He
regretted the careless words the instant he saw Norah wince, her fingers
tightening on the brim of the bonnet. "Does it really matter why? I should
think you'd be grateful for the change. Better for the girl to rid herself of
any romantic notions about me, about what it would've been like had I
stayed."
"Which
notions are those? Nonsensical ones like you wearing yourself to a shade while
nursing me back to health?"
She
flushed.
"Cass
is damned determined to convince me that the reason you kept her from my room
during my bout with the gypsy potion was because you were struck with a wave of
pure meanness. That you are a tyrant of the worst order."
"It
must have seemed so to her. It was horrible for her, not being able to be with
you."
"All
that considered, you must have had some reason to bar her from the room."
"You
were so sick, in hideous pain. I didn't think you would want her to—to hear
when you..." The words trailed off, fragments of memories spinning through
Aidan in their wake.
A
taloned beast trying to tear its way out of his belly, agony, terror welling in
the slashes it made. Norah barging into his chamber, her hair tumbled over her
shoulders, her dressing gown flowing over soft breasts, the primrose hem
skimming her feet. Her eyes wide and a little frightened.
He
could picture himself trying desperately to drive her from the room, before she
could see... see what? That he was in agony? That he was losing himself a piece
at a time to a pain he'd felt once before? To nightmares he'd experienced again
and again and again?
Nightmares...
Ice
water poured through his veins, rattled him with uncertainty, flooded him with
humiliation. "Oh my God," he breathed. "I wasn't—she didn't
hear—Delia, she didn't hear about Delia!"
"No.
No." Norah crossed to him, one hand instinctively reaching out to his. She
caught herself just before their fingers brushed, and her lashes dipped over
eyes suddenly filled with shyness. "I promise you, she heard
nothing."
Cassandra
hadn't heard him raving like a maniac, fighting things that didn't exist except
in his own tortured mind. She hadn't heard his cries, his rage, his
desperation, Aidan realized with a relief so thick it made his stomach churn.
Cassandra hadn't, a voice inside him mocked, but this woman had.
He
could see the reflection of his own horror imprinted in that exhausted face, could
see it in the empathy that shone from those dark eyes.
A
sick wave of shame all but choked him. It made him lash out in a desperate
effort to resurrect boundaries between the two of them and regain his footing.
"Sean was to have put three hundred pounds in your trunk. Inform him I
ordered that amount to be doubled, for your services as nurse."
Hurt
darted into her eyes, her chin tipping up a whisper. "I don't want your
money. You can't pay me for what I did. I chose to—"
"You'll
damn well take it! What are you going to do, go begging in Dublin for your
supper? For God's sake!"
He
saw the glint in her eyes, knew the instant she was going to spin away and
stalk from the room. His hand flashed out, and he manacled her wrist none too
gently with his hand. A cry escaped her lips, despite the fact he could see she
was battling to suppress it.
It
was a cry not of astonishment, Aidan realized, but of pain. She tried to pull
away, but he gently hauled her toward him. Clasping her upper arm, he stripped
back her sleeve and peeled away the glove. What he saw forced a sickened gasp
from his lungs.
Bruises,
from fresh purple to wild discolorations days old, darkened that ivory skin,
finger marks Aidan knew had been imprinted into Norah's hands by his own. What
the devil had he done to her during those hours he couldn't remember? Why the
hell had she let him?... Let him hurt her?
The
notion that he had caused her this kind of pain made Aidan cringe, so stricken
that when she tugged again, he let her hand slip away. She buried it in her
skirts.
"It's
nothing," she claimed. "I have always bruised easily."
As
Aidan stared into her face, he could see it was the truth. Not only her
delicate skin, but deeper; there were countless bruises far deeper in Norah
Linton's spirit, where the careless and the cruel had hurt her.
"Please,
Sir Aidan, it's already forgotten."
"I
won't forget." Aidan's gaze swept up to hers. "What you did for me.
What you did for Cassandra." He shifted against the mound of pillows.
"Norah, why did you stay?"
"You
were so terribly sick."
"Why
should you have cared? I've been nothing short of a bastard since the first
moment you arrived at Rathcannon. What if it hadn't been the gypsy potions?
What if I'd been stricken with some kind of sickness, something contagious?"
"I
couldn't just leave you."
Why
did these simple words stun Aidan to his core? Even early on in his marriage to
Delia, his wife wouldn't have so much as handed him the basin if he were ill.
No, it would've been too vulgar, too distasteful. And as for the idea of Delia
letting him clutch at her hands, claw at her until her skin was marred—she
wouldn't have caught his hand to keep him from falling into an abyss if she
were in danger of chipping one of her nails.
Loyalty.
Steadfastness. Unselfishness. Courage. Aidan knew enough of the world—and
enough of women—to realize how rare these treasures of the spirit were. If
Norah hadn't left him when he'd needed her, he was certain she would never
abandon his daughter.
Even
so, would he be able to bear looking into those eyes, knowing all they had
seen? She had glimpsed the darkest corners of Aidan's own soul and seen his
vulnerability—a vulnerability he'd sworn no woman would ever see after Delia
had left him scarred.
He
raised his gaze from the coverlet to Norah's features, features not dazzling
the way that Delia's had been, but rather soft, kind, caring. She possessed a
quiet loveliness that made him want to reach out and curve his hand over her
cheek, with the same tenderness that he would cup a mountain flower nestled in
a storm-swept hollow. And he would shelter her, keep her safe from storms
forever, if she would let him.
"Norah."
His pulse beat erratically in his throat. "Don't."
"Don't
what?"
"Don't
go."
"I
suppose I can postpone my departure for however long you need me here. I'm
certain it won't be long before—"
"I
don't want you to postpone leaving Rathcannon. I want you to stay here.
Permanently."
"Permanently?
But I thought we'd agreed—"
"I
want you to be my wife. I need you. Cassandra needs you. And I think that you
need us."
The
bonnet slipped from her hands, and in her haste to pick it up she stepped on
part of the brim. "This is... I mean, I'm astonished you..." She made
a wounded little sound.
"Astonished
I what? That I've finally had the wit to realize what a gem has been dumped on
my doorstep? Norah, I still can't promise you hearts and flowers. Love. But I
can take care of you, shield you so you'll never be at your stepfather's mercy
again. I can give you the home you long for, and... a family of your own. A
husband. A daughter."
"But
you said..."
"I
said a damned sight too much." He grimaced. "Truth is, I was doing my
damnedest to get you to run screaming from Rathcannon of your own free will.
I'm not proud to say that I would've just as soon avoided one of Cass's temper tantrums.
Then, in the castle ruins, I was determined to use you for Cass's sake."
"And
now? You're going to tell me things have miraculously changed?"
Aidan
raked one hand through his hair. "Do you know, in all the years I've had
Cass to myself, I've never been able to name a guardian for her? Oh,
financially, she's well taken care of. There is enough money in trust that she
can live like a princess for the rest of her life. Her affairs are in the hands
of the most honorable solicitors in Christendom. The staff here at Rathcannon
would walk through fire for her."
"You've
taken wonderful care of her."
"The
only thing I could never quite bring myself to do is to name someone to take
care of her if I died. Her guardian.... No matter who I considered, I could
find some flaw in them, something that held me back."
"It
would be hard to imagine entrusting such a treasure to anyone else. She is...
magnificent."
"Even
though she hates you at the moment?"
Norah
smiled a little. "Yes. Even so."
"Norah,
if I could choose anyone to trust Cassandra to, anyone who would care for her,
love her, understand her, it would be you."
She
looked taken aback, and one hand fluttered to her throat. "You barely know
me."
"I
know enough. When a man spends as many hours over a gaming table as I have, he
develops a sixth sense, an ability to peel back the facades people create and
see what lurks beneath. I can pick out a liar and a cheater from across a room.
I can guess which patrons of an establishment will be willing to cast their
whole fortunes onto a dicing table. And I can tell when a person is honest.
Honorable. Even though I am not."
"Sir
Aidan, I—"
"I
want
you to be mother to my daughter, Norah Linton. Believe me, it is a relationship
that would require far more of my esteem, my trust, than merely making you my
wife."
She
stared at him for long seconds. "But Cassandra..."
"The
girl can take her damn moodiness and cast it to the devil. You'll be the best
thing that ever happened to her. I know it."
"But
she—"
"Norah,
this is my decision, not Cassandra's. And I'm damned certain that if I spent a
dozen years scouring all of Europe for a woman to fill this position, you would
still be the one I would choose."
Was
there a kind of fragile joy in those eyes? A shimmering of hope? He saw the
instant a cloud of unease swept over them.
"If
I married you," she said, stumbling over the words, "there would have
to be... honesty between us. I would have to know—" She stopped, swallowed
hard, then her eyes met his. "While you were delirious, you... you said
things—about Cassandra and Delia."
Aidan's
hand knotted in the coverlet. "What exactly did I say?"
"You
were... chasing Cassandra, trying to find her. Someone had stolen her away. You
kept saying something about poison, and that you—you would kill whoever had
taken Cassandra away from you. From your cries I'm certain that person was
Delia. Aidan, did—did you..."
"Murder
my wife?"
He
saw Norah flinch at the cold words, saw the truth in those guileless brown
eyes, that somehow she had heard the rumors that had circled around him like
vultures the past eight years.
"I
wondered how long it would be before you overheard the whispers." No
denial, no anger; he felt as if his voice were dead. "You can't imagine
how many times in my nightmares I've crushed Delia's lying throat with my
hands, killed her for what she did, what she tried to do to Cass. But by the
time I found them..." Fighting back waves of dizziness, he grabbed the
dressing gown the footman had left him and drew it across his broad shoulders.
The restlessness seething inside him stronger than the weakness left in the
poison's wake, he rose and paced to the window.
"Delia,
Cassandra, and I had been at Rathcannon almost two years. Delia hated it.
Almost as much as she hated me. I knew it, but in my damned arrogance I didn't
care. Cass was safe, sheltered from scandal here. Nothing could hurt her. No
one could."
Norah
listened as she saw a brooding light drift over Aidan's emerald eyes.
"From
what I could piece together from Cassandra and the servants, I underestimated
Delia's determination and how far she would go to destroy me. The night Delia
died, it had been storming. One of those hellish storms that sweep in from the
sea. She came into the study for a little while under some crazed pretense that
one of the serving maids had stolen a ribbon from her room. I was drinking
brandy. Heavily, I'm afraid. It was the panacea that got me through the night
once Cass was asleep. Delia took my snifter and refilled it while we argued."
He gave a bitter laugh. "I must admit, I was stunned by such wifely
attention, but I'm afraid my suspicions as to Delia's motives didn't stretch
quite so far as to imagining she'd slip poison into the draught."
Poison...
The word echoed in Norah's mind, raking back memories of Aidan's agonized
cries, that dark cloud of fear that had swept over him when she'd said that
word.
"She
wanted to murder
you?"
"I
would assume that was her ultimate goal, wouldn't you? I mean, as someone who
just finished going through the singularly unpleasant experience of being half
poisoned, I would imagine any such bumbling would tend to make an already
estranged husband decidedly unamused."