Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
“ P romised your hand to… Wilkes ?” His face changed slowly—from surprise, to confusion, and then to something almost like disgust.
She couldn’t bear to have him look at her that way. But what else had she expected? The sordid details of her history were scarcely the sort of thing with which a viscount would be familiar.
“I did not wish to marry him, of course.” Her words came out in a rush. She didn’t look at Keynsham. “I had always disliked him. But my father had agreed to it, and I had never disobeyed him.”
Her father had pleaded, and cried, and clutched his chest and said that his weak heart couldn’t withstand the disaster that would come if she didn’t marry Wilkes. They would be tossed out into the street. He would be sent to debtors’ prison. He would die of the cruel treatment there—he was certain of it!
“I believed that I would be helping my father. But I did not understand…” Her face began to heat. “That is, I had not fully considered what would be… required of me. And I could not bear…”
Her voice faltered for a moment. Keynsham was still silent. She risked one glance at him. His square jaw was set and in the gathering shadows of the small room his bruised cheekbone and cut lip looked alarming. His arms were folded, and he was gripping his own elbows, making his muscles strain against his jacket sleeves. His knuckles were white, as though he were barely restraining himself.
“Perhaps I should have explained that my father was considered the village squire. He lived in the style that he thought accorded with—well, what he thought was his importance in society. But he outran his income. I learned later that he was borrowing money.”
“Of Wilkes.” His voice was flat.
“I do not know when it started. But Wilkes never seemed to be far away. For the last few years, he had been spending more and more time in London with his—well, his enterprises. But he had attached himself to my father long before that, and often came to dine and spend the evening.”
“ Enterprises . He is a criminal.”
“Yes. But although my father was snobbish, he treated Wilkes as an equal.”
“Because he owed him money and wished to borrow more on easy terms.” His tone was still expressionless.
“I suppose.” When she’d been young, Wilkes had been only a figure glimpsed from a window—a loud voice late at night, a bustle in the hall departing before the arrival of her father’s more respectable friends. He’d been sent away to be educated—which was surprising, as his father was merely a petty criminal. When he returned, he was dressed in the first stare of fashion, and cut a swagger about the village in a top hat of shining beaver. Gold rings flashed upon his fingers.
Both he and her father enjoyed flashy clothes, fast horses, and fine wine. They often stayed up late together, their voices growing louder as the hours passed. Sometimes she’d hold a pillow over her ears and try to pretend that Wilkes wasn’t in the house. Because… well, the way he looked at her made her skin crawl.
“So. Wilkes had made money through thievery or some other racket. And then—clever enough to realize that he could make a good deal more money, at far less risk to himself—he began lending it out?”
“I know nothing of his… his business arrangements. I always kept away from him when he visited.”
“I see. And so then a few years later, your father—to preserve his own comforts—bargained you away. How old were you?”
“Eighteen.”
The muscles in his jaw clenched. “And how long do you believe that he had planned this?”
“Wilkes?”
“No. Your father. When do you think that your father realized that the easiest way to afford the mode of life that he enjoyed would be to sell you to a criminal?”
She went cold, then hot with shame. “You cannot… My father was a gentleman! I—I think that he simply did not realize the extent of his debt to Wilkes. He would not have…”
And yet… was it possible that he had really been so completely ignorant of his financial position?
Keynsham merely looked at her. “Many bargains are struck for marriage. Not all of them are honorable.” His face was grim. “Well. But you managed to escape.”
“Yes. A few days after the marriage had been agreed, Wilkes came to dine with my father. But later that evening, I heard them arguing.”
“You had agreed to marry him, but you did not dine with them?”
“No. I—I had a headache. Our housekeeper, Mrs. Ryder, brought me a tray in my room. She would bring me a tray in my room whenever… he stayed to dine. She had never thought him suitable company.” She swallowed hard. It was a relief to put the story into words. Yet it was also terrifying to tell the truth.
“And then, for some reason that I cannot understand—I can only supposed that he was drunk—my father set out very early the next morning for Bath. I did not see him leave. On the way there, his carriage overturned and he was killed. I—I had not even had the chance to tell him goodbye.”
She broke off and took a breath. She didn’t want to cry in front of Keynsham. “And when they came to tell me, I—I—” Despite herself, a sob was rising in her throat. She put her hand over her mouth to hold it in until she could regain some composure. “And now you will hear what a dreadful person I am. My first thought was that I—I no longer had to marry Wilkes.”
The sobs broke through. She sat, her chest heaving painfully, her hands over her face. “I know that it was wicked of me—but I…” She stopped for a moment and swallowed. “I had prayed that I would not have to marry him. And—and then that happened.”
Keynsham’s voice was kind. “Miss Ryder, I am certain that you are far too rational to believe that your prayers killed your father. It was his own decision to travel at night. And what he asked of you was cruel and selfish. He knew what Wilkes was. Indeed, it is clear that your housekeeper knew too. Is she the reason that you adopted the name Ryder?”
“Oh.” She felt her face warm. “Well, there again, you will see that I am not… I am not a good person.”
“That is not at all what I think. Indeed, I think that you are…” He broke off. There was something in his eyes that sent a sudden heat through her body. But he didn’t complete his thought, and she forced the feeling away. After all, he was about to hear yet another truth about her character.
She took a shaky breath. “Mrs. Ryder has a daughter—Catherine—who was brought up and educated with her second cousins. Catherine had a position as a lady’s companion. Her employer wrote her a character reference. She sent her mother a copy. Mrs. Ryder was so proud of her! Miss Ryder had been about to take another position. But a local landowner offered for her and—well, it was a most eligible situation. She married him.”
He looked confused. “But what does Mrs. Ryder’s daughter’s marriage have to do with you?”
Her face was burning now. “I—I stole it. I stole her character reference. I told myself that she could not need it. I was desperate to escape Wilkes. I took the letter and hid it in my pocketbook. I wrote to the lady who had offered the real Miss Ryder the position and posted my letter. And as soon as it was dark, I walked to an inn on the London road to catch the stagecoach—so that I would be gone before Wilkes returned.”
The hurried packing, the fear that he would come… the memory of it still made her hands shake. “I could not tell Mrs. Ryder that I was leaving, though she was as dear to me as a mother. I brought only a few clothes. I was to change coaches in London. And the following day… well, that is when we met. And that is why I had to get my pocketbook back.”
“I shall never forget a moment of that night.” His words seemed to strike a charge into the air of the room. They were not a declaration. But suddenly she was having trouble collecting her thoughts. Did he mean…? But that was impossible.
“What is your real name?”
She hesitated. “Talbot. Celia Talbot.”
“Miss Talbot.” He said it as though he were testing it. “I see. Well. There is something about this that does not make sense to me, Miss Talbot .”
Her heart skipped a nervous beat. “What is it?”
“You said that your father left for Bath after your marriage had been agreed. Did he intend to skip your wedding? Who was to have given you away?”
“I do not know.”
He sat thinking. “It was odd and indelicate of him to leave you at such a time.”
“I have never understood it myself. But he could be… impulsive. For a time, I wondered if he had changed his mind. Perhaps he meant for me not to marry Wilkes after all. Perhaps he was going to send for me, so that I might join him in Bath. Perhaps he was a kinder father than I have…” She broke off. “I do not wish to give the impression that he was unkind.”
“You do not have to. He was.”
Her guilt seemed to prickle her skin. “He simply… he did not think…”
“He did not think of you at all. That is plain. And the result is that you were not merely left unprotected, but that you were thrown to Wilkes—as bait.”
“You are being unfair!” She rose, too agitated to sit. “He could not have known that Wilkes would…”
But that was wrong. He had known exactly what Wilkes was. It was simply that it had been convenient for him to pretend that he did not. Keynsham was right. Her father hadn’t cared what happened to her.
The tears that she’d been fighting overwhelmed her. She turned her face away, half blinded, trying in vain to regain control of herself.
And then his hand was on her arm. “Miss Talbot. Please. I am sorry. I did not mean to… here.” He put his handkerchief back into her hand. She buried her face in it and sobbed. His hand was on her back. She turned toward him. He drew her into his arms.
When her tears stopped, she found that her forehead was resting against his shoulder. There was a quiet, regular sound that she realized was the beating of his heart.
It was too late to un-think all the thoughts she’d had about him. She’d imagined being in his arms. She’d imagined kissing him. She’d told herself that it was harmless. After all, thoughts weren’t real—and she would never see him again.
Only… now here he was. He wasn’t a figment of her imagination. He was a flesh and blood man—warm and surprisingly gentle, considering his brutal fighting ability—and he was holding her as though she were precious.
“Miss Talbot?”
She stepped back, though somehow her hands were still resting upon his chest. “I—I do apologize. I did not mean to… to…”
“It is quite all right. I am certain that my jacket will dry by morning.” His voice seemed to travel from her ears, into her spine, and down into her lower belly.
“I am sorry for lying about my name.” She wasn’t certain why she’d said it—except that she had to say something. It was too awkward not to.
“May I confess something?”
She managed to nod yes.
“I shall miss Miss Ryder.”
Her heart was hammering. “Oh.”
“Yes.” His eyes searched her face. “I thought of her often.”
She couldn’t think how to answer him. She scarcely knew what she said. And it didn’t matter, because words were now beside the point. The real conversation was the racing current of feeling beneath them—the racing current that connected them.
He placed his warm hands gently over hers. Was she leaning toward him—or was he leaning toward her? She couldn’t be certain of anything. His mouth was inches from hers. “Did you ever think of me? Of our kiss?”
His voice thrilled through her nerves. She managed another nod. She realized that she was holding her breath. Then his mouth found hers. A shock of pure wanting went through her. She closed her eyes.
This time, there was no inn yard full of shouting men and shoving stagecoach passengers—only the pop and hiss of the fire, already burning low. Stubble teased her lips. His tongue tickled the seam of her mouth until she realized what he wanted and parted her lips. His tongue found hers in another delicious shock. She heard him groan softly, and exhilaration flooded her.
He pulled her closer. She ran her hands down his back, feeling his hard muscles bunch beneath the elegantly tailored jacket. Her palms prickled with longing—a longing to stroke his bare shoulders, to run her hands over his naked skin. She’d never thought of such things before, but her body already seemed to know all about them.
They sank onto the bed as he cradled her. She couldn’t remember the last time that she’d felt so safe. And yet the feeling of safety was also blended with elation and anticipation.
She explored his mouth with her own, filled with a yearning to feel his comforting weight and warmth against her… and upon her. Where that desire had come from, she didn’t know… but here, in this small room, suspended in the fog, it didn’t seem wrong. She wrapped her arms around his neck, luxuriating in his solidity, the masculine scent of his soap, the heat of his mouth on hers.
They sank backward together into the chilly bedding. There was no sound in the room but the intimate whisper of him kissing his way down her neck. With a sigh, she thew her head back, surrendering to pure sensation—and to him.
And then something sharp jabbed into the small of her back. For a moment she tried to ignore it. This was such a beautiful dream. She’d been swept from despair to happiness. Keynsham shared her feelings! She hadn’t been going mad. There was a connection between them! The bliss of learning that he felt the same felt like more happiness than she could ever deserve.
The sharp thing jabbed her again, more painfully. Something was in the bed. She clapped her hand to the spot, and her fingers met the sharp corner of a little… cube? She pulled it out from under her back and realized that she was holding a small box. “Where did this…”
The words died on her lips as the delicate brass clasp of the box fell open. Inside was a ring—a large, pink stone surrounded by a halo of diamonds.
It was unmistakably a lady’s engagement ring. And Keynsham was patting his jacket’s breast pocket, a panicked look on his face. He saw the ring in its box. His face fell. “Oh.”
He began to reach for it. She held it out of his grasp. “What is this?” She looked from the ring to his face and back again, willing there to be an explanation.
He rolled onto his back and covered his eyes with one hand. “I—I ought not to have… I am sorry. Of course, under any circumstances, I...” He took a breath, avoiding her eyes. “It… it is expected that I will… become engaged to a… a young lady.” He seemed to be forcing the words out.
She jerked away from him and off the bed. “ What? ”
“I am not yet…” He stopped and gave his head a quick shake. “That is, the engagement has not been…”
“ No .” There was a pulse of panic in her stomach. What had she done? She had very nearly… And all this time, he’d been lying . She couldn’t seem to get a full breath of air. “The simple truth. I am not asking you if the banns have been read or for some—some technical detail . I am asking you for the truth .”
He sat up. “There is no betrothal. There have been…”
“Really?” She cut him off. “And yet you are carrying about her engagement ring.”
His shoulders sagged. “The situation is more complicated than…” He stopped. He tried again. “That is, as a gentleman, I cannot discuss…” He stopped again and gave his head a shake. “I can make no excuse for myself. I am sorry.”
She’d dropped her guard. She’d told him her story. She’d told him her real name. She was alone with him in a room in an inn.
And she was still holding the ring in its box. She let the lid close upon the gaudy pink bauble and handed it back without looking at him. “I wish to leave.”
“No. It is impossible. We cannot travel without the horses. It is not safe. Wilkes may be nearby still, and it is nearly dark.”
She glanced around the room as though there might be some escape route she hadn’t seen. Oh, if only she were anywhere but here—with him! For a whole year she’d dreamt of Mr. Keynsham. She’d built him up as her image of perfection—a gentleman she could trust, who’d protect her as he’d protected her that night a year ago…
But she was a fool. He wasn’t anything like the hero that she’d invented in her mind. He was merely another weak, lying, self-indulgent man. Disappointment was bitter in her mouth.
“Miss Talbot?—"
“I am very tired. I should like to sleep now.”
For a moment he seemed about to say something else. But then he sighed. “I shall take the floor.”
“As you wish.”
“Miss… Talbot, I…” There was a pause. She waited for him to say more. “I—I shall turn my back, then.”
She unlaced her boots, slipped into the bed, turned her back to him, and shut her eyes, willing all of this not to have happened.
He pulled off his boots and took off his jacket. She tried not to listen. The small sounds created an illusion of domesticity, of intimacy, that she knew wasn’t real—and ought to have known could never be real.
He was a viscount. And he was a liar. And he’d just admitted that he was engaged to another lady.
He blew out the candles. A tear trickled out from beneath one tightly shut lid. She let it run silently into the pillow, determined not to sniffle.
“Good night, Miss Talbot.”
She didn’t answer.