Rexanne Becnel (28 page)

No matter the repercussion, to hide the truth was to create a monstrosity of lies that would one day haunt their child, just as Cameron Byrde’s deceit now haunted Marsh and Olivia.

She watched young Catherine run into Neville’s arms. She smiled at the child’s squeals when her father tossed her high and, as he had a thousand times, caught her safely in his strong, secure hold. Their simple joy in one another brought a painful lump to her throat. All children needed to know their fathers. Sons, daughters, toddlers, youths. Even grown men and women needed to understand their heritage.

What would be, would be, she told herself as she started forward again. Neville and Olivia stood close together, with little Catherine’s arms wrapped tight around each of their necks. Marsh stood nearby, as did Adrian.

Sarah’s gaze played over the boy for a moment. Ever since Marsh had forgiven him for that shooting disaster, Adrian’s attitude toward Marsh had done a complete about-face. Probably a part of the boy’s need for a father of his own. His hair was combed straight back like Marsh’s; his stock sported the same simple knot that wasn’t at all pretentious.

She shook her head. Adrian did not hide his admiration for the man. Olivia seemed to like him, if her behavior was any indication, and Sarah suspected that Neville could grow to like him as well, were there not so much threat attached to his presence here. They didn’t know about all that, though.

But Adrian did.

She dragged her eyes away from Marsh and once more stared searchingly at the boy. He wanted Marsh to stay. Couldn’t he see that was impossible?

“Oh, Sarah. Look who’s here,” Olivia called, smiling as if she were not on fire with curiosity. “It’s your Mr. MacDougal.” She ignored Sarah’s scowl at referring to him thus. “I’ve asked him to join us for luncheon.”

All eyes turned to her, waiting for her reaction.

In the end she did the only thing she could: She capitulated. Perhaps it was for the best. Perhaps all these secrets were the problem. If only she had time to think it all through. “How…how pleasant. I…I ought to have thought to issue the invitation myself,” she managed to say.

“Indeed you should have,” Olivia chastened her, though with an even bigger smile than before. “You must have known how eager Neville and I were to meet him.”

Sarah let that go with only an aggrieved glance at her sister. As they all started for the house, Adrian fell into step with Sarah, while Marsh strolled alongside Olivia and Neville.

“How’re you feeling?” the boy asked in a voice that did not carry to the others.

“Fine,” she replied, only half listening to him. Her attention remained fixed upon Marsh, whom she must somehow maneuver aside and arrange a private meeting with.

A frisson of excitement shivered through her, but she fought it down. It was not to be
that
sort of meeting. Anything but.

Still, it was hard not to think about it. She had admitted, at least to herself, that she loved him. He would no doubt be as good a father as he was a son. And heaven knew—
she
knew—that he was a wonderful lover.

Again excitement coursed through her veins. She could be very happy married to this man. But what should have been the most satisfying realization of her life only depressed her. He’d come here today out of a sense of duty. If she’d admitted she was pregnant, he would have offered to marry her at once. She was sure of that now. But she did not want him to marry her only out of duty.

She watched as Neville moved his hand from around Olivia’s waist to pluck a tiny leaf from where it had caught in her thick auburn hair. Such an innocuous movement, and yet it summed up everything Sarah felt about love and marriage. She wanted that sort of relationship with her eventual husband, created from a solid love and an ever-increasing history together.

“Are you sure?” came Adrian’s insistent voice.

She cut her eyes over to him. “Sure of what?”

“That you’re feeling fine,” he answered, with curiosity that was just a little too intent.

He knew!

Sarah sucked in a sharp breath. Somehow Adrian knew—or thought he knew—what had passed between her and Marsh. How mortifying! Yet it explained so much. Had Adrian assumed that she and Marsh were intimate when he shot Marsh? Probably.

The boy’s eyes flickered momentarily to her stomach and she felt the rise of guilty color in her cheeks. Now he wanted to know if she was pregnant.

Upset and confused, Sarah frowned. “You two are in this together, aren’t you? You and him. Well, let me tell you, Adrian Hawke. You will only find out how I am
feeling
when everyone else does. All you need know at the moment is that I am
feeling
just fine.”

But she wasn’t. Not emotionally, not physically, Every time she looked at Marsh or heard him speak, her chest hurt. Longing, regret, fear. All of those combined to torture her. Avoiding Olivia’s probing stares only increased her pain. Why couldn’t Marsh be just a man that she liked—that she loved—without all these terrible entanglements between them?

They sat down in the dining room to a casual spread of cold meats, warm breads, fresh-baked fish, and spicy apples and cream. They were a genial group on the surface, spread out around the broad table.

Sarah braced herself for an hour of waiting, of dodging innuendo, and trying to speak privately with Marsh. But a new form of torture caught her in its unexpected grip. Not in her chest but lower down, though just as incapacitating as her heartache. The wonderful aromas of yeasty bread and spiced apples combined in the most revolting way.

Her stomach revolted. Her throat revolted. Her entire body reacted so swiftly she thought she might embarrass herself right there on the dining room table in front of everyone.

As it was, she embarrassed herself by lurching up from her chair, spilling it over backward, then rushing from the room with a napkin clapped over her mouth.

Outside on the terrace, away from those normally delectable fragrances, she took one shaky breath, then another, fighting back the violent nausea. On trembling arms she slumped over the balustrade, slowly regaining control of herself.

Unfortunately, Olivia had followed her, and after shutting the door behind her, she leaned back on it, staring hard at her younger sister.

“All right, Sarah. I’ve left you alone long enough with your secrets. It’s time for you to tell me about this very strange behavior of yours. Either you tell me, or I’ll have to ask Mr. MacDougal about it.”

“M
R
. MacDougal?” Sarah blanched and avoided her sister’s probing stare. The last thing she wanted was for Olivia to confront Marsh before she could talk to him. “Could we perhaps speak of this later? After all, you have company.”

“He’s your company, Sarah. Not mine. He came to see you. Except that you sent him away when we both know you’ve been pining over him for days. Thank goodness I caught him before he left. And now this business of you rushing out of the dining room so rudely—”

Olivia broke off. “Rushing out of the dining room,” she repeated in a more thoughtful tone. Her eyes grew bright with curiosity. “You’re awfully pale. I’d swear your face appears almost greenish in cast. Have you simply lost your appetite—or is it something else?” she added, anticipation rising in her voice.

This time Sarah’s gaze remained steady. This was not how she’d planned to speak to Olivia about this, but it seemed inevitable. “Before you begin weaving tales in that matchmaking mind of yours, Livvie, I wish you would do something for me.”

“Has he forced you? Just answer me that,” Olivia demanded, her fists planted on her hips.

“Olivia!”

“Why else would you send him away? If you loved him enough to…to be intimate with him—”

“Olivia!”

“—you wouldn’t send him away. But you did send him away, and so I must assume he has treated you cruelly.”

“Olivia!” Sarah stamped her foot. “It is nothing so simple as that!”

There was a moment of silence, but only one, before Olivia let out a shocked gasp. “Oh, my goodness. Do not say it was…it was that other man. That…that Penley you meant to elope with.”

“What? Good grief no!” Sarah practically shouted. “Please, Livvie, will you just let me be?”

“No. I will not let you be.” Bewilderment softened the anger on Olivia’s countenance. “What is it, Sarah? Something is going on, something that involves Marshall MacDougal and you. I’m your older sister and I love you. If you cannot confide the truth in me, then who on earth can you confide in?”

Indeed, there was no one on earth with whom Sarah would rather share this heavy load. But not just yet. She gave her sister a wry smile. “I suppose you have a point. But…but I think there is something Mr. MacDougal needs to tell you first, Livvie. First you must talk to him.”

Olivia crossed her arms. “I already tried that. He wouldn’t tell me anything.”

“He wouldn’t?” Sarah smiled to herself. Wasn’t that just like him? He meant to keep his word to her, no matter what. She heaved a sigh. “To tell you the truth, I’m not terribly surprised. But I think he will talk to you now. If I ask him to.”

Marsh stared down at the food he’d served himself. He sat in his father’s house, at a table his father and grandparents and their parents before them had probably dined at every day of their lives. His closest living family was gathered around him now. His brother-in-law, a niece, and a young nephew as well. Even Adrian was there, a nephew of sorts, though strictly through marriage.

This should be a meal to enjoy like no other, to savor and linger over, not for the food, but for the people. These pleasant, genial people were not at all what he’d expected.

Then again, nothing about this sojourn to Great Britain was at all as he’d expected.

“Where’s Mama?” young Catherine inquired.

“Mama’s outside,” Philip piped up, kneeling backward on his chair and pointing past the tall windows to the terrace beyond. “Mama ’n’ Aunt Sawah.”

“Turn around, son. Sarah and Mama will be back soon,” Neville said. He glanced meaningfully at Marsh. “It seems they have something important to discuss. Any inkling what that might be?”

Indeed he did. Sarah had looked positively green, as if she were about to be sick. He’d felt that way once or twice on the ship over from America. She could not blame this on seasickness, however.

That left one obvious reason: She must be pregnant with his child. Their child.

Marsh excused himself from the table without comment. When Adrian rose also, Neville stopped him, for which Marsh was grateful. The next few minutes might be the most momentous of his life. From no family at all to a large and nosy one, he seemed to have made the transition awfully fast.

Still, they could only be his family if they accepted him—if they all accepted him—and there were still two impediments to that happening.

His entire being thrummed with both anticipation and fear. It was time, he knew, as he let himself out of the dining room. He had to get Sarah’s permission to tell Olivia the truth, so that he could then try to get Olivia’s approval to marry Sarah.

He thrust his hands through his hair and stepped out onto the sunny terrace, trembling as if he were cold. It wasn’t cold, however, but rather a fear like nothing he’d ever known before. The fear of rejection; the fear of loneliness; the fear of losing that most valuable commodity of all: the love of a woman. And the love of a family.

He found the two sisters sitting on a bench surrounded by heavily budded rosebushes. Some flowers were open to the bright sunshine, while others were only partially unfurled. Still others were tight buds, green with the promise of their great beauty hidden from view for another day. Another week.

But to him the most beautiful flower of them all was Sarah.

He paused, just to look at her. Her hair shone in the midday sun, glinting chestnut highlights. When she glanced up at him with her beautiful, vulnerable eyes, she appeared incredibly young, too young for the lustful thoughts she always inspired in him. It was only that there was no artifice in her expression. No wariness or deception either. She was so beautiful, it almost hurt to look at her.

For a fanciful moment he wished he might have met her when they were children, when they might have become friends first, with neither suspicion nor lust to cloud their budding romance.

But they were not children. There was suspicion and there was lust. Though he meant once and for all to banish the former, he doubted a lifetime would be long enough to banish the latter.

She stood when he started forward. “Marsh—I mean, Mr. MacDougal. I…ah…”

“I have something to discuss with you,” he broke in. He nodded to Olivia, who remained seated on the bench. “I beg your pardon, madam, but this cannot wait.”

“No, Mr. MacDougal,” Sarah countered, gently shaking her head. “I think it is Olivia with whom you need to speak. Not me.”

Marsh hesitated. He’d not expected that response from her. He stared at her, unsure of her purpose. “You
want
me to talk with your sister?”

Her eyes remained locked with his. Beautiful. Shining with compassion. Shining with…He blinked and swallowed hard. It could not be. Surely that was not love shining in her eyes.

She ducked her head, then turned and made her exit without allowing him the opportunity to determine just what he’d seen in her eyes. He stared after her, hopeful and yet afraid to be too hopeful. Did she love him? Did she want him to tell Olivia who he really was, and his real purpose for coming here?

Behind him, Olivia cleared her throat, and he was reminded of the main reason he should not become too hopeful about Sarah. Slowly he turned on his heel and looked down upon the lovely woman sitting there, waiting for some explanation of just what was going on. She did not look angry, only expectant, and more than a little curious.

But then, she probably thought he meant to ask her permission to marry Sarah. And she probably meant to approve. He could see that plain enough.

Whether she would feel the same way five minutes from now, however…

He took a fortifying breath and locked his hands together behind his back. “I…uh…I know you have guessed at the attachment formed between your sister and me.”

She folded her hands in her lap and smiled. “Yes.”

“And…uh…you probably wonder what the difficulty is between us.”

“I have wondered.”

“Well, the difficulty is…it is you.”

“Me?”

“No. I put that badly. The problem is me. And you.”

Olivia shook her head, a bewildered expression on her face. But still she was smiling. “You needn’t be afraid to speak to me about this matter, Mr. MacDougal. I’ve already deduced the truth. And while I cannot approve of some, shall we say,
aspects
of your behavior with Sarah, I suppose I do understand. Especially if you now mean to put things right.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Of course it is.” Then her smile fled. “Wait a minute. You’re not…not married, are you?”

“No!” Marsh thrust his hands through his hair. First Sarah wondering about that, and now Olivia. This was not going to get any easier. “I’m not married,” he blurted out. “I’m your brother.”

She sat motionless in the wake of that admission, as if waiting for the reverberations of his shocking revelation to cease. When she did speak, her voice had become considerably fainter. “My brother?” she echoed. “I’m afraid I don’t follow you, Mr. MacDougal.”

Beset by a sudden need to reassure her, he sat beside her on the bench and took her folded hands in his. “I was born Marshall MacDougal Byrde. Like you, I am Cameron Byrde’s child.”

She followed him now, for the shock was plain upon her face. The center of her eyes grew darker, as if she were trying to take in all the ramifications of his words at once. “My…brother.”

“Half-brother. My mother was a MacDougal.”

“I see. But…but you and Sarah, you two are not related by blood.” Despite his unexpected announcement, she homed in on that fact, much to his amazement. “There is no impediment on that score.”

“No. But there is more.”

“It’s all right,” she said, though her smile wobbled a bit, revealing a different emotion than he’d expected. Wasn’t she at all horrified by any of this? “Just give me a moment to take it all in,” she went on, staring up at him, studying his face. “My brother. We have the same hair.” She smiled. “It’s a wonder I never noticed. And the same square chin.”

She touched his chin and her smile increased. “Another brother. Oh, my. You do know that, like Sarah and me, James is also a half-sibling. But we love one another as much as any full siblings could. It’s all right,” she repeated when he did not return her smile. “It will be all right. I know what sort of man my father was—our father.”

Marsh steeled himself.
Just tell her. Tell her the rest of it and get it over with
. “No, Olivia. You don’t know what he was like.” He released her hands, bracing himself. “Nobody knew the whole truth about him.”

She frowned. “I know he was charming and selfish, and that he broke my mother’s heart more than once—and mine as well. No doubt he did the same to your mother and you. Tell me, did he acknowledge you at all? Did he at least provide for you and your mother?”

Marsh gritted his teeth. “Passage to America and a hundred pounds.”

She sighed. “I suppose that’s why you’ve come back here. To confront him.”

He nodded.

“Only he was dead.” She turned her hands to grasp his and squeezed. “How you must have hated all of us when you found out.”

Marsh was momentarily nonplussed. “Yes,” he admitted. “At first I did. Only…only I don’t hate you anymore. I couldn’t. Not once I met Sarah.”

She smiled at that, a sweet, sincere smile that floored him. She was more concerned with Sarah’s happiness than with the repercussions of her father’s perfidy. Like a brilliant light, that smile lit all the darkest places in Marsh’s soul, and he suddenly realized the truth, the unexpected, satisfying truth.

He was not going to tell her that their father was a bigamist. He could not do that to her. This woman was his sister, his closest living relative. She loved Sarah just as much as he did, and so he must love her in return. Not that he expected it to be a difficult task. But loving her meant protecting her as he would have protected his mother—or his wife. She was his sister and he would protect her from anyone, even himself.

He rose, his heart lightened and his purpose fixed. “Come, Livvie—may I call you that?”

“Of course you may. You’re my brother. Marsh.”

She rose and took his proffered arm, and together they headed for the house. It was so easy to walk beside her, to adjust his longer stride to match her eager one. But she halted in front of the French doors. “Wait a minute. Aren’t you going to ask me if you can marry Sarah?” She stared at him with her brows expectantly arched.

He grinned. He couldn’t seem to stop grinning. He was going to learn to love this sister very much. “I am. If the stubborn witch will agree.”

Olivia laughed. “Oh, I’m certain you’ll find a way to convince her.” She patted his arm. “However, the last thing you need right now is an audience. Wait here. Let me make sure she’s alone before I send you in to her.”

Sarah paced the main hall in agitation. From towering fireplace, to window ell, to the ancient stone dais, she made the circuit. Once. Twice. A dozen times.

It would be all right.

She shook her head. It would never be right again.

But the truth was always better than a lie.

Hah! Only for those who benefited from the truth.

But wouldn’t she be the one to most benefit?

After her sudden departure from the dining room, he must suspect that she was pregnant. And if he didn’t, Olivia had probably already told him. She knew Marsh well enough to believe that no matter what else passed between him and Olivia, he would still do right by his child.

He would insist upon marrying her. He would save her from social ruin and protect their baby as well. And he would protect her family from the shame—and the disappointment—of her recklessness.

She wrapped her arms around her stomach. She knew what she must tell him, and she knew how he would respond. She ought to be so happy, but still she was afraid.

Because she loved him. And because she knew he would still do right by her, even if he didn’t love her.

It was enough to break a body’s heart.

Then he was there. She had only an instant of warning. The determined tread of his leather heels on the hard slate floor; the solid thud of ancient door meeting ancient doorframe as he closed it behind him.