Candice Hern (60 page)

She had healed and was better for it and stronger than ever. She might never be able to stand literally tall, but she felt tall and strong and ready to face the world again.

Mary felt good enough that she had finally written a few letters to friends, informing them of her whereabouts, and the fact that she would probably not return to Bath until the spring. She had grown attached to this savage land and wanted to remain through the winter. By that time, when she finally returned home, she would have left all her problems behind her and would be pleased to join Society once again. People had always been kind to her. She had no doubt she would be made to feel comfortable once again among her friends, despite all that had happened.

Until this time she had corresponded only with the dowager countess in Bath, letting her know of her safe arrival and assuring her of the comfortable state of Glennoch. She had now written again to Olivia—in care of her own house in Bath, hoping someone in her household would know her friend's situation—apologizing for her abrupt and unexplained departure. She explained now, as best she could in a letter.

With more difficulty she had written to the marchioness. Jack's mother, thanking her for the kindness and hospitality she had shown Mary while at Pemworth. The subject of her departure had not been easy to explain, so she had simply stated that she had suffered from last-minute doubts and had decided she and Jack would not suit. She apologized for the trouble she no doubt had caused, but hoped that they would one day meet again as friends.

Once she had determined, finally, to give up her self-indulgent melodramatic despair, Mary had quickly come to grips with her own pain and humiliation. After all, she had spent most of her life learning to live with her shortcomings and failures, so often pointed out by her father. This latest incident had been simply another bump in the road, and though she had been thrown from the carriage this time, she had now picked herself up and was ready to move on once again.

But she had not escaped totally unscathed. Mary knew that she would never be quite the same. Jack had changed everything.

However false his displays of affection had been, for a brief time he had made her feel so special, so precious. It was a feeling she would keep close to her heart forever. For that, she could forgive him anything, although, in fact, he did not require forgiveness for he had never made false promises to her. More important, she had forgiven herself, for the time she had spent with Jack had been too special to disregard. He had taught her how to love. However painful the aftermath, she could not regret it. At least now—finally, after twenty-nine years—she could at last say she knew how it felt to love.

Opening her eyes, Mary watched the waves crash against the rocks below and was struck once again by the notion of her own resilience. Like the ancient rocks, she was a survivor. A bit worn, but a survivor nevertheless. Thanking the powers of the universe for bringing her back to that realization, she spread her arms wide and laughed for pure joy, glorying in the wind and the sea and the sun.

Suddenly, she heard an indistinct shout from below. Looking down, she saw a man standing at the cliffs edge, motioning toward her. It must be the same man she had seen on the Glennoch path. Although the tower was not terribly tall, she could not see the man clearly as he stood in the shadow of the tower. Perhaps he was concerned for her safety. Perhaps this old ruin was less sturdy than she had hoped, and he meant to warn her of the danger. She waved down to him and turned to begin the descent.

She slowly made her way down, a hand anchored on each wall of the narrow tower as she stepped carefully down the spiraled steps. She marveled that large, heavily armored men could ever have maneuvered such a descent. Keeping her eyes on her feet as she gingerly moved from each narrow, triangular step to the next, she did not see the man standing in the arched entrance to the tower until she had bumped against his broad chest. Startled, she stepped back into the darkness of the tower.

"Hello, Mary."

The achingly familiar voice caused her breath to catch.

Jack.

He stood in the archway, a dark silhouette against the bright sunlight beyond. But there was no mistaking him.

Jack.
He is here. He is really here
. Jack had come all the way to Scotland. Oh, my God. All that renewed strength and confidence she had been basking in only moments before now suddenly puddled at her feet.

When he shifted slightly so that he was partially bathed in the sunlight, Mary saw his face clearly for the first time and stifled a gasp at the sight of him. He looked awful. Always handsome, in a harsh, angular, swarthy sort of way, his face was now drawn and haggard, looking as though he hadn't slept for days. Dark circles hung beneath his eyes, and the lines between his nose and mouth and around his eyes seemed deeper and more pronounced. What on earth had happened to him?

They studied one another in silence for a moment before he spoke again.

"Why did you leave me like that, Mary, and break my heart in two?"

* * *

When he had first seen her standing on the tower, his heart had lurched in his chest at the mere sight of her. He had smiled as he watched her, standing with her arms outstretched, looking for all the world like a tiny eaglet ready to test her wings. When he heard her distinctive laugh float through the air, he almost wept with joy.

He had begun to despair of ever finding her, but the dowager had been most accommodating. She had protested ignorance at first, but it had been a deliberately poor display, as though she had meant for him to force her capitulation. The old woman was a romantic at heart and had finally admitted that Mary had been away long enough and should be more than ready to be rescued.

God, but she looked wonderful. Gone were the towering coils of hair she had always worn to increase the illusion of height. Her hair hung loose almost to her waist and was whipped wildly about by the wind like a flag. Her dress and pelisse were molded against her tiny curves as she faced proudly out to the sea. Ah, my Pocket Venus, he thought with a smile. God, how he had missed her.

He suspected she had not recognized him from atop the tower, and so the shock on her face after crashing into his chest was not totally unexpected. But when he spoke, he saw her stiffen. He watched as her face registered a series of emotions: surprise, confusion, fear, wariness. Somewhere in there he thought he detected delight as well, but if so, it was quickly extinguished. He thought for a moment that she was going to move toward him, and so he reached out for her; but she seemed to catch herself and did not move.

Pulling her shoulders back and standing as tall as she was able, she spoke at last. "I left because I decided we would not suit," she said as though repeating a memorized litany. Her voice was even huskier and more seductive than he remembered. "Besides, I did not believe you had a heart to break."

Jack laughed. "Neither did I. In fact, I was convinced it had been shattered to bits fifteen years ago. But I was wrong, Mary. It must have healed while I wasn't watching, for it has surely been broken again."

The slightest frown flickered across her eyes before her expression settled into one of confusion. "Mary," he said softly, "I am so sorry. Can you ever forgive me?"

Mary's hand flew to her cheek. "Jack."

He took a step closer. "I know what you heard, Mary." At her incredulous look, he nodded. "Yes, I know that you overheard Sedgewick and me in the library. I cannot tell you how sorry I am you had to hear that. I only wish you had stayed to hear the rest of my little speech."

"W-what did you say, then?"

"I told Sedgewick that even though it was true that I had originally wanted to marry you for your fortune, I no longer cared about the money. It was you I wanted, Mary. You. Not your bloody fortune."

"You lied to me," she said in a trembly voice.

"I did. And I shall regret it for the rest of my life. I admit that I have been nothing less than a fortune hunter. It is not something I am proud of, but, understand, I was up to my eyeballs in debt. When you agreed to help me find a bride, I could not bring myself to tell you, or anyone, what sort of bride I truly needed."

A look of profound sadness gathered in her eyes, and he wanted to reach out to her, but knew it would be wrong to touch her just yet. His thoughts befuddled by the force of his feelings for her, by the nearness of her, he nevertheless stumbled ahead in the explanation he owed her.

"When I discovered," he continued, holding her gaze, "that you had a fortune ... well, it seemed logical to offer for you. I was already quite fond of you. I thought we would rub along together well enough. But the more time I spent with you, the more I came to know how very special you are, and my affection for you grew. Suddenly, one day—shortly after we arrived at Pemworth I think— I realized that I no longer cared about your fortune. I wanted you. I wanted
you
, Mary, and your fortune be damned."

"Why have you come, Jack?"

He took another step toward her. "Because I have discovered that I cannot live without you. Because my life is empty and worthless if you are not a part of it. Because I could not bear the thought of you never knowing that."

* * *

Mary stared at him mutely, all the things he said racing through her mind. Was he serious? Or was this just another attempt at seduction? She watched his eyes, which appeared brilliant with contained emotion. Strangely, she saw none of the self-assured charm she had come to expect from Jack. He looked somehow nervous, almost boyishly uncertain.

Her own eyes must have softened as she regarded him, for he appeared to relax slightly. He took a step closer.

"And most of all," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, "because I am, in fact, hopelessly, desperately in love with you."

Mary hesitated only for an instant, and then, casting her fate to the winds, headed straight for his open arms. He clasped her against his chest, wrapping his arms tightly around her. She wound her arms around his waist and buried her head in his neckcloth. Sweet heaven, but he felt good. She had almost forgotten how wonderful it felt to be in his arms. She rejoiced in the feel of him, the shape of him, the smell of him. This was where she wanted to be. And she wanted to believe him. Good Lord, how she wanted to believe him. But it almost did not matter anymore. She did not think she would be able to walk away again.

He made no move to kiss her, but only held onto her as if he would never let go, crushing her so tightly she could barely breathe.

"Ah, Mary, Mary," he said at last, his breath tickling the top of her head. "If it wasn't clear to me before, it is certainly clear now. We belong together, Mary. Nothing has ever felt so right. Holding you in my arms again, I feel as if I have come home at last."

Mary moved her head away from his chest, wanting to see his face. The look in his eyes was her undoing. She knew at once that he spoke the truth. She reached up to touch his cheek and brushed away a tear. He grabbed her hand and kissed her palm.

"I love you, Mary. I love you." And suddenly, his lips captured hers in a ravenous kiss. She responded instantly with equal passion, reaching up to pull him down closer, threading her fingers through his soft, black hair. There was nothing else in the world in that moment but the softness of his lips moving hungrily against hers, the slight roughness of his tongue as it explored her mouth and circled her own tongue. She kneaded his back and shoulders with restless desire, wanting to meld with him, to merge completely with him. She was on fire for him.

His mouth left hers and she gave a small sigh of pleasure as he trailed butterfly-soft kisses along her brow and over her eyes, along her jawline and cheekbones, down the base of her throat and around her neck, and back again. She was lost to him. Gone were the fears of inadequacy and worthlessness. Gone were the doubts of her own attractiveness and desirability. Gone were the visions of a life of loneliness and emptiness. All that mattered now, all that she was conscious of, was that she was in the arms of the man she loved and he was enfolding her within his own passion.

Jack found her lips once again, and kissed her with an aching tenderness, slowly and gently, while his hands traced the curve of her waist and hips, bringing them into even more intimate contact. When he lifted his head at last, she moaned softly at the loss of him. He smiled sweetly down at her and held her face in his hands, stroking her jaw with his thumbs. "I hope," he said, "this means you have at least a little affection for me."

"More than a little," she replied in a husky whisper.

"I am glad to hear it, my love." He kissed her again lightly.

"You can burn all your blasted money, you know," he said in a hoarse voice, "or give it away for all I care—so long as you come back to me. Forever this time. You see, I want to spend the rest of my life with you, Mary. I want to hold your sweet body naked in my arms and make love to you every night. I want to wake up each morning with you curled up all soft and warm at my side. I want to see your bright smile and beautiful eyes across the breakfast table. I want to make babies with you and watch them grow and run wild over the shores of Pemworth. I want to grow old with you and die with my head cradled on your breast."

Overcome by the passion of his declaration, Mary buried her face against his shoulder. She had never dreamed to hear such words from Jack. From anyone. She knew in her heart that he was sincere, and the knowledge of his love was overwhelming to her. After weeks of despair and anguish, it was almost impossible to accept such joy. Almost. Too overcome for mere words, she simply held onto him tighter.

He reached down, tilted her head up, and kissed her eyes, licking away the tears. "I will take care of you, Mary, for all the days of my life. No one will ever hurt you again." He feathered kisses lightly against her mouth again and again, as though he could not seem to get enough of her. Holding his mouth just above hers so that their lips still brushed as he spoke, he said, "Will you marry me?"