Malia Martin (30 page)

“Most women would jump at the chance.”

“Most men would, too.” Sara arched her brows. “Did you?”

“Sara . . .”

Sara made a disgusted noise in the back of her throat. “Most people do not understand what it entails.” She sighed. In her heart a terrible anger burned. She banged a fist against the railing. “You have trapped me. You knew that I would be forced to say yes.”

Trevor took a step toward her, but Sara stayed him with her hand.

“Then you will marry me?” he asked with joy in his voice.

That made her even angrier. She stared at him, feeling more and more like she wanted to curl up her fist and plant it right between his eyes. How dared he do this to her?

The resentment she felt tightened heavily around her heart. “Yes, I will marry you.” She turned and stalked toward the door. “I will marry you, and I will hate you, Trevor. Because you have manipulated me in the worst way.” She let the door bang shut behind her and went to change into a walking dress.

They said their vows before the priest of the village, as Trevor had brought a special license for marriage with him. He tried vainly to catch Sara’s eye, smile at her, bring out that beautiful answering smile he had missed so much. But she stared away from him the entire time, her eyes blinking and her throat working as if she might cry.

When he finally saw her face, though, he realized that it was not tears she held back; it was anger. Those brown eyes were dark with anger.

Trevor politely thanked the priest and the witnesses as Sara stood silently beside him. He helped her into the carriage he had rented. She leaned on his arm for only the amount of time it took her to pick her way carefully up the steps, then she let go as if he burned her.

Trevor sighed as he entered behind her. It hurt him that she was so angry with him. But they were married now. She would have to come around sometime.

Trevor settled back against the leather squabs, staring out the window as they passed through the small village, then started out on the rutted track that would take them back to Rachel’s cottage.

They would set out tomorrow morning early for Rawlston. He did not want to push her, though, today. It had been a long one, and Sara needed to rest.

He stared across at her, the bright light from the cloudless sky and brisk day gilding her hair,
but making her face look pale against it. “Would you write a letter, Sara, to Lyle? Assure him that he may announce our marriage. The people will be anxious.”

Sara glanced at him, then nodded tersely. “I will write it.”

“Thank you.”

She just turned her head away to glare out the window. They rode the rest of the way in silence. Sara retired to her room when they reached the cottage, leaving Trevor feeling restless and unhappy.

He stayed for a while in the small sitting room, staring at a book, but not wanting to deal with the tediousness of trying to read it. Then he jumped from his chair suddenly and surged out the door. He walked along the rocky cliff, finding, finally, a small pathway to the sand.

Trevor clambered down the trail, slipping from time to time on the slick rocks, but finally gaining the rocky beach. The sky was a clear blue and the sun shone off the boulders that lay strewn about the beach like white gold. But the sea mirrored his mood. It was a dark gray, the stiff wind making choppy, white-crested waves.

Trevor flipped his unbound hair over his shoulder and walked into the wind. For some reason he had thought she would rim into his arms and welcome his marriage proposal, now that she was with child. Obviously a terribly self-important type reasoning, now that he thought of it.

But she would have the baby. It would be well. He could feel the rightness of it deep down in his heart of hearts. And he had not felt anything there in a long time.

Trevor closed his eyes and lifted his face to the clear blue heavens. And he prayed. He prayed to whomever would listen, to the giver of curses or the deliverer of blessings. Please let our child be safe. And please, let her love me again.

Trevor sighed, turned his face into the wind once more, and started back to the rocky trail. He had one last thought as he climbed to the top of the cliff. She could not stay mad at him forever, could she?

She listened to him get ready for bed in the next room and wondered if she could stay mad at him forever. It was doubtful, truly doubtful. Her heart had already begun to soften as she lay in bed that afternoon, feeling terribly sorry for herself. Trevor had done a stupid, stupid thing. But she loved him still. She would always love him. And they were married now. The only thing she could do was pray that this baby lived. And that it was a boy. And that she did not go stark raving mad at the thought of being the Duchess . . . again.

All right, so there was more than one thing she needed to pray for. And it made her angry all over again that Trevor was making her worry about these things. But at least she was
not lying here this night wondering if he had found a bride. Wondering if he was going to bed with another woman.

No, she knew exactly where he was and who he was with. He was getting into bed alone one wall away from her. Her stubborn heart leapt at the thought that they would be husband and wife now, forever.

So intent on her thoughts she was, Sara did not hear her door open. She did hear her husband’s voice, though.

“Sara?”

She stiffened.

The floorboards creaked beneath his feet. “Sara, are you asleep?”

Sara drew in a deep breath. “No,” she said quietly.

He stood beside her bed. “I am sorry,” he said simply.

That should not have made it all right. The man had done terrible things, and she was madder than a stuck pig at him. “Oh, Trevor.”

He bent quickly, pulling back her covers and crawling into bed with her.

“You must never force me to do things against my will again,” she chastised him.

“I won’t. I promise I won’t.”

He drew her against him, holding her tightly. She sighed, closing her eyes and laying her cheek against his bare chest.

“I am so afraid,” she whispered.

“And you think I was not when you tricked me into going to Rawlston?”

Sara bit her lip. “I
did
trick you, didn’t I?”

“Oh, yes, I see you forgot that small tidbit of our story.”

“I did not forget.”

“Yes, well, I must tell you I was quite petrified as I rode to Rawlston two months ago. I knew I was heading into a situation way over my head. But you seemed to believe in me, as little as you knew . . .”

Sara pinched his arm.

“Ow!”

“I know a lot, thank you very much.”

“Yes, you do, Dearest. And it is why I have survived this long as Duke of Rawlston. With you beside me, I feel invincible, truly. And I was hoping that you might feel the same if I stand by your side.”

Sara blinked at the tears that stung her eyes. “I want to feel invincible.”

“You are, Sara.” He ducked his head so she could see the dark pools of his eyes. “You are. You turned me into a duke. A tougher job I’ve never known. And you are the very best Duchess Rawlston has ever seen. They are lucky to get you twice. That’s what I say.”

Sara closed her eyes, despair returning slowly to eat at her heart.

“And though I obviously do not have the magical powers of that long-ago gypsy, may I tell you of a vision I had at the beach today?”

“Vision?” Sara pushed away from him slightly so she could see his face better. “Do you jest with me, Trevor?”

“Never. I did see a vision, Sara dearest. As clear as day against the vast blue sky, I saw children. Three, actually. A boy and two beautiful girls with golden hair and laughing brown eyes.”

Sara dropped her forehead against his chest. “Don’t, Trevor.”

His grip about her tightened. “I would not tell you if it were not true, Sara. I saw them. Our children. I know in the deepest part of my heart that all will be well. You will bear healthy children, and we shall be happy beyond compare.”

Sara closed her eyes for a moment, and felt the heat of her husband’s body against her. She breathed in his scent and gloried in the sudden well-being that made her feel as if she had not a care in the world.

And she believed in her husband’s vision.

“Kiss me,” she said.

He bent and took her mouth in a sweet, gentle touching of souls. And they slept together, entwined and breathing each other’s air.

T
revor had paced a path in the carpet, and he had chewed down to the quick of his thumbnail. Another yell from inside Sara’s chamber had him twirling about and running to stand with his hand on the doorknob. Still, no one came to tell him how it progressed.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered, returning to his pacing again. “Whoever decided men could not attend their wives in the birthing chamber?” he asked Lyle, whom he had forced to stay with him for moral support.

“Whoever decided to force his steward to stand in a hallway outside the birthing chamber?” Lyle scowled at him, flinching as another howl issued through the thick wooden door.

Trevor stopped in mid-stride. He turned to Lyle. “I ordered you to because I am the Duke of Rawlston. I have that kind of power.”

Lyle blinked. “Well, and when did that power rush to your head, huh, Guv?”

Trevor just chuckled. “All I’m saying, Lyle, my young friend, is that I am the Duke of Rawlston. Let’s just see those women keep me out of there!” Trevor went to the door, this time turning the knob decidedly and shoving it open.

He stalked into the room, ready to take on the world, but nobody seemed to notice him. The women were crowded about the bed so that he could not even see his wife. The room was dark and airless, smelling of sweat.

Rachel stood next to the head of the bed, whispering soothing words, and the doctor Trevor had insisted on calling in stood at the foot of the bed.

“Push,” the doctor said. “Push, now.”

Another wail and then grunts. Trevor hesitated, wondering if he could just back right out the door. Nobody would be the wiser.

But then he remembered suddenly his promise to his wife. On a night just eight months before, he had promised to stand with her, help her to be invincible.

Trevor took a deep breath and hurried forward. He pushed through Lily and Melina and saw his wife’s white face framed by damp hair. Her eyes were closed, her mouth pressed together as she pushed.

Trevor sat down and took her hand in his. “You can do it, Dearest, push him out.”

Sara blinked up at him, blowing out a harsh breath of air. “Trevor?”

“I could not stand being out in the hallway another moment.”

Sara laughed weakly. “Can I go out there, then? You can stay here and do my job.”

“I wish I could, dear one, I wish that I could take it from you.”

Sara sobered instantly. “Oh, no,” she said. “I would never wish this away in a million years.”

“Are you ready to push again, your grace?” the doctor asked.

Sara nodded, breathing deeply.

“Just think of all those nights sleeping on your side, all those nights your legs fell asleep and your back ached and you could barely breathe, or get out of bed to relieve yourself. Think of them,” Trevor whispered in his wife’s ear, “and push. Because tonight you will sleep on your stomach.” His wife grunted and pushed. “Tonight, you will be free of this baby’s weight.” She pushed harder, and Trevor leaned closer so that only she could hear him. “And soon we will finally consummate this marriage.”

“Here it is!” the doctor cried. There was a flurry of activity. Sara’s head lolled to the side, a wide smile on her mouth as she looked into his eyes. “You must be with me from the beginning next time, Trevor. You are good at this.”

Trevor grinned. “I am good at everything I try, Dearest. It all just comes too easily to me, remember?”

“It is a boy!”

They heard the gurgling cry of a baby, and looked toward their son together.

“A boy,” Sara sighed.

“And he looks rather perfect to me,” Trevor said, his chest feeling as if it would burst.

“Of course! He is his father’s son.” Sara smiled up at him.

“I would say he takes after his mother, actually.” Trevor bent and kissed Sara deeply. “I love you,” he said.

Sara grinned. “I know.”

Rawlston Halt, Present Day

T
he tour guide’s heels clicked against the wood floor of the picture gallery. She stopped halfway down the long hallway and waited for the large group to assemble around her. “This,” she said, waving her arm at the large portrait above her head, “is the Fourteenth Duke of Rawlston, Trevor Phillips. His is my favorite story. He is the one I spoke of earlier. The famous duke who broke the curse and started up Rawlston Woolen Mills, which, as I told you before, are still producing the finest wool in all of Britain.”

A man toward the back raised his hand and asked, “Why does this portrait show both the Duke and the Duchess? None of the others do.”

The tour guide smiled. “It is a romantic tale, actually. The Fourteenth Duke insisted that his wife be in his official portrait with him, for as
he said, ‘Without her I am merely a man. It is only with her at my side that I am the Duke of Rawlston.’”

“Ahhh,” the group chorused.

“Yes, as I said, ’tis a romantic tale. He also had a special ceremony after his first son was born. He had a gypsy come and officially bless this land which had supposedly lived under the old gypsy curse. It was after this blessing occurred that they found out that
The Spanish Lady
, a ship which carried a man who had stolen money from the Duke and sailed for the West Indies, had been taken by pirates. No one aboard was left alive.”

“Wow,” a little American boy in the front piped up.

“Yes,” laughed the tour guide. “And after this blessing occurred, the Duchess gave birth to two more children, both girls. She was quite old for those days, thirty-five when she had her first child and thirty-nine when she gave birth to her last. All of them were very healthy, I might add.” She smiled. “And now, if you will follow me, I will show you the grand ballroom.” She turned on her heel.