WHEN DREAMS COME TRUE

by When Dreams Come True(Lit)

  He faced her, his expression devoid of all emotion. “We’ll be fine.”

  They stood facing each other, Eden feeling foolish as tears that would not stop rolled down her face. She was conscious of the everyday things, like the servants’ voices echoing in the hall outside the room, the masculine smells of leather and her husband’s shaving soap—

  The knock on the door sounded like a cannon shot. Eden jumped and then quickly crossed to the other side of the room, wiping her face with her hands.

  Pierce stepped in front of her. “Come in.”

  The door opened. It was Lady Penhollow. “Pierce, I saw a rather strange woman leave the house a bit ago. Did she have business here with you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Heavens,” Lady Penhollow said. “I hope it wasn’t serious. You appear as if you’ve just received news that a good friend has died.”

  “No, it isn’t anything like that,” he said, noncommittally.

  “Eden? Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine, thank you,” Eden managed, hiding her tearstained face behind her husband’s back.

  Lady Penhollow waited as if expecting one of them to say more. No one spoke and the silence became awkward. Seeing they weren’t going to say anything, she started to leave. “Well, I’m glad to hear there isn’t a problem. Rawlins told me the woman came from London with some very dangerous-looking characters in Arab robes. You don’t think Rawlins has been tippling, do you?”

  She said the words half in jest, even as her gaze rested on the glass of whiskey on the liquor cabinet. “Pierce, you’re drinking. What is going on?”

  “Nothing,” he said calmly, and smiled. His smile didn’t reach his eyes.

  “But you never drink during the day.”

  He crossed the room to take her arm. “I was having a nip with those lads from London.”

  “What did they want?” Lady Penhollow demanded quietly.

  “Nothing, Mother.” He skillfully guided her to the door. “We’ll see you at supper.”

  Lady Penhollow had no choice but to leave. She cast Eden a curious glance and went out the door. Pierce shut it behind her. “Have you pulled yourself together now?”

  Eden nodded. “I shouldn’t have cried. I’d forgotten that it never solves anything.” She drew a deep breath and faced him. “Do we need to tell her the truth?”

  “I think that is up to you,” he said, and crossed around to sit at his desk. It was a dismissal, plain and simple, but Eden refused to give up.

  “Pierce, I love you.”

  For the past several weeks, every time she’d said those words, he’d been quick to answer, “No, I love you.” It had become a game between them. Silly, foolish, fun.

  Now he didn’t answer.

  “Pierce?”

  “Eden, I need some time to think, to sort this all out. It’s sudden, and I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

  “Can you cancel the shipment of equipment?” she asked, eager to help.

  He stared at her as if seeing her for the first time. “You are so beautiful.” Then he spoke to himself. “Have I really been that blind?”

  His words almost broke her heart. “Pierce, being a countess means nothing to me. Not even the money matters. But being your wife is everything I ever wanted. I’d hoped I made you happy.”

  He sat still.

  She waited.

  “You did make me happy,” he said at last. “I just fear the price is going to be too much.”

  “Pierce—”

  His fist came down on his desk. “Damn you, leave me! I’ve spent years rebuilding my family’s reputation. In less than an hour, you have destroyed me. Now go!”

  Eden didn’t wait for him to tell her twice. She took one step backward, then turned and ran. The sound of the door slamming behind her resounded through the hallway.

  She hid in their room, thankful the too-observant Betsy wasn’t there. Pierce needed time. She’d wait until after dinner and then they would talk. They always talked after dinner.

  Except for tonight.

  Rawlins conveyed the message to them that Lord Penhollow was detained by business matters and would not be able to join the women for dinner. He sent his regrets.

  “That’s odd,” Lady Penhollow said. “I didn’t think that now he was married, Pierce would work late into the night.”

  Eden shrugged her response and pushed her food around on her plate, pretending to eat.

  After dinner, she waited for Pierce in the Garden Room. He didn’t come and, at last, she decided to brave going to him.

  There was no light under his study door. The rest of the house was quiet since Lady Penhollow had gone to bed.

  Holding a candle in one hand, Eden tentatively knocked.

  No answer.

  She knocked again and then opened the door.

  The only light in the room came from the lamp burning on his desk. Its light reflected off the stacks of open ledgers and papers in front of him. His neckcloth hung loose around his neck, his shirt collar open. A glass of whiskey sat close to his hand.

  “Yes,” he asked abruptly. His eyes were very sober.

  “I wondered if you were ready to come to bed?” Could he see her knees shaking?

  “Not yet.” He said the words distinct and separate.

  “Shall I sit with you until you’re done?” she forced herself to ask.

  He laughed, silently at first and then with more force.

  “What’s so funny?” Eden asked when he paused for a breath.

  “I’m trying to figure a way to save us from financial ruin, and you’re worried about if I’m ready for bed.”

  Eden’s lips parted with surprise. “No, Pierce, I mean, I just… I just want to help. It’s my fault. Blame me.”

  “Oh, I do,” he said almost sadly. “But I also blame my own damnable pride and the lust I felt for you.”

  His words hurt. “I thought it was love, not lust.”

  He closed his eyes and then opened them. “Right now, I don’t even know what I’m saying, Eden. Go to bed. Everything will be better in the morning.”

  “Pierce—?”

  “I said go!”

  She hurried away like a startled doe, pulling the door closed behind her. Behind her, she heard a smashing sound and realized he’d thrown the whiskey glass at the door.

  Betsy had looked at her queerly when she came up alone for the night. “His lordship has pressing matters to attend to,” Eden told her.

  “Does it have anything to do with that strange woman who was here this afternoon?”

  “I don’t know,” she lied, silently praying Betsy knew nothing else.

  She undressed and climbed into the lonely canopy bed, certain she would never be able to fall asleep without Pierce by her side. However, she must have slept because she woke several hours later when the opposite side of the bed shifted. “Pierce?”

  He didn’t answer, but stretched out beside her. She moved toward him, eager to make amends in the only way she knew how, in the way she was trained.

  His hands came down and captured her wrists. “Pierce, please,” she whispered, wanting this finished between them. “I’m sorry.” How many times could she say it?

  He didn’t answer, but rolled over on top of her. She knew the weight and feel of his body as if it were her own. He shifted, placing himself between her legs. He smelled of whiskey, but that was fine with her.

  He didn’t speak but entered her quickly and without warning. Eden accepted the small discomfort as a penance. Her body promptly warmed and accommodated him. He moved inside her.

  Previous to this, their couplings had been joyful, playful even, full of soft laughter and whispered words of love.

  Tonight, there was no laughter, no endearments, no joy.

  He took her without ceremony. She lay beneath him unmoving, allowing him to slake his need, giving him what he wanted. As she listened to his harsh breathing and felt him thrusting inside her, she realized that th
ere were many sides to this act of making love. She’d been raised to believe there was no feeling in it, that it was merely a commodity sold in exchange for money.

  Pierce had taught her that it was the closest a man and a woman could be. It was becoming one. The miracle of life and love. The most beautiful moments between a man and a woman.

  Now he taught her it could also be the loneliest moment between two people.

  She felt him release, the life force emptying into her. She ached to hold him close, but instinctively realized that would be a mistake.

  Pierce collapsed upon her, completely spent.

  He’d promised that everything would be fine in the morning, she reminded herself and, with a child’s need for reassurance, she put her faith in that pledge.

  Pierce moved off of her and rolled over on his back. “What have I done?” he whispered to the ceiling.

  She didn’t speak, afraid of what his words meant. Just when she’d mustered her courage to reach for him, he rose from the bed and dressed in the dark. His boots were almost silent on the carpet as he crossed the room. She heard the door shut behind him.

  Eden sat up, wondering where he’d gone. She expected him to come back, but he didn’t. Fifteen minutes later, she heard the sound of hooves on the drive. She ran to the window and looked out over the moonlit yard between the stables.

  Pierce was riding out across the yard in the direction of the moors. He rode without a saddle, his fingers buried in Cornish King’s mane. The stallion’s coat gleamed like silver in the night. She watched them until they were out of sight.

  They didn’t come back until the wee hours of the morning. Eden knew because she sat waiting. For four hours she’d waited, praying that Pierce hadn’t lost his way in the moors or run afoul of the dangers lurking there.

  She saw them come in from a distance, man and beast moving as one. They knew each other so well. She leaned her head against the window frame, jealous of a horse.

  Pierce didn’t come back to their bedroom but, apparently, spent what was left of the night in the stables.

  Eden finally fell asleep in the window seat.

  She didn’t see Pierce until breakfast. She was dining with Lady Penhollow who chattered about the weather. It was a dreary day, the sort that threatened rain but rarely delivered. Eden listened with half an ear.

  “Are you feeling fine?” Lady Penhollow asked abruptly, interrupting her own monologue. “You are looking peaked.”

  “I didn’t sleep well,” Eden confessed. She’d decided never to lie again.

  “A sleepless night. I hate those. That’s why I always enjoy a cup of warm milk before bedtime. You should ask Betsy to bring you one this evening.”

  “Yes, that’s a good idea,” Eden said, barely heeding the advice—then her world spun to a stop. Pierce stood in the breakfast room doorway.

  He’d been to their bedroom, for he’d shaved and dressed for riding. His eyes were heavy-lidded, the only sign of his restless night. Her body, remembering his demanding possession of her last night, reacted immediately to his presence.

  Their gazes met. I’m sorry, she wanted to whisper. Please forgive me.

  Pierce walked into the room. “Good morning, Mother. Eden.” He dutifully pecked his mother’s cheek and sat next to Eden. His hand rested on the back of her chair but his thumb didn’t brush her neck as it often did.

  “Breakfast, my lord?” Rawlins asked.

  Pierce nodded. “Give me anything and a cup of strong tea.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “Well, it is good to see your appetite has returned,” Lady Penhollow said in a motherly fashion. “I was quite worried when I discovered you hadn’t asked for even a tray delivered to your study last night.”

  “I was fine,” he answered her. Rawlins sat a plate of sausages and eggs before him while Gordon poured tea.

  “You work too hard, Pierce,” Lady Penhollow chastised. “You appear this morning as if you worked the night through.”

  “In a way, I did,” Pierce said. He made a pretense of eating.

  Eden felt her cheeks color as she realized a double meaning in his words.

  Lady Penhollow didn’t notice. She put jam on a piece of toast and asked conversationally, “So, what do you have planned for this morning?”

  “I’m arranging the sale of Cornish King,” Pierce answered.

  Chapter 17

  Eden sat paralyzed, staring at him. She couldn’t have heard him correctly. She glanced over at Lady Penhollow, who’d reacted in the same way, a piece of toasted bread halfway to her lips. Even Rawlins and the footman appeared to have been struck dumb.

  Pierce, evidently discovering his appetite, began to eat as if nothing was amiss.

  “You can’t,” Eden said when she found her voice.

  He didn’t look at her, but wiped his hands on his napkin and set it beside his plate. “I have already,” he answered almost absently. “I’m leaving for London in the next hour or so to arrange the sale.”

  “When will you be back?” Lady Penhollow asked.

  “By the end of the week. I’ll sell him to Whitby. I’d take him with me now but Lambert’s mare is here and will be for the next week or so. Well, if you’ll excuse me,” he said, changing the subject abruptly, “I must go down to the stables.” He pushed back from the table and left the room.

  There was a beat of silence before Lady Penhollow said, “I’ve always believed he cared more for that horse than he did for anything else in this world.” Her sharp gaze honed in on Eden. “How long are the two of you going to keep pretending to me that nothing is wrong?”

  Eden barely heard what she was saying. Her attention was still on the door where Pierce had just made his exit. “Excuse me,” she murmured, placing her napkin beside her plate. Before Lady Penhollow could answer, she was out the door after Pierce.

  In the foyer, a small portmanteau sat ready by the front door. It had to be Pierce’s.

  She caught up with him on the path to the stable. He was close enough that he should have heard her call his name, but he continued walking.

  Lifting her skirts, Eden ran until she was by his side. “We need to talk.”

  He didn’t slow his pace and she had to practically skip to keep up with his long strides. “It won’t be right now,” he said. “I’m busy.”

  Eden grabbed hold of his arm and pulled with all her strength, digging her heels into the soft earth. Pierce had no choice but to stop.

  He faced her with ill-disguised impatience.

  “You can’t sell that horse,” she insisted stubbornly. “Cornish King is a part of you. He means more to you than this land or the tin mine.” Or me.

  “Right now, I have twenty mine families living in Hobbles Moor. Twenty families, Eden, who are depending upon that new equipment to keep their loved ones safe. What do I tell them? I’m sorry, I had to pay a ransom for my wife. Turns out she’s a harlot and to protect my family name, you can sacrifice your husband‘?”

  Eden felt sick, deep in the pit of her stomach. “Is that what last night was about? Were you taking what you paid for?”

  Pierce looked away, a haunted expression in his eyes. “I wasn’t myself last night. The man in the bed wasn’t me… I can barely remember being there.”

  “Pierce, I’ve never played the whore. I lived with Madame, and yes, I would have if I’d been sold, but you know yourself I was a virgin.”

  “A virgin with incredible talents.”

  Eden didn’t flinch. “I’ve seen a good number of things in my life, the sort of things a person doesn’t talk about.”

  He walked away from her a few steps before stopping. His back to her, his hands on his hips, he studied the ground for a long silent moment.

  “You should never have married me,” Eden said.

  He straightened his shoulders and turned to her. The pain in his eyes tore through her. “Eden, let us leave this alone for now. Everything inside of me is jumbled and confused. I’ll be gone a
week. We’ll talk when I return.”

  He didn’t wait for her answer but continued toward the stables.

  Suddenly, Eden knew she must confess all. She took a step after him. “Lord Whitby could recognize me.”

  Pierce stopped in mid-stride and came round to face her. “Whitby?”

  She nodded. “He didn’t remember me the day he was here, but I recognized him.”

  He was by her side immediately. He took hold of her arm, his fingers pressing into her flesh. “How would he know you?”

  There was something frightening about the expression in his eyes—the fire of possessiveness, the anger of betrayal, and, yes, the fear of discovery.

  “Madame Indrani had me play the piano once for a party of men. It was a private sale. She had about five girls she was auctioning.”

  “But you remember Whitby?”

  She nodded. “No one could forget the birthmark on his head. He’d been deep in his cups that night and started an argument.” She would not tell him it was over her. “I don’t believe he remembers me.”

  Pierce was silent a moment. “Are there others who will recognize you, Eden?”

  “There may be a few… in London. I doubt if anyone here would. Madame Indrani had known for years that she would sell me to the sultan. If it hadn’t been for the war and some political intrigues in Kurdufan, I would have been sent to him several years ago. She occasionally had me perform and I suppose if one of the men had been willing to pay her price, I would have been sold.”

  “Did it ever bother you to be sold like a brood mare?”

  The same question Mary Westchester had asked. “Pierce, my life with Madame was so much better than the fate I had escaped, I considered myself the most fortunate of souls.” She said the words as a statement of fact. “But I never knew what love was until I met you— and it makes all the difference.”

  “You still don’t know what love is,” he answered sadly. “Eden, love is more than an animal attraction. It’s honesty and good faith. It’s understanding how your actions impact others.”

  “When you said you loved me, you meant all of those things?”

  “I did,” he admitted simply.

  “Then I pray you find it in your heart to love me again. But I ask you to not sell Cornish King. There must be another way.”