THREE HEROES

by Jo Beverley

  Feeling as if they’d slipped into a land where nothing made sense, she said, “Tommy Grimes, Mary Ann Notts, Alice Jones, and Benjamin Mumford.”

  He nodded, but said nothing. The children should have been a winning blow, and yet Maria felt uneasily as if she had put a sharp weapon into his hands. She needed a shield. She would marry Lord Warren. He wouldn’t expect a passionate heart, and marriage would distract her. After all, she’d have the care and guidance of his sons, not much younger than Van.

  But she’d never again burn in the fire of her demon’s passion.

  Human sacrifice.

  Oh yes, he had the right of it there, and was it right to sacrifice Lord Warren in her cause?

  When they arrived back at the inn, she hurried up to the privacy of her room, leaving him to arrange for the coach to be ready. As she waited her mind circled that incident he had mentioned, the amputation.

  How old had he been then? He’d said sierra, so in Spain. At least two years ago, perhaps longer, and he was only twenty-five now. She could imagine the inner terror, the sweating hands, the threatening vomit. She was also sure of the courage and willpower that had kept his hands steady, had done what had to be done as quickly and deftly as possible.

  Love poured through her again, carried on respect and admiration. She wanted him in so many, many ways. But she loved him enough to cut him free and cauterize the wound despite his protests. Then perhaps one day she would be able to speak calmly of his happy life along with a sweetheart and a baby.

  Van made the arrangements, and considered four hours in the coach with Maria. He couldn’t. He couldn’t trust himself not to argue, or worse, try to persuade by force or seduction. The demon was writhing inside him, calling for the fight to the death, for all or nothing.

  He asked the innkeeper about a horse to hire and found that a Mr. Slade kept three fine horses at the inn and rarely rode them. Slade, apparently, was a wealthy iron founder who’d retired to the village and built the overlarge, stuccoed house that stood out in the village like a tombstone in a garden. Van was surprised Squire Hawkinville had permitted it.

  Slade was a convenience for him, however. At the price of a few moments being oozed over by Slade he had the use of a bay gelding for the journey to London. It would cost more later. The iron founder was clearly delighted to put a local lord under an obligation. It was worth the price. He’d pay any price for Maria’s comfort—except to let her go.

  By the time they arrived back, the light was going and a misty drizzle completed a miserable day. Maria had spent the journey planning ways to force Van to accept that their arrangement was at an end, but she’d been constantly distracted by the sight of him on horseback.

  He rode superbly of course, one with the fine horse, and completely in control. He mostly rode alongside, but occasionally he raced ahead then circled back exhilarated, smiling. Until his eyes met hers and settled again to cool purpose.

  He was going to fight, and she shivered at the thought.

  She was drowning in guilt, too. He was a cavalry officer, and she’d never thought to offer him a horse. She put that aside as a minor sin past redemption, and focused on amputation.

  As soon as she was out of the coach and he was off the horse, she said, “Your indentured servitude is at an end as of now, my lord.”

  He paled so the scar stood out starkly on his cheek, but said, “Not here, Maria,” and turned to tip the postboys and to arrange for one to ride his horse to the livery stables.

  She was left burning with embarrassment. She’d spilled her words in the open street. She hurried into her house feeling not like a resolute matron, but like a guilty child. She almost fled up to her room, but he’d follow her there. She knew he would. She couldn’t deal with this in such an intimate setting.

  Surely she had the right to throw him from her house!

  Harriette came down the stairs. “Maria? What are you doing home? Is something the matter?”

  “I’ve decided my arrangement with Lord Vandeimen is at an end. He will be leaving.”

  “Will I?” he said behind her, and she turned. Her footman was hovering, looking uncertain. If necessary, John would throw him out. If he could, that is. A brawl in the entrance hall of her house? How had matters come to this?

  “Maria.” It was Harriette, and she had the door to the reception room open. “We need to talk.”

  Maria wanted to refuse, but if she did, Harriette would speak her mind in front of the servants. She stalked into the room and shut the door. “Don’t interfere, Harriette.”

  “You cannot be so impossibly inhospitable.”

  “There’s no longer any need for him to be here.”

  “He’s healed?”

  Maria was struck by uncertainty. It was only last night that he’d taken to deep drinking. So much had happened since that it seemed an age ago, but it had only been last night.

  “He’s ready to begin restoring his home,” she said. “That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”

  Harriette eyed her. “I think he’s making you uncomfortable, and that’s why you’re trying to cast him out. What’s he done?”

  Maria circled the room then admitted it. “He proposed to me.”

  “Ah. And you said?”

  “No, of course. It will not do.”

  “Why not?”

  “Put aside age and the fact that I bribed him into this, I’m barren.”

  Harriette’s face sagged. “Oh my dear, I had forgotten. It would have been wonderful.”

  “No it wouldn’t. I’m too old for him. He’s too . . . demanding. Controlling.”

  “Oh no. You’re made for each other. I’ve thought it almost from the first. You laugh with him, and blush with him. He makes you young again. He’s steady with you, at ease with you. You anchor him. Be that as it may,” she added briskly, “you are not throwing him out of here so suddenly, especially if you’ve just hurt him—”

  “I haven’t hurt him.”

  “Any rejected proposal is hurtful. He’s staying for the remaining days.”

  “Whose house is this?”

  “Yours, but you’ll do as you’re told. You don’t want to have to wonder whether he’s digging out his pistol again, do you?”

  “He wouldn’t . . .” Maria glared at her aunt. “You’re a conniving old woman.”

  “I’m not so old as that. In fact,” she said with a naughty grin, “if you don’t want him, perhaps I’ll set my cap at him. I don’t mind a bit of control in the right places.”

  She walked out of the room leaving Maria gaping. She sank into a chair and leaned her head against the back.

  Twelve days. Only twelve days. That could be endured.

  And twelve nights, every one of them temptation.

  * * *

  Maria retreated to her room that first night, but she could hardly hide forever. She emerged after breakfast the next day braced for persuasion, even seduction.

  He had gone out.

  Feeling deflated instead of relieved she set out to have a normal day, the sort of day she’d enjoyed before meeting Demon Vandeimen, the sort of day that would fill the rest of her life.

  His absence crept with her like a gray ghost.

  When she visited Crown and Mitchell to consider one of the new kitchen stoves, she turned to him for an opinion. When she found that a book she’d been waiting for was available, she anticipated sharing it with him. When she flipped through her pile of invitations, she thought of which would most please him.

  She didn’t want to attend social events. People would notice the absent ring. After a moment she pulled it out of her pocket and slid it on her finger again. It was still small and pale, but precious. She was entitled to keep it, and she would.

  She would never wear it again, but she slid it off and put it back in her pocket. A guilty weakness, but it would be something to remember him by through the rest of her life.

  Van went to Beadle’s Hotel, and was taken up to Hawk’s rooms.
/>
  Hawk closed the door on the nosy maid. “Trouble?” Trust Hawk to see that instantly. This was his private parlor, comfortably if plainly decorated. Van had the irrelevant thought that it would have been luxury during their campaigning years. And that, despite danger and death, life had been simpler then.

  He’d come here to get Hawk’s help, but putting the situation into words felt like sealing it in reality. “Maria’s decided she doesn’t want to marry me.”

  “Ah. I’ll be honest and say that I’m not sorry.”

  “Why?” Van could have said other, more bitter words, could have thrown a blow even, but restrained himself. “You met her once, and spoke a few words. What the devil reason do you have to try to come between us?”

  So much for restraint.

  Hawk stayed calm, but Van saw him shift slightly, balancing to be ready for attack. He couldn’t believe this. Was everything in his life going to fall apart?

  “I haven’t tried to come between you,” Hawk said calmly. “Though I could. I wasn’t going to speak of this, but perhaps it will help you accept your lucky escape. I said that her husband engaged in shady dealings. I had other suspicions, which I confirmed by making some inquiries yesterday.”

  “You’ve been making inquiries about Maria?” Van could feel the words in his mouth like ice, like fire. “How dare you?”

  “Of course I dare. I couldn’t let you marry a woman like that without—”

  “A woman like that?”

  Hawk stepped back, raising a hand, his eyes fixed on Van as on a predatory animal. “Hear me out before you hit me.”

  Van sucked in a deep breath. “Speak.”

  “Celestin had his fingers in many rotten pies, including highly speculative investments. He was leading partner in the investment that ruined your father. He got out intact—he generally did—leaving your father to bear the loss. He as good as put the pistol to your father’s head, Van. I don’t know what game his widow is playing, but—”

  “Is that it?”

  “What?”

  “Is that your evidence?”

  For once, Hawk looked unsettled. “Yes.”

  Van felt muscles unbunch, sinews release. “She told me. Why should she be blamed for her husband’s dishonor?”

  “She obviously knew about it.”

  “She found out after Celestin’s death, from his papers and accounts. And I believe her on that, Hawk.”

  Hawk didn’t look relieved, but he said, “Then for your sake, I’m glad. Except that apparently she has cast you off.”

  With matters so on edge between them, Van didn’t want to expose Maria any further, but it wouldn’t make sense otherwise, and he needed Hawk’s help. “The engagement is a pretense. Maria hired me to play her husband-to-be for six weeks. She said it was for protection from fortune hunters, but as I discovered, it was to return the money my father lost in that investment.”

  “So it was all pretense anyway,” Hawk was saying, looking brighter. “Your six weeks must be nearly up and you’ll be able to restore Steynings. All’s well that ends well.”

  “Except for the fact that I love her. I took her to Steynings yesterday and realized that the place will mean nothing to me without her by my side. I asked her to marry me, and she said no. I’m not willing to accept that answer.”

  “I’d say you don’t have any choice.”

  “I can fight. That at least I can do well.”

  “Perdition, Van, if the woman doesn’t want you, she doesn’t want you!”

  “I love her, and I think she loves me too, though she won’t admit it.”

  “Will you try to throttle me if I say that we are easily misled about such things? If she loved you she would marry you.”

  “She thinks the age difference matters. But more important, she thinks she’s barren.”

  “Ah. She has no children. More honor to her, then. The line dies with you.”

  “So it dies! What the devil difference will that make to the world? But I’ll never persuade her to marry me as long as she believes it true.” He collapsed into a chair. “Thing is, Hawk, I’m not sure it’s true. I don’t want to raise false hopes, but I want you to put your inquisitive talents to some use, for once.”

  Hawk stayed standing. “You’re being damn rude for someone wanting a favor.”

  The sudden chill shocked Van back into his sense. “Gad, so I am.” He looked up at his friend. “Have you ever been in love?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “It can blast away common sense as well as manners. That’s why I need a cool head to look into Maurice Celestin’s intimate affairs and bastards.” He tried a smile. “For old times’ sake?”

  Hawk pulled him out of the chair and into a brief hug. “For past, present, and future, you idiot. But I warn you,” he added, eyes steady, “I’ll tell you everything I find—good or bad.”

  Van met his eyes. “Can you not see how wonderful she is?”

  “I see a handsome woman with strength of character. She claimed to have saved your life, and it’s probably true. But that means you were vulnerable to her maturity and strength of character. Van, when she first came to London to flirt at Almack’s, we were pretending your gamekeeper was the Sheriff of Nottingham, and that Con’s father’s bull was the Minotaur.”

  Van laughed. “Zeus, that poor bull! But you’re as bad as she is, Hawk. It doesn’t matter. Trust me on that—it doesn’t matter. Just find out the truth about Celestin’s bastards.”

  “And if she really is barren?”

  Van smiled. “Then I’ll try to win her anyway.”

  Maria found she lacked the courage to go out. She had no taste for gossipy company or idle pleasures, and no courage to face questions about her missing ring and missing fiancé. She would have to one day, but not yet, especially not with him still in her house.

  Every day Van took an early breakfast then left the house, returning in time for the evening meal. She joined him for that meal because it would be petty to leave him and Harriette to eat alone. And anyway, she hungered for the last few scraps of the feast—the sight of him, the sound of his voice, his expression whenever their eyes met, the ache in every muscle, every bone at the memory of their lovemaking.

  When she and Harriette left the dining table he did not linger, but nor did he join them for tea in the drawing room. He retired to his room for the night, but always with a look that said as clearly as words, “If you join me again, you will be welcome.” ‘ Every night, it was another Waterloo not to take up that invitation.

  She counted the days till this torture would be over, and counted the nights as the beginning of an eternity without him.

  Then the last night came, the last good night, the last look across the dining table. He’d announced that tomorrow he would to return to Steynings and begin his work there.

  She rose, but lingered, one hand on the back of her chair as if glued there. The final cut. She couldn’t bear it. She must.

  From courtesy, he was standing too, separated from her by the wide table and a tasteful arrangement of spring flowers. She’d had plenty of time for flower arranging.

  “I hoped you would change your mind,” he said quietly. “I have been tempted to force you. Perhaps I would have failed anyway, but I managed to stop myself trying. But I have words I could say, things I could show you that might make a difference.”

  Maria glanced to the side and realized that Harriette had already left. Her heart rose up, beating fast. “I don’t see how.” It was weak, but it was all she could manage. Now the absolute end was here, she couldn’t quite face it.

  “Things and words might not matter,” he said. “It all comes down to love. I love you, Maria, in the deepest truest way. I am sure of that. But I don’t know whether you love me enough to take the chance.”

  A breaking heart was proof, wasn’t it? A breaking heart clearly wasn’t visible. “What words, what things?” she whispered from a dry mouth.

  “Misty words and
butterfly things. It’s the love that counts. Come to me, Maria, and speak of love, and perhaps we can fight side by side. If not, there really is no point, is there? And whatever happens, I will leave tomorrow unless you ask me to stay.”

  He walked from the room then, lean, lithe, beautiful. Her beautiful, beloved young demon, whom she shouldn’t want at all, but wanted more than breath itself. She stood staring at the flowers choking back a scream of, What words? What things?

  She gripped the chair harder. She mustn’t weaken now. Truths were truths. Words couldn’t wipe away the years between them. No thing could make her womb fertile.

  But then she turned and ran upstairs. Ignoring Harriette waiting in the drawing room she ran down the corridor and flung open the door to his room. “What words? What things?” she cried. “Why are you doing this? There is no way to change what is!”

  He quickly shut the door, then stood barring it. “Why? Because I’m Demon Vandeimen, of course, and you are my last forlorn hope. Do you love me, Maria? Or does the fire only burn on my side?”

  She stood looking at him, fighting, fighting ... “I love you, Van. But don’t you see that—”

  He swept her into his arms and carried her to the bed. She melted even as she cried, “No, Van. This won’t change my mind!”

  All the same, she was ready, ready to be taken in a violent storm that would sweep away reality for a brief while.

  But he laid her down gently and sat beside her on the bed. “This isn’t part of the battle. Let me love you, Maria, one last time. Tell me what you want tonight.”

  You, now—hot, hard, and fast. But this would be the last time, so she said, “Show me the gentle love you promised once, Van. And pay no attention if I weep.”

  He smiled and began to undress her, cherishing each revelation with touch and kiss so that every inch of her body felt worshiped. The lust stirred and the fire burned, but the gentleness encircled it so she could only lie and watch as he stripped off his clothes to join her, skin to skin in the bed.

  She was afraid that it wouldn’t work this way, that she’d be left softly quivering with need, that she’d disappoint, but he swept her up with tenderness, with worship, up into a slow, sweet crescendo of heaven that she’d never even known existed . . .