. A woman like you should have a real marriage, one with a husband who can love you.”

  Rather than easing her pain, his explanation made her feel worse, far, far worse. He didn’t love her, and he never could.

  Swallowing hard to hold back the sob that had risen from her chest, she desperately clutched at common sense, searching for solace in its clear, cold logic.

  She should be glad that he couldn’t love her … glad, yes … relieved, even. After all, it was only right that he didn’t love her since she couldn’t love him back, what with the curse and all. Of course, Rebecca had said that it might be possible to break the curse, but in order to do so they must love each other with all their hearts and souls. She had also warned that the spell used to banish the curse sometimes failed, which always resulted in dire consequences for the uncursed person, namely Michael. And since Emily was unwilling to do anything that might harm Michael …

  She gave her head a resolute shake. It was better for the both of them that they remained as they were, simply friends—the best of friends. It was the only way to ensure Michael’s safety. Though she still ached inside, Emily managed a faint smile and replied as lightly as she could, “You mustn’t feel badly about not loving me, Michael. Truth be told, I am glad you cannot. Since I am unable to love you, what with my curse and all, I would feel ever so dreadful if you loved me and I could never love you back.”

  “I never said that I do not love you—I do, damn it! I love you with every fiber of my worthless being.” He more spat than uttered the words, his voice raw and his eyes glittering with savage emotion. “When I said that I cannot love you, I meant love in the physical sense.”

  Emily’s jaw dropped, her mind reeling at his revelation. He loved her … her! The knowledge made her giddy with delight. Oh, she knew that she should be distressed, that in accepting his love she risked loving him back and invoking the disaster that always followed in the wake of such an advent, but at the moment she simply couldn’t help herself. What woman wouldn’t be thrilled to be loved by Michael?

  “Damn it, Emily. Did you hear what I said?” he growled, the anger in his voice piercing her thoughts like a blade.

  She frowned, bewildered by his wrath. “Of course I heard you. You said that you love me.”

  He emitted a frustrated noise. “I also informed you that I am unable to make love to you, which means that I most probably shall never be able to give you the children you so desire.”

  For several moments she merely stared at him, struck speechless as the meaning of his words began to sink in, then she somehow managed to force out a squeaky, “I see.”

  “Do you?” he demanded, his face hard and etched with fury.

  She nodded vigorously several times, then paused with a sigh and slowly shook her head. “No. I, mean, I am not certain. I—I—” she shook her head twice more, then blurted out, “I do not understand why you are so angry with me. Did I do something to cause your—your problem?”

  It was his turn to be struck speechless, his turn to shake his head. “No, oh no! Emily, my love, I am not angry with you,” he exclaimed hoarsely, shaking his head yet again. “I am furious with myself because I married you knowing full well that I couldn’t make love. Selfish bastard that I am, I never gave a thought to you or how my inability might affect your life. Truth be told, I didn’t care. All I cared about was escaping Bamforth.” He met her gaze then, his eyes anguished and his voice fraying as he finished, “Had I known how wonderful you are … how much I would love you
… I …” His voice gave out then, leaving him shaking his head over and over again, his eyes nakedly begging for the forgiveness his voice hadn’t the strength to petition.

  Seeing him like that, so humble and vulnerable, his pain radiating from him in palpable waves, made her heart bleed for him. Heedless of everything but her own urgent need to reassure him, she reached over and pulled his tense form into her embrace. Cupping the back of his head in her hand to guide it to her shoulder, she crooned, “There now, Michael. It is all right. Everything will be fine, you shall see.” Threading her fingers through his thick, wavy hair, which felt every bit as lovely as it looked, she began gently combing through it in the manner that never failed to calm and soothe her nieces and nephews.

  His body remained rigid for several moments, then relaxed by degrees, finally melting against her with a sigh. Emily smiled faintly as he nuzzled his face against the side of her neck, liking the sensation. “I truly am sorry, Emily,” he murmured against her neck. “I know how much you desire children. This must be a terrible blow to you.”

  Truth be told, it was. There was nothing she would have loved more than bearing Michael’s children. Indeed, it was her fondest dream, one that reigned even above her desire to fly. That she would never get the chance to carry his babes in her womb, to hold them in her arms, or see Michael’s smile when he joined them in their games made her feel achy and hollow inside.

  Her throat suddenly dry and fiery from her grief, she huskily replied, “I would be lying if I said that I wasn’t disappointed. I want your children, very much. In fact, I want them so badly that I sometimes lie awake at night imagining what they would look like, hoping that they would have your lovely jade eyes and beautiful smile. But”—she emphasized the word—“given the choice between leaving you and having another man’s children, or staying with you and remaining childless, I would choose you without hesitation.”