Dark Angel (58 page)

"I've spoken with Lord Castlereagh and the Home Office and told them what I know of Talbot's actions," Edward said with sudden briskness. "I understand Durward has made a report as well."

"He's with Lord Castlereagh now," Caroline said, smoothing her gloves and placing them on a side table.

Edward gave a quick nod. "The charges against him will be dropped of course." He hesitated a moment. "They've told me there'll be no public airing of Talbot's crimes. I must confess I'm glad, for Dolly and the children's sake if nothing else."

"Of course," Caroline said, wondering if he thought she would want to see Talbot's name dragged through the mud. "There's no need for anyone else to suffer."

"It's generous of you to say so." Edward toyed with the signet ring he wore on his right hand. "My father is going to retire to the country, at least for the present. He—by God," Edward exclaimed with sudden passion, "I still can't believe it."

He pushed himself to his feet and raked his hand through his hair. "Forgive me, Caroline. But I'll never know, that's the damnable part. How much Father knew and how much he did. If he pulled the trigger to save you or to save his own skin."

"Arthur always was a cold-blooded bastard." Anandale turned from the window abruptly. "To go to such lengths to protect Talbot while all the time Jared—" He turned back to the window, as if overcome by emotion.

Caroline looked at Edward's tormented face, wishing there was some way she could comfort him. Adam had told her the story and she too found it difficult to comprehend that Granby had been covering up Talbot's crimes from the first. "Whatever else your father did to protect Talbot, he didn't let Talbot commit murder. I'll always be grateful to him for that, whatever his motives."

Edward gave a strained smile. "Thank you, Caroline, I—" He broke off and seated himself again. "My brother did a lot of damage," he said, leaning forward in his chair, hands clasped between his legs. "I want to undo as much of it as I can."

"You aren't responsible for Talbot's actions," Caroline told him.

"Nevertheless," Edward said firmly. "You must admit the Rawley family owe you something."

"Jared made his own mistakes," Caroline said. "So did I."

"But if it wasn't for Talbot, the foundry might not have come to grief," Edward said with determination. "I insist that you at least let me compensate you for your original investment."

Caroline hesitated. After Talbot's revelations about Emily, she had not thought she could ever take money from the Rawley family. But Edward was offering it to her knowing the truth.

"Think of your child," Edward said quietly. "And of others you may have."

Caroline looked into his eyes and saw no hint of reproach over Emily's birth. The thought of other children she and Adam might have sent a tremor through her and she felt a surge of hope for the future. If she refused she might curse herself in later years for letting her pride interfere with her children's welfare. And if she accepted, she would not have to go to Adam empty-handed.

Caroline folded her hands in her lap and smiled. "You're a generous man, Edward."

Edward smiled back, some of the strain lifting from his brow. "I'm a fair one, I hope. I'll have my solicitor draw up the necessary papers." He glanced at Anandale. "Uncle Hugo has something he wishes to say to you. I'll wait in the carriage."

Caroline did not relish the prospect of talking alone with Lord Anandale, but she felt less uncomfortable with him than she had at Granby House, At least the truth was in the open. Emily was hers and Adam's now. Nothing could destroy that.

Caroline gave Edward her hand. "Thank you," she said. "For everything."

Edward kissed her cheek. "Dolly and I count on seeing you and Durward soon," he said.

Caroline walked to the door with Edward, then turned to face Jared's father. Anandale was still standing by the windows. Shadows fell across his face, accentuating the deep lines in his forehead and beside his mouth, veiling the expression in his eyes. Uncertain what he meant to say to her, Caroline returned to her chair. "Won't you sit down?" she said.

Anandale walked forward, his walking stick thudding dully against the carpet, and lowered himself into a chair. Then, as if steeling himself to face an ordeal, he at last looked into her eyes. His own eyes were dark with pain but there was no hint of the anger and recriminations he had shown her before.

Caroline felt a moment of sympathy, but she knew she must let him speak first.

"Jared was—" Anandale swallowed, as if in an effort to control his feelings. "I know Jared wasn't a model husband."

"Nor was I a model wife," Caroline said.

She expected a flash of anger at this reminder that she had betrayed her marriage vows, but she saw none. "I make no judgment on your marriage," Anandale said. "But I do know you stood by my son when no one else did."

Caroline looked down at her hands, noting the patch of lighter skin where she had once worn her wedding ring. She hadn't put it on since she had agreed to be Adam's wife.

"Jared accepted the child," Anandale said in a gruff voice. "That's enough for me."

Caroline raised her eyes to his face, not sure she had understood correctly.

"We all know Talbot was a liar," Anandale said. "None of the family will repeat the story he told. If Jared gave the girl the name of Rawley, then as far as I'm concerned she's a Rawley."

He had offered her everything she had once wanted for Emily, but Caroline felt gratitude rather than relief. "You are as generous as your nephew, Lord Anandale," she said. "But Emily is Adam Durward's child. To lie about that any longer would be unfair to all of us."

Caroline was afraid Anandale would take her words as a rebuff. To her relief, his face relaxed into a smile. "I see. If that is the way you want it, my dear, I will hardly stand in your way. But I refuse to forfeit all claim to you. I insist you visit us when you return to Finley-Abbott. And bring the child. She's an enchanting little thing. My wife would like to meet her."

Caroline smiled back, relief washing over her. "I'd like that. So would Emily."

As if embarrassed by an excess of emotion, Anandale reached for his walking stick. "Mustn't keep Edward waiting," he said, making a show of getting to his feet. Then he paused and looked at Caroline for a moment. "Dolly told us you were to marry Durward. I hope you will be very happy. And I hope you know you and your child may count me a friend."

It was several minutes later, when she had seen Anandale from the house and was standing in the front hall, that Caroline realized how much his words meant to her. She had laid part of the past to rest. It was another step toward getting on with her life. Feeling suddenly lighthearted, she started upstairs to take off her bonnet and pelisse. But when she reached the first-floor landing, she heard a cascade of melody from behind the drawing room door.

Adam. The sound tapped a wellspring of warmth within her. Caroline pushed open the door and felt a rush of happiness at the sight of Adam, his long fingers moving skillfully over the keys of the piano. Then, to her disappointment, he looked up and lifted his hands from the keys, shattering the moment of intimacy.

"I didn't know you were back," Caroline said, her voice sounding hollow in the room that had been so full of music a moment before.

"John said you had visitors." Adam's tone was conversational, but there was a look in his eyes that made Caroline feel as if they were separated by a far vaster gulf than the width of the drawing room carpet.

"Yes," Caroline said, moving to a chair and unfastening the ribbons on her bonnet. "Lord Anandale and Edward. They were both very kind. Edward insisted on settling money on me to make up for what Jared lost in the foundry."

"That was generous," Adam said. "And Anandale?"

"Lord Anandale offered to acknowledge Emily as his grandchild." Caroline tossed her bonnet onto a side table and looked Adam full in the face. "I'm grateful to him, but I told him Emily is yours and mine now and I wouldn't want it any other way."

She hoped her words would remind Adam of what they shared. Instead they seemed to trouble him further. "I see."

The bleak note in his voice made her long to put her arms round him, but his eyes held her at bay.

Caroline began to unbutton her pelisse, aware that her fingers were trembling. "What did Lord Castlereagh say?" she asked.

A smile crossed Adam's face but did not reach his eyes. "It seems I'm forgiven. More than forgiven. Castlereagh has admitted he's in my debt. He doesn't often admit that to anyone."

"I can scarcely believe it's finally over," Caroline said with heartfelt relief. But even as she spoke, she heard the uncertainty in her voice. Because she sensed it wasn't over, not between her and Adam. She pushed her pelisse off her shoulders and then wished she hadn't. Suddenly she felt cold. She did not know what Adam was about to say, but she was sure it would threaten their hard-won happiness.

Adam closed the piano and walked to the window. "How was Sheriton?" he asked.

"Much better," Caroline said, striving for a bright tone. "It would take more than a gunshot wound to dampen his spirits."

"He's a good man." Adam turned and faced her. "You didn't tell me he asked you to marry him."

Caroline was startled. There was only one way Adam could know of Sherry's proposal. "Sherry told you that?"

"And that he is willing to accept Emily."

Caroline smiled. "I hope Sherry finds someone who makes him happy. He deserves it."

"So do you."

Caroline looked into Adam's familiar eyes, now cold and impersonal, stripped of all traces of passion or tenderness, and felt something sharp twisting deep inside her. "What are you trying to say to me, Adam?"

Adam stood very still, his hands braced on the window ledge behind him. "You thought marrying me was your only option. Now it seems you have another one. I want you to be free to choose."

Fear closed Caroline's throat and turned her blood cold. He wanted to be rid of her. For years he had wanted to possess her. Her heart, her body, her very soul. And now, when she had finally surrendered to him, his obsession had ended. She had waited too long and once again allowed happiness to slip through her fingers.

Adam saw the moment she understood what he had said, saw her eyes darken with understanding, saw the tremor that ran through her. He held himself motionless. Offering Caroline her freedom was the hardest thing he had ever had to do. The air felt still and heavy all round him. His heart seemed to have stopped beating, but the blood was pounding in his head. Twenty years of anger and joy, despair and longing, understanding and betrayal, had all led to this moment.

As he watched, Caroline stood in one swift fluid motion, her dress, the lavender dress she had worn the day she'd gone driving with Sheriton, rustling about her. "You want me to go?" she asked, walking toward the piano.

Adam forced down the denial that rose to his lips. Willing or not, he knew what he had to do. "Sheriton would give you a life I never could, Caro. He'd be a good father to Emily. And Lord Anandale will give her a name. It answers all your problems. No one need ever know you and I were more than childhood friends."

Sunlight fell across Caroline's face, shading the hollows he had kissed, glinting off the hair he had run through his fingers. "I used to be frightened by how much you wanted me, Adam," she said softly. "Was it only because you couldn't have me?"

Adam took a step forward, then stopped, gripping the piano to keep himself from striding to her side and showing her how little his need had abated. Not touching her these past two days had been a torment. He burned with the need to hold her. "The only thing I can imagine worse than losing you," he said, his voice rough with strain, "is spending the rest of my life knowing I'd deprived you of happiness."

Caroline swallowed. He saw relief in her eyes and realized that for a moment she had doubted his feelings for her. "You are my happiness." She smiled, though her lips were trembling. He was aware of the pulse beating in her throat. "I love you. Don't you know that?"

Adam drew in his breath on a single harsh note. Something flared within him, as bright and hot as a flame. "You've never said it."

"Nor have you."

He wanted to pull her into his arms, but he couldn't, because he couldn't quite believe what she had said and because her eyes still held an unanswered question. "They seemed trivial—those words—to describe what's between us." How could mere words express something as all-consuming as what he felt for her? "I've known we belonged together from the first day I met you," he said, seeing again the determined, enchanting, grubby face of the seven-year-old Caroline. "There's never been anyone else for me. There never could be."

Caroline's hand slid across the piano, then stilled, as if she shared his hesitancy. "There was never anyone else for me," she said. "Not in that way."

Her eyes were luminous. He could lose himself in them, but he couldn't afford to be lost. Not yet. On the journey from Acquera they had found again the bond they had formed in childhood. And they had found much more. But marriage was more than longing and fulfillment.

"You're Emily's father, Adam," Caroline said. "After all these years, don't you think it's time we—"

"Damn it, Caro," Adam said, his control crumbling, "I don't want you to marry me because you think you owe me something."

"Is that what you think of me?" Caroline said with sudden passion. "That all the longing is on your side? That my feelings are only a pale imitation of your own? I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Run from me. I will follow. Deny me. I will not listen. You can't escape me, Adam Durward. You're in my blood."

Her words at last freed the knot of tension within him. He took two halting steps forward. But then he hesitated. Despite all they had shared, he was afraid to touch her. The shadows were gone and happiness seemed too blindingly bright. He slid his fingers into her hair and took her face between his hands, searching for some sign that this time what was between them would not flicker out in the harsh light of the world.