It wasn’t the drunken letter he regretted, or rather, it was not only the letter. Anne had been a part of him for as long as he could remember. She was always there for him, as he was for her. When they returned to their respective homes covered in dirt and twigs and disgrace, it was a given fact that they would defend one another until they could once again ride pell-mell across the fields, chase ducks at the lake, climb trees and stomp through the mud to find adventure.
Anne had not kept that promise. What she chased now, Edmund did not know. Respectability maybe. Or a quieter kind of adventure which didn’t involve climbing anything more intimidating than the stairs leading to the dance floor at Almack’s where she might dance all night in societal gaiety… in the arms of someone else. Edmund could not blame Anne. Still, he felt betrayed and left behind, even though he knew that was not fair. He had been chasing down members of Parliament and he supposed, climbing barstools in London rather than trees.
Edmund scowled. A drink had a certain appeal at the moment. Not that he needed alcohol. Such vice was a numbing agent, as sure as any ether, a way to feel nothing for a short time and yet it did not quite work the way he wished it would. Brandy would not be able to scourge the despair from his soul. It could only numb it for a few hours. And he had already confirmed that a few hours of such “relief” would only prove embarrassing, especially if he were allowed access to pen and paper. A grim smile crossed his lips: a smile of regret and melancholy.
If he wrote Anne a letter and swore that he was a fool, would she read it? He wondered. No, she was already convinced of his idiocy. He would ask for forgiveness, but it was difficult to ask favors of someone who is no longer speaking to you. No, writing such a missive would be an exercise in futility. Pointless.
Edmund pushed off from the bridge and left the ghosts of childhood to frolic at its apex. He knew he would never return here. This spot was a place of childhood and of Anne. He could not have his love, but perhaps it was time, past time, he grew up a bit himself.
Edmund might never have the polished speech that Amberleigh had. The Lord knew his father had tried to mold him into an orator, but he lacked the skill. What he did have was honesty. He could give that to Anne, if only she would hear him. But had he not just done that? Why would it work better than last time? He had gone to Bramblewood full of self-righteous purpose, and she had turned him away. Still, he wished he could return, force himself into Bramblewood, demand to speak to Anne, and throw himself at her feet. The prospect of life without her was too dire, too bleak to consider.
Edmund was so absorbed and wrapped up in his thoughts that he hardly noticed the young woman who came at a rush towards the footbridge. He ran into her and for a moment, they stood on the bridge, water flowing rapidly under them, the ducks quacking in a cacophony of pleasant sound.
They teetered there like two lost souls, a tangle of limbs, in remembrance of yesterday. Only through swift maneuvering was Edmund was able to avoid embarrassment, setting the lady upon her feet while at the same time steadying himself. He reached for his hat to apologize for his carelessness when it registered that the young woman in his arms was Anne herself. She looked flushed, as if she had been running. He loved it when her coloring was up. She looked so beautiful like that, but he did not say so. He had no words.
“Edmund.” Anne laid a hand on his sleeve, tender and perhaps a bit possessive. “I thought I might find you here.” She squeezed his arm lightly.
“You were looking for me?” Edmund asked in surprise. His heart gave a small leap, and he realized he had not released her. His hands still gripped her upper arms. He did not want to let go, but he must. He gathered his hat in his hands.
25
Anne stared at Edmund for a long moment, taking in his rough and disheveled appearance. He looked somewhat unwell. He still held her arms, and kept her from falling. Wasn’t that what they had always done? They steadied each other. She reached tentatively for his forehead to brush his hair back, that she might see him better.
Edmund removed his hat and held it in his hands, shifting it from one hand to the other and rather destroying the brim with the way he manhandled it. “There is no excuse for my behavior,” he said. “I cannot excuse the letter or the…kiss. I found you leaving my life and I could not bear it if you…if I lost you. I did what I did in a state of panic, a misguided attempt to win you back.”
“I’m not a prize to be won, Edmund.” Anne said carefully. She studied his stance, wondering at his downcast attitude.
“That’s where you are wrong.” Edmund smiled. It was the saddest smile Anne had ever seen. “You are a prize,” he whispered. “The greatest prize. And I did not understand how great a gift you were to my life until I lost you. I know that the way I have acted is inexcusable, but I could not bear it if our parting meant you hated me or held me in contempt. I know that we cannot return to the way we were, but…”
“Would you want to?” Anne asked sharply. “Do you really want to return to childishness and foolish notions?”
Edmund flinched. She still was upset with him, and he did not know how to fix this rift between them. What apology could he make? Their lives had never been filled with flowery discussions. They had both been people of action, not words, and he did not know how to go on.
“There is a great deal to be said for maturity, for being adults,” Anne said. “It seems to me that neither your aunt and uncle, nor Emily and Alexander are bored with being adults. Perhaps there is some new fun to be had,” she whispered. Her words were spoken carefully.
He frowned at her, uncertain of her meaning.
“You did not come to the dances,” she said softly. “In London.”
“I know.” Edmund bent the brim of his hat unmercifully. “You asked me why I did not say how I felt. I suppose it was because I did not understand it myself. By the time I realized what I did feel, I had already lost you to Amberleigh. I knew then how much you meant to me and…” The words seemed to catch in his throat. He stumbled to a halt, refusing to look at her.
“And?” Anne prompted.
“And…” Edmund took a shaky breath. “The price was too high. You mean more to me than anything. Than everything. And I threw that away by forgetting what a joyous and wondrous thing it is to be held high in your regard, but...” Edmund swallowed. “I do not think I deserve you.”
“Edmund.” Anne grabbed his coat in her fists and shook him, though it was rather like trying to shake a tree. She bit off each word separately. “Tell. Me. How. You. Feel.”
Edmund stared at her for a long moment. “How I feel?” The question seemed to confound him. “Anne, I love you. How could you not know that?” he asked.
He had said it. He had finally said it. Her heart soared.
“I have loved you from the day we met, each time we met, our entire lives. I never imagined you not there with me. I could not conceive of it. I did not wish to consider it. I do not wish to consider it now. In fact, I want, more than anything I have ever wanted, to be with you, to be with you not just in this moment, but for a lifetime. How could you not know that?”
The words tumbled out of him in such haste, it was a wonder Anne could make any sense of them at all. All the same, the syllables were a balm to her ears. How long had she waited to hear just such things from him.
“You stupid, silly man.” She gave him a shove. “I love you, too.”
Slowly her words struck him and he smiled at her taking her back into his arms. “There’s my Anne,” he said softly. “That is the very thing I have waited a lifetime to hear.”
Anne smoothed his coat where her hands had gripped him. “Oh Edmund, I should have told you long ago. Now, I have made such a mess of things. I treated you so terribly. I should have never...”
“No.” Edmund shook his head and laid a finger against her lips. “No more ‘should haves.’ I would not have this between us. I would not have you change one single thing about yourself. Not for me, not for anyone. I love you just
as you are.”
“I shall never tire of you telling me that you love me.” Anne said.
“Then I shall tell you every day. I love you, Anne.” He picked her up and swung her around echoing his words. “I love you. I love you. I love you.”
“You silly, stupid, idiotic man,” she teased, as she laughed and clung to his neck. Edmund slowed and let Anne slide down the length of his body. She felt her feet might never again touch the ground.
“Only with love for you,” Edmund said. He set her feet on the bridge and took her in his arms, and holding her flush against him. She marveled at the strength and warmth of his embrace. “I did not realize how important the words were,” he said. “I am not always the best with words, my dear, but…”
Anne put a hand to his lips shuddering. “Don’t call me that,” she asked. “Never call me, my dear.”
“As you wish, my love,” he said with a smile.
“I like that,” she sighed. “My love.”
“Then, I shall say it until you no longer wish to hear it.”
Anne laughed, the sound bursting forth from her, free and joyous. “I shall always want to hear it, Edmund.”
“Then will you marry me, Anne? Will you be my wife? I don’t want us to ever part again.” He pulled her close and buried his head in her hair, breathing deeply as if he was a drowning man. “I never want to lose you,” he whispered.
Anne trembled in his arms. “Then you shall never be rid of me,” she said.
“Promise me.”
“Yes.” Anne said firmly. “Yes, Edmund I will marry you.”
Edmund sighed deeply and laid his forehead against her own. Anne felt happy tears well up in her eyes. This moment was everything love was meant to be. Everything that she had ever wanted was found in the man in front of her.
“I want to kiss you,” Edmund said softly. Anne supposed he was asking for permission. She had denied him twice, but now, she could think of nothing she would rather do. For an answer, Anne reached up, ran her fingers through Edmund’s messy hair and pulled his head down to hers. There was trepidation, a nervous shiver to the kiss, but she could not determine if it was him or her shaking when she set her lips upon his.
Did it matter? No, not when he tasted so marvelously wonderful. Edmund’s arms tightened around her and his tongue touched her lips in a silent question. The nervousness dissipated quickly, turning into a mutual exploration that left them both gasping.
When they parted for breath, she spoke. “Yours should have been my first kiss,” she said softly thinking of his first proposal on this very bridge.
“We shall have other firsts,” he promised. “And seconds.” He kissed her again, tasting deeply of her and molding her body to his. “And thirds,” he murmured against her lips.
To her delight, she was not the only one blushing. This was a kiss that lingered long after they separated. She laid her head on his chest, savoring the tingle to her lips and the warmth which spread from her heart all the way to her toes.
Anne held to him fiercely. “This has all been a wicked dream.”
“Wicked is it?” Edmund asked a smile in his voice.
Anne reached up and brushed back his wayward curls, thinking she hoped their children would have those glorious curls. “I feel as though I have been asleep and now I have finally awoken and found the world righted again. You are right where I had hoped you would be.”
“And you are where I prayed I would find you. In my arms,” Edmund said.
Anne nodded. “I know that our parents tolerated our childhood games,” she said. “But mine wanted me to find someone to settle me.”
“I do not want you settled,” Edmund said firmly. “I want you just as you are right now.”
Anne smiled at him. “I also know that gentlemen rarely marry so young,” she said. She knew Edmund was not ready to marry, but she did not care. “We have waited our entire lives,” she murmured into his waistcoat as his arms enveloped her. “I suppose I can wait a bit longer.”
“No,” he said. “I do not wish to wait any longer. Marry me now. Today. This minute. I cannot watch you dance with another man and not know that I will be taking you home at the end of the night.”
Anne pulled away just enough to turn her eyes up to his. She was pensive a moment, thinking fast. Perhaps it was unconventional. Perhaps a lady would not speak of such things, but in the end her desperation to be with him won out. She placed her lips against his ear, confiding a secret to him in much the way she used to confide secrets when they were children. “My love, there is a way to speed our union.”
He smiled at her audacity, his green eyes sparkling with the suggestion. When Edmund grinned at her and she saw the boy she knew in the man’s smile. It was a grin of mischief and of challenge. How many times had that very smile drawn her into an exciting adventure? But just now his sparkling green eyes darkened to a deep jade with the thought of her plan, and she felt herself burn under the heat of his gaze.
She waited with bated breath for his reply, but he did not speak at once. Instead, he planted a kiss on her forehead, her cheeks, her nose and then took each of her hands in his and striped away her gloves, tossing them aside. She could not wait to see where this adventure would lead. He kissed one finger and then the next.
She shivered with desire.
All the while, his green gaze captivated her. She felt as if she could not move waiting for what would come next. There was a mischief in those eyes that promised more nefarious things as he closed his lips over the tip of her ring finger and sucked it gently. The action lit a fire in her core and she gasped.
Edmund chuckled softly. The sound turned over inside of Anne and she felt undone. “I am sure that our families would speed the way for our marriage, if I were to seduce you right here on this bridge,” he said.
Anne gasped, but the laughter bubbling up her throat spoiled the effect. “It is very public,” she agreed. “Someone is sure to come along.”
“That, my love, is the point,” he said pulling her close and kissing her and then suddenly tickling her in the exact spot which he knew would make her shriek.
“Edmund!” She pulled free of his grasp and shoved him playfully. His expression went from a fond teasing, to confusion and then to something akin to fear. He wind-milled his arms as his foot slipped on the patchy moss that grew in places along the bridge and suddenly shot out from under him. Anne thought he would catch himself on the rail, but her breath caught as she realized how tall he was and the wood of the railing was not as strong as it once was.
Edmund lost his balance completely, one hand on the railing and the other ungainly floundering. His hat flew into the air and caught by a breeze landed on the bank just as the railing under his hand cracked. It broke with a snap and Edmund upended over the edge of the foot-bridge.
Anne ran to him quickly, grabbing the arm that held onto the broken railing. It never occurred to her to simply let him fall. Edmund’s hand shifted to her arm and she felt herself slipping, her shoes sliding on the same mossy patch, but she was sure she felt a sudden tug. “NO! NO! EDMUND!”
Anne stopped shrieking long enough to take a deep breath before toppling as well following Edmund down into the water below. It was not deep, but it was terribly cold.
Clasping Edmund’s hand she broke the surface of the water sputtering and listening to Edmund’s raucous laughter. Anne found the bottom of the stream with her sodden boots and pushed herself upright. She was soaked straight through. The dress absorbed a great deal of water and she was certain it weighed three times as much as it did dry. It clung to her form scandalously. Her delicate boots were encrusted with thick viscous mud. It was her childhood all over again. The moment she returned home her mother would chide for her unladylike behavior. Doubtless she would get a thorough scolding, but if she were to marry Edmund, it would be her last. Edmund would never scold, she knew. Though it did occur to Anne that this would certainly not be the last time she found herself deep in mu
d or worse with him. It didn’t matter. Together she and Edmund would weather whatever came.
“Look at my dress!” She demanded.
“I am looking,” Edmund said appreciatively.
She glared at him, as she realized he was admiring the scandalous view of the wet nearly see-through material. “It is ruined,” she complained.
“Well, you can always take it off.” Edmund said in a low growl. Anne felt her cheeks turning red as the heat of the blush took her. Laughing, Edmund took her in his arms. “Are you cold?” he asked, pulling off his own sodden jacket and wrapping it around her.
“That’s not helping,” she said, and then he kissed her, and she barely felt she was standing in icy water. She shivered, but not with cold.
“You are cold,” he said.
“No.” She answered “Not any more.” Edmund kissed her again.
At last, she put her hands on his broad chest. The thin cotton shirt clung to his arms and his waistcoat was plastered to his chest. She thrilled at the thought that he would soon be hers. But not yet.
“Edmund, we have to stop,” she whispered against his lips. They were so hot and demanding, she was warmed to her very toes. She did not want to stop. She was breathless with desire. She entwined her fingers in his hair and pulled him to her. How many times had she pulled his hair? She thought. But it was never like this. It never felt so right. He wasn’t really hers, until today.
Edmund leaned his forehead against hers, his eyes dark with passion. “You are right, my love. We must stop.” He was breathless himself. His eyes twinkled with mischief. “After all, I could not really deflower you in the mud on the banks of the lake.”
The Viscount's Wayward Son: A Regency Romance (Ladies of the North Book 2) Page 23
