‘It was not your fault. It was Frances Farrell at the back of it all, driving us apart! When I think of what she put you through…hiding you away when you were ill, then sending you off to Oakham Hall—’ his face grew thunderous ‘—I could wring her blasted neck!’
Inadvertently, Cora’s hand flew to her own throat. He looked stricken.
‘I should not have said that! I’m sorry! So sorry. Hell, Cora, I cannot seem to do or say anything right with you! No wonder you don’t want to marry me. Darling—’ he grasped her hands in his, his expression pleading ‘—I am not a violent man. I have never struck a woman in anger. I am not like your father.’
When he saw her frown, he reminded her, ‘You told me that your father beat your mother to death. I can understand why you find it hard to trust men, but I am nothing like him! I might speak intemperately, but—’
She reached up and laid her hands to his mouth, stopping the torrent of words. ‘I have always known you are a far better person than him. But even he was not as bad as I imagined. He did not kill my mother. Not exactly.’ She sighed. ‘That scene I recalled, when I thought I was Mary, was the very last time he hit her. The time he went too far. Until then, whenever he lost his temper, she tried to pretend it had not happened. She would wear clothes that concealed her bruises. She was always determined to uphold his reputation in public. But that last time seemed to break her spirit. She went in on herself, and ceased carrying out her parish duties no matter how much he ranted and roared at her. And then, come winter, she took a cold, and it went to her lungs. She just gave up on life. And he knew it was his fault.’ Her face went hard. ‘But in his guilt, as in all else, he was out of control. Those last few months…’ She shivered, and hung her head. ‘When he died, all I felt was relief.’
‘No wonder you were so afraid of men, while you were Mary. All you had ever known was violence…and—’ his voice hitched ‘—betrayal. But couldn’t you learn to love me again? Or at least—’
‘I do love you,’ she interjected. ‘With all my heart.’
‘Then…’ He proffered the ring again.
‘Kit,’she said with a frown, ‘you will think I’m being really silly, but I don’t want you to put that ring on my finger again.’
‘Why not? If you love me? You were willing to be my mistress…when you thought you were Mary.’ He speared his fingers through his hair again. ‘Now you know who you are. It all started to go wrong when your memory came back.’ His face darkened. ‘I wish to God I had never brought you back here!’
‘Kit, please just listen to me! I do want to marry you. So much. Last night I realised I would marry you even if you took a dozen mistresses. I cannot bear the thought of living without you!’
‘Cora,’he grated, ‘you don’t know how I have longed to hear you say that.’He crushed her to him, kissing her in almost frenzied desperation. ‘I have missed you so much,’ he said, pulling back, and smoothing away the hair that had tumbled over her face.
‘You are the only person who has ever really cared much for me. Me, not the position I could provide, or my wealth, or, latterly, my notoriety.’ His dark eyes blazed with fervour. ‘You loved me enough to follow me from your home land to this miserable barn of a place…it almost broke your heart when you saw me kissing another woman. Even when you forgot who you were, you fell in love with me all over again.You gifted me your virginity. Trusted me to take care of you when everyone else said I was some kind of demonic—’ his face twisted ‘—murdering…’
She shook her head, and stroked his tortured face with her injured hand. ‘Don’t think about that any more. It is over now. We are together again.’
‘What as?’ he bit out. ‘If you cannot bear to marry a man whose reputation is as tarnished as mine has become, if you wish to remain as my mistress…’
She shook her head again. ‘I would be honoured to be your wife. But not…’She looked at the ring, glowing in his outstretched hand. ‘Not with that ring. Is there…have you ever heard there was a curse on it?’
‘A curse?’ He looked at the ring, mystified.
Cora felt her cheeks grow warm, but she had to tell him what was bothering her, even if he did think she was being overly fanciful.
‘It seems to bring nothing but misery to those who covet it. Your father was a rotten husband to your mother. You would not have thought she would have any sentimental feelings about the ring that betrothed her to him, and yet she hung on to it, when he had sold everything else of value. She gave it to Frances to hide. Frances kept putting it on, and dreaming of becoming Lady Matthison and went completely mad…and I wore it for only seven days, and we both went through seven years of utter misery. I suppose it could all be coincidence, but…’
With a shrug, he tucked the ring into his pocket. ‘The ring is of no consequence. If you do not like it, I shall buy you another. An emerald—’ he smiled ‘—to match your eyes.’
The shadows Cora had sensed hovering in the corners dissipated. Sunlight flooded the room.
‘Now,’ he said, determination jutting his jaw, ‘Miss Cora Montague, love of my life, will you please marry me? Now that I have dealt with the obstacles thrown up by—’ he raised one hand, and began to count off on his fingers ‘—Robbie, and Frances, and Maggie, and Miss Winters, and Madame Pichot, and Lord Sandiford. And now that I have promised to burn the sofa, and buy you a ring that no other woman who wanted to be Lady Matthison has ever worn…’ He paused, the light of challenge in his eyes. ‘Come on, Cora, I know you want to. You promised me for ever.’
‘I did.’ She smiled, flinging her arms round his neck. ‘I do.’
‘Then nothing,’ he growled, ‘and nobody shall ever part us again.’
All the characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author, and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all the incidents are pure invention.
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First published in Great Britain 2009
Harlequin Mills & Boon Limited,
Eton House, 18-24 Paradise Road, Richmond, Surrey TW9 1SR
© Annie Burrows 2009
E-ISBN: 978-1-4089-1384-0
04-1109-75367
Devilish Lord, Mysterious Miss Page 23
