She shook her head. “No. Not cousins. I have hated my father—our father—for so many years.” Her voice quivered with emotion. “And for most of that time I hated you too.”
“Me?” The quick tears in his eyes mirrored those in her own. “You hated me?”
She swiped her eyes with her ragged handkerchief. “Not after I met you. Then, against all my wishes, I grew to love you—”
He enveloped her in a smothering hug. “You’re my sister? My sister?”
It took a good half hour for them to banish the tears and sort out the questions and answers that were over twenty years in the making. Only when Mrs. Dobbs came in with tea, then drew back in surprise, did Hester and Horace slide apart from one another.
“It’s all right, Mrs. Dobbs. Come in. I think we need that tea,” Hester said, suppressing a watery giggle. Hester suspected that her busybody of a housekeeper had been hoping for a match between Hester and Adrian. Considering that Hester had avoided men for years, the poor woman was obviously confounded by what must look like an interrupted embrace.
“It’s not what you think,” Hester explained. “Horace and I—” She met his gaze and they burst out laughing. It felt so good. “I’ll explain later,” she said, gasping for breath as Mrs. Dobbs’s face grew only more bewildered.
After the woman left, however, Hester turned serious. “I have told you all of this, Horace, because… well, because I felt I must. And because I don’t want you to miss out on any other love due you. I’m speaking specifically about Dulcie.”
“Do you think she might love me?”
“I don’t know. She hasn’t confided that to me. But then, I haven’t seen her in a week.”
He was silent a long while, but Hester knew what was to come. “I think I should introduce you to Father.”
She squared her shoulders and pursed her lips. “No. Not yet, anyway.”
“Why not?”
“This is my decision, not yours.”
“I’ve been just as wronged as you have.”
“I know. However, I told you the truth only because I didn’t want you to leave London without knowing.” She reached for his hand and stared into his dear, familiar face. “I couldn’t have borne it.”
He squeezed her hand in return. “He has much to answer for.”
“In time. At the moment, however, I will be content if you stay in town, at least long enough to ascertain Dulcie’s feelings toward you.”
He sighed. “I shall see her at Catherine Hawke’s wedding tomorrow. Will you be there?”
Hester had accepted the invitation, but this past week she’d dithered back and forth about going. If Adrian didn’t want to see her she certainly would not be pathetic enough to chase after him. On the other hand, she might look even more pathetic if she stayed away. And then, Catherine and her mother had been so kind to her.
“Don’t worry. I’ll convince Father not to go,” Horace said, misinterpreting her hesitation.
On impulse Hester lifted her chin to a pugnacious angle. “I’ll be there.” Whether Adrian wanted to see her again or not, she would go. She had spent too many years hiding from life. It was past time for the mousy Mrs. Poitevant to shed her widow’s weeds once and for all. A wedding seemed as appropriate a place as any other.
Adrian knew his Aunt Olivia and cousin Catherine had as much to do with salvaging Hester’s reputation as anything he’d done. George Bennett would be a long time showing his cowardly face in town, which only increased Adrian’s reputation as the hero who’d saved the helpless widow from the dastardly Lord Ainsley.
He frowned at his image in the mirror, then jerked his cravat loose to try again. “Some hero,” he muttered.
“Having trouble with that knot?” In the open doorway his Uncle Neville lounged.
Adrian scowled. “I’ll get it right.”
“We leave for the church in fifteen minutes,” Neville said. “Don’t be late or Olivia will raise holy hell—no pun intended. For some reason weddings turn perfectly pleasant ladies into madwomen, fit only for Bedlam.” He ran a finger inside his own elaborately tied cravat. “I’ll be relieved when this day is over. Except that you’re leaving day after tomorrow, aren’t you?”
Adrian nodded. “I’ve done everything I needed to do here. It’s time I visit my mother, then get myself back to Boston. There’s work to be done, right?”
“Right,” Neville agreed. “Hurry up now. The carriages are coming to the front door.”
Again Adrian nodded, then gave the cravat one last try. If it weren’t for the near certainty that he would encounter Hester at the wedding festivities, he wouldn’t care how he looked today. But unlike the past few days, he wouldn’t be able to avoid her.
The pity of it was that he was desperate to see her. He hurt with his need to be with her, just to stand close enough to catch that faint whiff of the lily water she used.
His hands stilled at their task and he stared unseeingly into the silver-tinted glass.
It was insane, this obsession he had for her. If not for that pure fool Bennett, he might have enjoyed a few more nights in her arms. But suspicions had already been cast on her by the way he’d grabbed her, followed by his ill-advised use of her given name. It had looked just a little too intimate for London’s incestuous society, which was always hungry for gossip.
But he refused to let Hester become their target. Not on account of him. Thank God Olivia and Catherine had leaped to her defense. On their advice he’d kept his distance from Hester, though it had nearly killed him. At the same time he’d worked to vilify Bennett, which hadn’t been difficult. The man had quit London like the craven coward he was.
Everything had turned out as they’d hoped: Bennett was the villain and Hester the wronged party, while he looked like the hero. Perfect, except that he had no idea how Hester felt about him anymore.
She’d been angry at his interference, then horrified when everyone had gathered around them. What he didn’t know, what he might never know, was how she felt about his week-long absence, for she hadn’t responded in any way. Was she disappointed? Did she sit in her bedroom window at night yearning for him?
Or was she relieved, glad to have her reputation intact, knowing he would soon be gone, out of her life forever?
He yanked the cravat knot snug, then turned away without bothering to examine the results. He couldn’t believe he would never smooth his fingertips across Hester’s milky-soft skin, or taste her sweet lips again. He would never release that silken mane of hair to spill down across her shoulders, nor tangle his fingers within those warm, lily-scented curls.
He groaned at the unwelcome rise of desire, yet it felt good. Damned good. He didn’t know what he would do when he saw Hester. If he saw Hester.
One thing he did know, however. His idea of enticing her to Scotland was far too dangerous for her to risk.
If she were even half the snob he’d once thought her, he wouldn’t hesitate to do it, her reputation be damned.
But Hester was a vulnerable woman surviving as best she could in a world not inclined to do her any favors. For him to jeopardize her reputation and thereby her whole existence would be the height of selfishness. Taking her to Scotland with him was a foolish dream, a self-indulgent dream.
Yet knowing all that did nothing to banish that sweet, beckoning dream from his head.
CHAPTER 20
Catherine Hawke made a beautiful bride. Happiness fairly radiated from her. Even more moving to Hester, however, was the adoration that shone in her new husband’s face. She’d watched him in the church as Catherine had come down the aisle to him, studying every expression, every glance. The small, private smiles, the huge, public ones. The intimate tilt of his head toward her, the solicitous touch of his hand to her elbow.
Every movement, every breath, seemed to prove his love for Catherine, and more than once Hester had felt the sting of silly, emotional tears.
Oh, to be loved like that!
She bowed her he
ad once more, blinking back tears. Goodness, she hadn’t even known the couple that well until the past couple of weeks. She would not make a spectacle of herself by sobbing out loud.
But she’d already made a spectacle of herself, hadn’t she? Between her salmon dress, her loose cascade of curls, and the cunning little bonnet perched just over her brow, she’d made as big a spectacle of herself as a woman could and yet still remain respectable.
Except for the pale shadows beneath her eyes she knew she looked striking, certainly far better than any of these people had ever seen her look, though not as beautiful as the bride. Surface beauty could be achieved by anyone. But true beauty, formed of goodness and happiness, sprang from within.
That’s what Hester saw in Catherine Hawke as she and her new husband swept down the aisle, laughing despite the solemnity of the regal St. Simone’s church. No one but a bride or a new mother could ever look that beautiful.
Still, Hester was pragmatic enough to know that her new appearance would be much remarked upon today.
She cast her eyes down as Neville and Olivia Hawke followed by the rest of their family—including Adrian— trailed the happy couple. It was one thing to sit near the back of the church staring at the back of his head, noting the wave in his hair, the sheen, and remembering the texture of it beneath her fingers…
She shook off a traitorous little shiver. It was another thing altogether to face him, to meet that probing gaze and risk having him discover how much more he meant to her than she’d ever meant to him.
No, it was better if she waited until the onlookers on the front steps were a milling crowd before making her own exit.
“There you are,” Horace whispered, pausing at her pew. “Come along. We’ll miss all the fun.”
Reassured by her brother’s presence, Hester resolved to go to the reception, at least for a little while. It was only a short walk and Hester was calmer once they arrived. She was fully prepared to either speak with Adrian or be snubbed by him; whichever he chose was fine, she told herself. All she had to do was look nice and behave conservatively. And if her stomach fluttered with nerves, well, it was only because this day marked the beginning of her new life: no longer a virgin; no longer a mourning widow; no longer a woman hiding her true self from the rest of the world. Plus, she had a brother now, a wonderful brother.
“Where is Dulcie?” Horace whispered when they entered Sensin Gardens, which were festooned with garlands of red roses tied up with white ribbons. “I saw her in the church. Her mother was with her,” he added. “I fear I shall never get her alone.”
“Don’t worry. Lady Ainsley will be so busy trying to shield Dulcie from me, she’ll consider you a wonderful alternative. The first chance you get, ask Dulcie to dance. I’ll take care of the rest.”
“Very well.” They both stared about at the jovial gathering until Horace said, “Ah, there’s Adrian. Come on.”
This was it. Hester was excruciatingly aware of every aspect of her appearance as she and Horace threaded through the crowds. She held herself as tall as she could. Shoulders down, chest forward, chin demurely tucked with a pleasant half-smile on her face. Just as Mrs. DeLisle had taught her and she now taught her students. And glide. Move smoothly and glide.
It helped having Horace with her, for he performed his role as both gentleman and brother with equal aplomb. How swiftly she’d come to love him.
Hester stumbled a little. She loved him!
Horace adjusted his hold and she recovered her balance. When he looked over at her, she smiled, so filled with emotion she could hardly bear it. “I’m so glad we found one another,” she murmured.
Startled, he blushed and smiled back. He bent his head closer to hers. “So am I.”
From across the lawn Adrian saw the smile Hester shared with Horace. His eyes narrowed when Horace leaned in to her and whispered something, and his already glum mood turned to utter gloom.
From the moment he’d spied Hester at the church service he’d known something was different, something not attributable entirely to the change in her public wardrobe. She looked stunning, so beautiful, so ravishing, that he couldn’t keep his eyes off her. Nor could any other man there, he noticed. Especially Horace Vasterling, in his eagerness to divert Horace from Hester, Adrian had begun to believe the man interested in Dulcie Bennett.
But now he and Hester were sharing those secret looks, those secret smiles.
He’d kill the son of a bitch!
But he couldn’t. After that scene with George Bennett he had to be scrupulous in his public behavior toward Hester. Besides, he told himself when Horace caught his eye and grinned, this was Horace, not George, and Hester didn’t appear in the least dismayed by his close attention. Indeed, she looked at Horace in a way she’d never done before.
Had Horace finagled his way into her heart during the week since Adrian had last seen her?
Adrian realized he was clenching his jaw so hard his teeth ached. But he couldn’t seem to relax it. How ironic if his original plan to force the snooty Hester to appreciate kindly Horace had worked.
He tamped down both his anger and his fear as they approached him. He had to be mistaken, he told himself, for Hester and Horace were too unlikely a couple.
Yet wasn’t he just as unlikely to be paired as lover to one of them and friend to the other?
He thrust one hand through his hair. He had to get himself under better control. He was leaving London and they were both staying. The most he could do was enjoy their company, since it was likely to be the last few hours he would ever spend with them.
He addressed them first. “Well, Horace.” Too jovial. Too hearty. “Lucky man. It seems you have arrived with the most beautiful woman of all on your arm.”
Hester smiled at him with her lips, but her eyes looked troubled. “Thank you, Mr. Hawke. But no woman is ever as beautiful as a bride.”
Adrian stared at her. What was she saying? That she wanted to be a bride? That since he was leaving Britain she had set her cap for Horace?
“Your cousin certainly looked beautiful,” Horace said into the awkward silence that fell between them.
“My cousin? Yes. Yes, my cousin,” Adrian said, belatedly understanding Hester’s remark. “Yes. Catherine certainly makes a beautiful bride.” As would Hester, he realized. “Can I get either of you something to drink?”
In the space of time that Hester and Horace each consumed one drink, Adrian consumed three. He needed strong spirits to steady his nerves and keep his thoughts from straying to visions of Hester on her wedding night. Hester coming to her new husband clad in filmy silks or gauzy muslins. Hester with her hair strewn across her shoulders and lily petals caught in the lush tangles. Hester revealing her bare toes, her naked ankles, her warm thighs—
He grabbed a fourth glass from a passing servant and downed it, conscious of the concerned look on Hester’s face. Or was it disapproval? She’d never seen him drunk. He seldom allowed himself to get that way. But tonight it seemed appropriate.
“It’s my cousin’s wedding and I’m leaving soon,” he muttered. “Aren’t I entitled to one last night of fun?”
That fast her eyes turned fever bright, and it only took him a moment to deduce why. She was thinking of another sort of fun. One last night of fun for them to have together.
His entire body went on alert. If she was willing, and he damned well was…
She averted her gaze from the intensity in his, but the burn of color in her cheeks remained. “Oh, look,” she said in a strained voice. “There’s Dulcie.”
Again she and Horace shared a secret look, and Adrian frowned. She was making him crazy. Was it Horace she wanted or him? A husband or a lover? Or had the passion he’d unleashed in her taken over so that now she wanted both?
Surely not.
Then again, other women had husbands and lovers. Why not her?
He was going mad! But by damn, he would not share her!
Before he could think what to do—dra
g her away; punch Horace in the nose; have another drink—she gave him a prim nod. Then she gave Horace a secretive wink, turned, and made straight for Dulcie and her mother.
They stood there, he and Horace, just gazing after her. Horace nudged him. “She’s amazing, isn’t she?”
“Yes. Amazing,” Adrian responded as he watched the elegant sway of Hester’s hips beneath her salmon skirts. Slender waist, proud carriage, and that effortlessly gliding gait. Yet hidden beneath all that elegance and sophistication beat the heart of a wanton. She was indeed an amazing woman.
Then jealousy reared its suspicious head and he realized that he didn’t want Horace to think she was amazing. He glared down at the man, but Horace was watching Hester. “Why has she finally decided to abandon her half-mourning?”
Horace barely glanced at him. “Perhaps you ought to direct that question to her.”
“I fully intend to. Meanwhile—”
“Shh!” The man waved him to silence, all the while watching as Hester halted before Dulcie Bennett and her clearly outraged mother. The happy buzz of the other wedding guests prevented them from hearing the precise gist of the three women’s conversation, but their demeanors allowed Adrian a fairly good guess. Dulcie was all wide eyes and fearful expression, while Hester looked as unruffled as he’d ever seen her.
“What is she up to?”
“I’m not certain, but I’ve got to go.” And off Horace went, straight for the three.
Not to be left out, Adrian followed.
At the sight of them Lady Ainsley’s mouth closed with an audible snap. She tried to smile at Adrian, whose good favor she’d been halfheartedly courting ever since she realized that the ton sided more with him than with her son. But she was too flustered to do more than grimace. When Horace bowed, the perfect gentleman in every way, then offered to accompany Miss Bennett to the punch table, Lady Ainsley gave a distracted nod. “Yes, go. But come back directly to me,” she added to her daughter.
Horace and Dulcie practically skipped away, which only confounded Adrian more. First he couldn’t tell which man Hester wanted. Now he was confused about which woman Horace was after.
The Bridemaker Page 25
