CHAPTER TWELVE #2
She clung to his fingers. “But it is not, Raith. It is little more than two weeks. That man is persuasive. I have no proof that I am telling the truth. And you have entertained doubts of me from the beginning.”
His hand cupped her cheek, the grey eyes remorseful.
“For which I hope you can learn to forgive me.” Then he drew her to him and dropped a light kiss on her hair.
“But you need have no apprehension. Ottery is even now at the house of Herbert Cambois. I will wager that he will extract the truth. He is no fool.”
Rosina pulled away, shock flooding her bosom. The sense of betrayal was swift and bitter. So much for her husband’s assurances.
“Mr Ottery is at Nun Eaton? You have been spying upon me!” Rosina swung away.
“You have plagued me beyond endurance to tell you these things, and all the time —” Halting in the middle of the room, she turned upon him.
“How could you know where to find my guardian? How did you know his name? Whom did you bully to —” She stopped, checked by a horrifying thought. “Gatty! You have found my nurse!”
“Yes, we found her. We were searching all the while I was away from here.”
“And you returned to me with soft words and…” She faded out, choked with chagrin. “How could you use me so?”
“I had no choice, Rosina. You would say nothing. What was I to do? I had to find out the truth in any way I could.”
“But to set your lawyer to spy upon me! And Gatty. What did you do to her to make her betray me to you? She would never have done so without force.”
His face changed. “Is that what you think of me? There was nothing of that sort, Rosina.”
“What did you do to her?”
“For what do you take me? I found a poor, blind creature whose sole concern was for your safety. She was only induced to confide the name of Cambois when she understood that I was more fitted to provide for your safe keeping than Forteviot himself.”
Her fury flashed. “But you did not tell her your suspicions of me. She would have demanded that you return me to her.”
“Which indeed she did. I gave her my promise that I would do so, should it turn out…”
He paused, but Rosina had divined his meaning. She felt as if the blood drained out of her and her voice shook. “You had as well d-do so at once. There can be no t-trust between us.”
Raith moved to her, and tried to take her hands. She whipped them behind her, stepping back. A weight of anguish hovered between them.
“Rosy, don’t do this, I pray you!”
She met his eyes full. “I d-dare not give in to you. Your suspicions have wrought h-havoc within me, as they have in you. You think it is over, but I know it is not. Mr Ottery will gain nothing but lies from Herbert Cambois. Between him and Forteviot, they will re-awaken your doubts. I know it.”
“No, Rosina! Trust me!”
“How can I trust you? You have blown hot and cold upon me since the first moment of our union.”
For a moment he said nothing. Emotions she could not catch flickered across his face, but his voice at length sounded desperate. “Rosy, we are married, for better or for worse. Nothing can change that.”
Rosina let out a laugh that cracked in the middle, and turned away from him. She found herself unsteady on her feet, and grasped at the mantel of the fireplace for support. She did not look at him. She spoke in the flat calm of despair.
“You speak always from impulse, Anton, and fail to see your own contradictions. But a moment since, you said you had told Gatty you would return me to her. Now you quote me the marriage vow, and expect me to believe in it.” She took a breath and looked across at him.
“I must face it, if you will not. We are on the brink of separation.”
“If it should come to that, then know that it will be to my everlasting regret.”
The torment of his heart was in his voice. Rosina heard it with a twisting in her own breast. “Oh, why did you not meet me before we married? Why did you not ask me then?”
He flung it back at her. “Why did you not tell me at the outset?”
“Would you have married me, if you had heard then what I have told you today?”
Raith’s glance raked her, in a way she had never seen before, a look she could not interpret. But his answer came clear and strong. “Yes, I would have married you.” Then he turned on his heel, and left the room, wrenching open the door, and slamming it behind him.
Rosina stared at the shut door, frozen as the sound of his footsteps died out of the hall.
Into the numbness of her mind floated the only possible realisation.
Anton did care! He would have married her, in spite of all.
What could that mean but one thing? She had long suspected it, but had not dared to believe.
Yet how was it possible? He had not known her, not seen her until they married.
Had his ardour grown so rapidly? Why should it not, when her own had been almost as swift?
She could no longer tell at what instant of time her spouse had thus fatally pierced her heart.
Might it be that Anton was similarly affected?
Oh, he wanted her. But so also did Forteviot, and —
Her thoughts slammed to a halt. Raith was going back to that man!
Why could he not see the danger? So small a twist as it needed to turn him against her once more.
If it was indeed the case that his heart was touched, then she was lost indeed.
For she saw how vital to him must have been the declaration of her chastity.
Forteviot would change him. Anton had bade her trust him, but how could she, knowing how subject he was to those lightning fluctuations of temperament? It would take so little.
How was she to bear his renewed hostility, if it was true that he loved her? She could not. Anton! Anton!
She did not know whether she cried aloud as she tore open the door to run from the saloon, crossing the hall on winged feet. Driven by desperate need, some wild half-formed hope of detaining him, she flung wide the front door, and ran out on to the porch, gulping in the frosty chill of November.
Before her yawned the empty ash-strewn lawns. A sob escaped her, and she ran out on to the drive, forgetting the open front door, the only thought in her mind that she was too late. Raith was already gone.
The certainty of impending loss gripped her. What use to have confessed it all, when her enemy’s cunning could only play upon her spouse’s jealous heart? If she better understood his anguish, she was doomed to be the poorer for that knowledge.
Only half-aware of what she did, unheeding of the cold that penetrated through the thin muslin of her sprigged gown, Rosina took off along one side of the mansion.
As she went, her mind roved without intent, images pricking at her.
Visions of Anton’s features, the ugly scar slashing his cheek.
Ugly? Yes, it was so, and yet she could only regard it with tenderness.
Impossible there had ever been a time when she could see its savagery upon that beloved countenance without a swelling of affection.
Impossible she had fallen in love with him.
Had Anton set out to woo her, he could not have done it with more success than he had achieved with his swift changes of mood.
Why did she care so for him? He had done his best to make her hate him.
Only it was the wounded soul within the tiger that had lured her heart.
Dear heaven, how was she to bear his loss?
Her breath caught, and tears sprang to her eyes, half blinding her.
She tried to halt them, but the overwrought bursting of her sorrow would not be contained.
Choked sobs stifled her throat, and she stumbled on, pushing through stark wood branches that came in her way.
She lost all sensation of direction, wandering into the woody retreat that abutted the grounds of Raith Manor.
All at once, a violent pain gripped at her womb. She gasped out, grabbing at the nearest tree for support. It came again, and the occasion of it burst into her mind. Oh, no. To be caught unawares with this? Not now. Not here. She must get back to the house.
But the pain intensified, and Rosina felt the first eruption of her flux.
She looked wildly round, trying to gather her bearings.
She was in the forest, but she could not be so far from the mansion.
A sensation of cold came upon her, and she realised belatedly that she had come forth without so much as a shawl.
Another violent wave of agony overcame her. Hanging on to the tree, she waited for it to pass.
Raith remained by the parlour door, willing himself to remember the rules of gentlemanly etiquette.
He had not stayed to lay aside his hat and whip, and his right hand struck a rhythmic beat of the weapon against his boot.
Much as he longed to do it, he could not march across the room and lift the villain from his seat with an iron grip about his throat.
Nor smash his fist into that complacent countenance.
By and by, he would have satisfaction and enjoy it. But not now.
“Well?”
Forteviot’s eyebrows lifted. “My dear Raith, I do not deny that there is some substance in the tale.”
“Substance! Do you dare to imply there is any vestige of a lie?”
“Nothing so blatant, my dear fellow,” tutted the other, crossing one leg over the other. He had found time to dress between Raith’s two visits, sporting a neat tie-wig atop a fashionable suit of green broadcloth over a flamboyant striped waistcoat. But he lounged still at his ease.
“Enlighten me.” Raith moved to throw down both hat and whip upon a chair. “What is amiss with my wife’s story?”
A knowing smile curved Forteviot’s thin lips. “Oh, she warned you, did she? I imagine she might well suppose my version of events did not quite mesh with her own.”