What a Lady Demands (19 page)

Cecelia stretched on the sheets and breathed in the musk of joining, Lind’s and her own. It permeated the room, and no wonder. They’d celebrated their wedding night in grand style, and she finally understood what it meant to feel not just filled, but fulfilled.

Every touch, every caress, every lick, every whispered word had sunk into an empty space inside her and swelled to fill the void. She felt complete and beautiful in a way none of her previous encounters had left her. And such a feeling begged to be shared and returned and multiplied—if not with words, with action.

Smiling, she rolled over and reached for her husband, but only crisp linen met her touch. Crisp and cool, which could only mean Lind had already arisen. Some of the buoyancy seeped away, like air from a balloon with a slow leak. Not enough to leave her completely sad and limp, but sufficient that the fullness inside lost some of its shape.

She swung her legs over the side of the bed, and reached for her discarded chemise. Thankfully the servants had strict orders not to disturb them, but that meant the fireplace was cold. She shivered, and hugged herself, longing for a pair of masculine arms to perform the task. Longing for Lind to come back and set the sheets ablaze. And where could he have gone so blasted early the day after his wedding?

She threw open the curtains to realize it wasn’t quite as blasted early as she’d thought. Only dashed early judging by the angle of the sun. In another hour, it might even be simply morning, time for Jeremy to be abroad and looking for his riding lesson. She’d have to dress soon, and she’d need to summon a maid since Lind wasn’t about to help tighten her stays—even if he would much rather loosen them, and even if he did insist on tickling whenever possible. No matter, she could wrap her body in his banyan, surrounding herself with his crisp, clean scent for the moment.

The door to his dressing room stood ajar. No, their dressing room. The maids had moved her meager collection of dresses to his quarters in anticipation of the wedding.

That thought reminded her of her resolve last night, one she’d forgotten in the flurry of passion. The impending conversation let a little more air out of her sails, but it must be done.
Begin as you intend to continue,
she reminded herself, and padded to the dressing room
.

She stared at the door on the opposite wall that connected to Lydia’s room, recalling the night she’d sneaked into that particular chamber. Lind had still been awake then. How often did he enter that room?

As if in answer to her internal question, a noise, the slightest of rustling, sounded from the opposite side of the panel. Good heavens, was he in there even now, after he’d spent the night with her?

She might have deflated altogether; only the air inside her changed, heated, and with the heat expanded into something resembling annoyance. Any reluctance to broach a sensitive subject faded. Oh, yes, they were going to have the conversation, whether he was ready to face it or not.

Straightening her spine, she yanked the door open.

On her entrance, Lind glanced up, expression unreadable. He sat at a small table, one where Lydia’s maid had likely brushed out her long hair and helped with her coiffure. He ran his finger along a length of pink ribbon, tender as any caress he’d honored her flesh with in the night.

“What are you doing in here?” he asked at last.

She crossed her arms. “I might ask you the same question.”

With something resembling reverence, he laid the ribbon on the table, before standing and taking his walking stick, which he’d leaned against the wall. “How silly of me. I was under the impression this was my house, and I had the right to enter any room I chose.”

She nodded at that. “Forgive me. It’s only…Well, it’s rather unnerving for me, as your wife, to enter this chamber, and find you here. Especially when…”

She made a show of studying the space. Just as she’d suspected, the room still bore the traces of its previous occupant. Pale blue paper patterned with pink flowers and green vines covered the walls. The curtains at the windows and on the bed were velvet, their color emphasized the hue of a summer sky, rather than the heaviness of the fabric. Every available surface dripped with delicate lace. Even the woodwork was the color of new cream.

“Especially when one gets the impression nothing about this room has been changed in years. And yet there’s not a speck of dust anywhere. All that’s missing are a few votive candles.”

“And you mean to claim your space, now, don’t you?” His voice was tight, as if he was holding a firm rein on his control.

The notion sent a shiver through her. She hadn’t entered this chamber with the express intent of angering him.

“It had occurred to me to wonder whether my living quarters might change. But if you prefer, I can continue to occupy your bedchamber.” She’d never intended to make that concession, but now she found herself doing so. “I suppose your answer will determine our future relationship.”

“What are you saying?”

“You’ve married me, and you must allow me my place. Simply inviting me into your bed is not sufficient.”

He cast a wild glance about the room, while his fingers reached out to grip the ribbon, his knuckles white. Had he even realized he’d made the gesture? “But…”

His mouth worked soundlessly, almost as if his throat had closed.

“I will not insist on moving into this chamber today, or even begin plans to redecorate, but if you intend for me to truly become your wife, you will have to permit me my proper place, eventually. Or is ours to be a marriage in name only?”

“No…” He scrubbed a hand down his chin. “I don’t know.”

Heavens, had he ever in his life been at such a loss for words? She’d blindsided him. He hadn’t been prepared to face this, and she could understand that. Until she came into his life, he hadn’t expected to remarry, perhaps ever.

“You do not have to give me an answer now. Think on it. I am willing to be your wife in every sense of the word, but only if you hand me the full role. I will not perform parts of it while not taking my full place at your side.”

He studied her, then slowly peered about the room once again. At her entrance, he’d been about to work himself into a high dudgeon, but now he seemed to deflate, just as she had earlier. He sank back into the chair and buried his face in his hands.

After a moment, he raised his eyes, the fine lines of his face rearranging themselves into something bleak. “Sometimes I think I’m betraying Lydia.”

Oh dear. She wanted to reach out to him, take him in her arms and comfort him. He looked so lost, and in that expression she could imagine the boy he’d been. But if he thought he was betraying his wife, he probably would not take to a show of affection, especially in this bedchamber. So she settled for words.

“Tell me about Lydia.” She was taking a chance either way. Her question was just as likely to anger him as to conjure fond memories of a woman she might never measure up to. And he had the luxury of only recalling her best qualities if he wished. Whatever her trespasses had been while he was away at war, he seemed to have forgiven her.

“I do not wish to speak of her.” Anger it was, then. Anger and denial. He’d much rather keep his feelings and memories private than share them with her.

“I know that, but I wish you would. As a concession of sorts to me. I wish to see her through your eyes.”

He regarded her for a moment. “You wish to take the measure of my grief.”

“I already know it runs deep.” She gestured to the chamber about her, the airy blue walls, dappled with yellow sunbeams, the dusted woodwork, the neat lace-trimmed coverlet on the bed. “So deep you’ve preserved her chamber as if she’s only gone away on a visit. As if you expect her to return home tonight and sleep in this bed.”

Daring, she marched to the dressing room and threw open the doors. As she suspected, rows and rows of gowns in varied colors, some for morning, some for the theater, some for balls, hung in ordered ranks, as precise as any troop of soldiers on parade. Slippers, shoes, and half boots stood beneath the gowns, while plumed bonnets lined shelves extending to the ceiling. All of it in pristine condition, just like the gown she’d borrowed for dinner.

“As if you expect her to come in with her maid and decide what she’ll need to wear for the day’s activities. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen a saint’s reliquary so well preserved.” And wasn’t that an ironic thought, when the lady had made a cuckold of him? But Cecelia knew better than to point out such a thing. Doubtless Lind realized. He just preferred to brush that small matter aside like a scrap of used paper. Scoop up the inconvenient fact, toss it out the window, and it never existed—the same as he preferred to ignore Jeremy as much as he could.

“I know she’s not coming back.” His voice was hard, yet somewhere under that hardness it shook. “I just can’t bring myself to get rid of any of this. If you must know, I never come in here. I only did so today because I thought it was time I steeled myself to the task.”

Cecelia crossed to him and put a hand on his forearm. “You do not have to face it at all if you don’t wish to.”

“I think I owe her that much.”

“Why?” She shouldn’t have phrased that so starkly but the word simply popped out. “What of what she owed you? She made you vows.”

“She was the one waiting at home for me, not knowing.” Gaze distant, he crossed to the window to stare over the grounds. “Never knowing. Lord knows I wrote to her when I could, but I couldn’t always trust the vagaries of the post. Do you understand she thought I was dead? She told me as much. Later.”

“If she thought you were dead…” No, Cecelia couldn’t go on. She couldn’t fling Battencliffe in his face. But if he could forgive Lydia because she thought herself a widow, why did he blame his old friend by the same turn?

“You have to understand. She changed me. She made me a better person. When I was with her, I became more.” A pause. His Adam’s apple bobbed on a swallow. “And I destroyed her.”

“That doesn’t mean you can fix things by destroying somebody else,” Cecelia said carefully.

“I
loved
her, and it wasn’t enough,” he went on as if he hadn’t heard. And there was the problem. He wasn’t ready to hear. Perhaps he never would be.

“If you were to love me, it would be enough.” The words leapt to her lips before she could stop them. Too late, she pressed her fingers over her mouth.

He watched her from the corner of his eye. “I would not pin my hopes on that eventuality. I married you to protect you from your past, but no one can protect me from mine.”

“That isn’t true.
You
can. You, yourself, by deciding it’s over. By burying it all.” Did she dare say it? “By giving up this scheme to ruin your friend.”

He glared at her full-on, and approached her, his walking stick hitting the floor in slow rhythmic thuds,
thump…thump…thump,
like the plod of a horse pulling a funeral wagon. “Who told you about that?
Who?
By God, I’ll see them gone from this house. If there’s one thing I cannot abide it is gossip.”

In spite of herself, she backed up a step. “Nobody had to tell me anything,” she made herself reply. It wasn’t even a lie, not exactly. Mrs. Carstairs had given her a few hints, but the housekeeper had never come out and told her anything. “I saw the records on your desk. Your awkwardness with my brother, when you’re supposed to be friends, as if you don’t want the honorable Alexander Sanford to realize what you’ve sunk to. And when you told me Jeremy is not your child, I put the two together.”

“And as I have already informed you, it is none of your affair. It does not concern you. Not in the least.”

“That is where you’re mistaken.” She drew in a breath, hoping to calm her pounding heart. “When I was simply your governess, this may not have concerned me, but as your wife, it does. Because it affects you. It affects the person you are. It affects how you see yourself. You claim Lydia made you a better man. That’s utter nonsense. You are the only one who can decide what sort of man you are. And you can determine it by your actions. You can stop at any time.”

He let out a harsh sound that might have passed for laughter. “Good God, you sound just as sanctimonious as your brother.”

“You may think what you like, but I know it for the truth.” She brushed at the sleeve of his banyan as if his comment was another mote of dust. “I’ve done some things I’m not proud of. Mr. Eversham can attest to that. However, once I decided to put that behind me, once I decided I would not allow what I became with him to define me, the future opened up. I could make of myself anything I wished.”

“And now who is spouting nonsense?” He hoisted that infernal brow. “All that is necessary is for him to spring out of the hedge for him to ruin you. He is all too willing to do it.”

“The only people I am ruined for are in the eyes of society. And if I decide I do not care for their opinion, they have no power over me. You’ve given me your name, which also offers a degree of protection. Your pride will prevent you from allowing him to ruin me. And before you claim this is all your doing and none of mine, I will concede you that point. But if you hadn’t insisted on our marriage, I would have found another way.”

He crossed his arms, clearly skeptical.

“At any rate, you are turning this around on me. I am quite willing to leave and live a quiet life, if you feel I’m too much of an embarrassment to you.” Never had she been more thankful for her ability to tell a bald-faced lie without so much as a hitch in her inflection. So calm, she sounded, so casual, when inside, her stomach was churning. “But think of Jeremy. Think of the stability you’re removing from him yet again. If you want there to be any chance of making this work, I beg you to give up your schemes. You are better than that.”

“I have said this to you before,” he grated, eyes narrowed, “but it bears repeating. Some paths, once you go down them so far—there’s no going back.”

She caught his gaze and held it.
Understand what I’m saying here. Please.
“You can choose to turn about whenever you like. You only need to find the strength for the journey home. You need to give up this grudge.”