by Candice Hern
“Wh-what?”
James turned his attention to Verity, who had not moved a muscle since he’d come into the room. He tried not to lose himself in those soft brown eyes, resolved to maintain control. “I gather from your note, madam, that it was not your choice to leave Pendurgan?”
She slanted a quick glance over her shoulder, then looked back at James with a smile in her eyes. “No, my lord,” she said, “it was not my choice.”
Exhilaration flowed through James like a shot of whiskey. He wrenched his gaze from Verity and skewered Russell with a piercing glare. “I have come, sir, to ensure this lady has a choice in what happens to her.”
“B-but she is my wife. I have the ri—”
“You gave up your rights when you sold her like a blood horse at Tattersall’s!” James’s bellow must surely have been heard throughout the inn. He could have sworn the small paned window rattled in its casement.
“I regret that wretched bit of business,” Russell said. “But you must know the transaction was not legal.”
“And neither was it moral.”
Russell deflated like a pierced bladder. His whole body took on a woeful slouch. He moved to lean heavily against the broad mantel over the fireplace, as though he did not have the strength to hold himself upright. When the young man raised his head, James thought he’d never seen eyes more full of misery, except on occasion staring back at him from a mirror.
“No, it was not moral,” Russell said in a tremulous voice. “It was vile and hateful and I have never regretted anything so much in my life. I have made my apologies to Verity, though I do not expect forgiveness. I was simply hoping that we…” He paused and slammed a fist against the wooden mantel. “Blast it all, I could never get anything right. My whole life has been a series of failures. I’m not fit to live on this earth.” His voice had trailed off into a quavering whisper. He turned his back to them, propped a forearm on the mantel, and lowered his head to rest on it. The slightest tremor shook his shoulders.
James was thoroughly taken aback. He’d come expecting to find Verity in the grip of a brutish, cocksure husband ready to reassert his rights. He would have welcomed a contest of wills against such an enemy. Russell’s anguish knocked all the fight out of James.
He studied Verity as she watched Russell, her expression a mixture of compassion and confusion.
“Verity?”
She looked up at him, and all the joy he’d seen earlier had gone out of her eyes. James suddenly found himself uncertain what he should do. But it was her choice, he reminded himself. She must decide what to do, and he must accept it. He was no longer so sure, though, what her choice would be.
“Verity, you must tell us what you want.” He spoke directly to her and kept his voice as even and unemotional as possible. “I did not come to spirit you away against your will, I assure you. But I had to make sure that Mr. Russell was not doing so, either. You have been buffeted about in all directions, dancing to everyone else’s tunes. It is time you were allowed to make your own decisions, regardless of who has legal rights to do what. We have all trampled over the law these past eight months and more. None of us has the right to call upon it now to justify our actions. Russell?” He raised his voice, instilling it with the command that had once sent troops scattering to do his bidding. “Would you agree with me on this?”
Russell did not lift his head from the mantel, but muttered his agreement.
“And so, Verity,” James continued, softening his tone once again, “disregarding the legalities, tell us what it is you would prefer to do. Do you wish to return with Russell to London, or return to Pendurgan?”
Russell raised his head. “But—”
“Let her speak!” James roared.
Verity’s gaze darted back and forth between her husband and James. She considered her words for several long moments before speaking, moments during which James’s stomach tied itself into knots. “I am sorry, Gilbert,” she said at last, “but if I am truly given the choice, I would prefer to return to Pendurgan. I have found some small measure of happiness there, you see.”
Russell turned around to look at his wife. His face wore a mask of utter despair, and it was a wonder Verity’s natural compassion could withstand such a plea.
“You must understand, Gilbert,” Verity continued, “that Lord Harkness has been a true friend to me. And, given the choice, I would rather live with him in friendship—for as you are well-aware, no man could ever desire me for anything more—than with you in marriage.”
It was a monumental effort for James to hold in check the flood of emotions brought on by her words. His heart thumped in his chest like the great steam cylinder at Wheal Devoran. He would not have to live without her after all.
But this was no time to succumb to sentimentality. He had to put his plan in action before Russell tried to assert his legal rights again and talk her out of leaving. He was going to make Russell a proposition, one that would free Verity from this sham marriage once and for all.
The sight of James bursting into the parlor had caused Verity’s heart almost to stop beating. He had looked so large and menacing framed in the narrow doorway, like a bull ready to charge. Though tall and well-muscled, James was not a particularly large man. Yet, enveloped in the capes of his greatcoat, with his black hair falling piratelike over one eye and a day’s growth of beard darkening his face, he was a powerful sight to behold. She had never been so happy to see anyone in all her life.
He had been so full of anger, she could almost feel the tension tightening his muscles like a whipcord. For a moment, she had been afraid he meant to do violence, to attack Gilbert; but his restraint had been formidable.
Everything would be all right now, though. She was going back to Pendurgan. She was going home.
“Verity will return to Pendurgan with me in the morning,” James was saying. “And I want you gone from this place tonight. But first, I must speak privately with you. Wait here, if you please. Verity, come with me.”
Keeping a firm hold of her arm, James led her silently down the parlor steps and through the labyrinth of hallways and stairs down to the taproom on the ground floor. It was noisy with the chatter of patrons and the clanking of mugs. James asked the barman if there was a private parlor nearby. He was directed to one and led Verity there. When she stepped into the empty room he did not follow, and she turned to face him.
He filled this doorway just as he had the other: large, indomitable, dear. They gazed at each other in silence for several beats of her heart.
“Verity.”
She was never sure which one of them moved first. Within another heartbeat, they had walked into each other’s arms.
Verity burrowed her head against James’s shoulder and rubbed her cheek against the wool of his greatcoat, crushing her new bonnet and not caring. They simply held each other for several long moments.
“Verity,” he said at last, still holding her tight against his chest. “I thought I’d lost you.”
She shook her head and he seemed finally to recognize the awkwardness of embracing a women in a full-brimmed bonnet. He stepped back and allowed his hands to linger over her shoulders and trail slowly down her arms until he reached her hands. He took hold of them both and gazed at her with an expression of something like desire, though she did not fool herself into thinking it was any such thing.
“Thank you for rescuing me once again, my lord,” she said. “You are very kind. I never expected—”
He stopped her words with his finger on her lips. “Kindness had nothing to do with it, my dear. It was pure selfishness. Your leaving has thrown my entire household into an uproar. Especially with the festival tomorrow. You have never seen such a hangdog, weepy group. I don’t…we would not have known how to get on without you.”
Ah. The household needed her. Not James.
“I wanted to speak with you privately, away from Russell. I want to be sure you do not feel coerced, by either of us. I must ask you one
last time.” He began to stroke the edge of her jaw with the same finger that had pressed against her lips. “Are you certain, absolutely certain, this is what you want? To return to Pendurgan?”
“Yes, of course,” she said. It surprised her she could sound so normal when his touch caused her heart to flutter in her chest like a bird’s wing. “As I said earlier, I have been happy there, content. Besides, I have no wish to go anywhere at all with Gilbert Russell.”
“No, I do not imagine you do.”
“Thank you, James. For everything.”
“Verity.” He cradled her face in his hand, his thumb brushing the corner of her mouth. Then he dipped his head beneath her bonnet and kissed her.
It was not a passionate kiss, but soft and sweet and so full of tenderness it made her ache with longing.
He lifted his head and his lips twitched into a half smile. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I promised never to do that again. Forgive me.”
He released her and stepped back, leaving her bereft and wanting more. “If you are quite sure, then, I must ask you to give me a few moments alone with Russell.”
“James, you are not going to…to hurt him, are you?”
He smiled. “I wanted to. Hell, I wanted to kill him. But there is something pathetic about the man that takes the fight right out of me. No, I won’t hurt him. I just need to speak with him about something. If you will give me a few minutes alone with him, perhaps you can find the landlord and arrange to have any of your baggage still in Russell’s coach transferred to mine. And ask if he has another room available that I could have for the night. Thank you, my dear.” He kissed her hand and dashed back in the direction of the stairs.
Her head still reeling from the effects of his kiss, Verity sought out the landlord and set about arranging for the transfer of her trunk and hiring a second bedchamber for the night.
She then returned to the private parlor and ordered a pot of tea. Though she had been warmed by James’s insistence that she make her own decisions, Verity was quite sure he and Gilbert were upstairs making some decisions that involved her. She had no idea what James could possibly have to say to Gilbert that did not involve her. She had given her word, however, and would therefore allow them a few moments alone. But only a few moments.
James knew he ought not to have kissed Verity, but he could not have stopped himself if he tried. And he did not regret it. If Russell cooperated, James would ultimately do more than merely kiss her.
Refusing to dwell on that, James opened the door to the private parlor where he’d left Russell and walked in. The young man had taken Verity’s seat at the table and sat with his head bowed in an attitude of total dejection. James could almost feel sorry for him, but he was resolved to do this.
Russell looked up at James’s entrance but said nothing. James removed his greatcoat and tossed it on a settle near the window, and then did the same with his gloves. He sat down at the table opposite Russell, pulled over an empty plate, and speared a slice of ham from a serving platter.
“You will forgive me, Russell, but I find I am famished.”
Russell shrugged his indifference. James took a bite of ham and then continued. “Tell me, what made you come for her? A pang of conscience after all these months?”
Russell eyed James warily. “My conscience has plagued me for some time now, especially since I learned I had sold her to a wife murderer.”
“Ah.” James sliced off a large portion of bread from the fat loaf on the table. “So if I had been the slovenly blacksmith, Will Sykes, you would not have returned for her?”
“I would have returned.”
“Why? Why now?” James placed a thick slice of ham on the bread and took a large bite.
Russell’s response was a long time coming. “I have come in line for a minor government post, if you must know. I need this position. I need the money it pays.” He expelled a breath through puffed cheeks. “Questions were asked about my wife.”
“I see. And you were not prepared to announce that you’d sold her for two hundred pounds.”
Russell bowed his head and said nothing. His cheeks colored slightly.
“You hoped to take her to London and parade her about as your wife, in the most ordinary fashion.”
Russell still did not speak.
“The strange thing is,” James continued as he sliced off another piece of ham, “that Verity never really was a wife to you in the ordinary fashion, was she?”
Russell’s head jerked up and his eyes widened with what looked like fear. “What are you talking about?”
“I think you know very well what I am talking about. Your marriage was never consummated.”
Russell’s face turned crimson. “And how would you know that?”
James raised his brows in a look of mock incredulity.
“You bastard!”
James shrugged and reached for an apple. He began to cut it into sections with the ham knife. “You sold her, Russell. What did you think would happen?”
Russell rose so abruptly his chair went crashing to the floor. James had struck a chord of some kind. He just might get that fight he’d been spoiling for earlier, though it was not at all what he wanted now. “I knew she had not been safe with you,” Russell said. “I swear I could kill you.”
James dismissed his threat with a careless wave of the knife. “Sit down, Russell,” he said, pointing to the overturned chair with the blade. “If you will but listen, I think you will see how you can use this situation to your advantage.”
“What? What do you mean, ‘my advantage’?”
“Sit down and I shall tell you.”
He glared at James for another moment, then righted his chair and sat back down. “Well?”
James took one last bite of apple, then laid down the knife and pushed the plate away. “It is obvious that you never wanted this marriage to Verity. You never consummated it, then sold her like a prime bit of horseflesh. Clearly, you have no interest in her and in fact wish to be rid of her. I suggest that you do so, legally this time. I think you should file a divorce action against her.”
“What! You must be joking.”
“I’m perfectly serious. You have grounds for a Crim Con action. You can accuse her of adultery. With me.”
Russell looked thoroughly dumbfounded, eyes wide and mouth gaping.
“It would be a simple, uncontested suit,” James said. “Lengthy and expensive, but much less complex than a contested action.”
Russell frowned and appeared to consider the matter. “I don’t know…”
“Of course, if you prefer, I could assist Verity in filing an action against you. I have no doubt we could find witnesses to your own infidelities.”
“No!” The word exploded from Russell. All color drained from his face.
“I am certain we could find witnesses who would attest to one or another of your own liaisons. I doubt you have spent these last few years in complete celibacy.”
“No! No, please, you cannot.”
“Are you so afraid of making public your own affairs, then? I guarantee you, Russell. I have the money to track them down and—”
“No!”
“—see to it that each and every one of them is published.”
“No. No. Please, no.” To James’s utter astonishment, the man covered his face with his hands and began to cry. “You c-can’t do this to m-me. Oh, God, pl-please. No.”
James was thunderstruck. What the devil was this all about? “Give over, Russell. What is the problem? Every man in London has his paramours. Some are more discreet about it than others, but—”
“You do n-not understand.”
“No, indeed, I do not.”
“I tell you I would rather die than have any of my…my liaisons made public.”
James snorted. “A rather dramatic threat, don’t you think?”
“No.” He sniffed and made a visible effort to regain his composure. “Not so dramatic, actually. I would likely lose
my life in any case, if any of it became public.”
“What are you—” James sucked in his breath. Dear God. Suddenly it all made sense. “Your lovers are…men?”
Russell leapt from his chair, turned his back to James, and braced himself against the fireplace mantel with both hands. “Don’t you see?” he said. “I could be hanged if the truth came out. And others as well.”
“Good God.” James studied the young man’s back and began to understand his misery. British society and British law were severe in the public treatment of homosexuality, though heaven knew it was widespread enough in private. No boy could go to school nor a young man go to war without some exposure to men who preferred men. It was not spoken of, of course, and men who followed that path did so in the greatest secrecy. The penalty for conviction on a charge of sodomy was death.
“So that is why you never consummated your marriage,” James said. “Does Verity know?”
“No. At least, I do not believe she does.” He kept his back turned as though unable to face James. There was still a tremor in his voice, though he appeared to have checked the tears. “I tried, you see. I just…I could not do it.”
“What happened?”
He gave a soft groan. “It does not matter.”
“Yes,” James said, “it does. For Verity’s sake. I care for her, Russell. A great deal. Tell me about the marriage.”
“It was arranged by our fathers,” Russell said, his voice flat and lifeless. “We met only briefly once or twice before the wedding. I knew I would never be…like other men, but I thought I could go through with it. Others like me do. She was a sweet enough girl, but I had never been with a woman. When I tried, on our wedding night, I was…disgusted. I tried to touch her, but it made me…I retched and retched until I thought I would die. I left her the next day, figuring she was better off without me.”
James tried to imagine the scene—this poor young man trying desperately to be something he was not, and Verity, not understanding, seeing only rejection and disgust.
Suddenly, he remembered once telling Verity that she could never know what it was like to live with pain and shame and guilt. I can probably never understand the pain you have suffered.
