Wilson, Gayle

by Anne's Perfect Husband

  Not in what you offer. Always the circling thoughts came back to this. The fault is not in what you offer...

  What she had offered Ian Sinclair, no matter how pure and sincere, would be forever tainted by what her father had done. Not only to the men who had died under his command, but to him.

  Like General Mayfield, how could Ian not be offended by the very blood that flowed through her veins? The blood of the man whose cowardice had cost him so much.

  I should want to kill a man who hurt my brother, Dare had said. She had known then that the earl spoke the truth, although she had had no idea he was speaking of her father. How could Ian himself feel any differently about that man?

  And why, in light of this revelation, had he agreed to be her guardian? Why had he come to Fenton School to find her?

  Whatever his intent, and she had no doubt it was noble and honorable, he had unwittingly imposed a punishment on her that was more than fitting for her father's crime. George Darlington had destroyed the life Ian had known. And in return, Ian had made his daughter long for a life which she could never have. One she had never dreamed of before she met him.

  I had thought I should have to satisfy it by caring for the poor, orphaned Sally Eddingtons of the world. Once that small enclosed world would have been more than enough. And then Ian Sinclair had given her a glimpse of another.

  Not the glittering artificial world of London society. She would turn her back on that with as much satisfaction as the general had found in turning his to her. It was the other possibilities that falling in love with Ian had created that she would grieve for. Possibilities that she had grieved for throughout the long night that had just passed.

  Because even her ability to fantasize did not extend to believing the man her father had injured and betrayed would ever return her love. Even the man she knew Ian Sinclair to be could not find that much forgiveness in his heart. Nor, in all fairness, should he be asked to try.

  And knowing him as she now did, she had begun to divine finally a reason for what he had done. In bringing her to London, Ian had found a way to atone for the hatred he had quite naturally felt for her father. He had fought its corrosive power by treating the daughter of his enemy with the same consideration he would give to the child of a beloved friend. That was the only explanation that made sense. And it fit with the character of the man she not only loved, but admired above all others.

  She had known from the first that it was ridiculous for a woman of her age to have a guardian. She had allowed herself to be carried along by his and Mrs. Kemp's surety that this Season was what her father had intended. That this silly carnival was how a woman of her class should live her life.

  Now, of course, there could be no doubt that neither of those things was true. And no doubt that it was past time for her to assume control of her own destiny.

  She walked across to the bed and touched the fabric of the dress she had laid out on it last night. It was one of the few garments she had brought with her from Fen-ton School. Only in comparing it to those she was now accustomed to wearing was she aware of the cheapness of its sturdy fabric and of how shoddily it was made.

  Eminently suitable, however, for kneeling on cold stone floors as one commanded small, reddened noses to blow. She smiled at the image, even as her eyes glazed again with tears, blearing the faded pattern of the cloth that rested under the tips of her fingers.

  One more favor to ask her guardian and then she would put this entire episode from her heart. One more chance to see him, to be with him, and then she would never again allow herself...

  Even as the words formed in her brain, she knew them for a lie. She would fill the years that stretched ahead with substitutes for his children, which she had once foolishly hoped to carry beneath her heart.

  But she would never forget Ian Sinclair. She would think of him often. And always with love.

  ***

  "How dare you put my ward in such a position," Ian said, putting both hands flat on his brother's rosewood desk and leaning over it toward the man he was addressing. "Who the bloody hell do you think you are?"

  For a long moment the man on the other side of the desk said nothing, his handsome face tightened with suppressed anger. And then, blue eyes earnestly fixed on Ian's, Doyle Travener began to explain.

  "Someone had to defend Miss Darlington's honor," he said, "and since you were not there—"

  "You decided to take it upon yourself to issue a public challenge to General Mayfield."

  "My cousin called upon him this morning, acting as my second. It was all quite properly done, major, I assure you."

  "And I assure you, Mr. Travener, that calling out a man old enough to be your grandfather can never be properly done."

  Ian pushed away from the desk, taking a step back. He was afraid that if he remained within striking distance of Doyle Travener's pale, determined face, he might be tempted beyond his raveling control. Of all the insufferable jackasses.

  "May I remind you, sir," Travener said, his own tone coldly formal now, "that with your kind permission, I am a suitor for Miss Darlington's hand. I have every hope of making her my wife. I could not stand by and see her maligned and insulted."

  "And has she agreed to this match?" Ian asked, hiding his anxiety as he awaited an answer he had thought Anne had already given him.

  "I have not yet approached her," Travener said stiffly. "In none but the most general terms. I assure you, however, that she is in no doubt about my feelings. Not after last night."

  "Perhaps you should explain exactly what you mean by 'not after last night,' Mr. Travener, before I am forced to call you out. I would remind you that I am accounted to be a very good shot. And my aim will not be affected by failing eyesight and a palsied hand."

  An unbecoming blush stained the cheeks of the young ex-officer, and despite himself, Ian found some satisfaction in Travener's discomfiture.

  "I only meant that I comforted Miss Darlington after the incident and then escorted her home. She did not seem averse to my attentions, and there was nothing improper about them, I assure you. I resent your implication, sir."

  "Resent and be damned," Ian said softly. "Are you really too stupid to understand that by proposing this absurd duel you are making matters worse for her?"

  "I see nothing absurd about defending the honor of the woman I love."

  "The only honor impugned last night, at least until you stepped in, was George Darlington's. I don't suppose you are defending his?"

  There was a thread of sarcasm in the question, and Travener's blush deepened.

  "It won't do, you know," Ian said, modifying his tone through an enormous effort of will. "You can't challenge Mayfield. He said nothing about Anne's father that was not the absolute truth."

  "Whatever her father did, she should not be made to suffer for it," Travener said stubbornly, his blue eyes determined.

  "Except that is the way our world works. And you are certainly old enough to be aware of it. That the sins of the father will be visited upon the children is not a new concept. Nor is it one this society invented."

  "Miss Darlington has done nothing wrong. Until last night, she didn't even know about her father."

  "And you undertook to explain everything to her, I suppose."

  "The general said enough that—" Travener broke the sentence at Ian's snort of disgust. "As a friend, Miss Darlington begged me for the truth. I had no choice but to tell her what happened in Portugal. What would you have had me do?"

  "I would have had you behave like a gentleman, although apparently that is too much to hope for. You should have found Lady Laud and handed Miss Darlington into her care. And then you should have said goodnight to your hostess and gone to your own home. Instead, by spiriting my ward away with you in a closed carriage, you have created a scandal and attached it firmly to her name, where before there might only have been some unpleasant speculation."

  "I suppose it is easy to judge the situation when—"

&nb
sp; "When one considers only what is best for the lady's reputation?"

  "I meant no harm to Miss Darlington's reputation."

  "Whatever you meant, you have caused harm," Ian said, "and I expect you to render your apology to General Mayfield within the hour. Send me word when you have put an end to this nonsense."

  The well-shaped mouth of the man standing before him moved as he considered the order. First it tightened, then pursed and finally it opened.

  "I can't do that," Travener said. "Not at this juncture. It is too late to back down. I should be branded a coward, and Miss Darlington would be—"

  "I shall tell you again that you are not responsible for Miss Darlington. You are not betrothed to her, you are not a member of her family, and you are not her guardian. Those are the only conditions which might allow you to act on her behalf. Even if you were any of those things, in this particular case—"

  "But it is for that very reason that I did what I did."

  "For what reason? What reason can you have for interfering in a situation that is of no possible concern to you?"

  "I can understand your reluctance to defend your ward, Major Sinclair, given your own suffering at her father's hands. However, I beg you not to let your personal feelings stand in the way of a quite necessary defense of her honor."

  The silence built between them, strained and uncomfortable.

  "Forgive me," Ian said, his voice very soft and very controlled. "I was wrong. You are that stupid. Therefore I will make it easy enough that even you can understand, Mr. Travener. Deliver your apology to General Mayfield within the hour or expect a call from my second."

  Travener's eyes refused to quail before the threat, and he made no promises. Finally, he turned and walked across the room to the door. Just before he reached it, Ian added the last.

  "Do it, Travener, or I swear before God you'll never see her again. And as Anne's legal guardian, I assure you that is a promise that is within my ability to carry out."

  ***

  The most galling aspect of this morning's fiasco was that after his interview with Travener, Ian had found himself wanting to discuss the entire situation with Dare. He could imagine his brother's reaction.

  He was still standing at the window in the library, looking out at the scene below. His mind was, however, far from what his eyes seemed focused on.

  Despite his threats to Doyle Travener, he was aware that there was little he could do if Anne chose to welcome the man's championing. Or if she chose to welcome the man himself.

  After all, although the silly bastard was certainly going about it in the wrong way, at least Travener was doing something. Which is more than I can say.

  "Williams told me Mr. Travener had called on you."

  He turned at the sound of her voice. Seeing her in the doorway, his physical reaction forced him to acknowledge he was as lacking in self-control as he had been the night he had awakened to find her in his room.

  It was obvious from her eyes that she had not slept. Their swollen lids gave evidence of tears as well, although her features appeared to be perfectly composed. She said nothing else for a moment, her gaze examining his face as intently as he was assessing hers.

  "It was not a social call, I assume," she said finally. "I am not sorry to have missed him, then. Especially since I have already received a visit from your godmother this morning. As I understand you did. You have entertained quite a parade of visitors. All my fault, I'm afraid. And you have my apologies. I have apologized to Lady Laud as well. I'm afraid I did not think about the implications of leaving the ball with Mr. Travener."

  "It wasn't your place to think of them," Ian said.

  "I doubt Elizabeth would agree with you. Nor do I, of course. And since according to Lady Laud I am already quite ruined...I have come to thank you for your many kindnesses," she said. "And to say goodbye."

  "Goodbye?" he repeated. Whatever he might have expected her to say to him today, it was not this.

  "We have both known from the beginning that I am far too old to be your ward. Now that I know the truth about your relationship with my father, I believe there can be no reason to continue with this farce."

  "Whatever your feelings, I assure you the courts will not consider my guardianship to be a farce."

  The reminder that their relationship, desired or not, was a legality silenced the too-brittle speech she had probably spent most of that sleepless night preparing. Her eyes, however, didn't change.

  "I am quite content for you to control my finances," she went on after a moment. "They are, as you well know, nonexistent. I believe that is all the courts will be concerned about. And since I can no longer remain in London—"

  "There's no reason for you to leave London."

  "Believe me, I can give you hundreds of reasons. You have only to request Lady Marling's guest list from last night to see them."

  "It will be forgotten in a fortnight. Or at least it will be replaced by..."

  "The next scandal?" she finished for him when he hesitated over using the word. "Let us at least be honest with one another. Lady Laud was quite forthright. I can only wish that from the first you had been more so. I might have been better prepared then to hear publicly about my father's transgressions."

  "You are not responsible for your father's actions."

  "Perhaps not, but I will be judged by them."

  "Not by me."

  She smiled at him. "Actually, I find it somewhat comforting to believe that is not the case."

  "What your father did has nothing to do with—"

  Again he hesitated, and this time he found he could not finish the claim, although she waited. Because what her father had done, of course, had a great deal to do with his refusal of what she had offered him.

  And that, too, was something Ian had never intended to tell her. Thankfully, there were very few people who knew the truth about the extent of his injuries. And so she would never learn the reason he had refused a gift he would have given his life, whatever was left of it, to accept.

  "Thank you for not completing that," she said. "I should hate to leave with a lie between us."

  An open and gallant heart. He had already told her one lie, because he had believed it would put an end to what she felt for him. He would not tell her another, especially when the truth, as she understood it, would serve just as well.

  "Travener wants to marry you," he said instead.

  "I shall leave it to you to refuse him."

  "There will be any number of men—"

  "Believe me, I do not want any number of men. Nor do I want Mr. Travener. I should be bored to tears after our first breakfast together. I'm afraid none of them can compete with the charms of Fenton School," she said, smiling at him. "Chilblains, porridge, running noses, and dragging hems."

  "You wanted children of your own."

  She had told him that. And her eyes had told him how much.

  "I wanted your children," she corrected softly. "Will you give them to me?"

  For a long time neither of them moved, simply looking at one another across the width of the library.

  Then slowly, deliberately, Ian Sinclair moved his head from side to side. There was only that single movement, but it was final enough to break the spell that had held them.

  Anne Darlington turned. Opening the door, she disappeared through it, again leaving him alone with the memory of what had been in her eyes.

  Chapter Thirteen

  "This has gone far enough," Ian said. "Whatever your motives were when you began—"

  "My motives were and are still exactly the same."

  Doyle Travener didn't look at Ian as he said it. His eyes remained on the dueling pistols his cousin was preparing.

  "To defend Miss Darlington's honor," Ian said, not bothering to hide his sarcasm. "Of course. Someone must."

  Despite the seriousness of his before-dawn errand, Ian had had to fight not to laugh at the earnest rubbish with which Travener had answered his every objec
tion. With each passing minute, which brought them nearer to the hour of the proposed duel, however, he was losing his appreciation of the absurd.

  "Miss Darlington has left London—" he began patiently.

  "Driven out by those baying jackals and gossip mongers."

  Ian restrained himself from again reminding Travener that it was his insistence on this ridiculous duel that was feeding the current talk. Ian still believed he had been right in his original appraisal. The general's accusations would have been little more than a nine days' wonder without Travener's reaction to them.

  "She left because she wished to return to her position at Fenton School."

  "Do you really believe that?" Travener asked, his eyes finally rising to meet Ian's.

  And he didn't, of course. He knew, if Travener did not, that it wasn't scandal or the fear of it that had driven Anne from London. The general's revelation had precipitated her departure, perhaps, but it had had nothing, ultimately, to do with her decision. His lie about what he felt for her was responsible for that. But he also knew that this separation, no matter how painful it might be, was best for both of them.

  "I should feel better if I thought you did believe that fable," Travener went on. "I know men can change, and you have certainly had enough to bear that it has perhaps..." He paused and then, thankfully, never finished whatever justification for Ian's lack of action he had begun. "Still, I should never have thought that someone like you, someone I had admired from afar, could be indifferent to Miss Darlington's suffering. Whatever sins may be laid at her father's door—"

  "I didn't come to discuss Darlington's sins. Or my feelings about them, which are, quite frankly, none of your concern. I came to tell you that you have no right to presume to act on Miss Darlington's behalf."

  "Are you sure of that?" Doyle asked, his blue eyes challenging.

  "I have it on the very best authority. That of Miss Darlington herself."

  "Don't you understand that she is attempting to protect me?"

  "I beg your pardon."

  Ian's tone indicated how preposterous he found that claim, but he had recognized shortly after his arrival that attempting to talk logic to Doyle Travener was hopeless. And the conversation seemed to be becoming more bizarre by the second. Of course, he supposed it was equally bizarre that he had come to Travener's house before dawn to try once more to prevent the idiot from meeting Arthur Mayfield's father on the so-called field of honor.