by Jaimey Grant
“I am,” Verena replied firmly, wrapping her hands around her tea cup. “I don’t blame you for anything and despite appearances to the contrary, I do trust you.”
“I am relieved to hear it,” Connor answered, most of his tension dissipating in the face of her calm reassurance. “But I do think we need to talk about what happened last night if we are to solve this problem.”
Verena turned surprised eyes on him. “Are you not here to ask for a divorce?’
“Good heavens, no! Whatever gave you that nonsensical idea?”
His wife gestured helplessly toward his arm, the bandage hidden beneath layers of proper clothing. “I attacked you, Con. You cannot possibly want to stay with someone so unbalanced.”
Connor considered the idea of telling her that he loved her but something made him hold back. There was a chance that she would view such a declaration with dismay rather than joy and he had no desire to provide her with yet another reason to shrink away from him.
He shrugged instead, offering a self-deprecating smile. “I do not see how you are any more unbalanced than Adam, and I have been friends with him for more years than I can count. For that matter, who is to judge who is truly unbalanced? I’m sure some would say that I am because of my past dealings with certain people and I have an aunt that everyone calls eccentric. I think unbalanced is a relative term, loosely defined by people based on their own opinions.”
Verena’s eyes widened with each word he spoke, the helpless sadness in her gaze dissipating into nothingness. When he saw a glimmer of mirth, he breathed an inward sigh.
“Are you ready to tell me, Verena?”
The sudden question along with the serious concern in her husband’s eyes abruptly robbed her of any mirth she felt. She wanted to tell him, wanted to let go of this horrible secret she guarded so closely, but she found that she couldn’t. She just wasn’t ready. They had only been married just over a week; she had only known him for a few weeks before that. She just couldn’t tell him of her shame.
“No.” Verena stood and walked to the dressing table. She picked up a small glass figure—one of the few items of sentimental value she had taken from her home.
Desperation, fear, and panic swirled through her head, flashes of pain, humiliation, and despair rising to the fore. Faces, one superimposed over the other, seeming to laugh at her, taunt her, soothe her and whisper words of reassurance. The memories made no sense, no more than the sudden pain that shot through her hand.
“Verena!”
Startled, she glanced up. Connor rushed to her side, tearing his cravat off as he moved. She stepped back, the pain in her hand a distant sensation to the shock at seeing her husband disrobing, his expression more serious than she’d ever seen it.
He seized her hand and it was only then, as fire lanced through her, that she realized what she’d done.
Rivulets of blood, deep red and growing deeper as they thickened, streamed over her white hand, over her pale gown to soak in and dye it a macabre shade, like that of a woman attacked. It was all terribly ironic, really.
She laughed. As Connor painstakingly extracted each shard of the precious glass bauble from her hand, she laughed. The sound ripped from her throat, tearing her in half as it went, the metallic tang of warm red blood filtering through her senses and melding with the ones trapped deep in her mind.
Connor, bless him, remained silent. He bandaged her hand while her laughter subsided into a harsh chuckle, ending as abruptly as it started.
Even Verena couldn’t explain it. It was all too much. She allowed her husband to lead her back to her chair, sitting with as much grace as the duchess herself. Fixing her eyes upon him, she waited. Waited for the recriminations, the accusations, the endless list of faults and errors on her part.
He stepped back and said nothing but, “My love, please.”
Something in his voice brought back her sanity. For the first time since he entered the room, she really looked at him.
Tired lines fanned out from his eyes, his lips pinched in concern. Where once his immaculate cravat graced his throat, his shirt opened, revealing several inches of lightly tanned flesh. His body radiated tension and tight control.
Verena stared, uncomprehending, unable to understand what had just passed. What was he asking for? Why did he look as though he was hurting? He was not the one whose innocence was stolen only to endure further humiliation, pain, and heartache.
Oh no, her memories and secrets were better left in the darkest recesses of her mind.
An unreasoning anger swept through her. She tamped it down with the same fury. Life had taught her early on of the futility of raging at the past. Raging at a man now simply because he’d had a peaceful and uneventful life while she had lived through hell was just as pointless.
She noticed then the hand he held out to her. He didn’t approach, leaving it her choice to accept his comfort. Her throat tightened against incipient tears.
Without saying a word and against her natural inclinations, Verena stood and closed the short distance between them. He enfolded her in a loving embrace. She pressed her cheek to his hard chest and found an immeasurable amount of comfort in the steady beat of his heart. His hand gently stroked her hair while he murmured soothing words in her ear almost as if…as if he knew.
Just as soon as the thought occurred, Verena shifted, leaned back and stared up at him. He looked remarkably familiar. The first time she’d ever seen him, sitting in the taproom of the posting house waiting for a change of horses, she’d wondered at the familiarity with which she’d been struck. Now, gazing up at him, he resembled a hazy, otherworldly being, lingering on the edges of her consciousness.
“I couldn’t help but notice,” said Connor, setting her away from him and glancing at his bandaged arm, “that you seem to have a rather irrational fear of men.”
She wasn’t sure how to answer such an observation. A trace of accusation colored his voice, almost as if he believed she willfully misled him. Did she harbor her secrets merely to keep him at a distance? How could he believe otherwise?
In truth, before Connor, she’d only ever known three men in her life: her father, her brother, and a complete stranger. One beat her, one abandoned her, and the other robbed her of any vestige of innocence, dignity, and self-worth she’d ever possessed. That was the simplest way to explain her fear of men.
Instead, she said nothing more than, “I do.”
Her husband nodded. “I am realistic enough to know that you may never overcome your fear enough to welcome my lovemaking.”
A shiver raced up Verena’s spine at the thought, part wanting, part fear, and all anxiety.
He sighed. “I will endeavor to hold my desire for you in check.”
“Connor, we will overcome this,” she whispered with determination. Her stomach rebelled at her next thought but she voiced it anyway. “I know I can. If I was strong enough to withstand my father’s beatings, I can surely overcome a paltry fear.”
Every muscle in Connor’s body tensed. The breath caught painfully in Verena’s throat at the rage that lit his blue eyes.
“I should have killed him,” Connor said, his matter-of-fact tone at odds with his taut form.
“For what? Beating me? I assure you, it was well within his right as my father, and far less than what some daughters endure.”
“How can you think that? Your father is an animal to treat a daughter so! Damn the law! A man who acts that way towards a woman should be treated to a dose of his own medicine.”
“Calm yourself,” Verena murmured, her soothing tone going so far as to calm herself as well. She was inwardly pleased with his reaction, viewing it as a very good indication that he would never treat their daughters so.
Their daughters. To have daughters, they would need to—
“I will overcome this,” she repeated. Relief swept over her as he seemed to, finally, dismiss her father’s actions against her.
The briefest trace of doubt flashed across his handsome f
ace. “The only way to even determine the possibility of that is to take things slow, I suppose.”
“Isn’t that what we are doing now? It doesn’t seem to work.”
“Right now, we are moving at a snail’s pace. We will have to move faster than that, I am afraid.”
“You sound dismayed by the idea.”
Connor shrugged. “To be quite honest, you frighten me, my love.”
She cringed, remembering the reason they were having the discussion in the first place. Fingers clenching, pain short through her arm.
He smiled at her and took her hand, his firm but gentle touch easing the tension while making sure her bandage held. “I don’t fear attack. I am afraid of scaring you with the force of my desire.”
Verena’s mouth formed a tiny little O of understanding. She knew all about men’s lusts but she hadn’t realized until she’d met Connor that they could—or would be willing to—control them.
She straightened her spine, determined to do whatever he asked. “What do you suggest?”
Her husband gazed at her, narrow-eyed and unblinking, before tossing the question back. “What do you suggest? This is your battle after all. You should choose how best to fight it.”
Should she be flattered or dismayed that he was leaving the decision to her? She wanted to suggest that he take her to bed and get it over with, but decided that wouldn’t be politic. And she just couldn’t bring herself to look upon such a thing with any sort of equanimity. Instead, she murmured, as her cheeks heated to what must surely be a blazing red hue, “I find that I enjoy kissing you, my lord.”
Connor’s pale eyebrows shot up. “That is more than I would have supposed you would be comfortable with. I was going to suggest, well, all that is considered proper when courting a lady.” He grinned. “But I like your idea much better.”
While being courted appealed very much to Verena, she found she was too impatient to overcome her fear to waste time with things as tame as holding hands. “We are already married, Con. I don’t see how any of that would help since all it would do is engender the trust that we already share.”
A firm knock on the door interrupted his next words. Verena disengaged herself from her husband’s hold and hurried to open it, discovering Jenny on the other side.
“Hello, Doll.” She held up three volumes of a book. “Pride and Prejudice. I think it’s time for you to expand your knowledge by indulging in novels.”
Her cheeky grin was infectious and Verena’s lips twitched in response. “Thank you.”
She took the three-volume novel, the majority of the weight settling into her injured hand. She winced, trying to turn before Jenny could see. Instead, she afforded the younger girl an excellent view of the bloodstains on her gown.
“Doll! Whatever happened to you?” An accusing glance settled on Connor, that gentleman’s presence finally having been noted by his sister.
“No!” Verena protested quickly. How could Jenny even remotely believe her brother was somehow to blame? She handed the books off to Connor and returned to Jenny’s side. “A silly accident, nothing more, I promise.”
Doubt creased Jenny’s mobile features. “If you say so.” She shook her head, her hands reaching out to gather her new sister into a tender hug. “I believe you if for no other reason than Connor could never hurt you. It’s obvious he loves you.”
Verena pulled away, gently so as not to insult Jenny. The girl offered comfort, and could never know how distressing her words could be. “You have reminded me that I must change.” She spun about and moved away from Jenny.
Connor spoke up. “Is there a matter you wished to discuss? Other than delivering books?”
Offering her brother a belated greeting, Jenny added, “I wanted to borrow Verena this afternoon.”
Verena paused, glancing at her husband as he responded to Jenny’s request. “That is Verena’s choice, of course. I had no plans for us this afternoon.” His eyes told Verena he could think of several things he would like to do. She forced back the blush that threatened her cheeks and ducked into her bedchamber to ring for Bri.
Fifteen minutes later, she emerged again, dressed in a pale blue gown, long white gloves hiding her freshly bandaged hand. She felt a bit better for the change, almost as if donning new garb cleansed her of the unpleasantness of the morning. Having Bri fuss over her, remonstrating over the minor injury she’d suffered, and vowing to murder anyone who dared hurt her, had helped. Verena chuckled at her friend’s vehemence, but admitted to herself that having a champion was nice.
Connor rose as she entered. Seating her next to his sister at the table, he then resumed his own seat and explained that they’d entertained themselves with inconsequential matters during her absence.
Offering a smile that encompassed both of her companions, she returned to the subject that brought Jenny to her door in the first place. “What did you need me for?” she asked softly.
“Mama, Gwen, and I are supposed to go for a carriage ride with Lady Charteris and Mari since the weather is so unseasonably warm today. Mama will be busy entertaining the witches, I mean ladies, and Gwen and I would greatly enjoy your company.”
Verena hesitated. She could not like the idea of time spent in the loathsome Lady Marigold’s presence.
Jenny noticed her hesitation and assumed correctly that Mari was to blame—but for the wrong reason. “I know you may not want to be around someone that your husband courted seriously at one time, but—”
Verena turned slowly to regard her husband. Smiling at the false innocence of his expression, she held her tongue. It would not do to ask uncomfortable questions while his sister lingered.
Jenny informed Verena they would await her in the drawing room. She then took herself, no doubt feeling the tension in the air.
“You were courting her? No wonder she was so upset. Her heart must be broken.”
Connor snorted in derision. “Mari doesn’t have a heart. She’s upset because she saw all my money disappear from her grasp.”
“Connor, what a heartless thing to say! She probably loves you very much. How can you be so cruel?”
With a rude laugh, Connor looked away. She could hear bitterness in his voice as he said, “Our parents pushed the match on us. Her mother mostly. Trust me when I say there is not now nor was there ever love between us.” He faced her again. “What does it matter anyway? I’m married to you and that’s an end to it.”
Still doubtful that any woman would not love Connor Northwicke, Verena just nodded. She stood, Connor rising with her. “I should do something,” she murmured. Glancing at the books on the table, she smiled. “Perhaps I could begin my novel-reading today. I’m sure it will become a favorite pastime.”
Then she remembered Jenny’s invitation and looked down at her blue gown. “I suppose this is suitable enough to go to the drawing room. Never having really been in Society I am sadly provincial, I fear.”
He smiled and took her hand. Raising it to his lips, he said, “You are beautiful, my dear.” He reached out and tucked a stray curl behind her ear. “You will put them all in the shade. Now, kiss me goodbye, as I have things to attend to this afternoon.”
Verena nearly took a step back. Somehow, when she had suggested that they begin with kissing, she hadn’t thought it would be quite so soon. Well, she thought with a nervous tremble, it has to start sometime.
She primped up her lips and closed her eyes. When moments passed and nothing happened, she peeked at her husband. He laughed at her. As righteous indignation stirred, he took her face in his hands and pressed his lips to hers. Her anger died a swift death as Connor’s brief caress ignited a fire of a different sort.
Verena wasn’t ready for the kiss to end but her husband stepped back, smiling. He brushed his fingers over her cheek.
“Enjoy your drive, my dear. I shall see you later.” Then he pressed a quick kiss to her forehead and disappeared.
“I am so sorry,” Jenny murmured beside her in the open carr
iage. “If I had known that nodcock had explained nothing to you about Mari, I would have held my tongue. Everything is all right now?” she asked anxiously.
Verena took in her sister-in-law’s distressed look and patted her hand. “Yes, my dear, everything is fine. Quite wonderful, in fact.” She couldn’t restrain her smile.
“Oh, good,” Jenny replied in relief. “I have been so worried about you and my brother. Especially after—” She broke off, tipping her head toward Verena’s gloved hand. “I am glad things are working out so well.”
Jenny fell silent and Verena studied her companions with interest. Seated on either side of her were the twins in matching pelisses of pale yellow and dashing straw bonnets with little yellow flowers decorating the wide brims. Lady Mari sat directly across from Gwen, the countess beside her and the duchess beside Lady Charteris.
Verena was nearly successful in ignoring the glares cast her way by Lady Charteris and her beautiful daughter. She kept her face a well-bred blank and answered any questions put to her in monosyllables. She studied Mari as that young lady made constant reference to Lord Connor and how he must be suffering.
It finally took a somewhat exasperated comment from Lady Denbigh to silence the girl.
“If you are so very worried about Connor’s happiness, my dear Mari, you have only to ask him,” the duchess said with a sweet smile and a hard gleam in her gray eyes.
Mari promptly clamped her pretty little mouth shut and looked for all the world like a rather sulky child. How could Connor have endured courting such an ill-tempered chit?
“She is not always so catty,” Gwen whispered, turning so her pretty straw bonnet shielded her face from the others. “I believe losing my brother has made her rather…unhinged.”
Turning her gaze away from a particularly violent stare from the lady in question, Verena caught a look of commiseration on the duchess’s face. She suddenly envied Connor. He was able to escape at least for the afternoon and avoid Lady Mari and her spiteful mother.
“I assume, since your marriage to Northwicke was so very hasty, that the heir to the dukedom may make his appearance a trifle early.”
