Elizabeth Thornton - [Special Branch 02] (28 page)

She paused as she gathered her thoughts. “I thought things would improve when we returned to England, but they didn’t. You’ve met Samuel. You know what he’s like. Nigel was an invalid and confined to the sickroom. Martha, Samuel’s wife, well, she did her best, but she was frightened of Samuel. It was anything but a happy home. But I found ways to
keep Mark out of it. I enlisted the vicar’s help. There was a school at the church. I enrolled Mark in it. And when he was at home, Martha or I contrived to keep him out of Samuel’s way.”

She lapsed into silence, remembering the long walks with Mark to keep him out of the house till Samuel had left for his nightly drinking binge in the Black Friar. She remembered how they’d turned everything into a game—how many times Uncle Samuel belched at the dinner table; how many times he cursed—but they couldn’t turn everything into a game—Samuel’s frequent outbursts of temper, Nigel’s ravings near the end.

“You mustn’t think Mark was miserable. Samuel didn’t know then that Mark wasn’t Nigel’s son. It was only in the last weeks of his life, when he was sedated and didn’t know what he was saying, that Nigel told Samuel the truth about Mark. Of course, after that, Samuel couldn’t wait to get rid of us.” She gave a mirthless laugh. “And we couldn’t wait to get rid of him. As soon as Nigel’s estate was settled and I had a little money, Mark and I left.”

“Gwyn, look at me.”

She steeled herself to show no emotion, but that annoying sting in her eyes was beginning to burn. It was pride that made her lift her gaze to his.

A responsive flicker came and went in his eyes. “But your letters to Trish—she said you were happy with Nigel’s family.”

Her voice rose. “What did you expect me to say? I didn’t want anyone’s pity, and there was nothing anyone could do. I told you, I would never give up my son, and as long as Nigel lived, I was tied to him. And I didn’t think I’d have long to wait before I was free. Nigel had sustained internal injuries at Vitoria. The doctor said he had only a few months to live. But he was wrong. He lasted for more than a year.”

She waited a moment to gain control of her voice, then went on, “I thought when I was finally free, I would weep tears of joy. Oh, I wept, but not because Nigel had died. I wept for the waste of it all. I wept because we failed each other. I wept because there was no reconciliation at the end, and that seemed wrong to me.”

She was crying now, silent tears that made tracks down her cheeks. “But I put that all behind me. I made a life for Mark and me, and we’ve been happy. I didn’t know if I could do it. But I did. Until Harry came along.”

He rose abruptly, and going to the window, stood staring out at the dark night. He said, “You’ve been a widow for a year now. Why didn’t you come to me?” He half turned to look at her. “Why, Gwyn? I had no wife. No one would have been hurt. Everything could have been put right.”

She shrugged helplessly. “It was too late. It was too complicated. And after Nigel, I wasn’t going to trust myself or Mark to any man.”

“For God’s sake, I’m not any man. I’m his father.”

She was silent.

Crossing to her, he went down on his haunches and took her hands. “It’s not too late and it’s not complicated. In fact, it’s simple. We marry. I get my son, and Mark gets a father who will love and cherish him. He will receive everything he’s entitled to as my son. His future will be secure, as will yours. And I’ll make him happy. I’ll make you both happy.”

She was staring at him with wide, unreadable eyes.

“Did you hear me, Gwyn?”

“I heard you.”

She tried to tug her hands free, but he held them fast. He said earnestly, “You must know there’s no other way for us. Mark is my son. I can’t lose him now. I
won’t
lose him. There’s no going back.”

“I know that.”

His jaw hardened. “Your place is in my home with our son. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Jason, I understand.”

“Then you’ll marry me.”

“I’ll marry you.”

He sat back on his heels and studied her face. Frustration roughened his voice. “Then what’s the matter? Why are you so remote, so disinterested?”

She wasn’t disinterested. She’d expected too much, not perhaps a declaration of love, but more than this cold-blooded ordering of her future. It was his son he really wanted, not the mother.

That wasn’t fair. Jason had done the honorable thing. So must she.

“Nothing is the matter, except that I’m ready to collapse. Can’t we talk about this in the morning? I can’t think straight right now.”

“Then don’t think. Let’s go to bed.”

He drew her to her feet. Their eyes met and held. She trembled when she realized that sleep was the furthest thing from his mind.

His arms went around her, pulling her close, and his mouth came down on hers. She made a feeble attempt to free herself. This was the last thing she wanted, she told herself. He had said things to her that had hurt her to the quick. She didn’t know if she could ever forgive him. But the power of that kiss, the passion in it, made her knees buckle and her head swim, and the hands that were on his chest to push him away fisted helplessly in the folds of his shirt.

She cried softly when he suddenly scooped her up in his arms. He kissed her again before he set her on the bed, then he straightened and began to strip out of his clothes.

This was the first time she’d seen him naked, and
the sheer power in those broad shoulders and muscular thighs was almost intimidating.

When he joined her on the bed, her mouth went dry. His face was set in harshly sensual lines. She tried to control her breathing, slow her heartbeat.

“Jason?” Her voice was shaking.

His was deep and rough. “This is another reason why we must marry. And you know it as well as I.” Then fiercely, “This is all I can think about. Wanting you is like a sickness, and this is the only cure.”

She expected a fury of passion, but the hands that cupped her face were trembling, the lips that came down on hers were coaxing. Everything inside her melted. Her body softened, her breath caught on a moan. She brushed her hands along his arms and shoulders, savoring the feel of those powerfully bunched muscles that were held rigidly in check.

“Ah, Gwyn,” he breathed into her mouth. “Gwyn.”

Then everything changed. His mouth became hot and hungry; his hands raced over her, freeing her of her clothes, touching, taking, demanding everything she had to give and more. Kiss for kiss, touch for touch, she answered that demand. All her pent-up feelings, all her turbulent emotions were still there, just below the surface. Now they erupted into a white-hot passion, and she dragged him to the edge with her own unbridled demands.

He tried to pin her beneath him, but she wouldn’t be restrained and they went rolling on the bed. He murmured something about going slow, then tore her control to shreds by probing gently into the entrance to her body.

When she rose above him, they both stilled. Eyes locked on hers, he spread her thighs, and slowly entered her. Her hands clamped on his arms and she shuddered and writhed. Fettering her with one arm around her hips, he drove into her. She cried out,
then crushed his mouth beneath hers. Locked together, their bodies moving as one, they gave themselves up to the storm.

When he slipped from her body and turned her on her side, she waited with bated breath to hear him say the only words that mattered to her.

“Everything will be fine,” said Jason. “We’ll take this one step at a time. A quiet wedding. I don’t want a big fuss.”

There were to be no words of love, then. She stirred and tried to contain her disappointment. “Your grandmother will be scandalized.”

He stopped kissing and petting her. “My grandmother will be ecstatic. She’s always telling me it’s time I settled down.”

“Yes, with some wealthy lady who can add to the family’s coffers. Not to some penniless widow with a son to support.”

He raised his head and studied her face. “She wanted that once, yes. But that was when Haddo was on the brink of ruin. Things are different now.” He traced her profile with the tips of his fingers. “I thought you and my grandmother had made up your quarrel.”

He was too astute for her comfort. She lowered her lashes to veil her thoughts. “There was no quarrel. I eloped. But all that’s behind us now. Let’s not dwell on the past.”

He stretched out beside her again, and crossed his arms behind his neck. After a moment, he said, “Do you think Mark will be pleased?”

She answered dryly, “You’re Mark’s hero. He’ll be pleased.”

“I don’t know. You and he are so close. He might look upon me as an interloper.”

She rose on one elbow and looked down at him.
His features were softened in the aftermath of love. His eyes were wide, questioning, uncertain. The dark lock of hair that fell across his forehead made him look younger.

Her heart cramped. “I know my son,” she said, “and I’m telling you he’ll be floating on air.” He rewarded her with a big, lazy smile that provoked her to add, “Of course, we could delay the wedding, you know, to give him time to get used to the idea.”

“Not a chance.”

“Why not?”

He rolled with her on the bed and kissed her soundly. She felt his arousal pressed against her belly. Her breath quickened. When he ground himself into her, she wrapped herself around him.

“That’s why,” he said, and grinned. “Because now that I’ve had you, I can’t get enough of you. Now I’d better get out of here before someone finds us together.”

After he left, she gave her pillow a satisfying wallop and snuggled under the covers. That’s when she realized the candles were still lit. She got out of bed, stomped around the room, and blew them out.

W
hen Jason promised the boys that he would help them rebuild the old tree house at the edge of the west pasture, he hadn’t realized what he was letting himself in for. They were up at the crack of dawn, excited as monkeys, dragging him out of bed and out of the house before he had time to swallow more than a few mouthfuls of coffee.

But he wouldn’t have missed this chance to be with his son for the world. He was careful not to make too much of Mark. He wasn’t going to force anything, he told himself. He wanted to develop their relationship gradually and naturally. When the time was right, and not before, he would tell Mark that he was his real father. But it was hard not to touch and stare, and harder not to pull the boy into his arms and just hold him tight.

The more he watched Mark and listened, the more it seemed to him that life with the Barries had not left permanent scars. Mark didn’t seem so different from Chris. They chattered incessantly. They made rifles from tree branches and pretended they were soldiers defending a fort. But where Chris had no reserves about correcting his Uncle Jason when he was doing
something wrong, Mark’s eyes went round and he became unnaturally silent. It was the same when Chris talked about all the things a boy could only do with his father. In these conversations, Mark had nothing to say.

But that would change, Jason promised himself, for he was one father who was going to spend a great deal of time with his son. And when Mark had brothers and sisters, as he had no doubt would happen soon enough, this boy would always hold a special place in his heart.

There was so much time to make up, so much to learn about his son.

He could not think of Gwyn without wanting to do violence to someone. He should have done better by her. There was no law in the land that would have kept him from her and his son if only he had known how unhappy she was. He would have called Barrie out; he would have used all his influence and connections to frighten Barrie into giving them up. But he didn’t think that would have been necessary. He was sure that if he’d offered Barrie enough money, he would have let them go. And he would have paid any price Barrie demanded.

But it wasn’t too late to start over. He’d been given a second chance. He had a son who was largely untouched by the ugly circumstances of his early years, and he knew whom he had to thank for that. He would try and make it up to them. Gwyn and Mark belonged with him. They were a family. Maybe their marriage hadn’t had an auspicious beginning, but they were both reasonable, intelligent people. If they put their minds to it, they could make it work.

All in all, he should be a very happy man, and he would be, if only he could convince himself that Gwyn’s reserve was a figment of his imagination.

He was mulling over that niggling thought as he
and the boys made their way back to the house, when a footman came running to meet them.

“You’re to come at once, sir. There’s been an accident.”

“To whom?” asked Jason sharply.

The footman strove to even his breathing. “To Russell, one of the grooms. Someone attacked him.”

“See the boys back to the house,” he said to the footman, and he broke into a run.

He found them in his grandmother’s bedroom. Russell, the young groom, was stretched out on the chaise, and Gwyn was bathing a nasty gash on the side of his head as she asked him a series of questions—the same kind of questions he’d asked her after she’d been shot. Brandon and Judith were hovering around, and his grandmother was sitting in a chair sipping from what looked to be a glass of brandy.