“Yes, if that man is you. And remember, you did tell me once that I was beautiful. You saw me with your hands, with those fingers. You can see our children just as you see me, with your hands and your ears. Isn’t that enough for you?” She lost her fingers in the strands of black hair that fell forward to hide Alex’s face from her. Then she pushed those strands away to reveal strong features and dark eyes. “It’s enough for me.”
“Medora Hayden will you marry me?” he asked quickly, as if he were afraid one of them would have a change of heart.
“Yes,” she whispered. “But I have to tell you...” The truth. How could she marry him and not tell him who she really was? How could she make herself his wife with this lie between them? She had to tell him the truth, but not now. Not while he was still joined with her, while she was still flushed from loving him. “I’m a terrible cook.”
“I don’t care,” he said with a laugh and a brush of his lips against hers.
They lay there, listening to the faint sounds of revelry beneath the window and finding warmth in one another’s arms.
“You had not been with a man before tonight,” Alex said thoughtfully. “You saved your virtue.”
“For you, Alex,” she whispered. “Only for you.”
She carried Alex’s warmth with her throughout the morning, but there was one cold spot deep within her heart that warmth couldn’t touch: her lie, the knowledge that soon he would discover her deception.
“Good morning, my love,” Alex whispered, sneaking up behind her to wrap his arms around her waist and plant a kiss on her neck.
She had not moved, had not spoken, yet he’d located her with ease.
“Good morning,” she whispered, twisting in his arms to kiss him lightly before she stepped away. Alex reached out and snagged her wrist.
“Where are you going?” he asked as he drew her back into the refuge of his arms.
“Josh and your father are in the kitchen. They might step into the room at any moment.”
“And if they do?” He reached up and brushed away a strand of hair that fell over her cheek.
“You can see me,” she whispered. “Can’t you?”
He gave her a smile so bright it took her breath away. “A little.” Alex held her tightly and pulled her gently into the sunlight that shone brightly though the front window.
Her heart stopped as Alex fingered the collar of her plain dress, as he traced her jaw with a single assured finger. “Not well enough,” he whispered. “Not nearly well enough.”
“Soon.” Her response was nothing more than a breath.
Soon. Too soon. How could she tell Alex what she’d done? He wouldn’t forgive her, not this.
Medora reached up and placed her palm against his face. All that mattered was that he was healing, that he would soon be well. He would be the old Alex Stark, perfect once again. He certainly wouldn’t need her. He definitely wouldn’t want her in his life.
“Kiss me quickly,” she said in a soft voice. “Before Elias returns, before Josh steps into the room and ruins this opportunity.”
Alex did kiss her, wholly, completely, unreservedly. With all his heart and soul. She felt that purity, drank it in as she wondered if he could feel the icy block in her heart. If he could sense the lie that would, in the end, destroy her.
Alex watched the activity in the newly renamed Freedom Tavern, trying to focus on the bleary images that swam before his eyes. Shapes: a large man, a long table, a tankard lifted into the air near his face. These things took shape before his eyes.
He was ecstatic, and at the same time he was horribly frustrated. He still couldn’t see. More than anything, he wanted to see Medora’s face.
She wasn’t present on this evening; she’d pleaded a headache and retired early. He tried to convince himself that it could be so simple, that a headache had made her distant throughout the day. It didn’t ring true. Did she already regret agreeing to marry him, giving herself to him? He didn’t doubt, in spite of her new reticence, that she loved him. But was it enough?
It was Christmas Eve, and the crowd of regulars had cleared out early to be with their families. And still, Alex watched. His father was wiping down the bar, scrubbing hard. Josh swept the room halfheartedly. Alex could not see the expression on his brother’s face, but his motions were lazy. Tired, perhaps. Alex was considering telling his father and his brother that his sight had begun to return when the front door burst open and Sarah Stark swept in with Caroline a single step behind her.
“I told you I’d be home by Christmas,” she declared brightly. “Mary had twins,” she said as she placed her bag on the floor. “Two tiny little girls. They’re all doing well, so Caroline and I left the lot of them in the care of the family.”
His mother’s presence made the decision easy for him. Alex stood and faced the door, she started walking toward him. He lifted a hand to stop her, and the shadowy shape he followed with his eyes came to a halt in the center of the tavern. He stepped away from the table, around the end, and walked straight toward her. Without hesitation, without a guiding hand on the tables and chairs around him.
“Alexander,” she breathed. “Can you see me?”
He grinned and stopped just short of his mother to place his hands on her shoulders. “Just a little. It’s coming back, more every day.”
She threw her arms around him, hugging him tight and gasping in surprise, sobbing just once before she reined in her emotions and backed away. “I knew it would happen,” she said pragmatically. “I never doubted for a moment.”
“You could have told me,” Josh said, his feelings obviously hurt. “How long has this been going on?”
“A few days. I didn’t say anything because I was afraid... I was afraid the improvement would stop while everything was still a blur.”
Everyone spoke at once, his father briefly but loudly, Caroline with a shrill squeal, Josh and their mother vying for dominance.
Alex didn’t know how long Medora had been with them, but he turned his blurry gaze to the stairs and she was there. Little more than a silhouette, a mass of dark hair around her shoulders, a full gray skirt billowing around her, she remained silent and still.
“I have more good tidings,” he said, lifting an inviting hand to her. She floated down the stairs and joined him, placed her hand in his. The family was silent, even Josh and Sarah. “I’ve asked Medora to marry me, and she has said yes.”
Caroline chirped, but everyone else was silent for a long moment.
“That’s wonderful,” Sarah said calmly, laying her hands over theirs. “When is the wedding to take place?”
“Call the magistrate and he can marry us tonight,” Alex suggested with a grin.
“No.” Medora’s voice was soft, but insistent. “We’ll wait until Alex can see my face. Then, if he still wants to call the magistrate, we’ll be married here.”
It was an odd statement for her to make, and she sounded so somber. Was she afraid he wouldn’t like her appearance? She’d felt beautiful beneath his fingers, and he knew that no matter how her features were arranged, she’d always be fair to him.
But that was not a discussion he wished to have in front of his family. “Soon,” he said, lifting her hand to his mouth, brushing his lips over the knuckles. But she slipped her hand from his and backed away slowly.
“We’ll start cooking early in the morning,” Sarah said with artificial brightness. “Tomorrow will be a Christmas to remember. My sons home after so many years, and a new and wonderful daughter to welcome to the family.”
The silence that followed his mother’s statement was awkward. Alex knew they all loved Medora, would love her even more as time passed. There should be shouts and laughter to accompany their announcement.
“Good night,” Medora said, her voice low. “I’ll see you all early in the morning.”
Alex watched her retreating form, heard her footsteps as she hurried up the stairs, listened even more carefully as she stepped down the
hallway and opened a door.
There was little resembling holiday spirit in the room as one by one his family bid one another good night and retired. Elias was last, bolting the front entrance as he did every night, clearing his throat frequently as if he had something to say but was unsure of how to begin. Watching the hulking and silent shadow of his father, Alex followed Elias’s movements as the old man readied the tavern for the night and finally came to stand before Alex.
“Congratulations, son,” Elias said in a coarse voice. “Medora is an uncommon woman. You’re right lucky that she’ll have you.”
It was his father’s way. Gruff. Brief. To the point. Alex didn’t even have time to agree with his father’s assessment of Medora before the older man turned away with a curt good night.
There was a single candle left burning, and Alex lifted it as he turned to the stairs. Holding the flame so close to his face made it harder to see distinctly, but he was glad of the light. He’d believed for a time that he’d live the rest of his life without it.
He had no trouble making his way to the stairway. Once there, he gripped the railing in one hand and the candleholder in the other as he placed his foot on the bottom step.
He climbed the stairs slowly, carefully, the indistinctness of his vision disorienting even now. One step and then another, a simple chore made not so easy by his infirmity. When he stepped into the hallway he closed his eyes, remembering the sounds of Medora’s footsteps against the floorboards, following her path.
Or so he hoped. It would be embarrassing if he entered the room of that Puritan woman who was staying in one of these second-floor rooms or of the privateer captain who had sworn to sleep through Christmas and possibly clear to the New Year.
When he opened his eyes he was standing in front of a door. He had to know what was wrong, why Medora was so subdued. He had to know if she was truly his to claim.
She listened to his footsteps, so sure and steady. Held her breath as he placed his hand against the handle of her door so that it rattled slightly.
When he stepped into the room, his candle held high so that the soft light bathed his face, Medora’s heart stopped. She’d loved Alex all her life, it seemed, but in the past days that love had grown to something stronger, more powerful than she could have imagined.
“Medora?” he breathed hesitantly.
She sat taller in the bed. “Yes,” she whispered.
He smiled softly. “I was afraid for a moment I had the wrong room.”
Alex took long strides to the side of the bed, and Medora took the burning candle from him, lowering it to her bedside table, dousing the flame with a quick breath to leave them in darkness.
“For a moment I could almost see you,” he said as he sat on the edge of the bed. “What’s wrong? Why are you afraid? Do you regret last night?”
So many questions. One answer, an answer she could not give him. Not yet. “No,” Medora said, reaching out to take Alex’s hand. “I swear to you, I have no regrets. My love for you is only stronger.”
“Then why—” He threaded his fingers through hers. “Why do you insist that we wait until I can see you before we marry? One minute you swear it makes no difference and the next—”
“I only want you to see who you’re binding yourself to before you speak the vows.”
“Medora.” Alex leaned forward and kissed her lightly. “If you wish it, we’ll wait. But I promise there’s nothing that will change my love for you.” He raised a hand to her cheek. “It won’t be a long delay.”
She knew that to be true, that his sight was returning at an alarming rate. She leaned into Alex and buried her head against his shoulder. If he asked her to leave again it would destroy her. This was where she belonged, by his side, in his arms. But when he learned the truth he would despise her for her lies. Did he love her enough to forgive her? Or was her time with him to be achingly short?
“Stay with me tonight,” she whispered. “Love me again and sleep beside me so that my first sight on Christmas morning is of your face.”
He lifted her face with gentle fingers, then gave her his answer with a deep kiss that eased her fears. In the darkened room they were equal, guided only by touch and sound and instinct. For a while, she forgot that this perfection wouldn’t last forever.
7
It was the light that woke him, sunlight streaming through the window and touching Medora’s hair. His face rested against that luxurious hair, and her back was pressed against his chest, her bare skin warming his.
She’d described her hair well, dark brown with red highlights the sun revealed. Not quite straight, but not curly either. Alex lifted a handful, careful not to disturb her, and rubbed his fingers against the silky wealth. He could see the strands in the bright sunlight, could see the warm flesh pressed against him. His vision was not flawless, but at last he could see the woman he loved.
He didn’t want to wake her, not yet. Instead, he marveled at the contrast of her creaminess against his darker skin, at the richness of her hair, the curve of her hip beneath his hand.
She would have everything she’d ever dreamed of. He planned to see to it. To make her dreams come true, to watch her smile again and again.
Her face was turned into the white pillow, her hair spilling over her cheek and rippling in dark waves across the pure softness. With unhurried fingers, he brushed aside the dark strands to reveal a smooth cheek that was flushed pink with sleep. He ran a single finger along her jaw, remembering the first time he’d seen her that way, the first time she’d drawn his hands to her face.
He slipped that hand onto the warmth of the pillow beneath her head and turned her face to his. The sunlight made her squeeze her eyes tighter, and she frowned slightly against the brightness that threatened to intrude upon her sleep. He could see that much as the fog that dimmed his vision came and went.
Medora turned away from the light and buried her face against his chest, but not before he caught a second’s clear glimpse of her. What he thought he saw was... not possible. It was an illusion, nothing more. With a frown, Alex tipped her face forward so that the sun fell softly across her cheeks, illuminating every feature for his perusal.
She was beautiful, as she’d always been. In her description of herself, she’d omitted the light sprinkling of freckles across her nose. Had she thought that revelation would give her away? When she was fourteen those freckles had been prominent. Now they were almost gone, a pleasing imperfection on an otherwise flawless face.
She opened her eyes and smiled. Green eyes, as she’d described, with flecks of brown. He hadn’t remembered that detail, hadn’t remembered those eyes being so bright, so deep.
“Good morning,” she whispered, lifting an indolent hand to his jaw, rubbing lightly at the morning stubble there. “Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas, Meghan Campbell.”
She stiffened, went cold in his arms and allowed her hand to fall away from his face. “You can see me that clearly?”
Alex rolled from the bed and began to dress with his back to her. He could not, would not, look at her. “Was it entertaining, Meghan? Or should I continue to call you Medora?”
“Medora is my second name,” she said softly.
He wanted to ask why, he wanted an explanation. He wanted a reason that made sense! But there was none. She had been false from his first day at home. There was no real Medora. She was a fabrication, a contrivance, a game. At least she had the good sense not to try to explain away her lie. She was silent as he dressed in the clothing he had so hastily and happily discarded in the dark.
He didn’t turn to look at her when he was finished dressing, but made his way to the door without laying his eyes on her again.
As he threw the door open, his pain grew, a pain deeper and more excruciating than anything he’d ever experienced. He’d fallen deeply in love with a woman who didn’t exist. He had cherished every moment, every touch... and none of it had been real.
“Get out
,” he said as he stepped into the hall and slammed the door shut.
Medora dressed methodically, slipping on her best chemise and the blue wool. It would keep her warm enough as she traveled. She laid out her heavy cloak, tossing it across the bed that was still warm from Alex’s body.
She’d known this would happen. That Alex would see her face and hate her for what she’d done. She’d known his rejection would hurt, but she hadn’t expected it to hurt so badly, hadn’t realized that the physical pain would well up deep in her chest and make her ache to her core. The pain didn’t paralyze her, though, didn’t stop her from tossing everything she owned into her small trunk.
That done, she stood in the center of her room for several minutes. She couldn’t face Sarah and Elias, Josh and Caroline. Couldn’t bear to say good-bye, as she should. They’d been good to her. But she wouldn’t leave Alex in tears, she wouldn’t break down in front of him, and if she had to face his family she would.
The hallway was deserted, silent but for Medora’s own footfall as she made her way to the room next to hers. She knocked quietly, got no response, and knocked again. More insistently, this time.
The door swung open and she found herself face-to-face with a pirate. Long blond hair, piercing blue eyes, two days of pale stubble on his face, gold loops in his earlobes. He had hastily pulled on his knee breeches, but his broad chest was bare. For a moment she focused on the jagged scar there.
“What the hell do you want?” he asked too loudly. “I left instructions that I was not to be disturbed!”
Medora didn’t back away from his angry shout, but stood her ground, eyes straight ahead and on his bare chest. In addition to the mark that had initially drawn her attention there were a number of faint but alarming scars that spoke of a harsh and dangerous life.
“You have a ship,” she said softly. “And I must leave here. Would you take me? Savannah. I have family there.”
Behind the Mask Page 24
