CHAPTER ELEVEN #5
Verena stared at him in mute fascination. Could it be true? Was it possible that she also, despite her instant damping down of the betraying sensations, had lost her heart to him the very first time they met? No, it could not be so.
She shifted her gaze, plucking aimlessly at her white muslin petticoats. “I do not know how this has happened. I have been fighting for so long — not to feel.”
“But you do feel,” Denzell said. “Can you deny it?”
Verena shook her head, still not looking at him. “I have tried to deny it. It would be — it would be a lie to say I don’t love you.”
He moved a step closer. “Then say you do. It isn’t so hard, Verena.”
Slowly she brought her eyes up to meet his.
His heart sank at the confusion in them still.
She did not speak, but her lips quivered, and it was all he could do not to snatch her into his embrace, overbearing her resistance, forcibly suppressing her doubts.
A wisdom born of his knowledge of her held him back.
If he wanted her whole heart, free of doubt, she must come to him of her own will. His voice was tender.
“What is it that troubles you, dear love?”
Verena caught her breath. “If I say it — if I make the admission, then I give my life into your hands forever. My life — my happiness — everything. It is so … final.”
Denzell reached out and with one finger caressed her cheek. “Nothing in this world is final. The only certain thing we have is our intentions, and even they may change. We cannot see into the future, my darling. Life itself is a gamble.”
“Then you can offer no better refuge than my grandfather!”
A gleam of mischief lit his eyes. “Oh, I think I can safely promise you that it will be far more amusing to marry me than to live with old man Chaceley.”
A choke of laughter escaped her, lightening her features a little. “I can readily believe that.” Then she frowned. “I only hope Mama can be happy there.”
“If she is not, at least you have the satisfaction of knowing her misery is not bought at the expense of any bodily hurts,” he said.
“But, Verena, I think she will be happy. And I am sorry if I should offend you by this, but I believe she will be far happier than she could ever have been living alone with you.”
She sighed. “You do not offend me. I know it only too well. This past year has been — unimaginably hard. For both of us. But while we had no alternative…”
“You need no longer fear for her, my princess.”
She glanced up at his face, a puzzled look in her eyes. “Why do you call me that?”
He grinned. “Because that was how you first struck me. A fairy princess, catching at snowflakes.” He took her face between his hands.
“So beautiful, so enchantingly vivacious, so warm — and nothing like the ice maiden who depressed my pretensions in no uncertain manner the very first time we properly met.”
Verena gurgled. “If you only knew how hard it became for me to maintain that front in your presence.”
“I do know,” he told her, and bent his head to kiss her, very gently.
Verena sighed under the touch of his lips, and her hands came up to clasp about his back.
She felt her face released, and his strong arms go about her, and the kiss intensified.
That now familiar warmth invaded her breast. Remembering the fears to which this gave rise, she struggled a little, dropping her arms from about him and pushing at his chest. He released her mouth at once, pulling back, although his arms still encircled her.
“I will wait, Verena,” he uttered low-voiced. “If you wish it, I will wait. You will, after all, be living well within my reach at Pittlesthorp. But I warn you that I will lose no opportunity to press my suit — beyond the time when you are able to withstand me.”
She bit her lip, her eyes questioning. “Do you think that waiting will change me?”
He grimaced. “How can I tell? It may allow you to grow in confidence. In trust, perhaps.”
“And if you do not wait, what then?”
“Then I will marry you here in Tunbridge Wells and take you home as my wife.” He fetched a sigh. “I need scarcely say that the second option would be my preference, but I can understand you find it frightening.”
Yes, it was frightening, she thought. But to go among strangers, to resume her mask, to be obliged to pretend to a happiness she could not feel — without him? Oh, no. Unendurable.
She could not have stopped the smile breaking. “Less so than the first, if you want the truth.”
The sudden brightness in his face rewarded her. Denzell’s arms tightened.
“Verena! Do you mean that?”
“I would not otherwise say it.” Her fingers reached up to his cheek, and he turned his lips to kiss them.
“Verena, I swear to you, you will not regret it.”
She put her fingers over his mouth. “Oh, Denzell, don’t say that. There is only one thing I ask of you. Make me no promises that you cannot keep.”
His arms dropped from about her so that he could catch her hands in his.
“You are right to ask it of me, and although I would at this moment give my right arm before I hurt you, I cannot promise that I will never do so. Yet if I did, it could only be with words, and never — never, on my life! — will I lift one finger against you. And on that you may depend, if nothing else.”
Tears pricked at Verena’s eyes, and her voice was husky.
“You had no need to promise that. You see, Mama taught me something about love. She said that if Nathaniel had had her heart, he would not have beaten her. I did not believe it — until I watched you flirting last night. Denzell, I wanted to kill you.”
Denzell gazed down into her face for a moment. Then he let go her hands and swept her into his embrace, kissing her with the full strength of his passion.
Verena felt as if she was drowning, helpless with the heat that raced through her veins, pulsing in secret places of whose existence she had hardly been aware.
If she remained standing, it was only by virtue of the grip of Denzell’s arms about her back.
She sank into him, a soft moan sounding in her throat.
When at last his lips released hers, it was only to mouth his way across her cheek, bury his lips into the hollows of her neck, and then return, hungrily to caress her mouth again, pressing his way into the innocent velvet touch within.
Verena groaned, but her hands grasped harder at his back, her brain clouding out of all capacity to think. There was no reality but this enveloping sensation, and truth, erupting into life, gave her all the certainty she would ever want or need.
Against the touch of his lips on hers, she whispered it. “I do love you — oh, I do.”
And then she could not speak at all, for Denzell’s mouth claimed hers ever more strongly, and it was some little time before any coherent thought penetrated into her mind.
Just out of sight beyond a certain garden gate, Osmond and Unice Ruishton peeked at the couple so amorously entwined. They looked at each other. Osmond grinned down at his wife.
“If you knew how smug you look!”
“I have every right to look smug,” retorted Unice. “I have assisted in making a most delightful match.”
“You think she will make him happy, then?”
His wife’s eyes softened into tenderness. “She loves him, Osmond.”
“In that case, my darling,” he said, slipping his arm about her, “his happiness is assured.”
“And hers.”
Verena, resting in Denzell’s close embrace, her head on his shoulder, was aware of a feeling of ease within her breast and the gentle touch of Denzell’s fingers stroking in her hair.
She sighed contentedly, and felt him raise her head so that she had to look up at him.
The misted eyes of blue roved her face in mute question.
A smile wavered on her lips. “I rather think you have prevailed, Mr Hawkeridge.”
Denzell grinned. “I rather think you have succumbed, Miss Chaceley.”
A little laugh escaped her. “Yes, I have. I cannot say that all my fears are laid to rest, not yet. But what can I do, Denzell? My shield has gone beyond my reach. If there is a risk, I have no choice but to take it — with you.”
His fingers cradled her cheek as he scanned her eyes. They were smiling, free of shadows, and Denzell’s heart soared.
“No more mask then, snow maiden?”
Verena’s hand reached up, and their fingers met, and laced.
“What mask, sir, is that?”