Maybe This Time, page 37
Catching his breath, Kevan felt his body grow hard and prayed that another four months wouldn’t pass before he made love with her again. Though her nightmares had long since ended and she still slept in his arms each night, she had not once turned to him.
He watched her climb the bank, admired the sleek way she moved. Why couldn’t he just ask her to make love with him?
No, he decided. He had forced her into marriage, into his life. He could not force himself into her body, as well. He had no right. He’d failed her. She needed time to heal. Then, perhaps, she could forgive him and come to him again.
She stopped beside him under the fir. “The water feels wonderful, milord. You should have joined me.”
He smiled up at her. “I can’t keep up with you anymore. You improve each day.” He passed her a towel, knowing that she would think he meant her swimming, not her mastering her fears.
Two weeks ago, before she would step from the water, she’d still been twirling her finger at him to turn his back. When she first neglected to do so, he’d kept his eyes on her face. But for the last week, he’d grown more bold, feasting on the sight of her. And she had not complained. Would she soon be ready for him again?
She smiled and dried herself with the thick white sheet, then slipped into her cloak, leaving her dress draped over the bush just behind him.
Kevan stifled a grimace. The doctor’s insistence that these memory lapses were shock-related wore thin. Alyssa grew more and more content, yet the lapses did not diminish, but grew more frequent.
Rubbing her hair and face, her skin flushed a healthy pink. “I’ve come to enjoy bathing in the lake a great deal, milord.”
“Seeing you happy pleases me.” Kevan stood up and spoke gently. “You’ve forgotten your dress, love.”
“I did not forget—this time,” she said, stepping toward him.
A mischievous gleam lit her eye, and she pressed her palm against his chest. His heart tripped, then pounded, and his muscles all contracted at once. In their seven-month marriage, he’d slept with his wife most nights, but he’d made love to her only twice. She’d come to him the night of the mead and once in London. But he recalled every blissful second of both times—and he yearned for another.
She tilted her face up to his. “I recall a promise made to my husband at this very site. He caught me wool-gathering one morning, and it seems I agreed to ride with him, wearing naught but my cloak.”
Kevan could barely speak. “I remember.”
“Well, milord. We Buchannans honor our word.”
His delicate little wife graced him with the sweetest smile known to man, then let out an ear-splitting whistle. Her white mare and his bay stallion answered by coming to her side.
Her eyes dancing, she looked up at him and burst into laughter. “Do close your mouth, Kevan. You’ll catch flies. And you know I can’t abide bugs.”
He remembered her hysteria on seeing a wood spider on her chamber wall, her telling him that Innes had tortured her with spiders, forced her to lay on that filthy cotton and suffer spiders crawling on her bare body.
Anger surged through Kevan. But Alyssa’s throaty laughter acted as a soothing balm, and again he managed to leash it.
“Are you impressed, milord?” she asked, her fingers sliding down her mare’s reins.
“I am.” He chuckled. “Where, dear lady, did you learn that?”
“Major taught me,” she replied. “If a person is unable to get to her horse, then her horse should know to come to her. Don’t you agree?”
“I dare not disagree,” he countered. She’d become a crack shot. And the Chinese cook she’d employed had shown her how to toss an attacking man like a stick. Secretly, Kevan thought the cook’s fighting skills, and not his culinary ones, had prompted Alyssa to hire him. But that, too, Kevan understood. “I don’t know what other skills you’ve acquired of late and chosen not to disclose.”
Her eyes clouded. He thought her recalling the incident, as they’d come to call the time she’d spent abducted, but she held her smile and her tone sounded pleasant enough. Mounting their horses, Kevan sensed change rife between them, daring him to hope that his prayers for her recovery had been answered.
Alyssa spurred her mare. She rode through the break in the hedgerow behind Kevan, and on into a wide meadow sprinkled with wild daffodils. Sun-warmed, the bright flowers filled the meadow with their sweet scent. She inhaled deeply.
It seemed especially hot for July, and after a time, she saw Kevan rein in under the shade of a craggy oak. Anxious to get into the cool shade, she followed and stopped beside him.
He caught her at the waist and helped her dismount. Her flesh tingled. She sucked in a sharp breath, her gaze darting to his. Tension creased the corners of his mouth, not welcoming or shunning, and his eyes grew solemn. Uncertain of his feelings, she stepped away.
He spread his riding coat between two gnarled roots jutting out of the ground near the trunk of the oak. “Come,” he said. “I’ve a need to talk with you.”
A quiver raced through her and shook her stomach. The night they’d made love he’d said he’d a need to hold her. Why had he bedded with her, but not bedded her? Had the incident made her repulsive to him?
A man has needs, he’d told her. Needs that, she believed, any man must satisfy. Had he taken someone else? He’d been with her at Woodwind the entire time, but—but he could be satisfying those needs with someone in her home. He’d agreed not to do that once. But circumstances were different now. Much different.
Alyssa sat down and watched Kevan pace before her. Serious and intent, he frightened her. And fearing Kevan was a foreign emotion. One she did not like. Her tension mounted until her stomach threatened to revolt. Beads of sweat popped out on her skin, then trickled down between her breasts.
“I’ve wanted to tell you this since the beginning, Alyssa,” he said at last. “I didn’t then because I doubted you would believe me. Somehow, the time never seemed right. I feared your reaction. Then the incident happened, and I worried that I’d waited too long. I vowed then that on the day I felt you had sufficiently recovered, I would delay no longer.”
He glanced at her, then looked away and continued his pacing. “This confession is difficult, my lady. I pray it does not cost me your affection.”
“This hesitation is most unlike you.” Had he taken someone? Did he mean to set his wife aside?
“The behavior requiring this confession is unlike me, too,” he said. “But I want no secrets between us.”
She screwed up her courage, certain that on hearing of his infidelity her heart would shatter and she would die. “Is it another woman? Is that it?”
He laughed. Not a nervous, guilty laugh, but a deep, lusty one that told her he found the thought of taking someone else outrageous.
“My heart belongs to you, love. How could another woman replace you in my bed?”
His heart? His heart—hers? She cocked her head and studied him. He sounded convincing, but a remnant of doubt remained in her heart. “Many men—”
“I am not many men,” he interrupted. “I am your man, darling. There is no other woman, nor will there ever be.”
She believed him. Relief washed through her and cleansed her of fear. His heart. Hers! “What is it, then?”
His hands clenched into fists, his sharp words sounded clipped, and guilty. “I knew you before I entered that church, Alyssa. Before I challenged Innes for you at the gaming table.”
She waited, but he said no more, so she prodded him. “And—”
“And?”
He looked as puzzled as she felt. Alyssa shrugged. “I assumed that you knew me, milord. You called me and my father by name. A dullard wouldn’t kidnap a stranger to marry her. Nor would he wager to win her.” She smiled. “And you, milord, are far from dull.”
He sat down beside her and waited until she looked up at him. “Why have you never asked why I took you, or what I’d wagered?”
Alyssa worried her lower lip with her teeth. Could he feel her heart pounding? She supposed she should be honest with him. The time for secrets, for lies between them, had passed. Hadn’t Kevan proven that by confessing his deception now? “I never asked because your true reasons weren’t apt to be as flattering as the ones in my fantasy.”
He took her hand in his. His eyes, so somber, pierced her soul. “Tell me your fantasy.”
“No, Kevan. I’ll not say.” Her gaze dropped to the grassy earth. His thumb rubbed tiny circles on her wrist, thrilling and soothing her at once. “You’ll think me whimsical.”
He raised her face, and cupped her chin in his big hands. “I think you beautiful. Please, I must know.”
The plea in his voice touched something deep inside her. She met his gaze, saw his need reflected as clearly as a looking glass would reflect her own. “I pretended that you took me with you because you loved me.”
He didn’t smile as she feared he would. His hands trembled on her face. “I do love you, Alyssa,” he said.
She covered his hands with her own. “You don’t have to lie to me, Kevan.”
“I’ve not lied. I love you, darling.”
Truth shone in his eyes, and her heart took flight. The urge to laugh and cry hit her at once. “Kevan?”
He lowered his hands and clasped hers. “I saw you in Hyde Park, taking the air with your father. You were beautiful—the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. Pale blue muslin, ribbons, a little lacy parasol protecting you from the sun.”
He had a faraway look in his eyes, and Alyssa knew he was not seeing her as she was today, but as he’d seen her on that day so long ago. “You are serious?”
“I am. You’ll think me daft, but I recognized you, Alyssa. I can’t explain it, but I knew you.” He nodded for emphasis. “I sought your father the next day and asked for your hand rather than for permission to call on you.”
She gasped. “Kevan, that’s it! That’s where I saw your insignia. I thought I’d seen your ring, but I hadn’t. That’s why I couldn’t recall who I’d seen wearing it. It was your card I’d seen. It was your card.”
“I did leave my card with your father,” he said. “I couldn’t wait to make you my wife.” His tone deepened, etched with a hardness she’d not often heard. “That’s when I learned you were betrothed.”
Alyssa felt stunned. Special and cherished, but stunned. “But that’s impossible, milord. That was a year ago.”
“Twenty months,” Kevan corrected her. He lifted a twig from the ground and squeezed it in his hand. “Your father refused me. He told me of your betrothal to Innes. I resolved to move Heaven and earth to take you from him. A few discreet inquiries in town, and I learned that gaming was his weakness.” Kevan’s eyes clouded. “But no one, damn it, mentioned his wife.”
Alyssa’s thoughts whirled. She grasped Kevan’s bent knee. “But—if my father refused your suit because I was betrothed back then—”
“I know.” Kevan covered her hand. “Innes’s wife was still alive.”
“Oh God.” Tremors racked her body. “My father knew. He knew Innes planned to kill Hedwig.”
“Yes, love, he knew. Your father had lost his fortune and was deeply in debt to Innes by then. Though your father was stained in blood, it was not Hedwig’s. He did not kill her. Innes did.”
“But, Kevan—”
“No, listen love. The blood was Innes’s way of forcing your father to cooperate, to provide an alibi. Your father was sotted and gulled into swearing that he and Innes were together at the time Hedwig was murdered.”
“But my father could have prevented it,” Alyssa cried.
“Perhaps.” Kevan sighed. “But I think Innes would have found another way to see the deed done. Take solace in knowing your father did not hold the knife.”
“I can’t. My father sold me to a man he knew was a murderer. I suspected—but, damn him, he knew. Even after you and I wed, he tried to separate us, to force me to wed Innes. I cannot forget that, milord. I—I won’t.”
“I understand, love. But don’t let your anger fester and poison you. Let yourself heal. Neither of them can hurt you anymore.” He pushed that topic aside, saying, “We’re drifting from my confession. My apologies, my lady.” He pressed his lips to her fingertips.
Tingles of pleasure rippled up her arm and settled in her heart. “Please, tell me everything. Then we can forget this matter once and for all.”
He nodded. “After I learned of Innes’s weakness, I turned my efforts to breaking your betrothal to him. Had I known of Hedwig, it would have been a simple matter. But I did not. So, I tricked Innes into wagering you.”
“Tricked him?” She smiled. “You tricked Innes?”
“I did.” Kevan looked extremely embarrassed. “I’m sorry, Alyssa. I’ve ruined your reputation—but I had no alternative.” He let out a deep sigh. “While I’m confessing, I suppose I should confess this, too.” He paused and reached for her, raised her onto his lap, and leaned back against the rough trunk of the oak. “With all that has happened, if I could go back and start again, to have you at my side, I would repeat my actions with but one exception.”
Her face pressed to his chest, she heard the steady thump of his heart. “What would that be, milord?”
“I would accompany you to the modiste’s and prevent the incident.”
Alyssa’s heart sang. It was most difficult to feign calm. But she knew she must. For Kevan, she must. “Your love has come at the cost of my self-respect. Between your trickery and the manipulations between Innes and my father, you’ve all done me a horrid injustice.”
“I would agree, my dear,” he said. “But I wanted only to protect you, to be loving with you. That’s why I placed Meg in your home. I had to know that you were safe until I could find a way to make you my wife. When you wed, I feared Innes would be the man at your side. And, you must admit, he came damnably close.”
She nuzzled his neck. Even then, he had sought to protect her. “So Meg, too, was your device.”
Kevan’s arms tightened around her. “She was.”
She longed to thank him for his care, but knew she could not. Not yet. Kevan felt responsible for what Innes had done to her. She had to find a way to remove his guilt. “And Lady Jersey, of course, knew all of this.”
“Yes.” Kevan took her hand from his shoulder and drew it to his lips. “I’m sorry. The deceit, the embarrassment, that you felt compelled to lie—”
“Lie?” She reared back. “I have not lied to you, Kevan.” Oh, how she adored this man. His soft smile, his wise eyes, his patience, his loving nature.
“Not to me. For me,” he said. “You told the king’s guard that you loved me.”
“I did,” she said, cagily avoiding confirmation or denial. Her heart threatened to fly from her chest. Kevan loved her. He wanted her love. All he had done, he had done because he loved her, because he wanted her as his wife.
Once he had told her they would suit, if she forgot her pride. Well, she would forget it—after he’d suffered long enough to deter him from deceiving her again. Inside, she smiled, but it did not cross her lips. Lady Jersey would heartily approve.
Now. How exactly should she go about revealing that she’d rid herself of the annoying vice he’d sworn stood between them? She could simply tell him that she loved him.
No, too much had transpired; he would think she acted in gratitude, not love. She had to do something more. Something that would remove all doubt from Kevan’s mind and heart forever. He’d given her a romantic intrigue that most women only dreamed of. How could she reciprocate?
Then she recalled the incident in Grimsby.
Perfect! A shiver of delight tripped up her spine. Absolutely perfect. “Kevan, I wish to go to London. Please, love. Will you take me?”
Kevan’s heart stopped. He looked at her. Flushed with excitement, her eyes dancing, she captured his heart all over again. He couldn’t have refused her request if he’d wanted to—but he didn’t want to. He wanted to give her the world, the stars—any and every other thing she desired. The cause of his pleasure with her was simple.
For the first time, his wife had called him her love. “We’ll leave today.”
Twenty-eight
ALYSSA SEALED the envelopes. Looking at the names she’d written on them, she verified her choices, one last time.
Monk Lewis. Fashionable author. Close friend and confidant of the royals. She envisioned him telling the Duchess of York what he would soon witness. As a child, Alyssa had grown fond of both the Duke and the Duchess. But only a paper skull would believe they’d approve her actions.
She squeezed her eyes closed. Please, God, just let Kevan approve. She swallowed and looked down at the second buff-colored envelope.
George Cruikshank. Popular caricaturist. As her witness, he no doubt would find plenty to whet his imagination.
Alyssa swallowed again—hard. To assuage Kevan’s misplaced guilt by forsaking her pride, she must endure a total sacrifice. One that left Kevan no plausible doubt of her affection or of her intention.
She lifted the third envelope. William Cobbett. Publisher of the Weekly Political Register. Her cheeks burned hot. He, too, would denounce her actions—in print. Everyone in London would know what she’d done within a day—if not sooner. Juicy gossip travels much faster than news from a printer’s press.
The Lord Chancellor. Even the House of Commons would not be spared from hearing of her exploit—nor would they be denied the opportunity to condemn that exploit.
And Sir Duncan. By all means, Sir Duncan. The guard who had come with her father to the Knightsbridge house to arrest Kevan—and hadn’t. Why he hadn’t still mystified her. He knew she’d lied—she’d seen it in his eyes. It was no small comfort to her that in seeing what she was about to do, Sir Duncan would know his decision back then had been the right one.
Selecting these witnesses had been a painstaking affair to which she had devoted considerable thought. Kevan must understand the significance, the sacrifice she was making. He must understand that with this spectacle, she offered him her heart.
