Heartless (32 page)

“Nothing,” she whispered. “I am going to miss you, 'tis all.”

“Let us make the most of tonight, then, shall we?” he said, returning his mouth to hers.

“Mmm,” she said.

He loved her slowly. Very slowly, melting her into warm relaxation, stirring her by degrees to excitement, letting it subside into warmth again, building it once more, over and over again. His hands and fingers, his mouth and tongue and teeth, his legs, his body—he used them all with marvelous skill. After a year of marriage it might have seemed that there would be no new way of touching or arousing her. And yet always there was something new. And her own hands and mouth and body had learned to give pleasure in skilled and varying ways.

She lost her fears and anxieties and gave herself up to the moment, to the giving and receiving of pleasure. And when it came time for their bodies to join, she opened herself to him and lifted to him and sighed as he came deeply inside. She was panting with arousal, very close to the brink. Had he moved in her, even just once or twice, she would have gone shuddering over.

But he held still, and raw sensation subsided yet again. She lay still and relaxed beneath his weight, knowing that soon, in his own time, and at his own pace, he would move them both into the entwined dance of bodies that would take them to a shared ecstasy. She felt no anxiety as excitement waned. He would bring it back again with even greater intensity with one withdrawal and inward thrust.

“Anna.” He had lifted himself to his forearms and was gazing down into her face. With the curtains drawn back both from about the bed and from the windows, she could see his face almost clearly, though his hair hung about it and over his shoulders. There was a light in his eyes that made her heart lurch. “Anna.”

She lifted both hands and smoothed his hair back from his face and tucked it behind his shoulders. She cupped his face with gentle hands and gazed back at him. She loved him so tenderly at that moment that she was close to tears.

“I love you,” he whispered.

And then the tears did spring and trickle down her cheeks.

“I love you,” he said again, his lips light against hers.

There was a moment's pause before he deepened the kiss, perhaps to give her the chance to return his words.

And then he loved her with his body, as he had loved her innumerable times before, with firm, deep inward strokes and gradually increasing rhythm until every nerve ending in her body was raw with need and she tumbled with him beyond need into that temporary heaven where all was fulfillment of needs and dreams.

As he had loved her innumerable times. As he had never loved her before. For there was a difference. Both her body and her heart recognized it. He had given her pleasure countless times before. He had never before given love with the pleasure. Conscious, tender love.

He had made love to her, and she floated in heaven as he disengaged his body from hers, turned her onto her side against him and covered her with the bedclothes, as he usually did. She was sexually satiated, as she usually was. She also felt loved—as she never had before.

She would not even consider, she thought sluggishly, why she had been unable to return his words.

He found her mouth with his and kissed her lingeringly.

“I love you,” he said once more.

It was because she could not yet give herself completely to him. There were secrets, barriers of her own making. Secrets that must be told, barriers that must be torn down. And then . . . But there was no knowing what lay beyond that point.

No, she could not speak the words yet. Perhaps never.

And yet she loved him as she loved her soul. She loved him more than life. She had loved him since she had set eyes on him, all scarlet and golden and Parisian affectation, that first evening. She would love him until she had taken her last breath and perhaps even beyond that.

•   •   •

The
journey from Bowden Abbey to Elm Court usually took three days. Luke did it in two. He felt uneasy being away from Anna. Perhaps he had done the wrong thing to leave her alone, though he could not believe she was in any danger. If Lomax was her former lover, however—and Luke was almost convinced he was—perhaps he was putting temptation in her way by leaving her at home alone. Perhaps he was presenting Lomax with just too good an opportunity.

He could not shake from his mind the fact that Anna had failed to respond to his declaration of love three times. They had not married each other for love. She was not obliged to love him, and he certainly did not want her to fake a love she did not feel.

But he had hoped and even believed . . .

There had been a special tenderness about their lovemaking the night before his departure. Or so it had seemed to him. He had found it impossible to believe that only he felt it. What they did to each other that night had not been just physical. They had not been two separate entities giving and receiving pleasure. They had been man and wife, making love. One body, one heart.

Or so it had seemed to him.

He had not paused to consider how horrifying or how laughable—depending on how he looked upon it—such a notion would have appeared to him just a year ago. A year ago he had not known that love in its many forms could possibly return to him. A year ago he would have resisted such a possibility.

But love had returned. Including love of his wife. Especially love of his wife.

But perhaps it was something he alone had felt. Anna had not returned his words.

And yet there had been the silent tears.

Yes, he had had to leave her. He had to find out the truth. He had to know what was between her and Lomax, whether it was love or something else.

Heaven help him, Luke thought, if it was love.

The Earl and Countess of Royce were not expecting him and greeted him in some astonishment, though warmly enough. They were disappointed, of course, to find that he had come alone and had not brought Anna and Emily with him—and Joy.

Lomax? Henry Lomax? Royce frowned over the name when Luke finally began asking his questions an hour or two after his arrival. No, he had no acquaintance with anyone of that name.

It was the expected answer, of course.

“Emily told me she had seen him here,” Luke said. “He is now living at Wycherly Park, Severidge's home, while Will and Agnes are away. He is close to fifty years of age, at a guess. Tall, slim, distinguished-looking, even handsome. Well liked by all. Charming to the ladies.”

But Royce responded only to the first words. “
Emily
told you?” he asked, and he looked at his wife and chuckled.

“Yes,” Luke said, not stopping to explain. Surely her own brother must have discovered that the child could communicate certain facts?

Royce frowned again. “But why did you not just ask Anna?” he said. “If Emily saw him here, then so did Anna. Am I missing something?”

Luke drew a deep breath. He hated to voice any of his suspicions when Anna did not even realize that he was here. But Royce was her brother. And they had always appeared to him to be a close family.

“Anna will not admit to knowing him,” he said. “But she does, and he makes her unhappy somehow. I want to find out the truth.”

“Perhaps,” the very young and idealistic Constance said, her voice atremble, “you should trust my sister-in-law, your grace.”

“Connie!” her husband said in mingled embarrassment and admonition.

“No,” Luke said, holding up a staying hand. “She is quite right, Victor. I have explained myself poorly, my dear. Will it help if I explain that I love Anna very dearly? That I want to help remove the burden that is clouding her happiness if I may? I fear she keeps a secret that for some reason she is afraid to disclose.”

“Perhaps 'tis that she is fond of this man,” Constance said. Her voice still trembled and she glanced apprehensively at her husband. His youthful sister-in-law was a woman with backbone, Luke thought approvingly.

“Perhaps so,” he said. “But if 'tis so, my dear, this man who calls himself Lomax has no business following her to the home where her husband has taken her. It would be more honorable and more compassionate to go away and to allow her heart to heal. That is what I shall tell him if that indeed is Anna's secret.”

“Yes,” Constance said rather sadly, looking down at her hands and then up to gaze so adoringly at Royce that Luke almost smiled. “Yes, your grace, you are quite right. Forgive me.”

“I will always honor a woman who will speak up for the rights of others, madam,” he said and watched her flush with pleasure at the compliment.

“I believe,” Royce said, “that this man might be Blaydon. Sir Lovatt Blaydon. He leased a house close to ours soon after my mother died and stayed for a year. After my father's death he went to America, I believe. I had not heard of his returning, but then there is no reason that I should have.”

Sir Lovatt Blaydon. The name hammered on a door in Luke's memory that had remained stubbornly closed for a year, and the door suddenly flew open. Luke had been at a notorious gaming hall in France during that first year of his exile, heavily inebriated, when one of the other patrons had been tossed out on his ear—almost literally—for beating insensible one of the whores upstairs and then cheating at cards. It had struck Luke at the time as an interesting point that the latter offense was the one that had got the man—Sir Lovatt Blaydon—tossed out, the former misdemeanor merely adding fuel to the fire of indignation against anyone who would dare to cheat and get himself caught. Luke had not seen the man before or since that incident—until the morning of his wedding.

“Blaydon?” he said and raised his eyebrows.

“He was very good to us,” Royce said, “and especially to Anna. She bore all the burdens of our family problems, you know, after Mama died. And Papa was”—he flushed—“well, I suppose Anna has told you.”

Luke nodded.

“There were debts,” Royce said. “Mostly gaming debts. Blaydon bought them all and allowed us to pay them back in our own time. I suppose he did not charge interest either. I do not know. I was at university and let Anna take care of everything. I have been ashamed since, but she always seemed so capable, and she always insisted that I complete my studies and not worry about anything else. She must have paid off the debts, for I was not presented with any bills after Papa died. We thought at one time Anna would marry Blaydon. They seemed fond of each other. 'Twas something of a surprise that he went away just when perhaps she needed him most. Papa's death was a terrible shock to all of us.”

There were debts. Paid off? Luke doubted it. He doubted it very much. He knew something about how huge gaming debts could be, especially when they were incurred by a man who also drank to excess.

Was that what it was? Was that all it was? Luke allowed himself to feel the luxury of a huge relief. She owed the man money? Or rather, Royce owed him money, but Anna, true to form, would not put the burden on her brother's shoulders but kept it on her own. The foolish woman! His poor foolish, brave, wonderful Anna. Why in heaven's name had she not come to him? He would have paid all the debts twice over if necessary to have released her from the burden of the hold a ruthless man had over her.

Why had she not told him on that very first morning after their wedding instead of keeping the secret to herself?

But thinking of that morning brought back a more chilling memory. Anna had had a lover. Or more accurately, since he was not certain of the truth of that, someone had had her virginity. Blaydon? In payment of some of the debts? Rape?

Luke's blood ran cold and quite unconsciously his hand strayed to the hilt of his sword.

“Do you think, Vic,” Constance asked timidly, “that perhaps some of your father's debts still have not been paid? Is that why he has followed Anna to Bowden? Is that why she is not quite happy?”

“My thoughts exactly, madam,” Luke said.

Royce looked grim and somewhat pale. “Zounds,” he said, “if that is true, she will have the length of my tongue, begging your pardon, Luke, and he might well have the length of my sword if he has been harassing her. Those debts, if they still exist, are mine.”

“I will get to the bottom of it,” Luke said quietly. “Can you tell me anything else about Blaydon?”

Royce thought but he shook his head. “I was away most of that year,” he said. But he brightened at a sudden thought. “Perhaps Charlotte will know more. She was here all the time. She married only just before Anna and Agnes went to Aunt Marjorie's in London, you know.”

Charlotte. Perhaps she would be able to fill in some of the gaps in the story. If there were still gaps. Perhaps everything was just the way it seemed.

Luke turned suddenly cold again. If Blaydon had raped Anna once—or more than once—perhaps . . .

He was going to have to get back to Bowden Abbey just as soon as possible, Luke decided.

A
NNA
knew she had made a mistake when she let three days pass after Luke's departure and Sir Lovatt Blaydon came calling on her. Of course he had found out that Luke had gone; it would have been difficult to keep such a thing secret in a country neighborhood even if she had tried. And so in some way she had let the initiative stay with him. She should have gone and confronted him on the very first day, she thought as soon as a servant came to the nursery to announce that Colonel Lomax had been shown into the drawing room.

Anna handed Joy reluctantly to Emily and smiled. “I have a visitor,” she said.

And of course it had to be on an afternoon when there were no other callers, she thought as she went downstairs with firm steps and shrinking heart. But then perhaps he had known that too. The man seemed omniscient in many ways. At least she was fortunate enough to find that Henrietta was at home and in the drawing room entertaining their guest. Relations with Henrietta had been difficult lately, but Anna was very thankful to see her on this particular occasion.

It was a relief that was short-lived. Henrietta got to her feet even as Sir Lovatt rose to make his bow to Anna. Henrietta smiled dazzlingly at him as she gave him her hand, and then turned her head to look archly at Anna.

“I would not be
de trop
,” she said. “I can see when two people prefer to be alone together. I shall leave.”

Anna froze.

Sir Lovatt bowed over Henrietta's hand, brought her fingers to his lips, and smiled at her. “Ah, you are perceptive, my dear duchess,” he said. “Anna and I thank you.”

Henrietta, on her way out of the room, her back to Sir Lovatt, smiled again at Anna. A rather unpleasant smile.

“My Anna,” Sir Lovatt said, reaching out a hand for hers as soon as they were alone. “We have an ally in your sister-in-law. We are fortunate indeed.”

“I believe,” she said icily, staying where she was, just inside the door, “in my vocabulary, she would be called an enemy, sir. I shall ring for tea.”

But he stepped into her path as she moved. “Anna,” he said, “the time will be soon. The time when we will be happy together, though I know you do not believe so now. It should be this week since a perfect opportunity has presented itself in the absence of your husband. But the child is not weaned?”

Anna wished suddenly that she was sitting down. She felt dizzy. There was darkness somewhere at the outer edges of her vision.

“No,” she said curtly.

“I would wait until it is,” he said. “That has always been my plan. You see how I consider the interests of your daughter as well as yours, my Anna? We will wait a while. But there must be a token of good faith. There has not been one since I came to Wycherly, has there?”

“No,” Anna said again.

“Your poor papa was experiencing particular bad fortune on this particular evening,” he said, sympathy in his eyes and voice as he held out a voucher with her father's signature scrawled at the bottom. A drunken, unsteady signature, but unmistakably his.

Anna glanced at the amount and then stared at it more fixedly. The darkness was approaching closer to the center of her vision. “One thousand pounds,” she said. “I do not have that much money.”

“Ah, Anna,” he said, “there are other valuables in this house apart from money. There are jewels.”

All the most valuable jewelry, even her own, was kept in a safe and private place in Luke's room. Anna knew where it was. She even knew where the key was. Luke had never made a secret of its hiding place from her. He kept her jewels there, not to hide them from her, but to keep them safe. Yes, there were more than enough jewels there to pay off this particular debt.

“I do not have access to any of the jewels or other valuables here,” she said. “You must give me time.”

“I shall do that, my Anna.” He smiled at her. “The morning after tomorrow—one day longer than usual? The usual place? You would wish to wean your own child, would you not? You would not like to think of a wet nurse doing it for you?”

The darkness closed in completely and cold air rushed into Anna's nostrils. She stumbled and felt hands on her arms and heard a voice talking to her from a long way off.

Luke. Luke.

“Luke!”

“It is I, my dear,” Sir Lovatt's voice said. She was seated and his hand was firm against the back of her head, forcing it downward so that the blood would return to it. “How foolish you are not to trust me. Do you not realize that all the money you have given me and all the jewels you will bring me have not gone to supply my own greedy needs but have been set aside for your future happiness?”

He stooped down on his haunches and rubbed her hands, one at a time, in an effort to restore warmth to them. She found the energy to snatch them away when he lifted one to his lips.

“I cannot steal from my own husband,” she said.

“Anna,” he said reproachfully. “'Twould not be theft, my dear. Are the jewels not your own? Can you steal from yourself?”

“They are mine in my capacity as Duchess of Harndon,” she said. And she realized what she was doing in her weakness. She was arguing with him. She was not confronting him as she had sworn she would. And she had not brought a weapon to the drawing room with her. How satisfying it would be at this moment to whip out a knife from among the folds of her skirts and plunge it into his black heart. She would almost gladly hang for such a crime.

“I will take my leave now,” he said gently, straightening up before her chair. “You are in no state to entertain a guest for tea, my Anna. The morning after next you will do as you have been instructed and the largest of your father's debts will be paid.”

Anna laughed.

After the drawing room door had closed behind him, she continued to laugh. And the laughter, quite beyond her power for the moment to control, horrified her far more than hysterical tears would have done.

•   •   •

Henrietta
was waiting among the trees far down the driveway when Sir Lovatt Blaydon rode homeward. He touched his tricorne to her and she smiled, as she had smiled at Anna earlier.

“Well?” she said. “When is it to be? Soon, I hope.”

“Your good wishes for my future happiness and Anna's are touching, madam,” he said. “'Twill be when it will be. You will come to me in three days' time, as usual.”

Henrietta's smile faded. “Oh, la,” she said, “you are not going to take advantage of Luke's absence? I begin to believe you merely play games with us all, sir.”

Sir Lovatt leaned forward from his horse's back, set the tip of his riding whip beneath Henrietta's chin, and raised it. “You have enjoyed our little games immensely, my dear,” he said. “You enjoy degradation. We will see what near-public place we can find next time for our carnal delight. Perhaps I will arrange for a servant to be present. Yes, I believe I will. Other games I choose to play, madam, are none of your concern. And your opinion is unsolicited and unwelcome. I trust you will remember not to offer it again?”

The point of his whip was pressing rather uncomfortably against Henrietta's neck. She disdained to take a step back, but she dared not answer. She swallowed.

“You are wise,” he said. “Another part of this whip would feel a little more painful against another part of your person, duchess. Good day to you.”

He straightened up, touched his whip to his tricorne, and rode on his way.

Henrietta looked after him, burning with hatred and with painful and unrequited desire.

•   •   •

At
first Charlotte, complacent and plump with pregnancy, was able to tell Luke no more than her brother had known. Sir Lovatt Blaydon had been particularly attentive to Anna. Everyone—not just her family but the entire neighborhood—had expected that they would marry, though Charlotte and her sisters had thought him too old for Anna.

“But he was very well-liked,” Charlotte explained. “We all admired him a great deal, except Emily, perhaps. But Emily has always been a little strange. She cannot help it, poor dear. 'Tis her affliction. She used to run away when Sir Lovatt called.”

Luke felt convinced that Emily, if only she could talk, would be able to tell him a great deal more than the others had noticed. He felt frustrated in his efforts to piece together a story.

“Blaydon appeared here soon after your mother's death?” he asked. “Did he ever explain why he came here? And why he came at that particular time?”

“He was looking for a place in the country,” Charlotte said with a shrug. “And that particular house was for lease. I suppose he might have chosen any of a dozen different places.”

Luke did not believe so somehow. He frowned. What was it he was not seeing or not understanding? What was the missing clue? Had Anna met Blaydon somewhere even before that? Had he followed her to Elm Court then as he had followed her to Bowden now?

“Did Anna go away to school?” he asked. “Was she ever from home for any length of time before your mother's death?”

Charlotte thought, but she shook her head. “Mama was ill for several years,” she said. “Anna was like a mother to us. She was always at home.”

It seemed, Luke thought, that he would have to take his interpretation of what had happened back to Anna and hope that she would finally confide the truth to him when confronted with what he already knew.

“'Twas a pity,” Charlotte said, “that Sir Lovatt did not arrive a little sooner than he did. He just missed the chance to become reacquainted with Mama.”

Luke regarded her from hooded eyes.

She looked a little disconcerted for a moment. “His family had an acquaintance with Mama's,” Charlotte explained. “He and Mama knew each other as children.”

It was strange, Luke thought, how sometimes the most pertinent information on a subject could come out quite by accident. Charlotte had let out this particular piece of information as an aside, as something that had no particular relevance to the matter at hand. And yet to Luke it had enormous significance, suggesting as it did that the arrival of Sir Lovatt Blaydon at Elm Court had been no more accidental than his appearance at Bowden.

But how could he find out what the significance of that particular piece of information was? Had there been some sort of family feud that he was continuing? Had Anna's mother at one time done him some harm that he wished to avenge? Had he been in love with Anna's mother?

How could he find out? Who would know?

The answer came to him almost as soon as he had asked himself the question.

“Lady Sterne,” he said to Charlotte. “She was your mother's friend?”

“Oh, yes,” she said, blinking at the abrupt change of topic. “She is Anna's godmother, you know. We all call her Aunt Marjorie though she is not really our aunt.”

“How long were they friends?” Luke asked. “All their lives?”

“They met in London as girls,” Charlotte said, “when they were both presented to the queen. Mama often told us about it. They remained friends ever after though Mama would not allow Aunt Marjorie to come visiting after she became so sick. She did not want to be seen pale and thin and ugly, she used to say. Poor Mama.”

There was a chance. Just a chance that Lady Sterne would have known Blaydon or at least that Lady Royce had talked of him. It would mean going to London, of course, and delaying his return home by another day at least. He was becoming more uneasy about being away from Anna. But he needed to learn the truth, or as much of it as he could possibly piece together. More and more he was beginning to feel—partly with elation and partly with fear—that whatever it was between Anna and Blaydon, it was not love.

He left Elm Court for London early the following morning, one day after his arrival there.

•   •   •

Anna
was careful to tell a number of people where she was going. It might not seem very proper that she was going alone, with only a maid for company, but she was not concerned with appearances. She just wanted some people to know. She told Mr. Fox and Cotes and Mrs. Wynn, and she took with her a coachman, a footman, and her maid.

She was paying a morning call on Sir Lovatt Blaydon.

At the time when his man would be waiting among the trees to watch her set the money and jewelry beneath the stone outside the gamekeeper's cottage so that he could retrieve them without delay, she was being driven through the gates of Bowden and along the road to Wycherly. She was paying a morning call because it was unlikely she would encounter any other visitors at that time.

“Wait here for me,” she told the coachman and footman when the latter handed her down outside the doors of Wycherly. They looked disappointed that they would not have the anticipated visit and ale in the kitchen, but both bowed their acquiescence.

“Wait here for me,” she told her maid when Sir Lovatt's butler offered to escort her to a visitors' salon leading off the hall, and Penny nodded and bobbed a curtsy though she looked as disappointed as the men had looked.