Crimson Rapture (33 page)

"I
think not."

She
looked at him with a question.

"Have
you missed a bleeding?"

Christina
merely stared. Her shock, the lightning speed of her thoughts, had nothing to
do with the impropriety of his question. He was, after all, a doctor and after
life on the island, she had learned propriety served no real purpose, save to
spare old spinsters from falling faint.

She
answered him when her arms crossed over her bosom and her eyes lowered to
search her as-yet-unchanged figure. "No," she whispered. "No, I
just can't be..."

Having
experienced this many times before in his profession, Richard waited for it to
sink in. Women had one of two reactions: overwhelming joy expressed in silly
sweet near permanent smiles, or denial. And considering Christina's situation,
he was hardly surprised by the latter reaction.

Tears
glistened in her eyes and she covered her lips as they trembled. The child was
not a reality to her yet, though the situation was a dark one. What could she
do? No one could take a governess in her condition, or an unwed woman with a
child. Madelyne would not even help her.

A
distant memory floated into mind; she remembered a young girl in her father's
parish being hit by the vicious tongues of two other women: "Ye wicked
slut! Flaunting yer fertile belly with a barren finger, will ye? No man will
claim ye and neither will we. Off with ye, before ye corrupt me own girls with
yer wickedness. Off I say!" Voicing similar sentiments, her father had
gone off to talk to the girl's parents. Madelyne had thrown a tither over the
money he lent them to send the girl away, muttering for near high a week about
the sins of the mother being spent on the innocent, this being the shame of an
unwed mother.

Richard
sat down beside her and pulled her into his arms as suddenly tears flowed
uncontrolled. "Oh God, darling, don't cry. Please don't cry."

"Whatever
can I do?"

"We'll
think of something." He felt certain. He first thought of offering to
abort the child but she probably couldn't do that, probably didn't even know it
could be done. Then, too, he doubted his own ability, for the thought of a
little girl, one with her mother's smile and golden red hair made him quickly
dismiss even mentioning the god-awful procedure.

Then
another idea occurred to him.

It
first seemed too good to be true. He tried to think of all the reasons why not
but after several long minutes he could not find even one. It would solve her
problems, as well as his own. He could live in London's society as he wished,
the vicious rumors would be put to rest, and his practice would flourish again!
No more wretched sailing! And Darrell would love it; love her. It was perfect!

"Marry
me," he said suddenly, and he dramatically dropped to his knees before
her. "Oh, you must say yes, darling. You must! It's perfect. I'll provide
you with a good home and I'll be the most adoring father!"

Christina
stared in bewilderment.

"Oh,
I know you don't love me, not like that, but you are fond of me, aren't
you?"

Christina
nodded, wiped her eyes.

"And
God knows, I'm fond of you! I always wanted to marry someone just like you—so
sweet and charming and ever so lovely. Oh, do say you will!"

Christina
bit her lip with perplexity, but shook her head. "I couldn't, I just
couldn't, not after knowin'..." Her voice trailed off.

"Knowing
him?" he questioned, causing her eyes to lock with his. "Oh, I know
who you left on the island, and who must be the father of your child. It's well
known who was on the HMS
Defiant
when it went down and, after hearing
your conversation with that man, it all became pretty clear. There's only one
reason why someone would choose to remain hidden on the island, forsaking
rescue, and that's if his name was Justin Phillips."

Shocked,
she searched his face to ascertain his sentiments, then grabbed his arm.
"Have you gone to Captain Shaw?"

"Heavens
no!" Richard shook his head. "I'm not a man who sees to another's
demise and as much as I love England, I hate war. My loyalty goes only as far
as my wages and, besides, I've always admired Justin Phillips, especially after
meeting him."

"You've...
you've met Justin?"

"About
two years ago." Richard nodded. "I was studying under one of the most
famous surgeons in London, nay all of England. Mr. Phillips, along with a
couple of his men, brought a man in to see Dr. Waughton. It was an awful case,
one of the worst I've seen. The man was in horrible pain and, reportedly, it
was near continuous."

"Diego,"
she whispered.

"Yes,"
he said, surprised, "that was his name. Did you know him?"

"He
was on the island. He recently... died."

"Well,
I can't honestly say that I'm not glad," he said with contradictory sadness.
"Mr. Phillips paid a small fortune, not just for Dr. Waughton's services,
but for secrecy as well, for they were already wanted by the Crown at that
point. It was a shame; nothing could be done for him and the poor chap was so
bad off, he asked me to end it."

She
paused haltingly. "End it?"

"Suicide,
you know," he explained. "Seems he was Catholic and couldn't do the
business himself. I might have obliged him, too, had not one of Mr. Phillips's men
stopped me. Seems Mr. Phillips would not have it. Apparently he could not
fathom the hopelessness of his friend's condition; he cared for him too much.
And I always admired him for that."

Cajun
might have been in the room; his warning sounded so loudly in her mind:
"Until the gods paint the world black and white, until you have perfect
understanding, you have no right to pass judgment against any man. Especially
the man who has chosen you!"

Oh
God, how could she...

"I
know you still love him," Richard said softly. "Why did you
leave?"

"I
don't know, really," she said on the heels of a long pause. "It's all
so confusing now. I couldn't bear it, not him but his life. I never meant to
fall in love with him but... but somehow—oh, Richard." Her tears formed
anew. "I'm afraid I've made such a mistake..."

"Could
he forgive you? Would you want him to?"

She
turned away and thought long and hard. "No," she said finally,
"he won't forgive me. Nor will he seek me again, despite what Mr.
Carrington said. It was not good toward the end. For either of us, I think. I
know Justin, he'll never want to see me again."

"My
second question?"

She
met his eyes directly. "No." She shook her head. "I do love him,
I always will, sometimes so fiercely and passionately that—" She stopped
and added in a whisper, "But in my heart I know I'd naught find peace at
his side."

"Which
leads us back to my first question. Marry me. I'll never make any demands of
you, except that you be as happy as possible."

She
stared into his hopeful amber-colored eyes. Had she misread him all this time?
"Do you love me?"

He
was suddenly serious. "I care for you, Christina, and probably a good deal
more than I've ever cared for a woman. But I've never loved a woman. I know I
never will. Our marriage would be one of friendship and comfortable
companionship." He smiled. "But that's why it's so perfect. It's all
you want and it's all I can offer."

Confusion
spread across her features. "Why? Why would you want to marry me if you
don't love me? And how can you know you'll never fall in love with another
woman?"

"Your
innocence is beguiling." He smiled, kissing her affectionately. "But
I've known the sad fact that I could never fall in love with a woman ever since
I was a young lad. Suffice to say, I'm just not capable of, ah, the intimacies
between a man and a woman—any woman."

She
again searched his face for meaning, sensing something hidden in his choice of
words. He didn't like women but he liked her, he just didn't feel,
"Ohhh," she said, still somewhat confused. Was he celibate? Not
caring for the intimacies between men and women?

"You
see," he waved his hand and turned away. "I had to leave London to
escape the rumors—rumors that were affecting my practice and my friend's social
standing."

She
knew of his friend Darrell, for he talked of him often. "What kind of
rumors?" she asked cautiously.

"Please,
darling, spare me an interrogation. You wouldn't want the gruesome details in
any case."

"Don't
you think, I mean if I do agree—don't you think I should know what rumors
follow you and if they be true?"

"It
makes no difference if they're true or no, so long as people believe them. Oh,
darling," he again dropped to his knees dramatically, "don't you see?
This was meant to happen! I need you and you need me. We'll make a fine pair!
You enjoy my companionship and I enjoy yours—why, we're already such great
friends. You need me to provide for your babe, to be a father and,
darling," he brushed her cheek affectionately, "you truly have no
other choice."

She
considered it, all of it. It was true. She had no other choice. 'Twas truly a
fantastic offer to be his wife; a doctor's wife in London. And God knows, she
did care for him and if she should be with child...

Her
child! She looked down at her figure and felt the first swift rush of emotion.
She turned back to him and said only, "I've never been to London.'

Richard
laughed and accepted this as her answer. "Oh, 'twill be grand!" he
rushed on in his flamboyant manner. "We'll be the talk of the town! I'll
show you off to everything and everyone—men will be just green with envy! And
Darrell will love you, I know it, and when the baby's born—" He stopped
with this idea, then pleaded dramatically. "Oh, Christina, do promise me
you'll have a girl—boys are such trouble. And she must look just like you, with
red-gold curls, large gray eyes, and a shy, sweet smile—"

Richard
continued but he lost Christina to thoughts of her child. Not able to imagine a
feminine version of Justin, she knew he must be a he. He would not be an easy
baby either, but she would love him all the more for his trouble. To always
have this part of Justin to hold and cherish and love!

And
as she imagined her son, a smaller image of Justin, her heart filled with a
wild rush of love and joy, begging to be shared. The panic returned twofold and
almost caused her to cry out loud: Justin—what have I done to us?

It
was too late to wonder, though; she was married that day.

* * * * *

The
ship sailed slowly into port. Standing on deck along-side Richard, Christina
watched the dazzling sights draw ever closer into view. She nervously smoothed
the soft folds of her pink gown for the tenth time, then tipped her hat to
shade her eyes from the bright morning sun in order to see better. A bright sun
was rare in London, Richard had said, adding, surely, an auspicious welcome.

The
docks bustled with activity. Crates and boxes piled everywhere. Carriages and
horses added to the confusion. Sailors and soldiers alike swarmed to and fro
and people from all walks of life cluttered the crowded space. Haggard-looking
men and women sold wares, pushing carts and shouting above the loud drone of
noise. Merchants waited for shipments and women waited for men. Beggars lurked
in every corner, it seemed, competing with the others for the crowd's
attention.

The
multitude of sights and sounds overwhelmed but it was the stench that was
unbearable. Sewers drained from the streets into the river. Carts of decaying
fish, the noxious fumes of liquor, the more pleasant scents of cooking from the
taverns, all blended to create a dizzying aroma. For a moment Christina felt on
the verge of sickness again but Richard thoughtfully handed her a perfumed lace
handkerchief, which was quickly placed over her nose and mouth.

Christina's
wide-eyed attention bounced between a nicely dressed man loudly accusing a
shockingly dressed woman of stealing his purse and the pathetic sight of a
legless man maneuvering about in an odd, though extraordinarily ingenious,
four-wheeled cart. Her eyes widened even more as three sailors began exchanging
ribald greetings with two disrobed ladies in a window. She turned quickly away
as one of the ladies straddled the windowsill seductively, much as a man
straddles a horse.

Richard
just chuckled.

The
ship was nearly in its slip when Richard cried out his excitement: "There
he is! Over there—next to that fine carriage there!"

Christina
looked in the direction. An elegantly dressed young gent sat atop a fine gray
mare. He was bent over chatting with the personage in the grand carriage. The
black carriage was indeed one of the finest she had ever seen, obviously
belonging to a wealthy personage, someone too who was waiting for their ship.

"Is
that your Darrell?" she asked.

"Yes."
They were still too far away to call out but Richard's eyes never left his
friend. "I wonder who he's talking to? I can't quite make out the
insignia." It was red and gold with a capital
P
over two lions.
"Oh my." He suddenly realized who it was. "Do you know who that
is?"