The English Heiress (19 page)

“She has very good taste,” Leonie said to Roger after ordering the little dog to lie down on the floor under the bed. “I think that cap would make a good dog bed too.”

“You look much better without it,” Roger agreed stiffly, still looking out of the window. “I chose it to cover up your hair, not to improve your appearance.”

Leonie looked at his rigid back in surprise. Until now, Roger had always responded to her teasing with laughter. He enjoyed a joke, even against himself. She had noticed that he had been very quiet all through dinner, but she had assumed that was caution.

“I did not mean to criticize your choices,” she said softly. “I was only joking. Don’t be angry.”

“I’m not angry,” Roger snapped, appalled at his tone as the words emerged.

“You don’t sound very happy,” Leonie responded evenly. “If I have done something to annoy you I wish you would tell me, because I am truly unaware of it. I am very sensible of how much you have done for me and very truly do not wish to anger you in any way.”

“I’m not angry,” Roger repeated even more furiously, then took a breath. “Sorry,” he said shortly but no longer so sharply, “I am not angry at you, Leonie. It is nothing to do with you.”

“That cannot be true,” Leonie pointed out soberly. “Anything that has happened or will happen here has to do with me. If it were not for my family, you would not be here. Surely,” she added, striving for lightness, “you did not suddenly remember that you neglected to snuff the candles in your home and have burned down you house in England. And even that would have to do with me, you know, because if you had not come away in such a hurry to rescue me, you would not have forgotten to snuff the candles.”

She did not achieve her purpose of making Roger laugh. He did not answer, only leaned forward to press his forehead against the windowpane. Everything she did and said made her more desirable. She was the sweetest and most gallant woman he had ever come across, and he could no longer believe her sweetness was a pretense. But that goodness and the abuse she had suffered made any approach to her unthinkable. He thought wildly that there must be a whore in town, that if he could ease himself possibly he could stop hurting Leonie by his peculiar and inexplicable behavior. Then he realized he could not do that. There was no money to be wasted on such a purpose. Besides, how could he find a woman? What would be thought if a man with a young and beautiful wife went out to seek a whore? Roger groaned aloud.

“What is wrong?” Leonie begged, coming up behind him and laying a hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t touch me!” Roger snarled.

Slowly Leonie backed away. She was again in the grip of the dichotomy that had seized her in the tunnel. She wanted Roger, but could neither offer herself nor endure the thought that he might ask her to give herself. He felt her hand drop away and heard the reluctant steps on the uncarpeted floor. He did not know that it was unwillingness to obey him that made her move so slowly. To Roger the slow, hesitating withdrawal seemed like that of a wild creature, caught at the edge of the woods, which edges away a step at a time so that its movements will not incite the stalking hunter to act before a last, swift leap can take it safe into shelter.

Roger turned around. “I’m sorry to have frightened you,” he said harshly, then shrugged. “I’ll go out. I can say we quarreled if someone asks. I’ll sit out on the stairs until the bar closes and then sleep on a bench in the taproom. No one will be able to seize you. I will watch.”

“No!” Leonie go out. “I am not afraid of you. I have told you so again and again. I—I am only trying to think what is best to do.”

“I could give you the money and the horse and carriage,” he snapped bitterly.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Leonie snapped back. “How could it be better for you to be abandoned here penniless and for me to be all alone too?”

“It couldn’t. That’s why I didn’t suggest it. And since we cannot separate, you must just try to forgive me and put up with my bad temper.”

“And you? What must you put up with?”

Roger looked at her, somewhat startled. The voice was harder than he had ever heard from Leonie, but her expression was not that of a coquette. She looked anxious and concerned. He dropped his eyes. It was not really safe for him to look at her too long.

“You need not worry about me,” he said grimly. “One thing I know how to endure is wanting what I cannot have.”

There was a little silence. Leonie half turned away. “There is no real reason for you to endure.” She whispered at last. “I have nothing to lose and—and I would not—would not resist you.”

“Leonie!” Roger exclaimed. He was appalled at what he had said, as the sick self-pity, the insidious demand of such a statement. Leonie misinterpreted the recoil in his voice. Color flamed into her face and she turned back to him abruptly, her eyes flying defiantly to his. However, the contempt she feared was not there, only an expression of wonder.

“You are the sweetest, most generous—” He laughed. “But don’t—I beg you, don’t make such offers. I could not. You know I couldn’t take such advantage of you.”

Leonie did not know whether she wanted to weep with gratitude or slap Roger’s face with frustration. He had turned back to look out the window again. Now what was she to do, Leonie wondered? Such nobility was marvelous, but it was also placing her in a dreadful position. Leonie knew what she wanted but she could not formulate the terms upon which she wanted it.

“There arises a question of sleeping,” Leonie pointed out.

“In the bed for you, on the floor for me,” Roger replied promptly without changing his position.

“It’s not fair,” Leonie cried.

Roger could not help laughing. Strangely, he was suffering less since Leonie had offered herself to him—although not in body. There matters were worse, and his steady stare out the window resulted as much from a nervous fear that even his coat would not hide his condition, as from the need to avoid looking at Leonie, who was causing the condition. He ached with need physically, but he did not feel ashamed and miserable as he used to when Solange refused him. He could laugh.

“In a way it is fair,” he replied. “I know this morning I said I would prefer to sleep in a bed, but at least I remember what it is like. You claim to have forgotten even that.”

“You know I was only joking,” Leonie protested.

“Yes, well,” Roger laughed again. “You wish to be kind, but I assure you I will sleep sounder and quieter on the floor than in that bed with you in it also.”

Leonie was silent. She knew which emotion predominated now. She wanted to wring Roger’s neck. There was no sense in offering to sleep on the floor instead of him. He would only laugh at her some more.

“I suppose I had better go to bed, then,” she said at last. “We will want to be up and awake early.”

“Shall I go out while you make ready?”

That was the ultimate in stupid questions, Roger thought, the minute he had asked it. And when Leonie promptly replied that it was not necessary, he silently ground his teeth. What else could she say, after she had assured him she was not afraid of him? And what was wrong with him? Surely over those bitter years with Solange he had learned the techniques that reduced longing and frustration to a minimum. Why the devil had he not simply said he would go out, instead of phrasing it as a question. Now he had to listen to her movements, hear the whisper of cloth as her dress and shift were removed, the two soft taps that marked her shoes being set on the floor. And each step baring her body was vivid in his mind’s eye while he stared blindly into the darkness outside the window.

Without intending provocation, Leonie was slower about undressing than she might have been because her mind was busy. Obviously there was no need to worry about Roger demanding payment from her for his services. That question had been settled in Leonie’s mind for all time. She had offered, and he had refused—making it clear that he understood what was being offered. Now only the other side of the problem remained. If Roger would not take her, thus leaving her blameless, how was she to get him without making herself seem a strumpet?

Sighing, Leonie slid under the blankets. Roger heard the creak of the bed and clenched his jaw. After a moment, Leonie said softly, “I forgot to snuff the candle.”

Without replying, Roger doused the light. In the dark he removed his coat and shoes, took his cloak from where it lay across the traveling bag, and moved toward the window.

“Take one of the pillows,” Leonie urged, a catch in her voice.

As he took the bolster she held out to him, their hands touched and a wave of urgent need surged through Leonie. His fingers seemed to cling, but maybe she only wanted to believe that. Suddenly she was afraid that if she did not get him to make love to her that night, a pattern of resistance would be set. Also, Leonie realized, no matter how kind Roger was, he would not willingly inflict suffering on himself. Doubtless as soon as they got to Lord Gower, he would leave her in the English ambassador’s care and get away where she could not tempt him. She heard him lying down as far from the bed as he could get. A rush of loneliness made her sob.

“What’s wrong, Leonie?”

“I don’t know,” she wept. “I can’t bear that you should be on the floor.”

“I don’t mind,” Roger said after a pause. “Truly, it’s—it’s better for me.”

Leonie only sobbed harder. His voice sounded calm now, as if he were already sinking into acceptance of the situation, making headway in destroying the craving he felt for her. He would leave her when he believed she was in safe hands without even any regret. Perhaps he would be ashamed of what he had felt. He might avoid her when she was in England. She might never see him again.

“I am so alone,” she whimpered.

“It’s all right, Leonie. Don’t cry. Don’t be frightened. I’ll go out. Bolt the door behind me. You will be perfectly safe.”

“No!” Leonie cried. “You don’t understand.”

How could the man be so blind, Leonie wondered. Why did he keep insisting she was afraid of him when she told him over and over that she was not? Then, quite suddenly, the answer came to her. It was because of what Marot and the others had done! Roger thought she was afraid of all men, that any man would hurt her the same way. Yes, of course, he had said what amounted to that in the tunnel that first night.

But that was ridiculous. She had—but Roger did not know about Louis. And she had been afraid at first when Louis said he wanted her. She had been in a cold sweat, shaking with terror, fighting herself to endure him for the sake of her mother and brother. Only Louis had not hurt her, and as time passed, she grew quite accustomed and indifferent. But Roger did not know that either. All at once a solution to her dilemma came to Leonie. She choked, strangling a laugh at birth, and heard Roger sit up.

“No, I don’t understand,” he said tensely. “Leonie, I can’t bear to hear you cry. If you could tell me what you need, I’ll try—”

“I need you.”

“What?”

“I’m not afraid of you,” Leonie whispered. “I don’t know why, but I’m not. Perhaps it’s because in the tunnel you didn’t hurt me. But when I lay down in this bed meant for two and I thought of sharing it with a man… I am alone. I will be alone all my life unless you help me.”

“Child, I’ll do anything to help you, anything. Just—”

“I am not a child,” Leonie wailed. “I am a woman, and I will never know what it is to be a woman because I am afraid.”

Roger had gotten to his feet and taken an uncertain step toward the bed. He halted abruptly when Leonie said she was afraid.

“I am afraid also,” he whispered huskily. “I am afraid to leave you alone in your misery and afraid to do you more hurt still.”

“I am not afraid of you,” Leonie urged. “Teach me not to be afraid of that. Teach me, Roger. Help me.”

He moved quickly then, but only to kneel beside the bed and take her in his arms. “I’m likely to be a very poor teacher,” he said painfully. “I only taught my wife to hate me.”

Leonie gasped. She had known it was likely that Roger was married, but the confirmation of her fear still hurt. The slight stiffening of her body had an instant effect on Roger, who loosened his grip. Loss washed over Leonie, and physical need reinforced it so that she protested, “No, don’t let me go. Will your wife—”

“She’s dead.”

There was something odd in Roger’s voice, but Leonie could not think about that. She had heard what she wanted to hear. Roger was a free man, and her growing desire swept away all other considerations. “See,” she murmured, putting her arms around Roger’s neck, “I’m not afraid. I’m not cold or shaking. Come into bed with me?”

He hesitated, then moved so that he could sit beside her without pulling completely free of her arms. “Are you sure?”

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Roger knew quite well that what he was doing was not only outrageous but stupid. He felt that it was Leonie’s generosity that was driving her to make a sacrifice of her body. She was too young for him and too rich. He should never have admitted his need to her because it was the kind of need that grew with satisfaction. He was only making more grief for himself. But the desire for her was coursing through his body with his blood like fire. And there was just barely enough possibility that what she said was true. If it was true and he refused her, that would be the ultimate cruelty.