Chapter 17 #3
Yes, he thought, but couldn’t say it, for then she’d want to know the truth.
Damn them all for putting these doubts in her mind.
And damn her for even thinking them partly true.
“Obviously, you’ve decided the answer to that already.
You believe I bedded my aunt—the wife of my own father’s brother—and then abandoned her.
” An awful realization stole over him. Staring down at her, he growled, “And you let me make love to you last night even though you thought—”
“I let you make love to me, because I didn’t want to believe it.
I still don’t.” Her voice wavered, and he suddenly glimpsed the hurt she’d striven mightily to hide.
“But I don’t know what to believe. Everyone speculates about your life, bombarding me daily with new tales about the dangerous Lord St. Clair.
And you expect me—a woman who’s known you less than a month—to discern the truth amidst the lies while you act the tragic hero and keep silent about it all? ”
Her logic only made it worse. “You have a history of writing lies about me, yet you wonder why I keep silent? Oh, that’s rich!”
Her eyes flashed. “That’s just an excuse, and you know it. Have I mentioned you once in my column in the past week? While you slobbered over every eligible woman with a pair of breasts, did I write one word about you or the women you courted?”
“Slobbered over— Damn you, Felicity, I see why you insist on knowing my past.” His anger at himself twisted into anger at her.
“You’re jealous, that’s all, of women I didn’t even bed.
It’s a wonder I had time for fighting a war or running Chesterley, considering all the women you think I lusted over. ”
He paced the room as he repeated every snide tale ever said about him.
“There’s my aunt, whom I apparently seduced at the precocious age of nineteen.
Then I ran off to the Continent and into the arms of a score of Spanish women, depending on which source you credit.
Oh, and let’s not forget Josephine, who apparently came to my bed despite the troublesome fact that I’m English and her sworn enemy.
Not to mention all the women I’ve courted or supposedly bedded in the past three years in England. ”
Stopping short, he glared at her. “And poor Miss Greenaway—I suppose you still believe her to be my mistress.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Is that all of them, or have I missed a woman or two whose association with me you wish to question?”
“Yes, you missed me—the woman you want to marry. But apparently not badly enough to entrust her with the truth. She writes gossip, after all.”
The accusation fell between them like a gauntlet. Her pain was so palpable, it glimmered bleakly in her green eyes. Bloody hell, he hadn’t meant to hurt her, not like this. It was just that the thought of her knowing so much and yet so little roused his temper as nothing ever had.
Frustrated, he stabbed his fingers through his disheveled hair. How he wished he could unfold the entire ugly story. It would almost be a relief.
Except that once she knew, she’d never marry him, not his self-righteous Felicity. She might even prevent anyone else from considering him as well. She had a deplorable tendency to air their arguments in her column, and he couldn’t allow that.
But besotted fool that he was, he couldn’t walk away from her either.
“This isn’t a matter of trust,” he said in an attempt to placate her.
“Surely the very fact that I wish to marry you shows I trust you. I trust you not to shame my family name, and I trust you to be a good wife to me. I even trust you with the management of my home and the bearing and rearing of my children. Isn’t that enough for you? ”
She squared her shoulders. “Ian, I’m not insensible to the amazing compliment you pay me with this offer of marriage. I’ll even admit I’d like nothing better than to marry you. But I don’t want a marriage full of secrets. Why can’t you understand that?”
“And why can’t you understand that none of my secrets has anything to do with us?
You’re torturing yourself needlessly with all these questions about other women in my life.
You’re jealous of a woman who died ten years ago, another woman whom I consider merely a friend, and a former empress, for God’s sake, whom I never even met, much less bedded.
You’re jealous of ghosts when all I want is you. ”
She sighed. “You insist on seeing this as mere jealousy. You can be such a vain, arrogant ass sometimes.”
How much more insulting the words sounded on a woman’s soft lips. “That’s why you should marry me,” he said in a weak attempt at humor. “It’ll give you ample opportunity to prick my vanity and subdue my arrogance.”
She raised one eyebrow. “That is indeed a temptation.” Then she added, “But not enough of one. As long as you won’t be honest with me, I can’t marry you, Ian.
I’ll always know you don’t trust me, and the thought will eat at me until I grow to hate you.
I care about you too much to have that happen. I’m sorry.”
He’d seen it coming, yet he couldn’t believe it. How could she be so bloody stubborn? Well, she wouldn’t deny him this marriage simply because of old gossip and wounded pride, not when it was the means to her salvation as well. He wouldn’t let her!
“You have no choice in the matter,” he told her grimly. “You will marry me.”
She stiffened. “I told you, I don’t care if you’ve compromised me—”
“But you do care about starving, don’t you? Have you forgotten your financial situation? I haven’t. If you don’t marry me, I’ll seek out all your father’s creditors and tell them you have no real inheritance. You know too well what’ll happen then. They’ll swarm this place like rats.”
Shock filled her face. “You wouldn’t! No gentleman would do such a cruel—”
“No gentleman would leave you penniless and compromised. I’ll do what I must to ensure that you marry me, and if that means throwing you to the wolves until you see your folly, so be it.
Don’t be foolish, Felicity. How long do you think you’ll last once those money-grubbers divide this house between them?
How will you live when it’s gone? In a garret, supporting four growing brothers on the proceeds from a newspaper column? I think not!”
“I have prospects! Mr. Pilkington says he’ll print my book—”
“Mr. Pilkington will say anything to keep you writing that column he pays you a pittance for. Do you truly believe he cares about your book? Even if he did, it would bring you little enough money to support a household of this size.” He neared her and lowered his voice.
“You’d turn down a secure future for your family simply because of your damned principles?
No. I won’t allow it. You’ll marry me tomorrow, and that’s the end of it. ”
He stalked off for the door, but she caught him by the arm before he reached it. “You don’t want to do this! What kind of marriage can we have if I hate you?”
Though that was her best thrust yet, he ignored its cut, forcing himself not to heed her plea. “You won’t hate me. You’re too sensible for that. Eventually you’ll thank me.”
“Oh, you really are an arrogant ass! And a foolish one, too, if you think I’ll ever thank you for forcing me to act against my will!”
“I’m only doing what’s in your best interests,” he bit out.
“And yours.”
“Yes, and mine. But our interests mesh very well together.”
“Do they? Well then, Lord St. Clair,” she said, his title sounding like a curse on her lips, “I have a surprise for you. I want a real marriage, and we can only have that if you’re honest with me.
So until you are, you’d best pray our encounter tonight produced your heir.
Because that will be the last time I take you into my bed willingly.
If you force this upon me, you’ll have to force the other upon me as well, do you hear? ”
The thought that she might actually mean it momentarily paralyzed him.
Then he shook it off. She was already relenting on the subject of marriage.
The other would come. “I hear you, but this petty threat won’t deter me.
I’ve reached the end of my patience. We’ll be married Christmas Eve if I must drag you into the church myself. ”
She visibly recoiled at his words. “I mean what I say.”
“I don’t doubt it.” He caught her chin and ran his thumb deliberately over her trembling lower lip. “But I know how easily your passions are roused. Mark my words, querida, I’ll have my heir by Martinmas next, and I won’t need force to get him either.”
He waited until he saw the doubt flicker in her eyes before he released her. “So no matter what you threaten, we will be married. Is that understood?”
She stared at him white-faced, but he could see the look of defeat in her eyes.
“Felicity?” he prodded sternly.
With a sigh of exasperation, she nodded.
His triumph tasted like the bitterest wormwood.
He only wished he could have gained her some other way.
On impulse, he drew off his signet ring to press it into her cold palm, closing the fragile, ink-stained fingers around it with a twinge of guilt.
“Present this if any more of your creditors come to call. I’ll notify you of the arrangements for the wedding once I’ve procured the special license. ”
When she merely stood there woodenly, he released her hand. But as he left her behind him in the drawing room, her words stayed with him.
If you force this upon me, you’ll have to force the other upon me as well. Damn the obstinate witch to hell—he’d do whatever necessary to prove her wrong.