She was incapable of understanding the events of the past four days. She’d gone from the incomprehensible announcement that she was to wed Guy, to Richard’s assurances that she would marry him and only him, to the joy of their lovemaking, and from that to the horror of Marco’s murder. Now, the only thing her wounded heart was sure of was that Richard was not beside her.
Now
, when she needed him most, he’d left her alone.
Christina knew Richard had gone the same day Marco’s body was discovered. Grégoire had explained that Richard was forced to leave because her brother had been killed with his dagger. But she knew that Richard hadn’t killed Marco. It was impossible. He had spent the night in the stable with her.
Where is he? Why did he leave without a word? Why didn’t he take me with him?
The others moved away, but Christina remained where she was, staring at Marco’s casket as the iron grill was closed and locked.
“Christina?” Grégoire spoke softly.
She looked up at him, searching for something that would explain why the events of the last few days had so shattered her life.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“Richard?” was all she could say.
Before Grégoire could respond, Guy was at her side, taking her arm and turning her away.
“Thank you, Father, but I’ll help her.” Guy’s terse words left no room for objections.
With a last pitying look at Christina, Grégoire joined the line of mourners returning to the château.
Guy smiled as he watched the priest go. He was so close now, so close to completing the plans he had so patiently made for himself…and for Christina. He put his arm firmly around her shoulders.
“Christina, perhaps this is not the time to bring this up,” he said, “but I’ve talked with your father and we both agree it would be best if you and I were married as soon as possible.”
Christina stopped and looked at him.
What?
“Yes, I know it seems sudden,” he said in a soothing tone as he started her walking again. “But in light of all that’s happened, I’m sure you realize why we both feel it so important for you to have someone you can depend on, someone who’ll take care of you.” He squeezed her shoulders. “Someone who loves you, Christina.”
She was hearing the words, but they had very little meaning. Christina was beyond caring what might become of her.
Where is Richard?
“So,” Guy continued smoothly, “we’ll be married next Saturday. I’ve talked with Robert and he’s agreed to perform the ceremony.”
They walked on in silence.
Robert had been unsure about the hastily proposed marriage when Guy asked him to conduct the ceremony. Later, after the funeral, he insisted on having Grégoire speak to Christina alone. Having bid the last of the mourners farewell, Grégoire found her sitting motionless beside the window, staring out at the carriages in the drive.
“Christina?”
She looked up, her eyes swollen and red.
“Guy has told Robert the two of you wish to marry next week. Naturally, Robert and I are both concerned and he asked that I speak with you.” When she said nothing, he hesitated. “Christina, is this true?” Grégoire was even more skeptical than Robert regarding this uncomfortably sudden change of plans.
Christina smoothed the delicate lace edge of the handkerchief in her lap.
Grégoire could not believe she was really contemplating marriage to anyone but Richard. Robert had mentioned the note Richard left for Christina, but neither he nor his brother knew what was in it. Grégoire found it difficult to imagine that Richard, who loved Christina so very much, would have abandoned her. Yet, since that afternoon, she had been very different. Grégoire remembered how terribly angry Richard had been that morning.
“Christina, believe me, I hate to press you under the circumstances, but both Robert and I need your assurance that you are truly willing to become Guy’s wife.”
Christina heard what he was saying. She wished she could talk to him, tell him how confused and miserable she was.
But what can Grégoire do? Afterall, he doesn’t know what happened between us. And what difference does it make, now? Richard is gone.
In desperation, Grégoire went down on one knee beside her, taking her surprisingly cold hands in his.
“Where is Richard?” she asked.
And what could he say? If his brother wanted her to know where he was, he would have told her. It was not his place to question his brother’s decision.
“He had to go, you know that. Father was afraid he would have to stand trial for Marco’s murder. He insisted that Richard leave. Do you understand?”
She looked away.
“Christina, you know I want to help. Please, talk to me.”
“And what would you have me say?” She looked directly into his eyes for a moment, then stared out the window once again. “There seems little else left to me.”
Though it broke Grégoire’s heart, she’d made it quite clear there was nothing more for them to discuss.
Guy and Christina were married in the great cathedral of St. Trophime in Arles. Robert performed the ceremony reluctantly before a small group of friends. Grégoire was there, too, standing with Christina, for Antonio had stayed at home, attributing his absence to his continuing grief over the loss of his son. Nor could Louis bring himself to attend, so unhappy was he at the thought of Christina wedding anyone but Richard.
Until that very day, Louis had believed that when things returned to normal, Richard would send for Christina. They could have been married and lived very happily, he was sure, in Bonifacio. Oh, it would have been nothing like life at Beauvu, but they would have been quite comfortable. Louis could not make himself believe that Christina would choose a more extravagant lifestyle with Guy over life on Corsica with Richard.
Something had gone terribly wrong. All Louis’ hopes and dreams for the future of the Magniet family had suddenly evaporated.
After the brief ceremony, as Christina and Guy made their way down the cathedral steps to the waiting carriage, she cast a backward glance at Robert and Grégoire. It was all Grégoire could do to keep from going after her. He felt as though he had set her adrift on an uncharted and very dangerous sea.
Robert felt the same, and offered a silent prayer for Christina’s happiness. It was not the first.
Nor would it be the last.
Guy noticed the dampness in his bride’s eyes as he helped her into the carriage. He smiled, unable to hide his excitement. They were finally wed. She was his, and before long he would know all the tenderness and love she’d shown Richard.
The conversation between the newlyweds at supper that night was decidedly one-sided. Guy punctuated Christina’s silence with a disconnected monologue, mostly to do with business and his plans for them to travel together in the fall.
Christina paid little attention, unable to concentrate as she picked at the food on her plate. She knew what Guy would be expecting of her. She couldn’t help thinking about what was to come, and when she did—when she allowed herself to think about Guy’s hands on her body—she felt like screaming. How could she possibly allow anyone to touch her but Richard? She was Richard’s wife, at least in God’s eyes.
So, the evening passed. Agnes, Guy’s housekeeper, helped Christina get ready for bed. Now, she sat at her dressing table, mechanically brushing her long hair. She smiled sadly as she studied her reflection and the pretty nightgown she’d so looked forward to wearing on her wedding night. She had done all the delicate embroidery herself, knowing how much Richard would appreciate the row of little pink roses that edged the neckline and the hem.
She looked around the room, uncomfortably aware that she was in a strange house. This wasn’t Richard’s room, it was Guy’s house. And she realized she didn’t know whether this was Guy’s room or the one that was to be her own.
She could see he’d made an effort to make her feel at home by bringing some of her things from her father’s house. And he’d told her that in the months to come she could buy new things, but Christina felt cold. She had more to worry about tonight than being surrounded by familiar furniture.
Guy’s house was only a a short distance from the house she’d grown up in, and the sounds outside her window were comforting in their familiarity. She tried think of that as she pulled the brush rhythmically through her hair. She closed her eyes and a faint smile trembled on her lips, but it was quickly followed by the sting of tears as she remembered how Richard had loved to brush her hair, even when she was little. She sighed, staring at her reflection and the locket at her throat—the locket Richard had given her just nine days ago. It all seemed so far away.
Richard.
She looked down at her hands. On the left, a plain gold ring, Guy’s ring. On her right she wore the pretty little heart-shaped garnet Richard had sent to her. But there had been no message with it. Marie had given it to her, saying one of the servants brought it. Now, it was all that was left.
Her heart skipped a beat when she heard the door open. In the mirror she saw her husband. She quickly brushed away the tear and attempted to smile. She would get through this.
She would
.
She watched him cross the room. He stood behind her, staring at her reflection. When he said nothing, she looked away and nervously continued to brush her hair, her heart beginning to hammer in her chest.
Slowly, Guy bent down to kiss her, inhaling the wonderful smell of her perfume, but she turned her head, offering him only her cheek. Guy kissed her dryly and stood up, his disappointment obvious.
“You look lovely, Christina,” he said, carefully controlling his voice lest he frighten her. He was determined the night would go well. He’d imagined every possible detail a thousand times.
When she continued brushing her hair, Guy began to undress. He removed his waistcoat and
solitaire
and then, unwinding the lace at his throat, pulled his shirt free.
Christina glanced at his reflection and realized he was still staring at her. A moment later, his hand closed over hers. He uncurled her fingers from the silver handle of her brush and slowly laid it on the table.
Guy jerked her to her feet. He hadn’t meant to, really, but she was so much lighter than he’d expected. Mastering his impatience, he slowly pressed her against him.
Christina wouldn’t look up. She couldn’t. She was terrified. She felt an involuntary shudder. Her eyes were riveted on her fingers where they lay against his chest, his skin nearly as white as her own. Something was wrong.
Guy lifted her chin and kissed her gently.
Christina closed her eyes and tried with all her heart to pretend that the lips on hers were Richard’s, but there was no warmth in that mouth, no gentleness in the hands that held her so tightly.
Guy pulled back, still holding her firmly.
“Come now, you can do better than that, I know you can.” He spoke softly, trying to encourage her to relax. But his excitement was slowly turning to anger as his plans began to go awry.
Why isn’t she looking at me as she looked at Richard that night?
He kissed her again, and when she didn’t respond he pressed harder, his lips forcing hers apart.
Christina tasted blood. The pain brought her back to her senses.
“Stop it. You’re hurting me!” She pushed against him to free herself.
But the sensation of her hands on his skin excited him even more, and her strength as she resisted him brought, unbidden, memories of Richard’s dark hands against white skin.
Guy pinned her arms behind her, his grip like iron. He glared at her until he saw the fear in her eyes. Suddenly, he released her.
What’s happening? This is not what I want! Not tonight. Not with Christina.
Guy knew how it could be with her. He had seen it for himself. He stared at her, then turned away, obviously upset as he ran his hand through his loose hair.
He went to the window and closed first the shutters and then the window itself, taking a moment to remind himself that Christina was not like the others. He knew that. And though she had given herself to Richard willingly, he knew Richard had seduced her. Oh, he’d done it very smoothly, to be sure, taking advantage of an innocent young girl’s trust. He was smooth with all of them, and sincere. Guy knew that, too.
But Richard hadn’t been sincere with him. When he’d needed him the most, Richard had chosen instead to spend his time with a whore. And not just his own whore, but Guy’s whore, as well. Guy had seen with his own eyes how Richard had turned that whimpering child into a wanton slut in the space of a few short hours.
Well, he was a man, too, and he had the same power…
more
. He knew things Richard had never imagined. And he knew what he could make of Christina. But first, it was time for Christina to trust him. Afterall,
he
was her husband.
Christina watched Guy. She begin to couldn’t imagine what was going through his mind as he stood staring at the closed window. She found his silence frightening. She had to do something.
“Guy, please…this is difficult for me. I’ll try to be a good wife to you, but…”
He turned on her, and the look in his eyes frightened her even more.
“But what?
But
I’m not Richard?
But
you don’t love me? At least not the way you loved
him?
” He grabbed her by the shoulders, more roughly than he meant to.
She seemed so insubstantial, so frail—it made him angry and he shook her.
He
was the one she should love now. All the tenderness and love he had seen that night belonged to him now. She was
his
. Didn’t she understand that?
“Well, let me tell you something…” He took a deep breath. “Richard’s gone. Do you hear me?
Gone
!” He spoke precisely, as if his words would make everything clear. “He murdered your brother and he left, and the sooner you get used to the idea, the better off you’ll be!”
“No! It’s not true!” she cried, struggling to pull away from him.
Guy slapped her hard across the face.
What is the matter with her?
All his fantasies of her tender acquiescence were dissolving right before his eyes. He had to make her understand.