The Wild Child (28 page)

“They won’t believe that unless they hear me with their own ears.”

He bit off an oath, knowing she was right. If he claimed that she talked to him without offering proof, the ladies would think his wits were disordered.

“You may want to deny change, but what if you are with child? It’s possible, and pregnancy is not something that can be ignored. If you bear a baby outside of marriage, it would be a social outcast because of our immoral behavior. Would you want that?”

She gasped and laid a hand on her belly, as if she had not considered the possibility. He had a brief, crazed vision of her choosing to marry Kyle, then bearing Dominic’s son as heir to Wrexham. That would certainly be a younger son’s vengeance for the injustice of fate.

Wrapping her arms around her knees again, she began to rock like a distraught child. He swore at himself for upsetting her. Even more, for letting this situation develop. The opium couldn’t have affected him if he’d had the sense to stay away from her.

He left the window and knelt beside her, petting her bare arm comfortingly. “I’m sorry for alarming you, sprite. If you aren’t with child—and probably you’re not—your life can stay just as it is now. I will leave, and you’ll forget me soon.” Though he was painfully aware that he would not forget her.

“No!” Her head whipped up, and she stared at him. “Can’t you be my business manager? I can be as discreet as any old widow.”

The idea was dangerously tempting. To be with Meriel without incurring the wrath of his family, or the rest of the world… but it wasn’t possible. “That’s not good enough, Meriel. I want us to hold our heads up before God and country, not hide in the shadows like adulterers.”

“It shouldn’t matter what others think!” she said passionately.

She had the soul of an aristocrat, or a democrat, he wasn’t sure which. “Unless you live alone in a cave, other people’s opinions matter.” He caught her gaze, wanting to impress her with his words. “The choice is yours, Meriel. You can refuse to marry anyone, and have your life of freedom. Or you can marry me.”

He swallowed hard. “Or Kyle, or some other man. But I will not be your illicit lover.”

She closed her eyes, as if she could block out his words. With her hair pulled back and the skin taut over her cheekbones, she no longer looked like a child. She was a woman, and tired. “I don’t want you to go,” she whispered. “But I… I need time to accept so many changes. Will you not grant me that?”

“We have a little time, until my brother returns from his journey.” He opened his arms, and she leaned into his embrace. “Perhaps another fortnight. By then you might know whether or not you are with child.”

Meriel sighed and rested her head against him. Overwhelmed with tenderness, he brushed a silken tendril of hair back from her temple. She was like a butterfly emerging from a chrysalis, horrendously vulnerable but determined to survive in a strange new world. He could only imagine how much courage that took.

He bent and gave her what was intended to be a comforting kiss. Her head tilted back and her lips molded to his. As he felt the first stirrings of arousal, he had a brief, fierce battle with his conscience. What was wrong earlier was wrong still, and this time he didn’t have the excuse of opium to haze his judgment.

She slid one hand under his loose shirt. “At dinner, I liked knowing that beneath your gentleman’s garb, you wear my mehndi on your skin.”

As her fingers fluttered teasingly across his chest, his resolve wavered. Their situation could hardly be worsened from what it was now. And gods above, he wanted so much to make love to her, body and soul, to show her the depth of his caring.

He pulled the sari from her shoulder and kissed the graceful henna lines that curved around her breasts. The designs were so primitive, so un-English. They made it easier to forget the world of rules and strictures that lay outside their sanctuary.

With his tongue, he began to trace the mehndi down her body, tasting the faint salt of her skin as he inhaled the intoxicating fragrance of rose perfume. Her choked gasps were the richest of aphrodisiacs. This time when they came together, both were fully aware of what they did. Meriel had decided to sleep in the tree house, to avoid the leave-taking of Wrexham and Lucia in the morning. Dominic would have liked to stay with her, but better not to draw attention to his whereabouts during the night. He drew her into one last kiss before descending the ladder, murmuring, “Sleep well, sprite.”

“I’ll dream of you,” she said with a soft laugh. “Dominic.” It was the first time she had called him by his given name. Hearing the word on her lips made departure feel as if he were chopping off a vital part of himself.

Even worse was walking alone through the night, haunted by a terrible fear that never again would they be so close.

Chapter 26

As Lucia hugged Dominic, she said under her breath, “Well done, Dom. You look so stern this morning, I almost thought you really were Kyle.”

He grinned as he released her. “Try to behave yourself, little sister.”

She widened her eyes with mock innocence, then turned to offer effusive farewells to her hostesses. Guests and ladies were gathered beside the Wrexham coach, with the Warfield residents uniformly eager to see the earl go. As the departure rituals were observed, Dominic gave silent thanks that no one had mentioned the awkwardness of the previous evening’s dinner.

His gratitude was premature. After formally thanking the ladies for their hospitality, his father turned to him. Keeping his voice down, he asked, “Did you catch that little minx and give her a lesson in courtesy last night?”

For a paralyzed moment, Dominic’s mind played pictures of the lessons actually learned. Collecting himself, he answered, “I explained the need to conform to society’s expectations. I believe my words may have had some effect.”

“I hope so.” The earl shook his head, his expression troubled. “I don’t hesitate to say that I am having grave doubts about this marriage. I know Amworth said the girl was normal once, but she certainly isn’t now. I can’t see her as the Countess of Wrexham, nor the mother of a future earl. Perhaps the betrothal should be ended.”

Dominic felt a surge of pure fury. How dare his father treat Meriel first as a rich orphan to be exploited, then as a madwoman with no value or feelings? Barely in time, he reined in his anger and said in his flattest voice, “For me to withdraw from the betrothal would be a grave breach of honor.”

“Yes, but all along the understanding has been that the girl must be willing. Surely you can persuade her to change her mind.” The earl gave a raucous laugh. “See that a handsome stableboy is hired. One lusty enough to hold her attention so you can bow out gracefully.”

“You appall me, sir,” Dominic said icily.

The earl squinted at him nearsightedly. “Where is your humor, boy? You can’t think I was serious. She may be mad, but she’s a lady still. Deserves better than a stableboy, even if she isn’t fit to be a countess.”

Dominic swallowed, sensing that he was very close to giving himself away. “My apologies, sir. Lady Meriel inspires… protectiveness.”

“Obviously,” the earl grunted. “Do your best, Maxwell. I want no scandals, but I shan’t weep if the girl decides against marriage.”

Ironically, on this issue Wrexham and Meriel were in accord. “I have no more wish for scandal than you, sir,” Dominic said woodenly. “Have a safe journey.”

As he watched his father turn to the coach, Dominic felt a sudden, overwhelming urge to ask the question that had gnawed at him for half a lifetime. When he was younger, he hadn’t dared ask, and in more recent years he hadn’t had the opportunity. Using Kyle’s inflections with extra care, he asked,

“Why did you send my brother and me to different schools?”

Wrexham halted, frowning. “Why the devil do you ask that now?”

“I’ve always wondered.” Which was true, even if little else Dominic had said today was the truth.

“You were too close to each other. If you’d gone to Eton together, you’d have ended up with only one life between you.” the earl said gruffly. “That would have been bad for you, and worse for your brother. You needed to be separated while you were still young enough to make other friends.”

Dominic’s lips thinned as he thought of the misery he’d endured the first terms at his school. “Did it ever occur to you how painful that would be?”

Weary regret showed in his father’s cataract-hazed eyes. “How could I not know, the way the two of you carried on? Your brother never forgave me, and I’ve often suspected that you haven’t, either. But I was right to do it. Even your mother agreed.” With a curt nod, he climbed inside the coach and settled onto the velvet-covered seat.

Lucia bounced in after him in a flurry of laughter and billowing skirts. The earl’s face relaxed into the smile that he reserved for her alone. His daughter had never given him the trouble his sons had. A footman closed the door, cutting off Dominic’s sight of his family, and the coach started down the long driveway. He stood beside the ladies, mechanically waving good-bye as his thoughts churned. His mother had agreed to the separation? That was news; he’d assumed that it was done over her objections because she had wept for her sons’ parting. But she was a warmhearted woman, and could have wept for their misery while agreeing that separation was for the best. She’d died not long after his departure.

To his shock, he realized that he had to concede that his father had been right to separate them. When it happened he’d felt only the pain, but by the time he entered the army, he’d reached the same conclusion as Wrexham: that he must build an independent life, out of his brother’s shadow. It was hard to admit that the earl was right. Even harder was accepting that his harsh, domineering father had acted from genuine concern rather than casual cruelty. * * *

How could things be so much the same, yet utterly changed? For three days, Meriel and Renbourne had gone on morning rides and worked in the gardens together, usually under the amiable eye of Kamal. Yet everything was… different. Meriel no longer burned with vague, unfocused lust; now that she knew what it was like to join her body with his, passion was deeper and far more compelling. They were pruning the topiary again; it was a job that never ended. She knelt beside one of the hounds so that she could shape the outstretched paws. Feeling Renbourne’s gaze, she glanced up and saw that he was watching her, his eyes grave.

Softly, so that Kamal wouldn’t hear, she whispered, “Dominic.”

His face lit up with a smile of dazzling intimacy. She caught her breath, wanting to pull him down to the fragrant turf and swarm all over him, biting and rolling and kissing until they were covered in grass stains and he was thrusting into her, his eyes blind with need and his heart hammering against hers. Instead, pulse pounding, she lowered her gaze and chopped off an unruly sprig of yew. For three days she’d thought of him constantly, battling the temptation to seduce him out of his good intentions. She doubted that he would reject her if she slipped into his bed at night. But she had controlled her impulses, rather to her surprise. Though she did not agree with his position, it would be very bad to tempt him to betray his notions of honor. Wryly she recognized a significant change—she was behaving with maturity. Being an irresponsible madwoman was simpler, and much more amusing.

Luckily she had soon learned that she was not with child. She knew little of babies, and was certainly not ready to face the complications pregnancy would bring.

She sighed. For years she’d been quite content with her life, reveling in armloads of blossoms, and fertile soil between her toes, and nature’s glorious, ever-changing panorama. Now contentment had been supplanted by a hunger for a man in her bed.

But the man wished to wed, and gratifying her desires would come only at a terrifyingly high price. She’d had nightmares every night since their tryst, waking with pounding heart and fragmentary memories of fire and screams and pain. There was no mystery about the dreams; they represented her terror of the outside world she had fled.

Would it be possible to marry and still stay safe at War-field? Or would there be ever-increasing pressures to “take her place in the world”? To be Lady Meriel, heiress of Warfield, with a London town house and a presentation at court? Ever since arriving, Renbourne had been hell-bent on persuading her to try new ventures. She hadn’t minded in the case of riding, but leaving Warfield was quite a different matter.

She slanted a glance at Renbourne, who was stretching up to prune the head of a leaping topiary horse. Such lovely long, taut muscles. He gave her joy unlike any she had ever known. She even trusted him—to a point.

But the nightmares had come with flames and dark, unintelligible messages of betrayal. Why, she didn’t understand, but over the years wariness had become part of her. Though she trusted Renbourne as a lover, even her lust-addled heart could not quite make the leap to trusting her life and Warfield to his hands.

And without that trust, there could be no marriage.

Dominic accepted a sherry from Mrs. Marks with a quip, then glanced at the doorway to see if Meriel had arrived for dinner. Four days had passed since they’d made love, and the time had dragged like four years. The night before, he’d woken sweating from a fevered dream of intimately twined bodies, and barely restrained himself from going through the moonlit corridor to her room. As promised, Meriel had continued silent, except for an occasional flick of words meant for his ears alone. He wondered if she recognized that each time she did that, he was stricken with paralyzing lust that faded with excruciating slowness.

Yet tormenting though it was to be near her all day without touching, it was better than not seeing her at all. Uneasily he was aware that time was running out. He would wait two or three days more before asking Meriel if she was coming to terms with the idea of marriage. Several times he’d caught her regarding him wistfully, as if he were only a memory. That didn’t bode well, for he would have to leave if she still refused to marry him.

He heard a sound outside the salon, not Meriel’s light footsteps but the heavy strides of a grown man. The butler? No, too solid and arrogant. Probably a visitor; he’d never seen such a house for people arriving unannounced. Still, he’d survived Amworth and Wrexham, so he should be all right. A travel-stained man of middle years swept into the room, shadowed by two equally travel-stained footmen, who silently took position against the wall. Tall and powerfully built, the newcomer carried himself like a soldier. His furious gaze raked over the three people in the salon. “What is the meaning of this?”