Harlequin Historical May 2014 - Bundle 2 of 2: Unwed and Unrepentant\Return of the Prodigal Gilvry\A Traitor's Touch (22 page)

Iain hesitated, then turned away without another word. At the far entrance, he turned back. ‘The reason I told you about my mother,' he said, ‘was because I wanted you to understand. All my life, I've thought that it was her fault for failing to love my father as he said he loved her. I was wrong. My father made himself miserable. If he'd really loved her he'd have walked away and let her be herself. There is no surer path to destruction than one-sided love.'

Chapter Eleven

Royal Palace of Balyrma—two weeks later

‘A
letter has just arrived from Cassie. She is very sorry, but must postpone her trip here for another few weeks. It seems little Katie has the measles.' Celia crossed the courtyard, smiling. Tall, graceful and unmistakably English despite her Arabian clothing, with her glorious crown of Titian hair falling loose over her shoulders, she looked at least ten years younger than her forty-three years. ‘You know, I am beginning to think it might be easier for you to visit Cassie than for her to come here. That way you can meet all of her brood at once—if you have the stomach for it.'

Cordelia smiled, shifting on the cushions to make way for her sister beneath Celia's favourite lemon tree. ‘Seven children, as well as her stepdaughter. I still can't quite believe it.'

‘Well, they are all much older than Katie. She was quite a surprise to everyone when she arrived last year.' Celia floated down on to the cushions with a grace that filled Cordelia with envy. ‘She is named after our mother, as you will have guessed.'

‘Yes.' Cordelia smiled distractedly. A visit to Cassie ought to be a prospect that filled her with joy. Instead, all she could think of was the extra miles it would put between herself and Iain. She wondered what he was doing now. She wondered if he ever thought of her. She castigated herself for the thousandth time for wondering.

Beside her, Celia was pouring fragrant mint tea from an ornate silver pot into tiny glasses. Conscious of her sister's too-perceptive eye on her, Cordelia dragged her thoughts away from Iain and forced another smile. ‘I've been meaning to ask you,' she said, ‘about our mother. Bella made the most intriguing remark about her.'

Celia took a sip of tea. ‘I married George to get away from Bella, you know. I thought she would put my nose out of joint. You were too young to remember, but I was very proud to have acted as Papa's hostess at his diplomatic soirées.' She made a face. ‘I can't believe how naive I was back then.'

Celia began to arrange the unused tea glasses on the silver tray, first lining them up and then placing them in a circle. Her attention caught by this very familiar habit which betrayed the so-assured Celia's discomfort, Cordelia abandoned her own tea. ‘What do you mean?' she asked.

‘For a start, our father did not marry Bella to play the hostess, but to provide him with sons. I have no doubt that if I had not married George, I'd be playing Papa's hostess still—though perhaps he has less need to hold soirées now that he is part of the Opposition?'

‘You know our father. It is not so much party loyalty that matters as having a finger in every pie,' Cordelia said wryly. ‘At the party he held to announce our betrothal, there were Whigs there as well as Tories.'

‘The man who bends with the wind will never break,' Celia said. ‘One of my husband's sayings, though I doubt he would take it as carte blanche to play the turncoat, as I don't doubt our dear parent would do if he considered it politically expedient.'

‘You don't like Father much, do you?' Cordelia said in some surprise.

Celia shrugged. ‘I wonder if he has even the faintest idea that every single one of his womenfolk holds him in such low esteem. I always knew Bella did not love him of course. I confess, though I should be shocked, I am rather pleased to hear that she has taken a lover.'

‘She sees it as her just reward.'

‘And who can blame her?' Celia abandoned her exercise in regimenting the tea glasses. ‘Have you ever wondered why, when he was so desperate for sons, it took Papa eleven years to marry again?'

‘Actually, yes. In fact, it was exactly that topic which triggered that intriguing remark of Bella's I was going to ask you about.' Cordelia frowned, trying to recall the conversation. ‘I said our father must have loved Mama very much because it took him so long to get over her death, and Bella said, quite adamantly, “he never loved Catherine.” Then she would say no more, and told me I must ask you.' Cordelia looked expectantly at her sister. ‘Ask you what though?'

‘If I tell you, you must not take it the wrong way.' Celia took her hand. ‘It was not that Mama didn't love you. She loved all of us, I am sure of it, for I remember, I was almost fourteen when she...'

‘Died. I know.'

‘You don't. She didn't die, not for another ten years. She left.'

‘Left?' Cordelia repeated blankly.

‘She eloped, to be precise. With her lover. And, no, before you ask, her lover was not your father. Those eyes of yours, I am sorry to say, are undoubtedly Papa's.'

‘Good God. How do you know this? Why did our father not— No, no need to answer that one. Scandal. His biggest fear.' Cordelia shook her head, as if doing so would clear the jumble of questions whirling around in it. ‘Have you always known?'

‘I guessed early on. Aunt Sophia confirmed it. I did not tell any of you because— Cordelia, forgive me, but I knew Papa would never allow Mama back into our lives, and you were just a baby, it seemed much kinder to allow you to think her dead. Was I wrong?'

‘I don't know. No, I don't think so. Was she happy?'

‘I believe so. I certainly think she must have been very, very unhappy to leave all of us. She wrote to Aunt Sophia regularly for news of us, you know. It was always my intention to meet with her once I was married. It is one of my biggest regrets that I never did, for she died the year before my wedding.'

‘Do our sisters know?'

‘No.'

‘Why did you tell me?'

‘I do not do it lightly, but—you do an excellent job of covering it up, Cordelia, but I can see that your mind and perhaps your heart are not here.' Celia frowned down at her hands. ‘One of the things we all have in common is a deep-rooted sense of duty. So deep-rooted, that we have each of us, including Mama, tried to conform, and each of us have been mightily unhappy in doing so. I hate Papa for that. I hate him for making it so hard for us to find happiness.'

‘But you have,' Cordelia said, totally taken aback by the vehemence in her sister's voice. ‘You have all found happiness, despite his best efforts to make you miserable.'

‘All of us except you.'

Cordelia picked up a cushion and began to worry at the tassel. ‘I'm not unhappy, not now that I am here. You have no idea how long I have wished for this, Celia.'

Her sister removed the cushion and once more took Cordelia's hand. ‘I know how much it cost you to tell me about Gideon. I need you to believe me when I say that I'm proud of you, my dear. To refuse to buckle under the pressure I am sure you must have felt is—well, it is more than I managed, for I married George, and he was on Papa's dratted list.'

‘Do you think you would have been terribly unhappy if George had not been killed?'

‘I don't think I'd have known any better. How can one know if one is unhappy, without true happiness to compare it to?' Celia smiled mistily. ‘It was not until I met Ramiz that I discovered what love was, and it was not until I discovered love that I found the courage to put myself first. I knew it would cost me, you see,' she continued, pressing Cordelia's hand tightly. ‘The biggest price I have paid has been not seeing you and Cressie and Caro growing up, but if I had put you first and not myself, I would have made a very miserable sister, and you have always been in my heart...'

She stopped, her voice suspended by tears. ‘I know,' Cordelia said fervently. ‘It has been the same for me.'

‘Yes, I do know that,' Celia said with another misty smile, ‘and I hope that now we are reconciled— But that is not what I've been trying to say. This is difficult for me, I am not in the habit of confiding, any more than you are—any of us, I suppose. Another of Papa's legacies. However, I think I know enough of you, from what you have told me— Cordelia, I'm not saying that you need a man to make you happy, but I am saying that if this man, this Iain Hunter, makes you happy then you are a fool to run away from him. For that is what you have done.'

‘I didn't run. I came here to see you. It was what I had always intended.'

‘You ran away when you were twenty-one. You ran again, from Gideon D'Amery two years later. You ran away from Cressie and Caro when they could have helped you. You ran from Mr Hunter when first you met him in Glasgow. You've been running most of your life, Cordelia. Isn't it time you stopped?'

Celia's voice was gentle but firm. Desperate as she was to deny what her sister said, Cordelia could not. ‘He doesn't love me,' she said miserably.

‘If he does not, then you cannot be happy with him.'

‘
“There is no surer path to destruction than one-sided love.”
That's what Iain said.'

‘Are you sure he was talking about himself?'

‘Yes, I—I don't know. It was all so— I was so upset, and I just wanted to get away without breaking down and...' Cordelia flushed. ‘Don't say I told you so. I wanted to run away.'

‘Dearest, I am not interested in being in the right. I simply want you to be happy. Do you love him?'

Cordelia nodded miserably. ‘But, Celia, the parallels with his mother—I cannot explain, but even if he did have feelings for me, after what I told him...'

‘If he truly loves you, it won't matter, because if he truly loves you, he truly knows you, warts and all,' Celia said, smiling. ‘Which would be worse, Cordelia, sacrificing your silly pride to take a chance on happiness, or letting that chance pass you by because you don't want to lose face?'

‘You make it sound so easy.'

‘Trust me, I know that it is not, but I also know that the price is worth paying.' Celia got to her feet. ‘Now, shall I ask Akil to be ready to escort you to the port tomorrow?'

‘What about Cassie?'

Celia raised her delicate brows. ‘Prevaricating, Cordelia?'

‘You promise you will pick up the pieces if he rejects me?'

‘If you need me to, but we are strong women, we Armstrong sisters. I don't think you'll need me.'

* * *

Cordelia was packing for the caravan which would leave the next morning when the door flew open.

‘Ramiz!' Celia ran to her husband.

‘Celia, my love. My apologies for the lack of warning, but the Scottish man was like a caged lion with far too much on his mind to concentrate on building our ships. He threatened to cross the desert alone. From what I know of him, I suspect that he would have too, but I decided not to take the risk of having to look for his bones, and so I escorted him here myself.'

Prince Ramiz let go of his wife reluctantly to make his bow. ‘Lady Cordelia, a belated welcome to our home. I look forward to getting to know you, but as you can see, I am in need of a bath and a change of clothes. My quickest journey yet from the port to Balyrma, I believe, but Mr Hunter would not stop for such trivialities as food and sleep.'

‘Prince Ramiz.' Cordelia managed a low curtsy, though her knees were shaking and her heart was hammering. ‘Please, has something happened to Iain?'

‘Alas, he has been struck with that most fatal of diseases.'

Her heart stopped beating. She felt the colour drain from her face. ‘He's ill?'

‘Ramiz!' Celia exclaimed. ‘He is teasing, Cordelia. He means—'

‘He means to let the man speak for himself,' Ramiz said. ‘Mr Hunter awaits you in my library, Cordelia.'

‘Actually, I couldn't wait.' Iain appeared in the doorway. Like Prince Ramiz, he was dusty, dressed in the full Arabian attire, complete with the lightweight cloak known as a
bisht
worn to protect the tunic from the sand, and head-dress. His face was now darkly tanned, making his eyes seem bluer than ever.

‘It seems you have been spared a journey, Cordelia,' Celia said archly. ‘My husband, as he said, is in need of a bath. Being a prince and a man, he cannot bathe himself, and so I must go with him. I am sure you will excuse us.'

Celia, closely followed by Ramiz, left the chamber, closing the door softly behind them. ‘I do believe my sister has just propositioned her husband,' Cordelia said, because she had to say something, and she couldn't possibly say the thing she wanted to say. Not yet.

Iain cast off his head-dress and ran his hand through his hair. He'd had it cut, Cordelia noticed, and it was much more gold than auburn now. ‘I was not expecting you,' she said inanely.

He looked around him, at the clothes strewn across the divans. ‘You were leaving?'

She nodded.

‘Cordelia, I don't want you to go.'

‘I wasn't...'

‘No.' Iain placed a hand over her mouth. ‘This time, I will finish what I want to say.'

‘But I was only...' He looked quite desperate. He looked quite devastatingly attractive. She swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry, and laced her hands together tightly to stop them from trembling. ‘I'm listening.'

‘Aye. Right.' He unfastened his cloak and cast it on to the floor beside the head-dress. ‘I should have known, when not even the thought of building ships could distract me, that you were trouble,' he said. ‘I've been trying, the whole time since you've been here, I've been trying to concentrate on what I came here to do, but it's just not worked. I can't think of anything but you.'

Her heart was hammering again, but not in the same way. She no longer felt sick. She felt—giddy. Terrified she might be wrong. Strangely sure she was not. ‘Iain.'

‘Let me finish.' He began to wander around the room, picking up items of clothing, staring at them sightlessly, putting them down. ‘We got each other in a right fankle that night in the other palace. I wasn't telling you about my mother to draw comparisons. God forbid. I was telling you because I wanted you to see— To explain— Dammit!'

Iain threw down a slipper, and strode over to her, grabbing her by her shoulders. ‘I love you, woman. I'm in love with you. I don't give a damn about those other men. I wish I was first, but it doesn't matter. What matters is that I'm the last. Now for God's sake put me out of my misery and tell me how you feel because—'