Since this whole thing seems to be mostly your doing, I hope that you can tear yourself away from Montmajour long enough to pay us a visit and perform the ceremony yourself. It would mean a great deal to us both.
I expect to return to Corsica by the last week of August. I await your reply.
With love,
R
Robert noted the date as he reread the letter slowly, unable to believe his eyes. Richard had indeed written this more than two weeks before he’d sent his own letter to Corsica. And in this last week of August, there was no way to prevent Richard from receiving it. Now that his brother had finally taken the step necessary to put the past behind him, would his letter pull Richard away from a secure future to an uncertain encounter with the girl he’d loved so many years ago? And could it truly benefit either of them?
Dear God in heaven, Robert thought, where will it end?
Arabella stood in the center of the kitchen, kneading dough on the big wooden table. Tomas had come in two hours earlier to tell her Richard’s ship had docked and she was planning a very special dinner for him. She was in the habit of beginning her baking well before dawn, for the heat of the oven turned the room into an inferno during the summer months, but she’d been unsure when to expect Richard, so there was no help for it. Though both windows and the door into the yard were wide open, the air was still and drops of perspiration continued to trickle down her neck and between her breasts.
She heard the sound of the new wooden gate and Tomas’s voice as he shouted a greeting. Arabella knew she must look a mess, but even so, she smiled to herself, excited by the thought of sharing her news.
“Bella?” Richard called, as he came into the house.
“In the kitchen,” she answered.
As Richard opened double doors to the kitchen, a blast of hot air hit him squarely in the face. He stepped through and closed the doors to keep the staggering heat from the rest of the house.
“So,” he said dramatically. “In the midst of Satan’s fiery domain I find an angel.”
When she turned, he was still in the doorway, at he top of the three steps, smiling across the room at her. She was surprised. He’d grown a beard! In spite of the unaccustomed facial hair, he looked wonderful. He’d obviously taken time to clean up before coming home and the sight of him standing there filled her with a sense of love and pride.
“Well,” he said, throwing his arms wide. “What do you think?” Then he ran his hand over his chin.
She shook her head, still smiling. “What brought that on?”
“Why, I’m about to become a married man,” he said indignantly. “There are appearances to consider.” He struck a dramatic pose, one hand on his hip, the other on an imaginary walking stick as if he were about to have a formal portrait painted. Then he laughed, hopped down the stairs and and crossed the room to her, coming up behind her and placing his hands on her hips as he nuzzled her neck through the damp, tangled mass of her hair. He found the musky smell of her perspiration, mixed with the ever-present bergamot, enticing.
The new beard tickled Arabella and she began to giggle. “Richard, stop!” Her hands were trapped in the dough. She was helpless.
“I can’t. I’ve missed you,” he whispered seductively in her ear. As he spoke, his hands came up under her arms to caress her breasts. He began to breathe softly against her ear, knowing it was the quickest and easiest way to distract her. He felt her nipples harden through the thin cotton of her chemise.
“Richard!” she squealed. She tried to maneuver away from him, but he only pressed himself more tightly against her, pinning her between himself and the table as he bent over to hug her body.
He responded to her wiggling with a lascivious groan.
“You’ll ruin the bread! Leave off!” She was still laughing, enjoying the sensation of his strong hands on her body, in spite of the stifling heat.
Richard backed away slightly and stood up straight, his hands still on her breasts, now seeming to test the weight of them through the damp fabric.
“Oh no,” he said, feigning extreme distress.
“What?”
As his hands took the measure of her waist and moved slowly across her belly, Arabella felt her heart skip a beat. Had he guessed her secret?
“I swear you’ve gained weight. Don’t tell me now that you’ve finally caught yourself a husband, you’re going to let yourself go all to fat and wrinkles!”
“Would it matter?” she asked flirtatiously.
“Not a bit,” he assured her as his hands moved back up to her shoulders. He planted a warm kiss on her cheek. Then he carefully turned down the lace-trimmed edge of her chemise and gently kissed the glistening swell of her breast. He smiled up at her and kissed her quickly on the mouth.
Arabella, her hands still in the dough, considered throwing her arms around his neck, in spite of the mess it would make. She thought better of it.
“So, what are you doing baking in the middle of the afternoon?” He put one arm around her shoulders, finally giving her a little peace as she continued kneading the dough.
“I have a surprise for you, but not until supper.”
“Well, I’ll have a surprise for you, too, if I ever hear from that brother of mine.”
“Then I haven’t long to wait. There’s a letter from Robert on the table in the entry. It arrived four days ago.”
Richard left her abruptly to retrieve the letter, but returned to her side as he broke the purple seal on the folded ivory paper.
“I may as well tell you. I wrote and asked Robert if he could come and perform our wedding himself. I hope this means he’s on his way.” He put his arm around her shoulders again, giving her a little squeeze. “We’d better tie the knot as soon as possible. I don’t want to give you a chance to change your mind.”
As he began to read, the smile abruptly faded from his face and his arm dropped away from Arabella. He gripped the fragile paper tightly with both hands as he slowly reread the words. She felt the change in mood like a sudden chill in the overheated room.
“Richard? What is it? Not bad news?” Her hands stopped their motion as she tried to read his expression.
“What?”
“I asked if it was bad news.”
“Yes…no…I don’t know.” He looked away from her and then turned back, his eyes searching hers as though somewhere in their amber depths there might be an explanation. He saw only her concern. He reached up, tenderly touching her hair.
“I’m sorry. I need some time.”
Arabella said nothing as he left the kitchen. She could see he was shaken, but she knew it would do no good to press him. When he was ready, he would tell her what Robert had to say. She hoped it wasn’t bad news about his father. Louis’s health had steadily deteriorated over the past two years, to the point that Richard now ran the entire business from Corsica.
She continued her work, only mildly concerned about the letter.
Richard entered the morning room, shutting the door behind him and throwing Robert’s letter carelessly onto the table.
“Damn,” he said between clenched teeth, his fist striking the dark, shining wood of the sideboard as he passed.
How could this happen? And why now, after all these years? What possible trouble could Christina be in? He knew that it must be something very serious for Robert to contact him, but why now, when he was finally ready to commit himself fully to a life with Arabella?
It was nearly three hours before Arabella knocked softly at the door. When there was no response, she opened it. Richard was leaning against the far end of the long table, his back to her, hands braced against the edges, his eyes on the floor. She set down her tray with the table settings, but when he didn’t look up, she reached out and picked up Robert’s letter. He made no move to stop her.
Arabella’s heart stopped. She looked at Richard as the emptiness in the pit of her stomach grew and expanded until it finally consumed her. The paper slowly crumpled in her fist as she made an effort to control her trembling hands. At the sound, Richard turned to stare at her and she saw another emptiness—this one in his eyes.
“When will you be leaving?” she asked, unable to control her voice or the tears that were starting to fill her eyes.
Her words seemed to cause him physical pain, which suddenly turned to anger. His first reaction was to strike back, to hurt her as she’d hurt him.
Richard pushed himself up from the table. Suddenly he seemed very large, almost menacing, as he came toward her and took her by the shoulders. She pulled away, taking a step backward. His fingers tightened, on the verge of causing her pain as he held her.
“There’s so much to do…” she whispered, her voice catching on every word as her throat began to tighten. “Your things…nothing’s ready. I…”
Then his mouth came down hard on hers, forcing her lips apart. One hand quickly loosened the drawstring on her chemise and pulled the fabric down. His mouth roamed hungrily over her throat and then returned to hers as he squeezed the soft fullness of her breast. Before she knew what was happening, his hands were under her skirt and then her chemise, his strong fingers squeezing her bare buttocks as he held her tightly against him. Suddenly, all Arabella could think of was other rough hands, hands that had belonged to too many crude men who’d pushed her against the wall in hall or stair at the inn. She struggled, trying desperately to extricate herself, but she was no match for his strength. She felt him deftly move to unbutton his breeches.
Her mind recoiled from the situation.
Who is this bearded stranger? Surely it isn’t Richard
…He’d never treated her with anything but kindness and consideration. This man, burning with desire could not be the father of her unborn child.
“No!” she sobbed, trying once again to push him away. Still holding her tightly, Richard stopped and looked at her. He no longer wanted to hurt her, he only sought the familiar comfort of her body and in that single moment he silently offered Arabella a choice. When she saw the need in his eyes, which were no longer cold, her fear vanished. She threw her arms around his neck, clinging to him as he lifted her onto the sideboard.
He took her quickly and with unaccustomed force. When it was over, he continued to hold her tightly, burying his face in her hair, then running his lips lightly over her throat.
“Forgive me, Bella,” he whispered, as he laid his rough cheek against the smoothness of hers.
She ran her fingers through his short curls, aware that this might well be their last time together. She closed her eyes, unmindful of the tears that finally slipped down her cheeks.
At last he pulled back, still holding her against him as his other hand went to her face. Tenderly, his thumb slid over her cheek.
“My beautiful Bella, please forgive me for this.” His lips brushed hers. “And for ever giving you reason to think this decision would be an easy one.”
Arabella quietly accepted the fact that Richard must leave, though he’d said nothing more to her about it. Later that night, as he lay holding her, gently caressing her breast, she felt it was time to broach the subject.
“Richard?”
“Hmmm?”
“You must go.”
His hand stopped moving and he rolled onto his back. “Must I?” His tone bordered on sarcastic.
“Do you still love her?” Arabella asked, knowing in truth that he did.
“I’ve loved her all my life, Bella, but I ceased understanding her when she didn’t leave Arles with me.”
“Do you have any idea what this might be about?” Arabella was unable to imagine what could have happened to Christina that would cause Robert to write that letter, unless the girl had finally come to her senses and realized what kind of man she’d given up.
“You have to understand it was a seventeen-year-old girl I left behind. How can I know the woman she’s become? When Robert was here he told me she was happy. I’ve had no other word from her or about her in seven years.”
“Richard, if you don’t go, the not knowing will tear you apart, and tear us apart, too. If she really needs you, you know you’d never be able to forgive yourself for not going.”
He turned back to her, gathering her into his arms again, as he kissed the softness of her hair, inhaling the tangy fragrance of her perfume. She, in turn, pressed her body to the full length of his, savoring every sensation, knowing that soon he would be gone, perhaps forever.
“Bella, we can be married before I leave.”
At that moment she loved him more than ever. And her love, so carefully controlled, so relentlessly suited to his needs for so many years threatened to burst forth and betray her, for she knew that if she but mentioned the coming child, he would stay. He would never leave her. But she loved him too much to be the cause of that kind of misery.
“And if Christina is either willing or able to go with you now? Do you want to have to leave her behind again, this time because you’re married?”
The flicker of pain in his eyes hurt her and she put her hand to the side of his face, slowly stroking the unfamiliar beard.
“Go to Arles and see if you can help her. You know I love you. If you come back to me, I’ll be your wife.”
Richard’s ship was ready to leave Bonifacio three days later. He decided to sail to Marseilles and travel overland from there, hoping to avoid notice as he made his way to Montmajour. Yves, at the warehouse in Arles, had reported that there was still an occasional policeman lingering around the docks when any of the Baron’s ships were in port.
Arabella walked down to the water with Richard. They talked of little things, of nothing. Both had come to terms with their impending separation.
Richard was loathe to leave her. She deserved better than he was giving her. She always had. But he knew she was right. If he didn’t answer Robert’s summons and then later learned that Christina had truly needed him, it would haunt him for the rest of his life.
When they reached the foot of the gangplank, Richard took Arabella’s hand and kissed it.
“There’s something I want you to have,” he said, removing a small, leather pouch from the pocket of his coat. He handed it to her, but when she started to open it, he closed her hands in his. “Not now.”