Wedding of the Season (17 page)

His free hand cupped her cheek, his fingers touched her face. His mouth opened, his lips parted hers. His arm around her waist tightened, pulling her even closer. Her memory responded at once, sending desire coursing through her veins. Yes, this was Will—his mouth tasting openly of hers, his fingertips caressing her cheek, his body hard and strong against hers.

She strove for sanity. The past was gone, and even as part of her longed to go back and relive those blissful, euphoric days, another part—the sane and rational part, the older and wiser part—reminded her that in less than two months, she was marrying someone else, someone whose kiss felt nothing like this, but who wouldn’t leave her for a pile of relics thousands of miles away.

She tore her mouth from his. “Wait,” she gasped. “I think—”

“That’s always been your trouble, Trix.” His arm tightened around her waist, and his free hand cupped the back of her head, his fingers tangling in her damp hair. He tilted her head back, sending her cap falling into the water again. “You think too much.”

He recaptured her mouth, and she felt her resistance slipping away as shimmers of pleasure ran through her body. So long since she’d felt this way. So, so long. Will’s kiss was a delight she’d almost forgotten, yet it was all so familiar—the taste of his mouth as he parted her lips with his, the hard feel of his body pressed to hers, the rough, sandpapery texture of his cheek against her palm as she touched his face.

“Oh my God!”

Julia’s voice, she realized as the startled exclamation penetrated her stunned senses. Julia? She opened her eyes.

Will must have heard the voice as well, for he broke the kiss, relaxed his hold, and turned to look over his shoulder.

When she peeked past him, she saw no one, but when she glanced up, she saw Julia standing at the top of the ladder, an expression of utter astonishment on her face. She was not alone, for Paul stood beside her, frowning like thunder, and behind her, looking over her shoulder, tight-lipped and grim-faced, was Aidan.

Beatrix pressed a hand over her mouth, looking into his face, feeling sick as the ramifications of what had happened, of what he’d seen, hit her with all the force of a punch to the stomach.

Aidan didn’t speak. He didn’t say a word. He simply turned and walked away.

Chapter Ten

I
n an instant, Will fully appreciated the damage he’d done. It was in Julia’s horrified face. It was in Paul’s angry scowl. And it was in Trathen’s stiff, abrupt departure.

“Oh hell,” he muttered, and turned to look at Beatrix, but he didn’t have the chance to say a word.

“You bastard.” She swung before he could block the move, her palm hitting his cheek with enough force to swing his head sideways, and then she was running past him, sloshing out of the water and across the sand, headed for the ladder. “Aidan, wait!”

Will, his cheek stinging from the slap, his body on fire from the arousal of her kiss, and his mind still dazed from the chaos inside him, didn’t try to stop her. He’d done that already—with disastrous results—and pushing his luck was not a good idea. Besides, if he did go after her, what could he say? She’d called him a bastard, and that pretty much said it all. He certainly felt like one. God knew, he’d acted like one.

He hadn’t meant to. He hadn’t meant to sound his opinions, force her to listen, or haul her into his arms and kiss her. But he’d been driven to make her see the truth—that she was a beautiful woman far too passionate and loving to imprison herself in a passionless, loveless marriage.

Not that saving her from making a huge mistake had been a pure and noble motive on his part. No, he couldn’t salve his conscience with any heroic rot of that sort. He wanted her, pure and simple. Six years of trying to forget her, of trying not to want her, had been an utter waste of time. He watched her as she ascended the ladder, and the sight of her clinging bathing dress and bare legs only sent the desire he felt flaring even higher, desire that, if her outrage was anything to go by, would remain unrequited for the rest of his life.

“Hell,” he said again, and wanted to kick himself in the head.

Beatrix had by now vanished from view. Her cousins, however, did not seem inclined to go after her. Julia hovered on the cliff edge, glancing over her shoulder, then back at him as if uncertain quite what to do. Paul, however, had no such ambivalence. He started down the ladder.

Will inhaled a deep breath and let it out slowly, knowing Paul’s intent was to give him a sound thrashing, and since he wholly deserved it, the only thing to do was meet it like a man.

He came out of the water and waited on the sand as Paul approached. When the other man halted in front of him, he made no attempt at explanations. Lust, after all, was not an explanation.

“You son of a bitch.”

When Paul’s fist came flying at him, he didn’t even try to duck. He felt a shattering pain in his jaw, saw stars, and then he felt his body falling backward into the sand and everything went black.

B
eatrix called Aidan’s name several times as she raced after him toward the house, but he did not stop, and by the time she caught up with him, he had crossed the terrace. “Aidan, wait, please. We have to talk about this.”

He stopped, his hand on the door handle, but he did not open the door. Nor did he turn around. “You’re right, of course.”

She halted, too, out of breath and at a loss for words. She’d been so occupied with running to catch up with him that she hadn’t had time to think. And now she had no idea how to explain what had happened. How did one explain something like that?

Aidan, however, cut straight to the chase. “This isn’t going to work, Beatrix. I think we both know that.”

She opened her mouth to disagree, but her lips were still tingling from another man’s kiss, and she couldn’t seem to find words to deny what was so obviously the truth.

He didn’t turn around. He didn’t look at her. “I know we both went into this with our eyes wide open,” he said. “For my part, I have never expected that romantic love would be part of marriage for me. It seldom is for those of our class. I had always hoped for mutual respect and affection, and when we met, I knew I had found that. I thought it was enough for both of us.”

She wrapped her arms around her midsection, miserable and heartsick. “When you proposed to me, it was like the answer to a prayer. Everything you said made perfect sense to me. How romantic love doesn’t last, and how we both want marriage and children and we could build a good life together, even without being in love.”

“I believed we could do that, Beatrix.”

“Despite the evidence to the contrary,” she said with a little humorless laugh, “I still believe it.”

“Do you?” He squared his shoulders and turned around to face her. “I am not blind, you know. During these past three days, I have seen the way he looks at you, and the way you look at him, and though six years has gone by, I know that whatever was between the two of you still exists. When I saw you with him—”

A sob tore from her throat, interrupting him. “I don’t want him, Aidan. I don’t.”

“What you mean is that you don’t want to want him. But you do.”

She wanted to deny it, but how could she? The evidence to prove it had been seen by three other people. And even if no one had seen, would it matter? Could she marry Aidan, live with him, knowing Will’s ghost could pop up at any time like some damned jack-in-the-box and come between them? Right now she hated Will, but could she ever be sure she would stop wanting him? Could she do that to Aidan? Or to herself?

She looked down at the diamond engagement ring on her finger, winking at her in the sunlight, blurring with the tears in her eyes, and she knew she could not. She wrenched it off. “Oh, Aidan,” she cried, looking up at him again as she held out the ring, “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.” He nodded to the diamond. “Keep it. I shan’t give it to anyone else, you know.”

She pressed her lips together, holding back tears, shaking her head in refusal. “Take it, please.”

He did, reluctantly, almost as if his only reason was gentlemanly chivalry. “It’s not your fault, Beatrix,” he said again.

But as she watched him turn away and walk into the house, she found no comfort in those words. Aidan might not blame her, but she did. For the momentary thrill of another man’s kiss, she had hurt a man she’d come to regard as a dear friend, tossed aside everything she had ever wanted in life, and come face to face with a brutal, relentless truth: no matter how she tried to think with her head, her heart still didn’t want to listen.

The question was what to do about it. As if in answer, Julia’s words from earlier in the day came echoing back to her.

When Will went to Egypt, you didn’t know who you were anymore or what you wanted, and you’ve been trying to get your bearings ever since.

It was time, she realized—long past time—to get her bearings. It was time to make her own life, not a life that depended upon a man, or on society’s expectations, or on an antiquated girlhood dream. No, it was time to decide what she truly wanted for herself and work to make it happen. That was really her only choice now.

On the other hand, she could just shoot Will with a pistol. That, she thought as she considered it, was quite an appealing idea, too.

W
ill woke up to pain. He inhaled sharply, feeling something cold being pressed against his eye. He stirred, shaking his head, and when he was able to open his eyes, he found Julia kneeling beside him, using Beatrix’s waterlogged bathing cap as a compress.

She pressed it gently against his face again, and he winced, muttering a curse.

“Lie still,” she ordered, gently pushing him back down when he tried to sit up. “Paul coldcocked you, and you’ve been unconscious for several minutes. If you move too fast, you’ll probably keel right over again.”

“Is he gone?”

“Paul? Yes. After he hit you, he turned straight away. He didn’t even wait for you to fall.” She turned on her knees and leaned toward the waves lapping against the shore to dunk the bit of muslin back in the water. “He just marched away, climbed back up the ladder, and left.”

Will gingerly touched his cheek. “I take it he saw the whole show?”

“If you mean the kiss, yes. We all saw it. Bloody hell, Will,” she added, sounding as if she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “What were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t,” Will answered wryly. “Rational thought didn’t enter into it, I’m afraid.”

“So it would seem.” Both of them fell silent as she held the compress against his face and Will struggled to clear his head.

He took deep breaths, concentrating on the pain in his cheek and jaw, trying to gather his wits. Beatrix’s kiss was still vivid in his mind—the sweet taste of her mouth against his and the luscious shape of her body in his arms.

It was at least ten minutes before he felt sufficiently master of himself again to think clearly. When Julia moved to wring out the compress and reapply it, he stopped her with a shake of his head and sat up.

Julia settled herself beside him on the sand. “So, what happens now?”

“Damned if I know.” Six years of trying to hate Beatrix had been for naught, he thought in frustration, propping his elbows on his bent knees and cradling his head in his hands. “I’ll leave at once, of course.”

“That’s probably wise. If you don’t, Paul will likely kill you. Or Trathen might.”

“Or Trix might beat them to it.”

“True,” Julia agreed with equanimity. “And I’d say you deserved it.”

He lifted his head, staring out at the sea. “And I’d have to agree with you.”

A loud whistle had both of them turning their heads to look up at the cliff behind them where Geoff stood by the top of the ladder. “Is it really true?” he asked, his boyish face eager with curiosity.

Will and Julia exchanged glances, and she leaned closer to him. “That didn’t take long,” she muttered, then returned her attention to the cliff above. “Is what true, darling boy?”

“About Beatrix and Trathen calling it off?”

“They did?” Will and Julia asked the question at the same time.

Geoff made a sound of impatience that he would have to offer explanations instead of obtaining juicy details. “Trathen was at the slip to meet us when we docked,” he said, and started down the ladder. “He said something had happened and he had to leave this afternoon, and he gave Marlowe his apologies for not being able to stay. He didn’t say why he was leaving. He just said important business has called him away.”

“Then how do you know the engagement’s off?” Julia asked him.

Forgoing the last few rungs of the ladder, Geoff dropped lightly to the sand. “A few minutes later, after we’d gone into the house, I heard Mum moaning about how awful it was, and how all the gifts would have to be returned again, and Beatrix caught her up sharp and said she didn’t want to talk about it anymore.”

Will gave Julia an inquiring glance and she shook her head. “None of us would ever tell what we saw,” she whispered, and turned again toward Geoff as he came toward them.

He halted by where they sat and frowned at Will. “What’s happened to your face?” he asked, momentarily diverted. Then awareness dawned in his expression, and he gave another whistle. “Dash it, did you get in a fight with Trathen over Trix? Is that why he’s leaving?”

“Not Trathen,” he corrected, knowing what was probably going to be a black eye would have to be explained somehow. “I got in a fight with Paul.”

“My brother? Whatever were you fighting with him about?”

“Never mind,” Julia interposed. “We can talk about that later. Is that why you came down here? To tell us about the broken engagement? How did you know we were down here?”

“I didn’t, not until I saw you. Beatrix sent me to fetch her things. She’d been bathing, she said, but forgot to change when she came out of the water, and she asked me to retrieve her bathing bag and her clothes from the pixy cave. But that’s a bit odd,” he added, “because girls don’t usually forget about things like that. Propriety, you know. She and Aidan must have had a fight. That would explain her forgetting, wouldn’t it? And if they had a fight, that explains the broken engagement, too.”

Julia cast a sideways glance at Will. “Why don’t you go back to the house, Geoff? We’ll be up in a minute or two. Don’t worry about Beatrix’s things. I’ll bring them up with me.”

“Lots of secrets around here today.” Reluctantly Geoff turned away and retraced his steps back to the ladder. “I was hoping you two would know what was going on,” he added, sounding aggrieved.

“Well,” Julia said when Geoff was out of earshot, “this is a fine mess. What are you going to do?”

Will scarcely heard. He was staring out at the sea, and all he could think of was how he’d destroyed Trix’s dreams all over again.

He could remember her standing on the stairs at Danbury House, refusing to even see him off at the train station, her eyes red-rimmed and puffy from crying, her cupid’s bow mouth uttering an ultimatum.

If you go, don’t expect me to be waiting for you when you come back.

He closed his eyes, his own short, angry reply echoing back.

Fine. Don’t.

Those words, along with a hefty dose of pride and youthful stupidity, had ruined any chance of compromise, blown up any bridge between the world he wanted and the one she wanted, destroying her dreams in the process. And now he’d just done it again.