Further Than Passion (37 page)

He studied her features, and he reached out and traced across her cheek, touching the small scar Regina had imprinted with her cane. As if he couldn't figure out how the mark had come to be there, he frowned. Had he no clue of what had transpired? Of how terrible it had been?

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In light of what she'd endured, she was overwhelmed by the recognition that he wasn't familiar with the enormity of her struggle, and she cried in earnest. He snuggled her to him, her tears wetting his shirt. She could have fought him, or wrenched away, but she didn't. She felt as if the air had whooshed from her body, as i
f
— should he release he
r
—
s
he would crumple to the ground.

He attempted to kiss her on the mouth, but she yanked away, and he brushed her cheek instead.

"You used to love me, too," he vehemently claimed. "I'm convinced you did. How can I make you love me again?"

"There's naught you can do."

Shocking her, he dropped to his knees and wrapped his arms around her waist, his forehead wedged to her stomach.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I'm so sorry."

It was the last statement she'd expected from him. "You're sorry? What for?"

He peered up at her, and she was still so attuned to him that she could read his mind. She could perceive melancholy, sorrow, heartache, and she shifted uneasily. Was that why he'd lost so much weight? Why he was so fatigued and drained? Had he been suffering? Mourning their separation?

No, it couldn't be. She started to tremble, anxious to ward off the spark of hope that ignited in her breast.

"I apologize for my conduct, for how I let
her
treat you."

He didn't utter Regina's name, and for that, Kate was grateful. "Why did you side with her, and against me?"

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"It wasn't like that. She told me that you had an old friend here at Doncaster who would marry you, who would be kind to you and watch over you."

"And you believed her?"

"I assumed that anyone would be better for you than me."

"I'm sure you're right." She couldn't abide his being prostrate before her, begging for her understanding. her compassion, when she had none to share. She was too raw, too wounded. She stared off at the purple horizon. "Get up, Marcus. Go home."

She pushed him away and stamped off, and he shouted after her. "Not until you say you've forgiven me. I can't bear that I've shattered your affection." She could hear him rising to his feet. Bleakly, he contended, "You're the only person, in my entire life, who ever cared about me."

"Well, you never let anyone! Big, tough Marcus Pelham! He's so strong; he's so independent. He doesn’t
want anybody. He doesn't need anybody."

"I need you."

She whirled around. "You accused me of being
a
thief!"

"I admit it."

"You just sat there, while she spewed her lies. Y
ou
. never defended me. You let her blather on and on, and
every word was a despicable lie."

"I was mistaken. I knew it the moment you walked out the door."

"Then why didn't you help me?"

"She said you took things." He sh
ru
gged,
pleading
for a sympathy she wouldn't convey. "I re
m
e
m
b
ered
the occasions you had my signet ring, and I
thought

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ma
ybe it was the truth. She promised she'd replace Selena's money, tha
t
—
i
f I wed Melani
e
—
s
he'd repay the
mi
ssing funds."

"So you agreed?"

"
She swore that she'd send you to Doncaster, that
yo
u
'
d be safe." He was adrift, confused, like a little boy
wh
o couldn't find his way. "I deemed it best for you to be away from me, for you to have someone who could
make
you happy. But I was wrong, Kate. You need me. / can make you happy."

She clenched her fist, and she could feel his signet
ring
on her hand. Shortly after she'd moved into the Dower House, it had shown up on her dresser, and she
w
asn't certain how. She'd been forlorn, saddened, at her lowest ebb. Its presence had terrified her, and she'd decided to pitch it in the lake, had even marched out to
the
bank and tarried, but in the end, she couldn't throw
it
away.

She wore it constantly now. It was her sole memento
of
the affair with him, the sole evidence she possessed
that
confirmed it had really happened. Like a warrior's prize, she held it up, challenging him, reproaching him.

"Look what I have, Marcus." She wiggled her fingers. "It's your ring. I can't explain why I have it. Can you
?
Are you cringing? Are you presuming I stole it?
 
I haven't been back to your residence in London, yet
the
accursed bauble materialized here at mine. How w
i
ll you respond? Will you call for the law to come
f
e
tch
me?"

H
e held up his own hand, the cuff of his jacket
pullin
g away, and she saw a piece of green ribbon tied aroun
d
h
is wrist. "This is yours. Do you recognize it?"

“I
had one like it. I lost it when I was in London."

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"You didn't
lose
it. It surfaced in my bedchamber after I swallowed that blasted love potion."

She blanched. "You knew about that?"

He advanced on her. "And after you were released from Newgate, after you left for Doncaster without speaking to me or saying farewell, after you indicated that you wanted nothing to do wi
th
me, I threw it away a dozen times. But it kept reappearing on my dresser." He halted in front of her, the toes of his boots slipping under the hem of her skirt. "I went to the apothecary."

"You didn't."

"I did. He maintains that the reason I can't be shed of it is because we're meant to be together."

"He's mad.
You
are mad."

"Am I?" From inside his jacket, he retrieved a vial, and balanced it in his palm. "I bought some more."

"It isn't genuine."

"Isn't it?" He tugged at the cork
,
and the musty smell of the red liquid permeated the air. "I think it is. Will you drink it for me, Kate?"

"Are you insane?"

"I'll try anything, so long as I can make you love me again." Like the snake, tempting Eve in the Garden, he dangled it, offering it to her, daring her. "My house is so quiet without you, and I am so lonely."

"Whose fault is that?"

"My own. I've no one to blame but myself. I've ruined every relationship that ever mattered to me, but I'm weary of being so alone. You showed me a different way."

Her head began to throb, and to ease the ache, she rubbed her temples. He was confounding her, mystifying

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her with his frank and blunt confessions. "What do you want from me?"

"I'm begging you to give me another chance." He linked their fingers and squeezed tight. "You used to insist that I was worth loving, that I was worth having. I can be the man you supposed me to be. Let me try. Let me prove to you that I can do better. Please."

She scrutinized him, caught up in the blue of his eyes. The stark depth of his pronouncement had stunned her. Such bald emotion was foreign to him, fervent remarks being alien to his character, and she couldn't conceive of why he'd humble himself with the gallant articulation.

Unless he really loves me?

The gripping prospect washed over her. Could he be serious? He certainly seemed earnest and sincere. What if he was?

The likelihood that he might acknowledge his feelings had never occurred to her. She hadn't imagined she'd ever see him again, hadn't imagined that they'd have a subsequent opportunity to talk, so she'd never tortured herself with striving to envision how a make-believe conversation might progress.

But he was here, and reaching out to her, uttering declarations that she'd never dreamed she'd hear from him. He was beseeching her, for her forgiveness, for her absolution and empathy. He was proud and vain, yet he'd lowered himself to implore that her affection be restored, and she couldn't disregard such a startling gesture.

What did she want? Did she want him? Could she return to being the person who'd been so dreadfully

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smitten? Was that woman still lurking somewhere inside? Could she risk so much again? Could she bear the agonizing, fabulous spiral of lust and ardor he so readily induced?

The questions made her heart pound.
                           

Over her weeks of reflection and recovery, she'd condemned him for what had transpired, but deep down, she grasped that he wasn't responsible. Regina had manipulated them all, had coerced and bullied and connived. Who had been immune? Even the lawyers had been duped by her schemes.
           

From discussions with Selena, Kate was aware that Marcus had struggled, behind the scenes, to rectify the damage Regina had wrought. He'd had her punished in
 
the fashion that would most torment her, recouped Selena's monies, fixed the problems with Kate's father's will so that she wasn't a poverty-stricken servant but a woman of consequence.

He'd acted privately, discreetly, being not the sort of man who would want others to learn of his good deeds, one who wouldn't want to be complimented or praised for his efforts.

Though she'd yearned to hate him, she couldn't.
 
She'd worked to persuade herself that her fondness for him had been an aberration, a blunder brought on by their odd circumstances, but as she gazed into his dear face, she realized that she'd been fooling herself. He meant the world to her, and she was eager to revert to those bliss-filled days when she'd been consumed by him, when she'd been obsessed, addicted, devoted. It was the sole time she'd ever felt truly alive, truly content.

Had she ever ceased loving him?

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"I don't need any potion." She clasped the vial, tossing it to the ground. "I love you. I never stopped."

Desperate to be in his arms, sh
e
took the first step. In their separate isolations, they were both wretched. Perhaps together, they could build something durable and worthwhile.

He drew her to him, holding her so tightly that she couldn't breathe.

"I'm a mess without you, Kate. Marry me. Come to London. Be my wife. Be my friend. You are my sun, my moon, my very existence. Without you, I'm nothing at all."

He was shaking, his sentiments as ragged as her own, and she nestled herself closer, melded so that her pulse beat in a rhythm with his own. "I'm so afraid to say yes. Convince me that it's the right thing to do."

"Oh, Kate," he murmured, "of course it's the
right
thing. Do you have any idea how miserable I've been?"

He dipped down and kissed her, his lips falling lightly on hers, but quickly, the embrace intensified, becoming profound and overwhelming. She clutched at his jacket, relishing the ferocity of their joining. Memories had been too painful, so she'd forced herself to forget the taste of him, the feel of him, but she was like a starved animal that had finally been fed, a lost, wandering nomad who'd finally stumbled upon an oasis.

Their lips parted, and he nervously studied her. She could tell that he was scared he'd miscalculated, terrified that a mere kiss would be ineffectual and that he'd failed in his quest to sway her. But he couldn't know the joy that was singing inside her. After all that had happened, it seemed a miracle that they could bond with such elation and ecstasy.

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How could she have had any doubts?