Chapter 16 #2
She took her hand away. “And he was right. I would have been a terrible wife for what he wanted. And he would have never been a husband to me, just another boy I needed to mop up after.”
She shifted her legs. “His and Miriam’s engagement was a long one, I’m not sure why, maybe his parents thought Ned was too young.
But he came to me one night, and he wanted to— He kissed me and said sweet things, and fool that I am, I didn’t ask, I assumed the betrothal had been broken off.
I couldn’t imagine he would want me while still engaged to Miriam.
But nothing had been broken off. The banns were read four days later, and Miriam gave birth to Celia six months after that. ”
“Oh, Susannah.” He stroked her knee.
“And I gave birth three months after Miriam. It was impossible to hide. I was enormous. And everyone knew Ned had been the one to put the babies in me. I became a fallen woman. How Susannah became the fallen woman of Much Wemby.”
He could hear the italics. He could hear how much pain she had been in, how she had lived with consequences no man would ever suffer.
“Where’s your other daughter?”
She started to cry and laugh at the same time.
“She was born dead, right here. She was so little. She didn’t move, didn’t breathe, didn’t cry. I buried her there,” she pointed at the stone with the carved letters, “and took my other daughter to the D’Oylys.”
“Why—”
“I knew my screaming in the cottage would scare Dando and Jory. And Father.”
“You were here alone?”
“No, Hodge was with me. Through all of it.”
“You had no midwife?”
“In a village like Much Wemby, midwives don’t help women like me. But Hodge helped me. Helped me labor, helped me dig, took my baby and me to the D’Oylys in the cart.”
He hugged her to him. Yes, for her comfort but also for his. She was warm, alive, breathing. She could have so easily died while giving birth to twins in a ruined church with no one to tend to her but her brother.
“I wish your brother were still alive so I could thank him.”
“Hodge? I hope, I don’t know, but I hope he’s still alive.”
He pulled back, held her shoulders, looked in her face. Somewhere, sometime, he had misunderstood her. “You said your brothers were gone.”
She shook her head. “Gone from here. Simon is dead. He was always sickly, like Mother. Jory was in the Navy and died in the Battle of the Nile. But Hodge and Nolly . . . they had to leave. Nolly stole a watch from a traveler at The Swan and had to run from the magistrate. And two years before that, Hodge . . . Hodge, he was caught with his sweetheart and had to run away, too. He always told me he wanted to go to foreign lands, so I try to imagine him there.”
“Who was his sweetheart? Someone’s wife or . . . ?”
“His sweetheart was another man.”
No wonder her brother had run. Buggery had been a death sentence in England for almost three hundred years.
She turned fierce. “Hodge is not wicked like the man you killed. Hodge loves men. Not children, not boys! Loving a man—I understand it.”
He loved her fierceness, her defense of her brother.
“I understand your brother is not the same as the man who hurt my son,” he said, not to put out her fire but to make sure she understood him.
“Good,” she said. “Hodge is good.”
“Yes, he is. He must be. He helped you, Susannah, and I am forever in his debt for all he did for you.”
The rainwater fell down her face, dripped off her little, perfect nose. One drop hung, suspended, and he flicked it away.
“Even though I don’t understand why anyone could love a man. We’re sweaty, surly, and think we know best. Give me women.” He ticked his fingers. “Pretty, breasts, and so capable.”
She laughed, and he was happy he had managed at least that.
“Is that your recipe for a perfect woman?” she asked.
“My perfect woman is sitting with me in a ruin. And she has all those things, but even if she didn’t, I would still love her.” He paused. “And I would still ask her to marry me.”
He waited.
She said nothing.
He realized. “Will you marry me, Susannah?”
Very slowly, she said, “I love you, Henry. I love you very much.”
Oh. He thought she had been waiting for a question, but she had only been sorting out how to say no to him.
He hid his disappointment. He had years of hiding to shore him up.
“You won’t marry me.”
“I’m not saying never. I’m just saying . . . we have all the time in the world.”
He understood her. They had all of their time left in this world, and they’d spend it together, married or no.
That wouldn’t stop him from wooing her. He’d never stop wooing her. It would be part of his cure, and it might heal some part of her, too.
Yes, let the knight weave a spell around the enchantress instead of the other way around. He held her tighter.
They sat that way in the ruins of the church for some time. The soft rain came down, he held her soft body, and they sat on soft, wet earth in a church where they would not marry.
“What will you be to me then?” he finally asked. “My friend?”
“Yes. Among other things.”
Earl and authoress. Knight and enchantress—
“Maybe I’d like to be your mistress.” Her eyes had a naughty sparkle.
“You could be.” Dear God, he could not love her more.
“Your only mistress.”
“You would be.”
“And maybe I’d like to start now,” she said and ran her hands from his neck, over his shoulders, and down his arms.
He was a man, so the idea was not unwelcome. But—
“Here, in the rain?”
“You light a torch inside me, Henry Delamere, and the rain cannot put it out.”
Her hand went to his groin and cupped his cock, which had already started to grow rigid with her suggestion. Their mouths met, and their tongues slid against each other. There was no friction between them, they wanted the same thing, but sparks still flew.
He palmed her breast through her wet dress. “You,” he said against her mouth. “I’m—”
“Yes?”
He groaned in frustration at the betrayal of his body as his cock and knees throbbed in unison.
“I can’t be on my knees, Susannah. Not on the ground.”
She pulled away slightly to look into his eyes. “You want to wait until you have a nice, soft featherbed underneath you, is that it, my lord?”
He saw the ends of her lips curve up into a smile, and she put a hand on his chest and pushed.
“Lay back, Henry Delamere. This country girl knows there are more ways to heaven than one.”