"God, no. I have enemies aplenty, but they know that if they dared breathe a word to my daughter, I would commit murder." There was an underlying savagery in his tones that made Norah almost believe him. "The one mercy about the whole affair is that Cassandra doesn't remember much about that night, or about her mother. I thank God for that much.
"So there you have it, Norah Linton. The hideous truth. Not a pretty tale." He hesitated a heartbeat, and Norah felt as if she might drown in that stormy green gaze. "Your eyes," he breathed on a husky whisper. "They're... oh, God, Norah. Tears?"
She couldn't stop them, didn't try. He reached up to cup one hand on the soft curve of her cheek, his thumb sweeping along the ridge of her cheekbone, gathering up the droplets.
"Are these for my little girl?" he asked softly.
"No. They're for you."
His breath caught in his throat and his gaze was unguarded for just an instant. She wondered if anyone had ever cried for Aidan Kane. For the hidden pain in him, for the scars left by the most brutal of betrayals. For the courage he had somehow found inside himself to build a new life for his daughter.
No wonder he had walled his daughter up in a fairy-tale castle, protected from the rest of the world. And yet, wasn't it a futile quest? For someday Cassandra would have to walk through the castle gates.
What must it be like for this man to see that future ahead, knowing the tales his daughter might hear, the heartache that would almost certainly await her? Tales that could poison Cassandra's vibrant spirit with more virulence than Delia had infected into Aidan's own?
Of their own volition, Norah's fingers came up, cupping over Aidan's long strong ones. She turned her face until her lips touched that callused palm in a kiss that was burning with tenderness, trembling with a soul-deep need to heal wounds she could taste upon his skin.
She raised her tear-streaked face to Aidan Kane's, her voice clear and certain. If only her heart could be.
"Yes," she said, peering straight into his eyes. "I will marry you."
His eyes hypnotized her, mesmerized her—like those of a broken knight, led astray by an evil enchantress. A knight trying to find his way back to the path of some abandoned quest.
The bright Irish green shimmered, filled with gratitude, soul-deep gratitude, and a wondrous burgeoning of hope. Norah ached with the beauty of it and tried to ruthlessly cling to reality: The reason he rejoiced was because of his daughter—only his daughter. Not because he wanted Norah Linton as his wife.
She swallowed hard, wondering what it would be like to see those eyes glow with the love a man had for a woman.
"You could do far better than a man like me, Norah," he said, his tones roughened with emotion. "I wish to God that I could promise you... give you more. Give you what you dreamt of the day you sailed for Ireland."
Regret. Tenderness. Both were in the beguiling lines of his face.
"If I were a noble man, an honorable one, I would send you back to England and give you a chance to find a man who warrants what you have to offer. But I... I'm not." He cleared his throat. "I'd like the marriage to take place as expediently as possible. As soon as things can be arranged. I already have a special license. I purchased it before you were awake, the morning of the gypsy fair." He had the grace to blush. "If I had managed to coerce you into saying yes, I wasn't about to give you time to change your mind."
She flushed, feeling raw and frightened, more alive than she'd ever felt before. Every nerve in her body sang with the sensations. "We can wed whenever you wish. After all, it's not as if there needs to be any fuss. It's not as if it were a—a real wedding, with gowns and guests and... and all that madness."
Did he hear a slight hint of wistfulness in her voice? If so, the need to have the marriage ceremony accomplished must have outweighed it. "I'll send word to Reverend Rhoades. As soon as he can steal away from his other duties, we'll meet him in Rathcannon Church. He can execute the deed swiftly and quietly."
Norah tried not to let it hurt her that Aidan made the "deed" sound more like an assassination than a wedding. Her heart raced, and she was suddenly more anxious than she cared to admit to postpone such a momentous step for just a little while.
"Surely you'll want to wait until you—" she stammered. "I mean, you're hardly well enough to—"
To what? she thought a little wildly. Well enough to hold a madly passionate wedding night? To withstand the rush of emotion, the dizzying ardor of introducing her to lovemaking? The mere idea made fiery heat wash from the base of her throat to the very roots of her dusky curls.
"I want this settled, Norah. You, my wife, in the eyes of God, my solicitors, and everyone who dwells about Rathcannon. And to introduce you, we'll give a ball."
"A ball? Oh, Aidan, I don't think—I mean, I'm not certain—"
"Don't worry. It's nothing as grandiose as it sounds— simply a gathering of a few trusted neighbors, families of Cassandra's friends. A little music, a touch of dancing, and a light supper. The girl has been plaguing me for months to have this kind of an entertainment, and Mrs. Brindle assures me it will be safe enough—a good way to let the girl dip her toes into the social stream to test the waters a bit before the overwhelming crush of London. This way the whole county can know you as Lady Kane, and that unruly little chit of mine can plan and plot and rig things up to her heart's content."
"I doubt Cassandra will be in a festive mood," Norah interjected quietly.
"I'll handle Cassandra. I'll explain—" He stopped, his own cheeks tinging scarlet. Norah was certain he'd realized it would be impossible to explain to his daughter that the reason she had been barred from his room was that he had been delirious, crying out secrets she must never, ever, learn.
"I'll handle Cassandra," he repeated stubbornly. "She can be a most reasonable little soul."
Norah nodded, then turned away so that he couldn't see her eyes haunted by the memory of a teary-faced girl, blue eyes spitting hatred, broken sobs of helplessness and fury echoing from her throat. Why was it that she found it impossible to believe that this same girl would suddenly be brought to see "reason," with all of Norah's supposed injustices still stinging her pride, with all her fears still rippling through her, and with the chafing burden of guilt raking at her nerves?
No, Norah assured herself, now she was the one being overly dramatic. Surely with time and effort, she and Cassandra could regain the closeness that had begun to develop between them during that disastrous supper which seemed an eternity ago.
Surely Cassandra would find it in her heart to forgive Norah for barring her from her father during his illness.
If she did not, Norah knew with sudden insight that the pain of the past few days might be only a taste of a more formidable anguish than she had ever known.
CHAPTER 13
Norah sat, rigid, upon the carved pew, her back as stiff as if a rod of iron had replaced her spine, her eyes hot and searingly dry, as the Reverend Mr. Chubbiston Rhoades ranged the sanctuary, his gold pocket watch never far from his hand. With each tick of the timepiece, the cleric grew more uncomfortable, marking each quarter hour that slipped past the time the ceremony had been slated to begin with a throaty harumph of displeasure.
But then, Norah thought with crushing pressure in her breast, it was incredibly difficult to hold a wedding when the bridegroom was nowhere in sight.
Had he changed his mind sometime after Norah had left the house in the carriage with Mrs. Cadagon, the Irishwoman assuring her that the master and young Miss Cass would soon follow? Had he been so tormented with ghosts of his last marriage that he'd been unable to lay himself open to such vulnerability again?
Or had Cassandra snatched the horse's reins and sent the team racing off in the opposite direction from the woman she had decided to hate with the same determined absolutism she had once given to adoring Norah?
Norah's nervous fingers crumpled the gown she had chosen with such care early that morning—a simple ice-blue muslin, with lilies of the
valley embroidered about the hem.
Her stomach lurched at the memory of how long she had lingered in rose-scented bath water, how many strokes she had brushed her hair, until it shone with unaccustomed luster. Most foolhardy of all were the tender white rosebuds she had plucked from Rathcannon's garden to tuck into the dark curls of her hair.
She had wanted to believe she was almost beautiful—for just a moment. But a glance in the mirror had ended any such delusions. She would have gladly plucked the silly blossoms from her hair and donned her serviceable gray gown if there had only been time. But Aidan had made it clear that the Reverend Mr. Rhoades barely had time to pop into the church and fling out the wedding vows before the holy man had to bolt off on another errand. So she had rushed downstairs, to find, not her bridegroom, but only Mrs. Cadagon waiting there for her, the apple-cheeked Irishwoman's face framed in a stiff green bonnet, her bright eyes troubled.
"Sir Aidan said that we were to go on to the church. That he'll meet us there directly. Had a bit of a snag to untangle, he did, before he could break away."
"Nothing serious, I hope?" Norah had asked, worried. "He's not grown sick again?"
"No, no, nothin' of the kind! 'Tis nothing to worry your sweet head about, Miss Norah. You wait an' see, he'll be at the church lookin' handsome enough to charm the keys to heaven right out o' St. Peter's hands."
Wait and see... Mrs. Cadagon's words echoed through Norah's mind. It seemed as if she had been waiting an eternity.
"Miss Linton?" The minister had gnawed at one fingernail until it bled. "I'm most distressed, but as I informed Sir Aidan, I have a baptism to officiate at two o'clock, several miles away, and from thence I've many more miles I must travel to preside over another wedding. Much as I regret it, I fear I shall have to leave."
Norah closed her eyes for a heartbeat, sickened at the debacle this wedding had become. "Of course you must go, Reverend. I'm sorry for your trouble in racing all this way for nothing."
The cleric's withered cheeks reddened as sympathy welled up in his ageless eyes. Norah feared she would retch if she was the recipient of so much as another drop of sympathy. "I suppose I could delay a bit longer, if I knew that Sir Aidan..." He stopped to clear his throat. "Was not going to be further delayed."
Was going to show up at all was more like it, Norah thought.
"There is no way to be certain when Sir Aidan will be able to tear himself away from—from whatever is occupying him. I shall look forward to seeing you at a more propitious time for all concerned."
The little clergyman bustled over to retrieve his greatcoat, dragging it onto his ample frame. "I still feel most distressed to leave like this. I pray nothing is amiss with Sir Aidan."
"I am certain it is—is just some trifle that can easily be managed. At least I have worked my way through the worst of my wedding jitters."
The clergyman caught both her hands in his, and she battled to fashion her lips into some semblance of a smile. "Your bridegroom is most fortunate in his choice of a life-mate. Most brides I know would be wailing fit to bring down the rafters."
Norah grimaced. "I've found that such assaults upon the carpentry don't solve difficulties but only leave one with a raw throat and reddened eyes. Safe journey."
The little man started to walk past her, toward the rear door, but he squawked when a bellowing voice snapped out, "Where the devil do you think you're going, Chubbiston?"
Both wheeled, to see Sir Aidan storming in, his hair windblown, his eyes stormy, his jaw rock-hard with stubbornness and irritation.
"Sir Aidan! I was just—I mean, you knew from the beginning that—that I fear I have to leave!"
"You can leave the instant this wedding is complete."
"But—but—"
"Aidan," Norah began, her heart beating in a stricken rhythm. She had no idea what she had expected of this man on their wedding day. She had pictured him a hundred different ways, a score of shifting expressions on those handsome features. But never had she pictured him thus: harried and irate, confused and perhaps a little hurt, uncertain and yet wreathed with a stubborn resolve that would have made a far more formidable foe back down.
"Is everything all right?" she asked, swallowing hard. "Cassandra—"
"Cassandra has a bit of a headache," he snapped in steely accents. "She sends her regrets."
Norah's heart sank. "I know how much it means to you to have her present," Norah offered, stunned to find herself groping for any reprieve. "Perhaps we should postpone the ceremony until she is well."
"Cassandra wouldn't hear of it," Aidan said, his voice tinged with bitterness. "And I wouldn't hear of inconveniencing the Reverend Mr. Rhoades any more than we have already done so. The man's damned hard to corner."
"But Aidan, he—"
"We won't detain him long." Aidan turned to the cleric, steely determination in his face. "Don't waste time with fancy words, Chubbiston. Cut to the chase, and you can be on your way in ten minutes, I'll wager."
"You can't whip out a marriage ceremony the way you— you cast out cards before a table is to be closed! These are solemn vows, Sir Aidan."
"Fine. Make them solemn, short vows, and we can get this the devil over with."
Norah started to object, but he was already clasping her hand, pulling her toward the altar, the Cadagons stumbling up in their wake. It didn't matter that she'd placed roses in her hair, because Aidan barely looked at her, his green eyes distant and distracted, his hand clutching hers a little too tightly, as if he were afraid she would turn away and bolt.
Norah was half tempted to do so.
Many times had she listened to marriage vows being exchanged between others, husbands intoning solemn promises to cherish and to protect, while brides, their eyes shining, promised to love, to honor and obey the men who would share their lives, their beds, father the babes that would beat their way into life beneath their mother's hearts.
It was a ritual as old as time, the mating of one soul with another, a time when life renewed itself in the promise of a future. But as Chubbiston Rhoades hastily stumbled over the lines of the ceremony, it seemed as if all the magic of this ceremony, all its majesty and mysticism, only jeered at her, mocked her from this sanctuary where so many other lives had been thus joined.
Every time her gaze strayed to her impatient bridegroom —his black coat rumpled, the knot of his cravat mangled beyond recognition beneath the strong jut of his chin—she couldn't help but imagine how different he must have appeared the day he wed Delia March.
A youth, fire-hot with passion, his gaze devouring the beauty he would soon take to his bed. No suspicion would have darkened his face; that hard shell of cynicism, that faint curve of mockery that clung to his features now would have been absent. And he would have sought out his lover's eyes time and again, clutched her hands with fingers that were hungry to touch other more secret places he could soon claim as his own.
It was as if the phantom of that other wedding ceremony painted cold shadows between Norah and the man standing so rigidly at her side. And as if another shadow, that of a fairy-tressed hurting girl, whispered subtle warnings to Norah from the emptiness she felt inside.
"Do you, Sir Aidan Kane, take this woman to—"
"I do." He snapped it out so hastily that the reverend's jaw fell open. "I've done this once before," Aidan said. "I'm somewhat familiar with the rigmarole. I take her for my wife, to have from this day forward. To love and honor and cherish until death do us part."
Norah's eyes stung as the reverend turned to her. "Do you, Eleanorah Linton, take this man to..." He paused, almost expectantly, and Norah felt her cheeks burn.
"I haven't done this before," she said, trying to keep the quiver of rebelliousness from her voice. "I am not familiar with the... what did Sir Aidan call it? Rigmarole?"
She felt Aidan stiffen beside her, saw that handsome face jerk toward her, that intense gaze seeming to penetrate her very skin, but she kept her eyes resolutely trained on a stone
-carved seraph that decorated one of the pillars supporting the roof beyond the altar.
"Oh," the Reverend Rhoades blustered, searching again for his place in the prayer book. "Do you, Eleanorah Linton, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband? To have and to hold from this day forward?"
Norah's knees trembled, and in that instant she wanted nothing more than to bolt toward the door that led out into the warm morning sunshine. But where would she be bolting to? There was nothing waiting for her in the world beyond, nothing save this haven Sir Aidan Kane had offered.
"Miss Linton," the reverend began, but Aidan cut in.
"She heard you. Norah, will you have me?" he asked, looking down at her so fiercely she could barely breathe.
"I—I do. I mean, I will, I..." she stammered, but the minister seemed satisfied, so he rushed on.
"Do you promise to love, honor, comfort, and obey him, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?"
Love him? Norah's heart ached. She already did. But what would it be like, living forever in this empty charade of a marriage, knowing she had given him all she'd promised here this day, while he did not love her?
"I do," she said, so softly the minister had to lean forward to catch the words.
"Do you have a ring?"
Aidan snatched it from his coat pocket and slipped it onto Norah's finger. "With this ring, I thee wed."
Sacrificing yourself for your daughter, Norah thought, her eyes burning. To protect her, keep her safe.
"With my body I thee worship."
You'll come to my bed, show me—what was it you claimed? That passion is far sweeter than love and far less painful. But what if I've already surrendered love to you, Aidan? What if I cannot help myself?
"With all my worldly goods I thee endow."
You will give me a home, gowns, all the things I could ever want. But will you ever be able to give me the only thing I truly want? Your heart, in return for my own?
What would Aidan even think if he could hear her secret thoughts? Norah wondered, a tightness in her chest. Would he be horrified? Faintly disgusted? Would his eyes fill with hated sympathy? Surely it was only in her wildest dreams that they would fill with that awed expression that had illuminated them when he'd touched the tears running down her cheeks.
Stealing Heaven Page 20
