Bared to the Viscount (The Rites of May Book 1) (27 page)

“
Sugared
carrots
?” he asked. “What on earth are you talking about? I haven’t changed my intentions towards you, sweetheart, not since that first morning when we got caught in those blackberry vines.”

“Haven’t changed your intentions?” She stamped her foot at him. “Well, I don’t understand your intentions, John Hollings! It seems you’ve done nothing
but
change them. You showed not the slightest interest in me for months and months after you came home. And...and then you—you made love to me in the woods, twice. And not ten minutes after the second time, you were announcing your marriage to the lovely Miss Lawton!”

He looked at her squarely, as if willing her to read his mind—which she was still entirely incapable of doing. “Is that what happened, Mary? Is that really how it happened? On May Day night?”

“Yes, of course that’s how it happened! I was there! I saw it all, I heard it all!” Hot tears burst forth despite her best efforts to keep them in, and streamed down her face. “I left the woods by the far path, meaning to go back home, but all the cheering drew me back to the Green, and I heard everything Lord Lawton said.”

“Indeed. You heard what
Lawton
said.”

“I saw the crowd lift you on their shoulders! I saw you take Miss Lawton’s hand!” She ran at him then, pounding her fists on his chest. “How could you do that, John? You let me think you...you let me think you cared for me.”

He did nothing to defend himself against the blows, just looked down at her quietly, his gaze so intense. “How could you doubt that I care about you, Mary? Don’t you know me better than that by now? ”

Her hands fell uselessly to her sides. “I thought I did. I don’t know what to think.” Under his gaze, all her defenses were crumbling, like a child’s sandcastle as a huge wave hit, crumbling and washing out to sea.

Frustration came over John’s features now. “You assumed the worst of me. You ran off that night before I could say a word to you. You didn’t trust me, Mary. Why didn’t you just
trust
me?”

Her mouth fell open in surprise. How was he was putting her on the defensive, when he was the one who’d wrong her? Wronged her quite spectacularly. When she’d always been so loyal to him.

He blew out a heavy breath. “I chased after you straight up to Scotland, do you know that? Barely ate or slept for days. And damn near broke my neck—twice—rushing back here to stop the banns this morning.”

A sort of shock ran through her. “What? You went to—Scotland?”

“God, Mary, I was so afraid,” he said, running a hand fitfully through his hair. “I thought you were going there to marry Sam Brickley. Or—or Mr. Chatsworth.”

“Mr.
Chatsworth
?” The world seemed to float around her suddenly, less substantial than before, and she wished to heaven she had more light than her one guttering rush candle. “Are you quite mad?”

“Sam’s willing to marry you now, Lord knows, if you say the word. And I don’t doubt Mr. Chatsworth would be willing, too, if he weren’t already happily wed.”

She shook her head in disbelief. “Why are we even discussing this? What difference should it make to you whom I was going to marry, if you were going to get married yourself? I certainly wasn’t going to accept being your mistress, whatever you might have assumed of me! And, anyway, for your information, I wasn’t going to marry Sam, no matter what. I told him no, quite clearly, several times
. I
at least would never marry where I don’t love.”

John’s eyes went wide. “And neither would I!”

“Oh, so you’re saying you
did
love Annabel?”

“Of course not.”

“Well,” she said, putting her fists on her hips, “one of those statements has to be a lie, because you
were
going to marry her. Can you deny I saw what I saw on the Green? Can you deny that Thomas was reading the banns for your wedding this very morning?”

John stepped back from her, spine stiff, shoulders squared, looking every bit the soldier he’d once been. His gaze turned suddenly fierce. “Do you know what the real problem is? Between us? Annabel’s supposed claim on me wasn’t really your main objection. You told me several times that we shouldn’t marry because our
stations
in life are so different, because a viscount must marry a grand lady, not someone of lower status than he.”

“And I was quite right to say it. Like it or not, that
is
the way of the world.”

“Ah, but my supposed
superiority
wasn’t quite the issue, either.” He pointed a scolding finger at her. “Because deep inside, you also believe the reverse.”

“What?”

“You think
I’m
the one who’s unworthy.”

“
What
?”

“You think I’m spoiled and thoughtless. More selfish than you, less honorable than you.”

A dizzy, disbelieving feeling swept through her. “That’s not true, John! That’s never, ever been true.”

“Then why did you underestimate me so completely? Why didn’t you trust that I meant what I said to you? Why didn’t you believe I’d never turn my back on you?”

“Because—because....” Oh, Lord, her head spun. And she wasn’t going to repeat it all again, about his engagement, about his hand grasping Annabel’s as they spun about on their neighbors’ shoulders on the Green. If John didn’t understand how wrong his behavior was, she couldn’t even bear to look at him.

“I—I want you to go, John,” she said. “Go and not come back.”

His eyes squeezed shut, and the breath rattled out of him. “Don’t say that.”

“I have to.” Her throat seemed to be closing up. “I don’t know what else to say.”

He stepped closer to her, then. He touched his hand to her bodice, against her ribcage. Her skin tingled, and an electric shock went through her belly. It was the very spot where he had marked her with his mouth just a few days before. The red spot he’d left on her flesh was still there. “That was the sign, Mary,” pressing his fingers against the mark. “That was the only one you should have paid attention to. Of us being bound together. That was more marriage contract than anything Lord Lawton’s solicitors could dream up.”

Tears filled her eyes again. It was pleasure and pain to have him touch her, a delirious mix of anger and longing, and she had to turn away lest she throw herself against him and beg him to take her in his arms.

“That night on the Green,” he said, “you heard Lord Lawton announce my marriage to Annabel. But did you hear
me
say anything?”

“I....” She racked her memory for the details. She knew she’d heard his voice, but couldn’t for the life of her remember what he’d said. “I don’t know. But I didn’t hear you object. And—and I saw your hand in—”

“In Annabel’s, yes. When the dancers spun us, and she took hold of it. But did you see me looking at her? Did you see where I was looking? Did you see whom I ‘d been reaching towards?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t stay to study you.”

He nodded. “You ran. You ran and didn’t wait to hear from me.”

Why did he keep saying that? She pressed the heels of her hands against her eye sockets, trying to still the terrible wavering within her. She knew she shouldn’t let him keep talking, but the thought of letting him go was too awful to bear. “All right,” she said, half choking on the fresh tears she fought to hold back. “Tell me. What would you have said if I’d stayed?”

He set his hands to the sides of her arms, then, and turned her fully towards him. The frustration in his expression was mixed with such tenderness, he nearly broke her heart. “You are the most stubborn, willful creature, Mary,” he said.

“
That’s
what you would have said?”

“No. No, that’s not what I would have said.” He stroked his hands up her arms, sending waves of need through her. His fingers skimmed her shoulders gently, then her throat. At last, he cupped her jaw with his spread fingers, lifting her face to his. “I would have said,
Look at me, Mary. Look in my eyes, and know the truth
.”

Her insides were shifting about, as though her internal organs were all trying spontaneously to rearrange themselves. She tried to shut her eyes against him, but the sheer force of his gaze compelled her to open them. It warmed her, sent a faint trickle of hope through her blood.

“Are you looking?” he asked, his eyes so intense upon her. “Really looking?”

She was trembling all over. “Yes.”

“Do you see me, then? Do you remember who I am?”

“Of course. You are Viscount Parkhurst.”

“
Not
Viscount Parkhurst,” he said firmly. “Not to you.”

Something turned over inside of her, something vulnerable and frightened. His face was so dear to her, so familiar, so beautiful. His bright blue eyes had always looked at her with such kindness, laughing with her so many times, gleaming with mischievous excitement so often in their youth at all her teasing and her dares.

“John,” she whispered. “You are John.”

And so she looked at him long and hard, at this man she had loved and trusted for so many years. She looked into the very heart of him.

And it was as if the world had been out of focus for days, as if she’d been viewing everything though a rain-streaked windowpane, and now the sun was warming the blurring drops away.

Yes, this was
John
. Her John. Her oldest, dearest, truest friend. Not some
viscount
. Not some status-conscious aristocrat whose motives and heart she could never understand.

Just
John
.

And the John she knew would not have betrayed her. John would never betray her.

She’d been so stupid to think he would.

And...sweet heaven,
that
was why he kept reminding her he hadn’t spoken a word about marriage when Lord Lawton had made his announcement. The thought sent a chill sweeping from the top of her head down to her toes, followed by a flush of warmth.

“That night,” she gasped, as suddenly all the pieces fell into place in her mind. “That night on the Green. When Lord Lawton said that you were going to marry Annabel. Oh, dear God—Lord Lawton
lied
.”

A smile broke out on John’s face that matched the warmth spreading through her. “There’s my girl. I knew you’d figure it out, if you just gave me a chance. Lawton thought to shame me into making the marriage, after I’d told him in no uncertain terms that morning I would not agree to it.”

“Oh, John!” she cried, pressing both hands against her mouth. “Oh, dear Lord! Forgive me. You have to forgive me. I was just so...shocked. And frightened. And hurt. And...and—”

“Hush, Mary,” he said. And gently, he pulled her hands away from her mouth and guided her arms around his neck. “There’s nothing to forgive. Because your worst sin was never that of underestimating me. Not truly.” His arms came around her waist, pulling her closer. “Your worst sin, my love, was that of underestimating yourself.”

“
Myself
?”

“That’s really what kept you saying no to my proposals, wasn’t it, for so long? You didn’t believe I
ought
to choose you. Despite abundant evidence from me to the contrary, you couldn’t see yourself as desirable enough.”

She felt herself flushing. “Well—for pity’s sake, John, I’m plain as mud.”

“You are the farthest thing I know from plain.” His body pressed hard against hers, giving her direct evidence even now that he desired her very much indeed. “You are my pirate queen, Mary, the one who dares me to climb into the treetops to look for giants, the one whose hair flames in morning sunlight. And the most beautiful woman my eyes have ever seen. I’ve never desired any woman as I desire you. And never could. And never will.”

Oh, sweet John. She clung to him as surely as if a magnet pulled her, to his body which was warm and solid and smelled of everything good and fresh on earth.

It felt safe and thrilling all at once. Like home, and also like an adventure. As it had always been between them.

He murmured low against her ear. “And if you’re still worried about how you’ll manage as a viscountess, I think you will make the best one imaginable. Precisely
because
your mind has no interest in elegant parties or...or in finding the perfect feather for your hat.”

She gave him a poke in his ribs. “Are you sure you’ve been paying attention to actual viscountesses? I assure you, your own mother always wears impeccable hats.”

“True enough. Her headgear is superb. But you, my love, have a superb
heart
.” He kissed the top of her head tenderly, then drew her back away from him just enough that he could look directly into her eyes. “You make me a better man, Mary Wilkins, every minute I spend with you,” he declared. “And that means I’ll be a better lord to the people of Birchford. Isn’t that the whole purpose of the peerage—to have the power to help the people? It's clearly what you’ve always believed. And, as I recall, it was the theme of a goodly number of sermons by your father when we were young.”