What a Lady Demands (15 page)

He leaned forward and licked the salt from her cheek. “God help me, I do.”

“I never thought…never expected…” A sob choked her words, and she buried her face against his chest.

His heartbeat accelerated, and not for any pleasant reason this time. “What is it? What have I said?”

“No, no.” She sniffed. “That was beautiful. You’ve made me feel beautiful.”

“You are beautiful.” He brushed the hair back from her forehead, and pressed his lips to her temple. “Why shouldn’t you feel beautiful without me having to tell you?”

She shook her head slowly, eyes wide, as if she could not believe what he was saying. “You don’t know.”

“What don’t I know? Is this about Anstruther? Did he rob you of your innocence?”

She ran her fingers along the speckling of white scar tissue that dotted his left hip and thigh, a permanent reminder of the grapeshot that had nearly been his end. “We all bear our scars. Some are more visible than others.”

He kissed the top of her head. “Some of us bear both kinds.”

She tugged at her lower lip with her teeth. Under different circumstances he might have found the gesture endearing, but she somehow looked simply desperate. “I told you before, no one robbed me of my innocence. Anstruther might have protected me in his way. I was ruined long before I became involved with him. I’m sorry. You said you did not wish to spoil things, but I don’t know how else to explain without telling you every last sordid detail.”

He settled his head back against the pillows, and let the truth wash over him. Yes, she had just proclaimed herself broken. He was about to discover just how broken she meant. A hot surge of emotion erupted in him and seethed through his veins. Anger? Yes, he
was
angry, damn it, but, shockingly, not with her. Never with her.

Some man had wronged her, a man he’d already met on his ride today. He didn’t need the details so much as confirmation. When he had that much, he’d ruin the bastard, just as he was doing to Battencliffe. Slowly, surely, he’d seek the scoundrel out, and he wouldn’t rest until the blackguard begged for mercy.

“Was it Eversham?”

She glanced away. “Yes.”

He placed his fingers under her chin and raised her gaze to his. “The truth now.” He’d never meant it more. Never had it been so important, but not for the usual reasons. Cecelia had been hurt—even Lind could see that much—and he needed to know.

“His name was Alistair Eversham, and I was sixteen when I met him at a house party we were both attending.” She said it plainly, the words flat and detached. Simple facts.

“Good God. Were you sixteen when he ruined you?”

She closed her eyes and nodded.

“And how long did it take him from when you were introduced to when he seduced you?”

She kept her eyes closed. “Less than a week,” she whispered.

His hand closed into a fist about her hair, and she winced. “Forgive me. You…you’re not going to tell me this was your fault, are you?”

“But it was, don’t you see? Something about him intrigued me. I hadn’t even met him properly yet when I followed him out on the terrace. He was with another young lady, but it didn’t take him long to notice me watching the pair of them. I get the feeling he made a great show of kissing her for my benefit. And then…then…”

“Then what?”

“He asked me if I’d like to join them.”

“Good God.” He wrapped his hands about a pillow and squeezed, pretending it was Eversham’s neck. How he wished he had the man here to answer for his sins. Lind would have taken great pleasure in throttling the bastard. “Please tell me you didn’t.”

“I didn’t know such a thing was possible.” She didn’t add
then
but she didn’t need to. The word still echoed at the end of her statement.

“And yet you let him…”

“He was very persuasive, and I was very, very curious. Even watching him with the other young lady, I…well, I didn’t quite know what desire and lust were, but that didn’t stop me from having the feelings. But once he’d had me, well, he had me in more ways than one.”

Lind definitely did not like what she was implying with that last. “I think you’d better clarify.”

“I was ruined before I was even out in society. That gave him something to hold over my head. And as I said, he was persuasive. On multiple occasions. And he talked me into doing…things.”

Lind closed his eyes and recalled the exquisite sensation of her lips wrapped about his cock, the clever way she’d used her tongue to tease his shaft, her hands on his bollocks. Bold and expert. Practiced. He ripped at the pillow again, and in his mind, he was no longer wringing Eversham’s neck. He was removing a far more sensitive part of the man’s anatomy.

“Did he ever force you?” Lind grated. He didn’t want to know, yet it was imperative he find out the truth.

“He didn’t have to when he could use other means of convincing me.”

He ought to have experienced relief at that admission. Instead a fresh wave of anger seethed through him. “And what other means were those?”

She stared at him for a moment, incredulous he’d ask such an obvious question. “He threatened to expose me, naturally.”

“That is just as bad as forcing you. You were not willing.”

“But I complied with every last one of his wishes.”

“He mentioned something about those,” Lind said carefully. Part of him had to know, damn it, had to know the extent of what that bastard had made her do. “Something about enjoying the infliction of pain.”

She looked away, a wash of pink flowing across her cheeks. “I wish I could say he was lying. He wasn’t, not completely.”

He paused in the midst of raising his fingers to tangle into her hair. “Explain.”

She met his gaze, head-on, a challenge as ever. “Don’t misunderstand.
He
talked me into beating him. However perverse it may sound, he enjoyed it. I hated what he made me do, but sometimes…Sometimes I let my hatred fuel my blows. The only problem was, he liked that even better. Knowing it only made me hate myself all the more.”

“It’s over now.” This time he did tangle his fingers in her hair and draw her head to his shoulder. Her lithe body settled into the protection of his arms. If only that simple gesture could erase her past and calm the churning sensation in his gut. If only change were so easy. “You got away from him.”

“No, that’s just the problem. I haven’t got away from him. He sent me a letter, letting me know in no uncertain terms that he’s not finished with me. I told you about the ring. If he comes back here, I don’t know what I’ll do. He’ll expose the entire scandal.”

“Let him come. I will take a great deal of pleasure in disposing of his sorry life as slowly as I can devise.”

She pulled out of his arms to stare at him openmouthed. Good God almighty, he’d shocked himself with the vehemence of that statement. He stared at his hands, which he’d somehow clenched into fists. “I’ve no patience for men who use young ladies that way.”

“I’m glad you believe me.” She sounded relieved, but he wasn’t quite sure he wanted to witness the confirmation in her eyes. The hope.

He’d bared himself to her in more than one way just now, unexpectedly. She hadn’t flinched at the visual evidence of the extent of his injuries, but he wasn’t ready to face the rawness of the feelings he’d opened and recognized within himself since…Well, since this afternoon.

He’d meant to fire her, and he’d ended up sharing himself with her in a way he’d done with no one since his wife died. How the hell had that happened?

And worse, he didn’t want to let her go. But he had to in one sense, at least.

Swallowing, he reached out and brushed a strand of hair back from her forehead. “We still need to have a very serious discussion, now that all this has come to light. I cannot keep you on as a governess.”

“What?” she shrieked. In a flash, she jumped from the bed, taking the sheet with her. She tucked it about her breasts. “Was this your plan all along to get proof of my scandalous behavior? You thought to seduce me yourself?”

She picked up a pillow and bashed him about the face with it. Hard.

“Wait, let me finish.” He yanked the pillow away, and struggled to his feet, keeping the mattress between them. The distance seemed prudent, a sort of no-man’s-land, however small. Odd, but he’d always considered his bed overly large for one person, yet now it looked nowhere near wide enough. “You cannot remain here as Jeremy’s governess, under the circumstances.”

“And yet no one is here to dismiss you as his father, and you’ve been engaging in the very sort of scandalous behavior I have. You invited me into your bed, in fact.”

“I am not going to argue over who began things between us.”

She swiped a wayward hank of hair out of her eyes. “You started this most recent round, at any rate. But you’re right, it doesn’t matter. I’m beginning to think my sister-in-law has a point when she claims it’s always the woman’s fault. Because you’re standing here ready to turn me out over everything that’s happened.”

Her eyes glittered, and she looked ready to go a few more rounds battering him with the bedding. And damn it all, her weapon of choice may only be comprised of goose feathers and cotton, but she stood a good chance of bludgeoning him to death no matter what, given the force behind the blows.

“If you will come out of that high dudgeon and allow me to finish. I have not said a word about sending you off. Under the circumstances, such an act is unconscionable.”

She turned her head and studied him from the corner of her eye. “What does that mean?”

“It means I see no choice but to make you an offer. For your own protection.”

The carpeting seemed to sway beneath Cecelia’s feet. “What did you say?” she asked faintly.

“I see no way out of this situation other than to marry you.”

“Me? You want to marry me?” Her heart slammed into her ribs, hampering her breathing. Odd how she felt that when she couldn’t even feel the tips of her fingers. “When I’m not even suitable to act as your governess, because I’m so scandalous and impure, but you’re willing to
marry
me?”

He scrubbed a hand down his chin. “Is it necessary to phrase it in that manner?”

“Can you think of something better? You’re the last person I’d expect to require a coat of sugar to sweeten the truth.”

“I believe marriage is the most reasonable solution here.” He raised a knee and settled it on the mattress, while holding out a hand in what he must consider a placating manner. “You haven’t had a champion for years. Your father died when you were still in the schoolroom and your brother was gone. Who is going to protect you from Eversham if I do not?”

“I don’t know.” She glanced about the room and gave an offhand half shrug. “You seemed happy enough earlier to leave the matter up to my brother.”

“That would mean confessing to him the nature of your relationship with Eversham. Do you want to do that?”

“No more than I wanted to do it for you. On the other hand, Alexander might decide to call him out, and that might just rid me of one very large problem.”

“And if Eversham is a better shot? Would you want to put your sister-in-law through such an ordeal? Not to mention the rest of your family? But if we marry and Eversham continues to make threats against your person, I can call him out. And I like to think I am rather a good shot. I’ve the experience for it.”

Experience, indeed. The evidence of that experience stared her in the face. A network of twisted scars marked his hip and thigh, marring his former perfection. Good Lord, the agony he must have endured. And he wished to revisit that particular form of danger? For her, no less?

“What sort of example would you be setting for Jeremy?”

With a wave of his hand, he pushed that question aside. “Ignoring the Eversham situation for a moment, there is the small matter of what has just transpired between the two of us. We’ve taken no precautions. Should you find yourself with child…”

She blinked. If she had to, she knew what to do to restore her courses. Eversham had made certain of that, even if, with him, the possibility never came up. Pregnancy was far less of a risk when he preferred her to flog him until she’d raised bloody welts across his back.

Heavens, and she’d been ready to strike Lind just now with the pillow. A sudden spate of nausea churned in her stomach. She hadn’t changed a bit. She wasn’t over Eversham and all he’d done to her, not in the slightest.

“You will not have to concern yourself.” She stared at the floor. “I cannot imagine why anyone would wish to marry me, tainted as I am.”

“Do you believe me pure?” he asked quietly. “If you knew anything about my first marriage, you’d run the other way. And in all fairness, I should, perhaps, give you some time to consider my proposal.”

She reached for her shed garments. “If you require nothing more…”

“Where are you going?” Good heavens, was that shock in his voice? She’d revealed all manner of sordid details today, and he chose to flinch at so mild a statement?

“Back to my quarters.” She leveled her gaze on him. “To consider.”

The corners of his lips turned down. He forced his fingers through his hair, not that the motion helped its disarray. “I thought…I mean, now that we…Damn it.”

“What?” She could barely believe his tongue was tripping over an invitation…No, she wouldn’t allow herself to hope, even if he had just proposed.

His mouth worked for a moment or two. “It’s just…” A sigh. “I’ve spent so many nights alone.”

“So have many in this world,” she pointed out softly.

“Yes, well…” His voice creaked like hinges rusty from disuse. “I thought you might stay with me.”

Cecelia tried to claim a spot on the mattress as far from Lind as possible, but even in sleep, the blasted man kept reaching for her. She knew he’d drifted off because his breathing came slow and even. Why she hadn’t risked running up the servants’ stairs to the top level of the house, disheveled and half-dressed, she wasn’t sure. Possibly it had something to do with the way in which he’d swallowed his considerable pride and asked her to stay. He’d worked hard enough to get the words out, certainly. It was most likely the closest she’d ever get to seeing him beg.

Blast her soft heart. She ought to have learned better than to give in to a man when he addressed her in pleading tones.

At some point, though, she must have slept because she woke deep in the night to find Lind muttering on his side of the bed. Not surprising he’d face a nightmare or two, given his experiences in the army. Of course, the way he ordered everyone about, he deserved it.

Now, on the other side of the mattress, Lind turned his head on the pillow. He raised an arm, like a man warding off a blow, and all the while he muttered under his breath.

Tentatively, she reached over to rub his shoulder. “Lind. Lind, wake up.”

It was no use. He didn’t listen to her in his sleep any better than when he was awake.

“Lind, how on earth do you intend to share your bed with anyone when you take on so?”

Still no result. Dash it.

She inched her way across the mattress and fitted her palm about the curve of his shoulder muscle. The bare flesh beneath her hand was slick with sweat.

“Lind.”

“Jeremy! No!” With that shout, he bolted upright, shaking off her hand, and staring blankly into the dark for several moments, his breathing labored.

She sat up and laid an arm across his back, resting her head on his shoulder. “It was just a dream. Do you know, that’s the first time I’ve ever heard you pronounce your son’s name?”

“What?” The vestiges of sleep roughened his reply.

“You said Jeremy’s name just now. It’s the first time I’ve ever heard you say it.”

He shook his head, like a man who just walked through a very large cobweb. “I did? I don’t remember.”

“You must have been dreaming about him. Do you dream of the accident?”

He stiffened under her touch. “I do not wish to discuss that day.”

And that was how this had all started. It was on the tip of her tongue to reply that perhaps he should, but she’d said something similar earlier to no avail. If she wanted to get the entire story out of him, she’d have to use a different strategy. “Before, you said something about being broken. What did you mean by that?”

“Isn’t that obvious?” he snapped, all signs of grogginess gone from his voice. “You’ve seen me now. All of me. You’ve seen the scars.”

“I have.” She’d seen and touched and kissed. The top of his thigh was an ugly, tangled knot of scar tissue, but the disfigurement did not stop there. The twisted ridges continued on his backside—she’d felt them beneath her palm when she pulled him to her as he thrust and thrust. His left side, extending upward to his chest, was peppered with little white pockmarks, as if someone had sprayed his skin with large drops of water that had somehow turned to ice and left a permanent frozen stain. “I once saw your perfection, and now I’ve seen your imperfection. It does not change my view of you.”

“Just as well.” A smile lay behind those words, even if she couldn’t see it in the dark. “Nothing will make those scars go away.”

“I don’t consider them to have broken you.” She settled her head back against the pillows, and Lind followed. “Most men would have died of such injuries. You did not.”

“I cannot walk as I once did. I cannot do many things.”

“You can still do what counts. You should consider yourself fortunate.”

He did not reply for a long time, and yet she knew from the increasing heaviness in the air about them that he had not drifted back to sleep. “Everyone wishes to tell me how fortunate I was to come back from Quatre Bras with my life, and not only that, my body more or less intact. I ought to have been able to return home and find everything as I had left it. You’d think that, wouldn’t you? Well?” he added when she didn’t reply right away. “Wouldn’t you?”

“I suppose so, yes.”

“Do you call it fortunate, then, that I survived only to come home and find my wife already with child?”

“What?” Surely Lydia must have known there were means to restoring her courses if she’d committed an indiscretion.

“Lydia was increasing. She must have been. The timing of Jeremy’s birth was all too suspect.”

You’re wrong when you say the whole sorry affair doesn’t involve the boy. It does. Closely.
Mrs. Carstairs’s words came back to her. She’d had no time to consider them, but they suddenly made frightening sense.

Cecelia gasped but quickly pressed a hand over her mouth to stop herself from voicing the conclusion aloud. If she were to protect the housekeeper, she must not let on that she’d had any inkling of this.

“You’re…you’re certain Jeremy cannot be yours?”

“I returned to my London townhouse to find Battencliffe on the premises.”

“Battencliffe?” The revelation rammed her in the gut and stole her breath. “Rowan Battencliffe?”

“Yes, my supposed friend. Because of our friendship, I assumed it was innocent, but when the boy came along less than nine months after I’d resumed relations with my wife, Lydia confessed.”

The final word of his statement echoed through the bedchamber like the tolling of a bell. Hardly sure what to reply, Cecelia held her breath and waited for him to go on.

“Do you call that fortunate?” he asked, the words low and intense and fast, as though he was trying to spit them out before he could change his mind. “Do you call it fortunate that this child is considered my heir and will inherit my estates? Do you call it fortunate that the only piece I have left of my wife belongs to another man? Do you call it fortunate that this child has difficulties with the most basic of tasks, and that I am to blame?” The final word echoed in the room.

“How can you be to blame for any of it?” Even given what she knew about Jeremy’s accident, she could not see how Lind might twist those events around to being his fault. Come to that, as long as he was laying blame, he held his wife strangely guiltless for a huge transgression. “Earlier you said no one was there.”

“Yes, I did,” he replied, his tone deceptively soft once more. “The servants came, it’s true. But I
should
have been there. I
should
have been the one to pull him out of the pond. It
should
have been me in that cold water, not Lydia. But it wasn’t, because I was physically unable to be there.”

Her heart swelled in her chest until her ribs became a vise, yet at the same time he gave her hope. He hurt, yes, but he also didn’t resent Jeremy for his very existence. He’d just implied he’d have saved the child, but maybe he’d have only acted to prevent Lydia from falling into the water.

“And brooding over your past will in no way bring Lydia back or change anything. The best you can do is move forward.” That statement was possibly the last thing he wanted to hear, given his agitation, but blast him, he needed to hear it, for Jeremy’s sake if nothing else. “You should do it for your son.”

He looked up, his eyes transforming the reflected moonlight to an inferno. “My son? My
son?
Have you heard a single thing I’ve said? He is
not
my son.”

“In all the ways that matter, he is.” She laid a hand on his shoulder, the flesh beneath her palm hot and trembling. “Whatever happened in the past, he’s been given into your care. He will inherit your estate. He’d be your son if you made him so.”

“And how do you expect me to manage that?”

“Everything I’ve been telling you from the beginning. Take an interest in his life. Teach him what you can. Show him what you do. I’ve seen the way he looks at you. That child idolizes you. Do you know the easiest way to make him happy?”

“No.” That single word emerged hoarse and broken.

“Acknowledge that. And let go the rest.
Nothing
you do will bring Lydia back, and it will not change Jeremy. If you want him to overcome his difficulties, you have to teach him that. You have to show him through your own example that it can be done.”

“How do you know anything about this?” His head turned on the pillow in disbelief.

“Easy. In a way, I’m just as broken as you are. Only my scars aren’t so visible. You might even say you and I are well matched.”

Cecelia disentangled herself from Lind’s arms and padded back to her chamber in the early dawn hours. Her body ached in the most intimate places, a reminder at every step of how her relationship with Lind had changed over the past day. By the time Jeremy was stirring, she’d downed a cup of tea and felt nearly human, enough so that she might envisage occupying a five-year-old for the rest of the day.

At least, she was in a state to plan their activities. Jeremy would certainly want a good look at his pony, even if riding was out of the question just yet.

But an interruption in the form of Smithers obstructed even a vague notion of stopping by the kitchens for carrots before visiting the stables. “There is a gentleman in the foyer asking for Miss Crump. His lordship has directed me to refer him to you.”

She followed the butler down the stairs to find a paunchy man inspecting a portrait of some Lindenhurst ancestor in the lower corridor. Wisps of gray hair stuck out at angles from beneath a lopsided bicorn hat, to mingle with his bushy side-whiskers. At Cecelia’s appearance, he tucked his hat beneath his arm, presented a leg, and bowed low over it. “Professor Treacher, at your service.”

In the face of such a display of outdated manners, Cecelia inclined her head, while suppressing a bubble of laughter at the name. “I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage. I’m certain you came here expecting Miss Crump, but she is no longer a member of Lord Lindenhurst’s staff.”

“Oh dear.” Professor Treacher twiddled his fingers before him. “And I’ve come such a long way. I was requested here to present one of my demonstrations.”