Face to Face (The Deverell Series Book 2) (39 page)

His warm hand lifted her icy fingers. “With this ring I thee wed.” He placed the band over the top of each finger on the left hand until he would slip it on her ring finger. “In the name of the father, the son, and the holy spirit. Amen.”

She looked up at the Bishop as he announced that they were man and wife. It was over. In a blur of a few words she was Varian’s wife. The word banged unmercifully within her brain. His wife. Even in eternity she would belong to him.

Varian did not try to kiss her as was the custom at the end of the vows, and it was the Bishop who came to her with eyes soft and gentle, calling her ‘Your Grace.’ In worried tones, he instructed her to sign the documents.

Whatever he had seen on her face during the ceremony had moved the man from outrage toward Varian to concern for her. She would have welcomed the unexpected kindness if it hadn’t made her feel so damn pathetic.

It was made worse when she could not seem to stop the shaking of her hand to place her signature on the necessary documents. Varian’s large, dark fingers closed over hers, assisting her gently swirling strokes.

Merry stared at the signature next to her own. She had stumbled across the truth of who he was back on
Isla del Viento
, and hadn’t known it so skilled he was in his deceptions.

This man she was now married to was Varian Deverell, Duke of Windmere. Quite a remarkable catch by society’s standards, given what they must think of her these days. Regardless of his scandal-ridden past, he was exactly what her parents had expected of her, and she was his wife. He was, in fact, one of the two men her father had considered for her on that last night at Bramble Hill, part of the threat to get her to surrender to her duty, a possible fate even before she’d been taken by Indy from Cornwall.

Reality was proving only to continue to be a snapping, impossible to grasp concept.
In a blur of words, I am no longer the mistress of a man of myth and legend, but I am instead the Duchess of Windmere with a child in my belly, a husband at my side, back in my proper, unwanted, loveless fate.

It was overwhelmingly amusing. She brushed at her tears. There wasn’t even laughter in her any more. Nothing could break through the all devouring sadness surrounding her heart.

Varian took the documents, gave a curt nod to the Bishop, allowed the congratulations that were perfunctory at best, and then quickly escorted Merry to the waiting carriage. The city was bathed in bright sunlight, the streets full of activity, and the road crowded with elegant town coaches as she was taken on another journey unexplained.

Blinking rapidly against the intensity of light, she looked out the window and realized they were back at the docks. She made to join him as he climbed from the carriage, but Varian pushed her back against her seat without comment, snapping the door closed between them. A clearer gesture could not be made; it seemed to underscore with miserable clarity her position in his heart.

Camden said quietly, “It is better, in your current state, we allow as few people to get a look at you as possible.” He settled in waiting, closed his eyes and rested his arms on his girth. His tone had been kind; the effect of his words had not.

The docks had come alive with daylight. Merry could not have joined Varian without risking the chance of someone recognizing her. Vendors swarmed selling their wares to sailors, rich merchants mixed with common fisherman, doxies and noble ladies moved at will on the arms of noble men among the throng.

The most infamous pirate ship ever to sail the seas blended innocuously among the hundreds of ships that bounced about in London port. Today, the
Corinthian
was the
Windsong
. She knew she would never see it again.

Varian was gone less than a quarter hour, and when he returned Indy was with him. The boy had gone through a metamorphosis of his own. Only the long, swishing black braid, the legacy of a hundred scars and the diamond in his ear betrayed he was anything more than a son of an aristocrat.

The young pirate stared at her with black eyes and Merry wondered how the truth had never occurred to her.

James Deverell, Varian’s son.

Given time, he would be every inch the man his father was. Seeing him thus, she had been a fool never to realize he was Varian’s son. The black eyes alone should have told her. Perhaps her heart and mind linked as shielding allies. Perhaps she could not see what she was unwilling to see.

She listened to their quiet conversation, the ease of its flow not escaping her. She wondered at the transformation in that as well. Everything was changing around her too quickly to find a comfortable hold.

Indy reached for her hand to give it a gentle squeeze and she jerked it back too abruptly, in a manner harsher than she intended.

She turned away, not wanting to look at him. The pirate hesitated. Then, “Be well, Merry. It’s not as hopeless as you fear. Perhaps in time you will forgive me.”

She said nothing. She would regret this moment often in the year to come.

~~~

They made the journey over land to Falmouth in three days, interrupted only by quick meals and short sleep. Throughout the long hours in the carriage, Varian’s voice droned in instruction on what Merry was to say and reminded her to call him Varian Deverell.

Varian Deverell.

Merry pressed her fingers against her sore eyes, trying to listen, unable to focus. Why was it so painful to think of him in her mind as Varian Deverell?

Then, she understood why as she frantically studied his unfamiliar new persona. If he were only Varian Deverell then the lingering hope was gone that the blissful days she’d shared with him on ship might return. As pathetic as it was, she was desperate to keep hold of that hope.

Desperate even in her pain.

Desperate even in fury of him.

Desperately needing not to believe she had meant nothing to him. At present, she had more to deal with than she could manage.

Varian’s mechanical voice filled the carriage with a melody she’d already heard too often. He had taken bits and pieces of the true elements of Merry’s escapade and woven it together into a perfect fabrication her parents would believe. He had repeated it a dozen times today alone, wanting to assure himself that no part would be forgotten. It was both insulting and mortifying to endure it again.

He’d left the beginning of it as truth. She had gone to
Grave’s End
to find Rensdale, wanting him to cry off of his offer of marriage. Furious and willful, she had gone to Falmouth to find them. In Falmouth she had crossed paths with a group of ruffians with ruttery on their mind and had run onto his ship to hide from them. She had stowed away by accident, falling asleep in the galley.

She had refused to tell him who she was, not wanting to be returned to marry Rensdale and had sailed to America with him. Only on their return to England had he learned who she was from Camden, and he had promptly corrected the error of having allowed her to sail with him by marrying her.

Thin, perfect, proper. Enough true reflections of her to make it believable. Enough truth to be readily remembered. Vague enough not to overly enrage or cause speculation.

Averting her face from him, pretending to watch the blur of passing landscape, Merry could not stop the custody of her most recent hurt. Two nights she had lay at Varian’s side as his wife; two nights he had not tried to touch her. Not that she was ready to let him touch her, but there would have been some restored pride in spurning his desire for her.

Looking down at her tightly knit fingers, Merry knew in disappointment she wouldn’t have spurned him at all. A bewildering part of her wanted the comfort she knew she would find laying with this man, desperately needing to soothe the bitter pain of all he had said her. The more bitter pain of still loving him and needing to find a moment’s peace inside herself. Even if by means of sharing those acts with him in bed, which were not a reflection of his heart, had never been, but of only his needs as a man, his desire of her to satisfy them, and her humiliating willingness to let him.

Fingering the folds of her gown, which had mysteriously appeared on the foot of her bed at the inn they had slept at the prior night, Merry wondered where Varian had gotten it. They were a day out from Falmouth in the middle of nowhere.

It was a highly stylish and elegant pale blue silk gown, with matching calfskin slippers and delicate adornments for her hair, all fitting and suiting her looks to perfection. So he had noticed she had only been dressed in his shirt when he had dragged her from his ship for that ghastly farce of a marriage ceremony.

Obviously he had thought better of taking her to her parents looking like that, though not before allowing her the humiliation of traveling for a day in her ragged state before noting and correcting the error. Effortlessly, with never failing thoroughness of his heartlessly methodical mind, he had transformed her into the perfect and properly dignified image of his wife.

She chanced a glance at the austere face of her husband. He looked more frightening to her than he ever had on his ship. Had youthful foolishness blinded her to this man? Was it youth or the willingness of a loving heart that had betrayed her at every turn?

If she lived for one thing now, it was the day she could cut him from her heart. Loving him was a trap now that went nowhere. The man she loved existed in that store of men and she no longer believed he was any more real than the others.

She was being returned to her family after a year as Merry Deverell, Duchess of Windmere, trapped by all the things that had forced her from the walls of Bramble Hill that last night. That her husband was the infamous Captain Morgan would have no consequence to her now.

It was a man’s world, he would live as he wanted. She would be left with home, hearth, and their child. His secrets were her secrets. His truth, no matter how ugly, covered her as well. There was no road, in no direction he couldn’t take. As his wife she had but one road, prisoner on land, loyalty to husband, rooted in home, confined by the expectations of society and her duty to her children.

Merry shuddered, looking back out the window as the bile rose in her throat reminding her of Varian’s child nestled in her womb.

Her stomach churned with cruel force.

“Merry?” Camden asked anxiously, closing his fingers over her icy hand. Her face had lost all color. “Merry, speak to me. What is wrong?”

“Stop the carriage, Camden. Stop it now.”

Camden crashed his cane into the ceiling, shouting for the driver to stop as Merry stumbled past Varian and burst through the door. Varian came up behind her, supporting her shuddering body as she knelt in the dirt, convulsion after convulsion spewing from her stomach. He handed her his handkerchief when the sickness passed and then cradled her in his arms while she tried to steady herself.

“Come, Little One. We should get back to the carriage and you home to your parents as quickly as possible,” Varian murmured, his voice gentle. “I know this pace is hard on you in your delicate state, but delaying will only make it more difficult later on.”

Desperately afraid she would make more of a fool of herself than she had, she whispered. “Leave me alone, Varian. Just leave me be by myself for a moment.”

Varian tightened the support of his arms and placed a kiss on her brow. “You’re trembling, Merry. Tell me what is wrong.”

She pulled free of his arms. “Please, let me stand here alone for awhile,” she whispered softly, closing her eyes. “I will be along soon.”

She could feel his eyes on her.

His voice came low. “Merry, why are you trembling? Is it your father? Of facing Lucien with this? You need have no fear of returning home. It will be well. Your family will welcome you home, regardless of our marriage and your disappearance. Trust me in this, Little One. What are you frightened of?”

Merry turned away from him, burying her face in icy hands.
I am afraid of myself. Of how deeply I hurt. Afraid as I have never been. Afraid of life with you. Afraid of life without you. Because I cannot remember me before you. Varian, I am afraid because I love you.

PREVIEWS

Continue the story with the rest of the Deverell Series:

Love’s Patient Fury
: Book 3 of the Deverell Series Release date 12/1/2014

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Please enjoy this excerpt from Book 3 of the Deverell Series,
Love’s Patient Fury
:

She dealt. Merry was in that pose again, on elbows and knees, like a cat ready to spring. This time Varian allowed himself to enjoy it. They played without conversation; she threw her cards down in fury and won the first game. They played two more in silence and she won both of them.

Picking up the cards, her blue eyes fixed on his face with rapidly forming suspicion. “Why do I always win now?” Merry asked with measured slowness.

Varian’s eyes were black and innocent. Thoughtfully, he replied, “You won before as I recall.”

Frowning. “Only the last game. You won nine games to my one.” Merry was working herself into a glorious temper. Varian knew she would figure out about the cards if he played with her and be furious. Mimicking his voice to perfection, she hissed, “‘You are quick, you are clever, but, Little One, you are not wise.’” Fairly shouting, Merry accused fiercely, “Damn you, how did you cheat, and don’t bother to tell me that you didn’t.”

Varian reached out then and brushed a knuckled down the cheek of her angry face. He wanted to touch her. So he did. It would only aggravate her further.

Calmly, Merry hated it when he was calm, he said “You’re behaving childishly.”

Merry slapped his hand away. Again his voice: “‘Oh, Little One, in the spirit of good will, you may ask me anything.’ I could ask you anything because you would only let me win once. How did you do it? Why did you cheat me at cards?”