Scandal of the Year (27 page)

She felt a violent surge of resentment, anger, and fear, hatred even; she hated his moral code and his honor and his damnably old-fashioned ideas about marriage, and she hated him for expecting what she could not give him. But even more, she hated herself, for not having the courage to give him what he wanted most.

“Why do you want this so much?” she cried, watching him as he started toward the door. “Because I won’t give it to you?”

“In a way, yes.” He stopped as he passed and turned to look at her, and the tenderness in his face ripped her heart into shreds. “I love you, and I want you to love me in return.”

“I do love you! Why do I need marriage lines to prove it?”

“Because I want you to love me enough to commit your life to me. Yes, I want you to love me
that
much, and no less. I want you to love me enough to let go of your fears, because if you don’t, you’ll never truly be free of Yardley, and I love you so much that I want you to be free of him forever. And I want you to love me enough to understand that you don’t have to run away when you’re afraid, because you will always have me by your side to protect and defend you. I want you to love me enough to believe in me, and us, and to always know that whatever happens, we are in our lives together. I want you to love me enough to trust me, knowing without a shred of doubt that I will always love you, and take care of you, and cherish you until the moment of my death. Because I will, Julia.”

She wanted to believe him. But, oh, God, what if she was wrong?

“For me,” he went on, “all that means marriage. Vows made in a church, in front of our friends and families, vows made before God until death do us part. All that and nothing less.”

“Aidan—” She stopped, fear trembling in her breast. It was an irrational fear, for she knew Aidan was not Yardley, and yet it was still fear, able to paralyze her, trap her.

“It’s too much!” she cried, knowing that from what he was asking of her, there was no escape. If the love died, if they made each other unhappy, if they grew apart, there would be no divorce, for he would never, ever, ever agree to that, and he would never provide her with grounds to divorce him. “You want too much!”

“I won’t take less.” Once again, he started for the door, walking away, walking out of her life.

“You want the impossible,” she cried after him. “I want to be free, and you want to chain me down with promises that I would have to destroy our lives to break!”

“No, but if that’s how you see it, then there’s nothing more to say. I’ll be at Trathen Leagh for the summer.”

“Why tell me that?” she asked, dismayed that he would be only a few miles away for at least another two months, so close, and yet so impossibly far. “Because you think I might change my mind?”

He stopped in the doorway, but he didn’t turn to look at her. “No. I’m telling you because I want you to know where I’ll be, if—” He broke off and bent his head as if struggling to get the words out. “After last night, there might be a child,” he muttered, lifting his head, “and if there is, I bloody well want to know about it.”

With that, he walked out, and Julia’s tears of heartbreak were falling before she even heard his footsteps descending the stairs.

Aidan strode down the stairs, stepped over Spike, and entered her tiny kitchen—a room he suspected he’d now remember all his life. He put on his shirt and his waistcoat, putting his attire back together even as he felt his life coming apart.

She demanded something he could not live in, something his duty and his position could not allow, something he did not want.

He left the house, so frustrated he wanted to slam the door behind him. He was so in love that it hurt like dying to know he couldn’t see her beside him every morning the way he’d seen her today. Most of all, he was so angry with himself that he wanted to smash his head into a wall. Why had he told her he’d stay two more months? Why should he stay? And if there was a child, what could he do about it? Nothing. He could not even give his child his name.

He flung back the stable doors, desperate, his only thought to hitch the gig and drive away. But then he remembered her Mercedes was still in the drive, and the Victrola was still down at the cove, and it looked as if it might rain, and . . . oh, hell. Damn it all to hell.

He strode down to the cove to retrieve the things they’d left from their picnic, and packing them up was like torture. The blanket where he’d sat with her, his jacket and necktie, the champagne glasses, the bottle, the bucket, the foods she’d chosen—twice—because he liked them, the Victrola. Each was like another cut slicing him open.

It took two trips up and down the path to bring everything up. He tossed his jacket and tie into the carriage. Everything else he took into the kitchen, but if he’d had any hope she would be downstairs and he would see her again, that she would melt at the sight of him and change her mind, he was disappointed.

He doubted she would ever change her mind. He had no illusions about Julia’s aversion to matrimony. He’d seen the horror and fear in her face the moment he’d proposed, and he couldn’t blame her for it. At the same time, however, it angered him beyond words that she could think even for a moment there would be anything about committing herself to a life with him that would give her cause for fear. He now understood the nightmare she’d lived in, at least as well as anyone could hope to, but the comparison to Yardley wounded and insulted him in more ways than he could name. As a gentleman, as a man, as a human being.

He went back out to put the Mercedes in the stable but paused beside the motorcar to look up at the cottage. He wanted to shout up at her window,
I am not Yardley, damn it all! I am not Yardley!

But what good would it do? She obviously thought he was, at least to the extent that marriage to him was a chain, and she wanted to be free of chains.

He released the brake lever and pushed the motorcar to the stable. After opening the second set of stable doors, he guided the vehicle inside and again secured the brake. He then began to hitch the carriage, and as he did, the mindless task gave him even more time to think, to berate himself for deciding to stay in Cornwall for the summer, but he knew the reason for his decision.

Not because he had any illusion she’d change her mind. Not because he hoped his proximity would soften her resolve. No, he’d decided to stay only because he wanted to be near her. To perhaps run into her in town. To perhaps sail by the cove and see her bathing there. To perhaps even come quietly here to Gwithian and just . . . watch her from a distance.

God, he was deranged. Aidan looped the harness collar around the horse’s chest with a sound of derision. Or if he wasn’t, he soon would be with torture like that. He’d barely managed the self-control to leave her upstairs. How long could he stay in the area before he gave in, before he told her he’d take whatever crumbs she was able to give and tell himself it was enough? Already, he could feel his resolve weakening, and he felt a sudden despair.

How, he wondered, would he ever be able to resist her?

He desired her as much now as he ever had, yet she was as remote and unavailable to him divorced as she’d been to him married. And he was long past just wanting her. What was he going to do now that he was in love with her?

“Aidan?”

He lifted his head, stiffening at the sound of her voice behind him. He tightened the harness and began to secure the traces, and nodded to the motorcar nearby. “I brought your Mercedes inside.”

“I see that. I didn’t know you knew how to drive.”

“I don’t. I pushed it in. It looks like rain later, and I didn’t think it ought to be out in the rain. I brought the picnic things up, too.”

“Yes, I saw them in the kitchen. Thank you.”

He wanted to ask her what she wanted, why she’d come out here. If it was just to say good-bye, he wished she’d have it over and go. She spoke before he did.

“That was quite a speech,” she said. “Very eloquent.”

“Not eloquent enough, it seems. It didn’t persuade you.” He didn’t look at her. Instead, he focused all his attention on finishing his task so he could get the hell out of here.

She entered the stables, moving to stand beside him, but he still couldn’t look at her. It hurt too much. He secured the trace, then turned, stepped around her, and circled to the gelding’s other side, but she moved to again stand beside him. He could smell the scent of lilacs on her clothes, but at least she was fully dressed now. He could thank God for that small blessing.

“What do you want, Julia?”

“I thought we could talk a bit more.” When she put her hand on his arm, his fingers fumbled with the harness. Damn it.

“Talk?” He jerked his arm away. The pain of her refusal was already like a knife in his heart. Did she have to come out here and twist it? “I don’t see what there is to talk about. I asked you to marry me. You said no. Seems to me it’s all been said.”

“Then you’d be wrong.” She paused, then said, “Aidan, please look at me.”

He closed his eyes, marshaling all the discipline he had before he opened them and turned to face her. “What do you want to talk about?”

She took a deep breath. “Matrimony.”

Hope rose up inside him like sunrise peeking over the horizon, but he reminded himself not to get carried away. He said nothing, he simply waited.

“When you first brought it up,” she went on, “I was stunned. I suppose I shouldn’t have been. I mean, if I’d had time to think it out, I would have seen that you could never tolerate for any length of time the sort of free love arrangement I was suggesting. But I wasn’t able to assimilate what it would be like to be married to you. I didn’t have time to become accustomed to the idea, to think it over, and I just reacted with instinctive aversion. But in the hour or so that you’ve been out here, I’ve had the chance to do the thinking I needed to do.”

She paused, and he waited for her to go on, although each second of silence seemed an eternity.

“I kept feeling this fear at the back of my throat at the idea of marriage, but I’ve never felt fear at being with you, Aidan. Quite the opposite, in fact. As I sat upstairs just now, I thought of all the times I’ve seen you over the years, and my mind kept going back to that night at the St. Ives Ball, when I wanted you, but I gave you up to Beatrix. I realized I gave you up to her, not only because I wanted her to be happy, but because I wanted you to be happy. And I knew, even then, when I barely knew you at all, that you could never be happy with a woman married to another man. And now, I have also realized you could never be happy living in sin with a woman. And more than anything in the world, my darling, I want your happiness.”

His hopes dared to rise a little higher. “What are you saying, Julia?”

She gave a laugh that he probably only thought sounded a bit shaky. “I’m saying yes. I will marry you.”

“You will?” Hope flared into jubilation, but he tamped it down, not daring to be convinced. “Are you sure about this?”

“Yes, Aidan. I’m sure.” She smiled a little. “You see, you were right when you said I’d never be free of Yardley if I remained afraid. And you were right that people who have children ought to be married, and I realized how much I wanted children. I never let myself believe in that possibility, for every time I was with Yardley, I spent a lot of time praying I was not pregnant. I don’t know if I can have children, Aidan, but if I do, I don’t want them to be bastards. I want them to be yours, in name as well as in fact. And . . .”

She paused, and he caught his breath, waiting, still not quite daring to believe she meant it yet. “And I love you,” she said. “That night at the St. Ives Ball was the night I fell in love with you,” she added softly, in a musing sort of way. “I looked into your eyes that night, and they were so reliable and so steady and strong, and I felt as if I’d landed on a rock in a very stormy sea. I turned it down, but now, I would be a fool to turn it down again. Because it’s what I need more than anything else in the world. I need you, Aidan, not to be chains that weigh me down, but to be the rock I can cling to when the waves are too high.”

“I can do that.” His chest hurt, but not with pain. He felt awed, suddenly, by the responsibility of holding this woman’s free-spirited heart, but he’d always been a responsible sort of man. And he couldn’t imagine life without her. “I love you,” he said, and bent his head to kiss her. “I love you more than my life.”

He pressed his lips to hers, but he could feel her lips smiling against his and he pulled back a little, smiling, too. “What’s amusing you?”

“I wasn’t finished. I have more reasons.”

“Oh, sorry.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “Go on.”

“I thought about what would happen to you if I don’t marry you.”

He cradled her face in his hands. “Which is?”

“You’ll eventually marry someone else, someone—I have no doubt—who is completely and utterly wrong for you, and I love you too much to see you in an unhappy marriage. I have to save you from it.”

“I didn’t know the prince in the story was the one who needed saving, but thank you.”

Once again, he started to kiss her, but just before their lips met, she added, “Oh, and one last thing. Spike would hate me if I let you get away.”

He smiled tenderly. “All your defenses are down now, my darling. How do you feel?”