Grahame, Lucia (51 page)

"Oh yes! I had dreamed of ravishing you in a thousand ways.
But once we were married, you seemed so... broken, so fragile, so unable to
assert yourself. Not the woman I had fallen in love with at all. The only signs
of life you gave... Well, there
was
that day with my mother when you
were so magnificent, but aside from that, you were so distant. You would never
give any indication of what you were feeling. I hardly dared to touch you, out
of a fear that I would drive you even farther away."

"Oh, why did
you
seem so cold?" I whispered as he
brought his tender, consoling kisses back to my mouth. "Why were you so
cruel to me?"

"Cruel!" he exclaimed. "I was never cruel to you!
God knows, I longed to be!"

"Have you forgotten so quickly! You were
very
unkind!
You stayed away from Charingworth for weeks on end, while I was awaiting your
return—"

"Then why on earth didn't you tell me sol"

"What! And give you the satisfaction of knowing that you'd
accomplished exactly what you'd set out to do! You don't know what I went
through! I felt like a pariah! You always threw me out of your bed after making
love to me or sent me away! How
could
you have done that if you still
loved me? I was so ashamed of wanting you the way I did! Do you think I could
have told you that?"

He rocked me against him.

"Oh, Fleur," he said. "I never dreamed you felt any
of it. I thought you hated me. I didn't know what to do. I knew I had no right
to hold you against your will, but I could hardly bear the thought of letting
you go. When I conceived my revenge in anger, I thought it would be so simple,
that I would tire of my icicle wife in no time.... But I never wanted it to
end. No, it wasn't the pleasure of making you suffer—that satisfied nothing,
not even my hunger for retribution. But every so often, in spite of yourself,
when you condescended to smile or merely to blush, I fell in love with you all
over again. If I hadn't stayed away from you, kept you at a distance, and
thrown you out of my bed, believe me, you'd have won your freedom in less than
a day." He paused to reflect upon his words. "Well,
two
days,
perhaps," he amended with a laugh. "I would not like to exaggerate my
powers and raise your expectations."

I found his mouth again, but he pulled back a little.

"Not so fast. What was that you said about waiting for me—did
you really? I always had the distinct impression, whenever I came to you, that
you'd been on your knees praying that I had been struck dead by an
omnibus."

"I was angry that you could stay away so long."

"I see.
You
were
angry!
Well, Mrs. Hastings,
I'd like to know how you intend to take
your
revenge?"

"Perhaps I'll use your methods," I whispered.

"...But not here upon the carpet," protested my husband
gently. "This is our wedding night."

From the softness of his breathing as he lay quietly beside me, I knew
he slept. But I could not.

His lovemaking had told me all the things that no words were
needed to say. I knew how well he comprehended every contradiction of my body
and my heart—the longing for a sublimation that was not a defeat; the yearning
to be driven toward surrender by a man who would not assume total possession as
the spoils of his victory, a man to whom I could yield everything and lose
nothing.

And how much more he had revealed of himself to me. He had given
me leave, tonight, to explore him with a freedom he had never before permitted
me, and he had responded without reserve. We had drunk, from the same cup, the
dazzling liquor of love and power.

And yet, he would be forever a mystery to me, separate and
inviolate.

What was it he had once said? That if I had ever loved him, I'd
have known what he would have done differently had he been in Frederick's
desperate shoes.

And I
did
know.

It was so simple, after all. He would have talked to me. Before
taking such a step, he would have insisted that together we discuss every
avenue, every possibility, and every danger. Never would he have exposed me to
such a terrible risk without my knowledge and without my consent. Never would
he have robbed me of the freedom to choose. And never would he have drunk
himself into a lethal stupor and left me to face the consequences alone.

"Never doubt my love for you," Frederick had told me,
and tonight I made my peace with Frederick as well. He had loved me as well as
he was able. But he had not had the courage to take love to its limits.

I turned to my sleeping champion, who had saved me from no dragons
but had attempted a deed far more heroic: He had assured me of his love and had
then challenged me to call out my dragons and face them down. He had failed at
first, and love had failed, as well.

But here we were, after all.

I brushed his silky hair away from his cheek and brought my lips
closer to his ear.

"I love you. I
do
love you, Tony," I whispered.

I thought he was too deep in dreams to hear me, but I was wrong.

And that is how I came to join the household of that intractable
impostor, Mr. Henry Blake, and to raise with him those unnumbered children. In
the end, it turned out, there were three.