Julia London (89 page)

Alex suddenly caught her from behind and jerked her hard to his chest. The impact knocked the breath from her, and she gulped for air as he nuzzled his face against
her neck, sending a wave of unwelcome longing crashing through her. “Let me soothe your melancholy, sweetheart. Let me wash your guilt away,” he whispered hoarsely.

The poignant use of the poem she had sent him in her darkest hour was her undoing; she swallowed a violent sob and pivoted in his arms. He cradled her face in his hands, peering deeply into her eyes. “I will not lose you again,” he breathed, and crushed his mouth to hers, devouring her. She surrendered easily, abandoning everything to him. Love and desire swirled through her, and she responded with the intensity of those powerful emotions, groping for him, until her thoughts began to cloud her passion. Her conscience would not let her abandon herself completely to him; images of Magnus swept across her mind’s eye, the recognition of Alex’s importance in the Lords. Her passion began to ebb, flowing out like the tide and allowing guilt to seep in. She suddenly broke away, shaking her head.

“Don’t stop,” he rasped in her ear.

“You shouldn’t have come here,” she whispered. She felt him stiffen. Wearily, he laid his forehead against hers, breathing deeply. “I can’t be with you, Alex. You have to leave.”

His head jerked up at that. “
Never
,” he said roughly.

No, never, please God, never
, she silently prayed, but pushed softly against his chest. “Maybe it’s not too late. If you go back to London—”

“What in the hell are you saying?” he demanded.

“I can’t be with you,” she said again, her voice quivering.

Alex slowly dropped his hands to his sides. Lauren stepped away, flattening her back against a stall, fighting the urge to fling herself into his arms again. There was simply too much at stake. His expression was disbelieving, incredulous. But he had to believe it.

Pivoting on her heel, she fled the stables, blinded by tears.

* * *

She ended up in Abbey’s favorite sitting room. Like a wild animal, she paced around the sewing baskets, books, and magazines scattered about the floor, intermittently crying and suppressing a rifling anguish. Oh, God, why had he come and made such a bloody mess of everything? No, there was no
mess
, she angrily reminded herself, other than her state of mind. Ethan had signed the betrothal agreement, had already posted the banns. What of Magnus? Good
God
, how could she look at him having heard Alex’s declaration of love? How could she
lie
with him on their wedding night? That monumental event was just days away—even now, he was in Portsmouth, readying his ship to take her to Bavaria.

To take her away from Alex.

With a sob, Lauren whirled toward the windows overlooking the gardens.
Bavaria.
Where she would wake each morning to the memory of his words:
I love you, no other, more than I have ever loved anyone in my life.
She gasped in abject pain.

When the door quietly opened Lauren spun around, half-afraid it was Alex and she would lose all reason. But it was Abbey who entered, balancing a tray with a flagon and two tankards. Lauren hastily wiped the tears from her face as her friend carefully placed the heavy tray on a stool. Abbey did not look at her as she knelt on her knees next to the stool. “Michael sent Mr. Goldthwaite to Rosewood with the children,” she said quietly, “and Alexa is in bed.” Lauren did not answer, afraid she would break apart if she did.

Abbey poured a tankard of ale and held it out to Lauren with a sheepish smile. “It’s my favorite. Whiskey may seem more appropriate to you at the moment, but it does not go down quite as smoothly.” Lauren could not move; she stared at the tankard. “It’s none of my affair, but I am guessing things did not go particularly well,” Abbey said, and with her head, motioned toward the tankard.

Slowly, Lauren walked across the room, fell to her knees
across from Abbey, and took the tankard. “He has ended his engagement,” she said bluntly, and took a long swallow of the foul liquid.

Abbey poured a tankard for herself and settled on the floor, leaning against an overstuffed couch. “Michael told me.”

Lauren slid to her hips, perching her shoulder against the couch, and stared into the tankard. “He says he
loves
me.” She almost choked on the words.”

Abbey took a generous swig as she contemplated that. “I think he must love you dearly to do what he did. It must have been very difficult for him.”

“What? To come here
now
, when it is too late?” Lauren asked bitterly.

Abbey smiled softly and shook her head. “No, I think it was very difficult to end his engagement and risk everything he has built.” Lauren hid her guilt at that behind another swig of ale. “But,” Abbey continued, “I never thought he loved her. I mean, I think he
hoped
he would, but … He found you. It’s just that the timing is not very good.”

“The timing could not be
worse
!” Lauren moaned, and drank more.

“You can hardly fault him for the timing, Lauren. It’s not as if you presented yourself any earlier.”

“Oh, fine,”
she snapped, and drank more of the ale. After several minutes, she blurted, “First of all, I did not
present
myself. Secondly, he may say whatever he likes now, because it is just too
late
.”

“Too late? Why is it too late?”

“Have you forgotten? I have to marry Magnus!”

“You do not
have
to do anything. You are not married yet, so how can it be too late?” Abbey demanded.

“Because it
is
!”

“No it is
not,
” Abbey strongly disagreed.

“What are you suggesting?” Lauren asked suspiciously.

Abbey snorted loudly and quaffed her ale before speaking.
“You do not love Magnus, do you? Do not even think to try and tell me otherwise! It is quite obvious!”

“Is that so? Well, the night in London I came to your house, you thought I was quite mad for him! Seemed obvious to you then!” Lauren countered triumphantly, feeling a bit light-headed.

Abbey gave a curt toss of her head and glanced imperiously at the hearth. “I have had the opportunity to observe you closely since then—”

“You have had the opportunity to listen to me cry about my troubles, you mean.”

Abbey abruptly giggled into her tankard. “All right, so I have! But you have told me everything, and my point is that you love him, Lauren,
not
Magnus! And Alex loves you! So much that he ended an important engagement, severed a powerful family alliance, and walked away from everything he has accomplished in the Lords. Therefore, it is not too
late
!” Abbey lifted her tankard into the air, ending with a flourish.

Lauren giggled and impulsively lifted her tankard, tapping it against Abbey’s. The two women simultaneously sagged against the couch in a fit of silly laughter. After a moment, Lauren sobered, sighing sadly. “Forgetting, for the moment, that he would always be tainted by my presence if I were to consider your suggestion, I cannot do that to Magnus.”

Abbey did not say anything for a long moment. “Do you think,” she finally asked, “that Magnus would want to marry you if he knew you loved another?”

Lauren shrugged as she fished a piece of debris from her ale. “He knows. It does not matter to him. It was part of the agreement between us,” she said softly. “His affection in exchange for my respect. That is all he wants from me.”

Abbey looked skeptical. “Truly? I mean, he may have
said
that, but do you think he could truly mean it?”

Lauren did not immediately respond. She drained her
tankard and helped herself to another. “It does not matter,” she said resolutely. “I
do
respect Magnus, and I cannot toss him aside.”

“But what of Alex?” Abbey asked as she refilled her tankard.

“I don’t know!” Lauren exclaimed. “I don’t want him to risk it all! He is too important—England
needs
a man like him. But—but he uses
words
to make me—
want
him,” she said timidly.

Abbey laughed. “Words as opposed to what, his feet?”

Buoyed by the ale, Lauren laughed. “His feet are very large, have you noticed?”

Abbey nodded. “Almost as big as his head,” she whispered gravely. The laughter of both women pealed through the room, and they spent the early evening detailing all of Alex’s faults. When they had quite exhausted that subject, they sent for another flagon of ale, then gleefully turned to Michael’s faults. And then those of men in general.

After depleting the Daifields’ ale reserves, Lauren was escorted home by two coachmen and Withers. The next morning, her headache was far too blinding to answer the dozens of questions Mrs. Peterman put to her. She hardly knew what she was doing as she attempted her chores. If she never saw a pint of ale again, it would be too soon.

Unable to endure the housekeeper’s disapproving looks, she finally stumbled outside to feed Lucy, but even she seemed to be looking at her questioningly. “
Et tu
, Lucy?” she mumbled. Misery, both physical and emotional, deluged her. In the rare moments she was capable of thinking clearly, she was baffled and drained by Alex’s unexpected appearance. She could not think. She did not
want
to think. Dropping the empty feed pail, she began to walk to no particular destination. Just somewhere away from all humanity. Somewhere she would not have to think.

Without realizing how far she had gone, she stumbled onto the pumpkin field and moaned. How apropos that she should end up exactly where her little saga had begun. She
dragged herself to a tree and leaned against it, looking out over the fallow field.

There would be no pumpkins this year. Magnus did not like the fact that she had established trade—like Paul, he did not think it terribly befitting a countess. He had bestowed a trust on Rosewood so there would never again be a need to trade. A trust so large that it allowed him a voice at Rosewood. With a heavy sigh, she slid down the trunk of the tree until her legs folded under her. He meant well, but it chafed her that he had come to Rosewood and demanded change, asserting his right to do so simply because she had agreed to marry him. She had not argued with him; she had been too exhausted. Alex had exhausted her of all will.

Alex.

A watery recollection came to her, and she turned her cheek against the smooth bark of the tree. With her eyes closed, she could see every feature of his ruggedly handsome face. As hard as she had tried to push him from her mind since leaving London, he had been constantly with her. It was appalling to her that while Magnus talked of marriage, children, and Bergenschloss, she could sit calmly, pretend to listen, and think of Alex—
long
for Alex. Then yesterday, he had appeared from nowhere and had said the words she had so wanted to hear.

She winced, feeling the pain of his words for the hundredth time. Had it not been for Magnus, she might very well have begged him to take her away from everything. As if she could escape! There was already talk of her in London. The day she had left, she had called on Charlotte to say good-bye, but that horrid Lady Pritchit had not allowed her to see her daughter. Lauren had been so stunned, she had simply turned and walked away. Her glorious night at the opera was the cause, that much she understood. Why had she not insisted he fetch Lady Paddington? Why had she not insisted he take her home? Why, oh
why
, had she …

What was done was done, and she was sick of the guilt.
She
had
gone, and now she had no choice but to go to Bavaria. The very thought of leaving wrenched her heart, even if only for half a year at a time. The children needed her so. But more than that, how could she possibly survive without him?

She drifted, the image of Alex vivid in her head. He truly was magnificent, she thought. In her mind’s eye she skimmed the broad shoulders, the long line of his muscular legs, the arrogant smile on his face. His poignant words whispered over and over in her head, the feel of his lips on hers so real that she could not be completely certain it was
not
real. She drifted through the waking dream as she lay against the tree, a dream in which the stark reality of her duty to Rosewood and Magnus periodically intruded. Tortured by strong feelings for him, Lauren actually felt ill. It was several hours before she found the strength to return home.

   The following day, Lauren absently hung freshly laundered clothes on a line between the new barn and a tree, determined not to think of Alex
or
Magnus. Unfortunately, she could not stop herself, and quickly discovered that she could not think of one without thinking of the other. So perplexed was she by her dilemma that she did not notice the line sagging until it snapped from the weight of the children’s wet clothes. She groaned, picked up the clothes, and went in search of Rupert to repair the line. She heard his booming laugh coming from the front lawn as she walked toward the house. Changing direction, she rounded the corner of the house, halting unsteadily when she saw Alex. What was he
doing
here? Surrounded by Rupert, Horace, Leonard, and Theodore, he held a rapier in his hands. A
real
rapier.

“Good afternoon, Miss Hill,” Alex called cheerfully, as if nothing was out of the ordinary. As if time had turned back and they had never left Rosewood almost a year ago.

The other four heads instantly swiveled toward her. Speechless, Lauren eyed him suspiciously. “I found this old thing at Dunwoody and thought the lads might enjoy it,” he remarked. With a smile, he resumed his detail of the sword for the boys. She edged cautiously toward the lawn, her fingers trailing the brick of the house, disbelieving his casual presence. He had removed his coat and had rolled up his sleeves over sinewy forearms. His hair, a little long now, glistened in the afternoon sun as he demonstrated the basic steps of fencing. She was immediately overcome with a vivid memory of his body above her, his green eyes peering through to her very soul. She unconsciously pressed a palm against her hot cheek.