by Jo Beverley
What on earth had happened between him and his wife all those years ago? One thing she knew, though, he did not destroy women for his pleasure.
Deirdre hurried back inside the park, hoping she was hiding her distress from the gatekeeper. Howard was still under the tree, lost in numbers. She passed him by gingerly, not wanting to speak to him just now. She smiled grimly at the very idea that he might demand her presence.
There was no watcher to be seen at the study window, and so she slipped into the house and went up to her room.
She washed her face and composed herself, looking around and wishing the walls could speak.
Why had Genie fled?
Why had Everdon never sought a divorce?
Did it, in fact, argue a guilty conscience?
10
DEIRDRE ESCAPED HER THOUGHTS by seeking out her mother. Lady Harby was wise, and might be able to throw light on the situation. Lady Harby, however, was deep in the novel Marmion, and clearly not in the mood for company.
“Why don’t you go and find Everdon, Deirdre? You’ve hardly spent a moment with him for days. I thought you were coming to your senses.”
Deirdre scurried off to Lucetta’s rooms. She, at least, was available, but Kevin Renfrew was there.
“I’m sorry,” Deirdre said, prepared to retreat.
“Don’t go, dear,” said Lucetta. “I’ve seen so little of you these last days. Where’s Howard?”
Deirdre took a seat cautiously. There was a strange atmosphere in the room, and the Daffodil Dandy was drooping a little. She had the uncomfortable feeling that she was intruding.
“Howard’s in the garden. He’s working on something, and he says I distract him just by being there.” She tried to make her distractive force sound positive.
Renfrew straightened and gave her one of his vague looks. “Mathematics do tend to take over a man’s head,” he said. “Newton was a strange fellow. Not easy to rub along with at all.”
Deirdre was beginning to realize that Kevin Renfrew’s oblique comments generally carried a point, and thought she saw the direction of this one. “He was married, though,” she said.
Renfrew nodded. “Noble woman.”
Deirdre couldn’t think how to respond.
Lucetta intervened. “I’m sure Howard feels guilty for neglecting you, my dear, but it is to my benefit, for now I have the pleasure of your company. I have been feeling that both Marco and I are neglecting our guests. I don’t know what Marco can be thinking of.”
“We’re all perfectly happy,” Deirdre assured her. “Rip and Henry have been enjoying cricket or the river, and today they’re off to that prizefight. They will doubtless return in transports of delight, loaded with gruesome accounts of the event. Mother is plundering the novels in your library, and Howard and I have time to be together. It is all quite wonderful.” Even as she said it, Deirdre could hear the strident overemphasis in her voice.
Lucetta smiled approvingly, but the smile did not quite reach her worried eyes.
Renfrew rose abruptly. “I must take my leave.”
Lucetta turned to him. “God go with you, Kevin.” She opened her arms, and to Deirdre’s surprise, the young man accepted a hug. She knew then that his brother must be near his end. She tried to imagine what it would feel like to lose one of her sisters or brothers, especially when the death would bring so many changes and responsibilities.
Renfrew headed for the door, but stopped and faced Deirdre. There was nothing vague in his manner at all when he said, “Marry Everdon.” With that he was gone.
Deirdre pulled her gaze from the closed door and looked at Lucetta. “His brother?”
Lucetta sighed. “Yes. Poor Ian. I never expected there to be so many untimely deaths in my life. Kevin has the right, of it, though. You should marry Marco.”
Deirdre felt bludgeoned. “I am pledged to Howard.”
Lucetta threw up her hands. “My dear, what can I say? Self-sacrifice is so hard to do well.”
Deirdre erupted to her feet. “I’m not sacrificing myself! I love Howard.” But now the words almost choked her, and she knew they were not true.
Lucetta knew it, too; it was clear in her frowning gaze.
Deirdre said, “I met Lady Brandon a little while ago.”
“Here?” Lucetta asked in surprise and dismay.
“No. Out in the road. I was walking.”
“Ah. Poor woman.”
“She is very bitter. Does she have reason to be?”
Lucetta sighed. “I do not think so. But if, in that bad time, Marco had shot himself, I, too, would have been bitter. It is the nature of mothers to adhere to their children’s cause.”
Deirdre didn’t want to ask, but needed to know. “Why did he never seek a divorce?”
“As long as Richard and Ian stood in line, he had no great need to marry again, and I know he did not relish a public airing of the matter. Beyond that, I do not know. As I have said, he keeps a great deal to himself.”
Deirdre wanted to ask if Everdon had done anything to drive his wife away, but she could not ask that of Lucetta.
Lucetta broke the moment by posing a question about silks for her work. Deirdre was pleased enough to leave unpleasant subjects alone. There was too much dark intensity hovering in the house today, and too many unpleasant thoughts lurking in her head…
A knock on the door interrupted them. A maid presented Deirdre with a note.
She opened it, puzzled. It said simply, You are needed in the study. She frowned over it. It was unsigned, and she did not recognize the handwriting, but then there were few hands in this house she would recognize. She supposed it could be from the secretary—Morrow. But why would she be needed?
Lucetta was looking at her with a question in her eyes. Deirdre stood. “My mother wishes to see me,” she said, knowing it made little sense.
Once in the corridor, she stood in thought, unsure what to do. Would Everdon send such a note to trap her? It simply wasn’t in his style. Perhaps there was some business matter that needed her attention…
Then she had a startling thought. Perhaps this was Everdon’s play at last. Perhaps she was to find him in a compromising situation. With whom? she wondered faintly. A maid?
Now the moment was come, she did not want to go through with it. It was going to be horribly embarrassing, but there was more to her reluctance than that.
She was going to marry Howard—she accepted that—but as long as this mock betrothal existed, Everdon was part of her life. Once she interrupted his immorality and threw an outraged fit, it would all end. Not just the engagement, but all contact between them for all eternity.
She remembered him saying, You taste of eternity…
But this was their agreement, and it would free him as much as it would free her; free him to seek a true bride. Deirdre wiped her damp hands on her skirt and marched off to the study.
She paused and listened. It was as if the room were empty. Could wickedness be so silent? She raised her hand to knock, but then realized that would not do at all.
She turned the knob and marched in.
Everdon looked up sharply.
He was alone.
He was seated behind his gleaming desk, cradling something in his hands. A bedraggled letter lay open before him.
The object in his hands was a miniature portrait, perhaps four inches across. He hastily put it down and rose, but he put it down faceup, and Deirdre saw that it was of a startlingly beautiful girl.
It was surely Genie, his first wife. Alerted by her expression, he flipped the picture over.
Dieirdre’s chest and throat began to ache in a way that could only be eased by tears, tears she was determined not to shed.
Dear Lord, but he looked grief-stricken.
He still loved Iphegenia Brandon, the most beautiful girl in England. Even a glimpse had told Deirdre that Lady Brandon had not lied about that.
“Did you want something?” he asked in a strangely wooden voice.
Deirdre knew she should go, she should leave him to grieve in peace, but instead she closed the door gently and walked toward the desk, seeking words that would comfort him.
He held her eyes for a moment, and she could see the effort it took, then he buried his face in his hands and wept.
Deirdre froze, appalled. More than anything in her life, she wanted to enclose him in her arms as she would a hurt child. All her civilized instincts, however, told her she must ignore something of which he would surely be ashamed.
She began to edge back toward the door.
He looked up, grimaced, and wiped his face with his handkerchief. “My apologies. My damned Spanish half escapes every now and then.” He rose sharply to his feet and went to a table to pour himself a glass of brandy. He knocked it back and poured another.
He looked at her. “Want some?”
She shook her head.
“Steadies the nerves.” His voice was still rough with emotion.
There was a silver snuffbox on his desk. Deirdre picked it up, and with unsteady hands, presented it to him. He took it, placed it by the brandy decanter, and opened it.
“Your wrist, if you please,” he said, still in a voice unlike his usual mellow tones.
Deirdre looked, puzzled, at her wrists, then extended her right hand. He captured it, turned it, and placed some snuff on the pale, veined underside. His hand warm beneath hers, he raised her wrist to inhale first in one nostril, then the other. His eyes closed as he savored the effect. Deirdre stared at him, wondering how her wrist could be so intimately connected to her heart.
Eyes still closed, he said, “If you don’t intend to marry me, Deirdre, you should not have come here today.”
Deirdre glanced anxiously at the closed door. “It won’t matter.”
His eyes opened. “That’s not what I mean.”
He pulled her into his arms and kissed her.
It was nothing like any kiss Deirdre had experienced before. It was an elemental force that offered no escape.
He trapped and molded her to him in a shockingly intimate way. His hungry lips demanded union, a union her body craved. She was a willing puppet in the arms of a master of sensuality.
She pressed closer and opened her lips; he deepened his burning possession. She ceased to be a separate person and became part of him, and he part of her. She had a shattering insight of how it would feel to be skin to skin and more.
And wanted it.
Alarmed at last, she pushed away.
He resisted.
She struggled in his arms.
Abruptly he let her go.
Deirdre staggered back. She collided with a chair and collapsed into it, staring at her wild-eyed lover.
Passion. She had never known such passion existed.
He drew on control like a dark cloak. “Should I apologize?”
She hugged herself and shook her head. Apologies certainly didn’t seem appropriate.
“Have I disgusted you?”
She shook her head again. Words just didn’t seem possible.
“Frightened you?”
Another shake of the head. Yes, she was frightened, but not of him.
He moved swiftly to kneel in front of her and captured her hands. “Speak to me, cara. You’re frightening me.”
Words were still impossible, but she squeezed gently on his hands. He loosed her fingers and placed a kiss first on one palm, then the other. “I can’t let you marry Dunstable.”
That broke the dam. “You can’t stop me.” But when she tugged her hands free of his, it was with reluctance.
“I could seduce you. Here. Now.”
Deirdre looked into his dark, passionate eyes and knew it was the truth. “You won’t.”
“No,” he said softly. “I won’t.” He recaptured her hands, and it was as if he tried to seize her soul. “Why in God’s name are you so bent on marrying him?”
“Because he needs me.”
“I need you, too.”
“Not as he does, and I have given my word. Would you break your word? What good are you to me, to any woman, if you would pledge your word and then break it?”
He shook his head. “It’s not that kind of situation, mia.”
“Is it not? You have powers to attract, Don Juan, and I am attracted. I confess it. But am I to turn away from Howard to chase the first more attractive man who crosses my path? Is that honor? That, surely, is what your wife did.” She used it as a weapon and saw it strike home.
“You could be right,” he said steadily. “But I gave Genie cause to leave me, as Dunstable is giving you cause to leave him. I do not blame her.”
“What cause?” she asked.
He shook his head. “It’s ancient history. But in my way I loved Genie, Deirdre, and Howard does not love you.”
“Yes, he does.” Deirdre was no longer quite sure of this, but what else could she say? In honor she was bound to Howard.
“No, he doesn’t love you,” said Everdon firmly. “If I prove it to you, will you marry me?”
How could she believe that a man like Everdon really wanted to marry her? As Lady Brandon had said, his taste ran to beauty. But clearly in his belief that she should not marry Howard, he would do anything, even to pretending to love her.
Deirdre had this horrifying image of them all going in circles saying conventional, meaningless things, spiraling down into disaster. She rose to face him. “You won’t be able to prove that Howard doesn’t love me, because it isn’t true.”
“But if I do?”
“I still won’t promise to marry you. Our betrothal is a sham. We always intended to end it.”
He took a deep breath and ran his hands through his hair. “If I prove to you that Dunstable doesn’t love you, will you at least promise not to marry him? Please, Deirdre.”
She looked down at her hands. “He asked me to marry him. Why would he do that if he doesn’t love me?”
“You find him housekeepers.”
It was like a sword to the heart. She looked up at him, knowing the pain of it would be on her face.
He met her eyes. “Go on, hit me. I’m owed one for that kiss.”
She swallowed tears. “No, I gave you that kiss. But can’t you see, Don? You’re trying to make me like Genie. The man she ran away with—I don’t know who he was—he probably said to her the things you say to me, and played on her desires and disappointments as you play on mine. But I will not be like Genie. There has to be honor above desire. I have given my word to Howard, and I will keep it.”
She turned and fled the room. She raced to her bedroom to collapse on the bed there, and weep with a depth and agony she had never believed possible.
The pain she felt must surely be the pain of a broken heart.
Back in his study, Everdon sank into his chair and buried his face in his hands. He was determined not to weep again. No wonder Deirdre wanted nothing to do with him after such an un-British display of emotion.
But that wasn’t what had driven her away.
You’re trying to make me like Genie.
Was that what he was trying to do? Genie had said she loved him, had agreed to marry him, had tangled with him in bed in some of the most frighteningly intense passion he had ever known. Then she had met someone who pleased her better and left, leaving only a note saying she was bored, and unhappy, and couldn’t be expected to stay.
Was he asking Deirdre to do the same thing?
There has to be honor above desire.
But he had loved Genie almost beyond reason. He had honestly tried to cherish her. Dunstable did not love and cherish Deirdre.
He moved his hands and flipped the miniature. Genie looked up at him with that heavy-lidded, secretive gaze that had driven him mad with desire. Her soft, perfect lips were parted slightly as if ready for a kiss. And she’d been a virgin when this had been done.
Abruptly he swept the miniature away to shatter against the far wall.
But then he regai
ned his English sangfroid, and carefully picked up the pieces and placed them in a drawer.
As he did so, he saw a piece of paper on the floor and realized Deirdre must have dropped it. He picked it up and found the note. He recognized the writing.
Kevin. What the devil had this been about?
He’d shown Kevin the letter he’d just received. What a hellish postbag today’s had turned out to be—a letter about Ian’s failing, and Genie’s last words.
He had not received the consolation he had expected. Kevin had his mind on his own problems, true, but it wasn’t that….
He picked up the letter—another stained and weary missive from Greece, delayed even more than the news of Genie’s death, for this had been written shortly before. It shocked him how weak and wandering her writing was, but the words shocked him more.
…How could you have cast me off, Don? It was always you. I didn’t really want to leave, but you worked so hard, it was no fun. You should have come for me, and beat me if I strayed. Di Pozzinari whipped me if I looked at another man, and I stayed with him. Next to you, I loved him best. He died. Why did he die?
Why wouldn’t you change for me? We were so happy until you became so dull. Mortgages. Debts. Crops. Rents. I hate them all. I only wanted to enjoy life…
Why didn’t you love me? You couldn’t expect me to stay when you were unkind. You were supposed to come after me…
It wandered on in this vein over the whole sheet, crossed, and the message kept repeating. You were supposed to come after me.
In his pain and tortured pride, it had never occurred to him to chase after his faithless wife. It had certainly never occurred to him to drag her home and whip her into submission. He had thought she wanted to be free.
Kevin had only said, “Poor Genie. She loved the wrong man.” What the devil had that meant?
Everdon took the letter up to his mother.
Lucetta read it soberly. “She was doubtless out of her mind. The pox does that.”
“But there’s truth there. Why did it never occur to me to drag her back?”
“Marco, you were twenty years old. She rejected you, hurt you, made a cuckold of you. If you had made any move to rush off to the Continent after her, I would have had you forcibly restrained.”
