Face to Face (The Deverell Series Book 2) (7 page)

Not giving her time to react, Varian lifted Merry from the bench and said, “I will carry you back to the house, Little One.”

The mold of their bodies was so close, it was hard for Merry to tell which breath that passed between them belonged to her and which were his. The gentle care of his hold gave the sensation of floating downward on the path.

“I can walk,” she said.

Varian’s answering smile was soft and amused. “Don’t be foolish.”

Merry hid her face against his chest.
Too late, Varian. I am a foolish girl. I am in love with you.

CHAPTER THREE

Merry stayed in bed several days. The sisters had cleaned and bandaged her feet upon her return from the chapel. The burning sting of her flesh had miraculously faded after a single night. It was no doubt due to the vile smelling concoction April had prepared. It proved a remarkable cure, but Merry used the injury as an excuse to hide in her bedchamber from Varian.

She did not see Varian until the third night. He stopped at her sickbed to inquire on her recovery. Abruptly, he informed her that he would be gone to Richmond on the morrow. He made no explanation for his journey and the thought of him surrounded by fawning companions and lovers did not set pleasantly upon Merry. She could feel the ache of missing him and the ache, of what she reluctantly admitted was jealousy, though he had not even left her yet.

His visit was brief, no more than few minutes. His demeanor was courteous and distant. When the door clicked closed behind him, she sat in her bed, hugging her legs with her arms and sent a frantic plea to heaven to allow her someday understand him. The days spent hiding were a foolish endeavor since he had left her in solitude without argument. Now he would put even more distance between them by leaving her with the Devereaux sisters at Winderly.

The next morning she rose from her bed early and dressed quickly. She would go downstairs before Varian left, to breakfast with him. It seemed an important thing for her to do, though she knew not why. Nor did she know why she stopped at the mirror, pinching her cheeks to add a touch of color to her face.

Varian’s housekeeper was surprised to see her bouncing down the stairs and the Devereaux sisters were even more astounded by the vigor in which she entered the breakfast room.

At the table, Merry froze. The scones Varian liked in the morning were not among the morning fare and only two places were set. She frowned. Varian had already left and he had not even said goodbye to her. She felt her spirits drop and a strange kind of unease over having not seen him before his departure.

The routine resumed with her back in the care of the sisters. The days were long, the nights longer, and Winderly lost much of its magic now that the Captain was not here. The quiet lent to too much thinking for Merry.

Love had opened new depths within her and for the first time she thought to ask herself in a mature way what it was she wanted from life. The love of a man? Children? A home? Alone in the darkness with her thoughts, she began to understand a little more what her mother had always tried to tell her.

Nothing in life was ever as certain as you believed it, she thought to herself. Not yourself. Not the future, and she had thought she had known herself so well in Cornwall.

Four days hence, after restless nights and endless pondering, she knew with certainty only two things. She was sitting in the grass, on a sunny day, watching a celebration in the slave row on a Virginia plantation; and she was missing a man with an absolutely desperate ache.

Four days. It was too long. Merry missed him.

She reached into April’s basket and pulled out a spice cake. “I do not understand. Why is there a broom laying in the dirt?” Merry inquired, looking to Aline.

“The broom symbolizes home and hearth,” Aline explained. “It is their marriage custom. On one side of the broom they are separate and jumping the broom they become one in home and hearth. Husband and wife.”

April smiled and watched. “How wonderful it must be to be able to find your true love so simply. No courting ritual. No contracts. No jointure. Perhaps then we would have found husbands, sister.”

Aline propelled herself to a sitting posture. “Humdudgeon. I for one am thankful that marriage for us is such a daunting process. I’m sure it was the only reason we were both spared.”

April’s eyes sparkled impishly. “Don’t pretend you are not interested in romance, Aline Devereaux. I see those novels you read. We are women and we are all vulnerable to the same disease. Love.”

The sisters stared at each other and giggled. Merry turned her attention back to the celebration. The jumping of the broom done, the air was vibrating with the sound of fiddles and clapping. The dancing and the merrymaking had begun.

April sprang to her feet and pulled Aline with her, and the sisters were soon gaily colored butterflies dancing in front of Merry.
How sweet they are
, Merry thought,
but how sad their life, to know there is no hope to have more. Only this. Each other.

It was strange that the Devereaux sisters should live the life she had fought for in England, and now that she could see it, it should be a thing she viewed with despondency.

A tear stung her eye and rolled down her cheek. Merry had found love, but her fate was no less hopeless than this. Sitting in this pleasant daylight, she wanted to believe it was a hopeful thing and yet couldn’t convince herself it ever would be.

She did not belong here. She did not belong with Varian. Love him she may, but it would not bring any more joy to her than love had ever brought the Devereauxs.

April was right. They were all infected with the same disease, but the disease was fate.

The sisters were just gathering their blankets and baskets to return to the house when the sound of horse hooves caused the sisters to look toward the drive. Merry did not need to look to know who it was. The world around her had changed and she could feel that it was Varian. She held herself back from going to the edge of the drive with the reminder she too often made herself a fool over this man. If what they played now was her game then she would not jump first.

In their enthusiasm over the Captain’s return, the Devereaux sisters made a fast trek to the house, unmindful Merry didn’t follow.

Several minutes passed before Merry cautiously looked over her shoulder. The horse was gone. The drive empty. Varian did not come to her. He had gone into the house with the sisters.

She would not jump first.

Merry sank back down onto the grass. Time passed without notice. The sun was setting before she heard Varian. Beside her she could feel the displacement of air as his goliath body lowered until he was at eye level with her. He lifted her palm to his lips and kissed it. The touch of him leapt through her veins. What she felt in his touch, what she felt inside of herself, frightened her.

She could not bring herself to meet the heat of his gaze. How childish she must seem to him hiding here in the grass, for surely that was what she had done, and surely he knew it. His touch chided her it had been a pointless pretense to hide from him. It would not change what was in her. Hiding would not make her stop loving him.

“Are you going to stay out-of-doors all night to avoid me or would you like to come see what I brought you?” said Varian softly.

She thought of pug and the garments he had purchased for her in Bermuda. The memory of those nights taunted her.
A present
. Jealousy leapt through Merry like an exploding powder keg. The gift confirmed for her he had been with Regina.

She snatched her palm away, grateful for her fast rising temper. It blocked out all other things she’d been feeling. Her face was red with fury when she turned to him. “You think I’m a child. Do you think I can be so easily managed? I am not a child and I do not care what you brought me.”

The corners of Varian’s eyes began to play with a smile. “There is no cause for your jealousy, Little One. The present is not from me. I am merely the courier.”

“I am not jealous. You are an arrogant and conceited man if you think I pass a moment’s thought over what you do.”

She watched Varian lever himself upright, trying to concentrate on anything but the sensual moves of his limber body. “I went to Richmond to sell my cargo, Merry.”

“If that is the best fiction you can think of, you could have saved yourself the bother. I am not the Devereauxs. I am not a fool. And it matters not to me if you pass your nights with that blond sow.” Then her temper getting the better of her, she added scathingly, “But really, you insufferable man, your taste in women is dreadful. Do you make it a habit to seek out every blond sow on every continent?”

Varian stayed as he was, still, until Merry quieted. Then he said with quiet firmness, “When a man wants to care for nothing, he selects women he can never care for. That Regina could not ever matter to me was her only appeal. Even that appeal was abolished long before we reached Richmond.”

“How extraordinary! I must be perfect in that regard. What could matter less than a vexing nuisance you kidnapped.”

“Be fair, Little One. I did not kidnap you. You were given to me. I was merely wise enough to keep you.” He moved toward her, but did not touch her. The pressure of his eyes made it unbearable for Merry not to look at him. His voice was a soft caress against her face. “There have been no women in my bed for many months, Little One. I went to Richmond only to sell my cargo.”

This time Merry looked at him. A quick inspection of his face told her he was speaking truth. She wasn’t sure how she knew it, but she did. And it was an untimely discovery because it made the anger gush out of her with the inflow of too many things she did not want to feel. Afraid she would let down her guard, she hissed, “Damn you,” and before she knew what she had done, she slapped him.

Varian began to laugh and because he couldn’t seem to stop the laughter, she tried to slap him again. “No, Little One,” he finally managed to gasp. “You’ve got your clichés reversed. You do not hit a man when he professes he’s hopelessly captivated by you. You hit him when he’s been a rogue. Will you stop trying to hit me, if I promise to go commit a debauchery or two? What a vexing creature you are at times.”

Merry shook off his gentle hand holding her arm and took a step back from him. “You’re a fine one to talk about having our clichés reversed,” she snapped, eyes flashing. “You deserve to be slapped for that comment alone.”

“Perhaps,” he said, a smile teasing at his lips this time. “But I cannot make up for past misdeeds, only endeavor to do my best not to repeat them.”

Gathering back her retreating dignity, she said, “Then return me to Falmouth and let me go, if you wish not to repeat your past misdeeds.”

The leaves rippled in the trees behind him, as gentle was his gaze, holding her as he said, “Is that really what you want?”

“Yes.” Once the word was out, it sounded childish, which was a disappointment. There was not enough conviction in her voice to fill a thimble.

Varian held out his hand to her. “Why don’t you come see what I brought you?”

Merry stood a frozen statue, her gaze a careful lock on the trees behind him. “Do you know how insufferable you are?” she asked.

“You can tell me while we walk to the house. I’ll try not to incite you to violence a second time.”

She stared at his fingers held out to her, let out an exasperated breath, and took them. Varian was in a good mood, and she was restless again, restless from head to toe. Damn him. They walked in quiet for a while. Halfway there, she chanced a glance at him.

Frowning, Merry said, “I hit you. Why are you smiling? How is it possible never to lose your temper?”

Calmly, he said, “I prefer to do other things than fight with you. Tom is awaiting me in Richmond. I return to sea before month’s end.”

I? Merry felt her heart drop to her knees. He said ‘I’.

It was as she suspected. Varian was leaving her here, leaving her in the sisters’ care. Instead of anger, sadness flooded her veins. She felt herself move closely into his arm beside her.

His arm moved around her waist and tightened comfortably. Suspended in his gentleness and the feel of him, she held the memory of his lips against hers. As they walked, his warm male flesh close to her warmed her more delicate limbs. She took sharp notice that if left at Winderly, she would miss him. She did not want to be left behind and it had very little to do with the fear of such uncertainty.

Glancing sideways at his shadowed face, she wondered what he made of her and wondered if the thought of leaving her made him feel as she did; this sharp displeasure and sense of impending misery. She wondered if he did feel thusly, why he was determined in this course.

It was a subject she could not approach directly. It would betray too much of her feelings for him. She already betrayed herself at every turn. His leaving her at Winderly was, in a way, a kindness.

From a distant magnolia tree mockingbird song filled the quiet like tuned bells. Inside the house he led her to the stairs, and she moved beside him without hesitation, even when their journey took her into his own bedchamber. He released his hold on her and clicked closed the door behind him.

Somehow, it was not until she heard the click she wondered why he brought her here or why she had followed him so willingly. She had not been in his bedchamber before.

To cover the uneasy riot of her senses, Merry pretended to study the room. It was a large room occupied by a huge four-poster bed. Carved into the headboard was the crest she had seen her first day aboard ship on the small leather box from his sea chest. As in her room, yards of mosquito netting was tied to the posters. The room was elegant and masculine, yet held an oddly inviting coziness which made Merry feel immediately content. As odd as it was, she felt she belonged in his room. She went to stand beside the desk, pretending to examine the neatly organized items covering his desk, and her heart with each moment pounded a little faster.