Bewitching the Baron (13 page)

His heart protested at that. Nothing more? Yes, he wanted more. He wanted to climb behind those brilliant eyes of hers and learn the mind inside. He had jested that he was the mysterious one, but she was the true enigma. A beautiful, isolated woman, living a life of magic, conflict, and kindness. He could not name what he wanted from her—no, not wanted, but needed from her. He could not name it, but he knew it was there.

But he did not know how to say that, hardly knew how to think it, and knew only how to ask for that which was obvious and physical. “We can share this together,” he said, feeling the inadequacy of it in his own heart.

“And that is all,” she said softly.

He heard the question hidden in her statement, that asked if she was no more than a body to him. He knew she thought that the physical would satisfy him, as it had satisfied countless men who dallied with those beneath their station, and he could not bear it. He wanted her to know more of him than that, to understand that he wanted to protect her from himself at the same moment he wished to possess her.

“Shall I tell you why my family has banished me from London? You will understand better Paul’s hostility.”

She blinked at him, pulling back slightly at this apparent change in topic. “Yes, of course.”

He led her to a stone bench, sitting beside her with her hands in his. “You may hate me when you have heard the whole sorry tale.”

“I do not doubt I have already imagined and accepted worse.”

He took a deep breath, and felt it shudder in his chest, dreading this baring of his soul. There was no one with whom he had shared the entire story, start to finish. “It was a year ago when it began. One of my friends had befriended a young lawyer, Lawrence Mowbray. He met him in a tavern, they got drunk together, they liked each other. Lawrence became somewhat of a regular with our group, no matter that his family was just barely respectable.

“Lawrence had a sister, Laetitia, seventeen. She was lovely, with pale blond hair and soft brown eyes. She looked innocent as a fawn. Underneath, she was anything but. She was a passionate young woman, with a will that would brook no opposition. She took a fancy to me, and maneuvered Lawrence into asking me to escort her to a party one of her friends was having.

“I confess I was only too happy to oblige. I knew she wanted to impress her friends with me, an older man, a member of the nobility. I enjoyed it.” He snorted in disbelief at his own overweening pride. “And on the ride home from the party I found that she was not at all unwilling to express her gratitude in a tangible form. So I took what she offered. I debauched her.” He paused, letting the phrase hang there in all its shame.

“And our liaison began. I thought I was clever, and careful, and while some suspected my intentions towards Laetitia were not honorable, there was no proof to the contrary. Lawrence, the foolish man, thought I was enamored of his sister, and even joked that we might someday be brothers-in-law. His friendship with our circle had given him false impressions of the possibility. He had no notion of what I did with his sister in private.

“Laetitia was largely unchaperoned, her mother dead and her father either working or drinking—and as she ran the house, what servants there were would not speak against her, for all that they might gossip amongst themselves. It was not difficult for her to arrange times when we could meet in private.

“She was less certain than her brother of the constancy of my affections. She would bring up the topic of marriage, indirectly, and watch for my response. However carefully I thought I answered, she would sense the truth that I had no intention of speaking for her, and she would fall into what I can only describe as a raging depression. After one such conversation, she cut her wrist with the glass from a broken mirror. On another, she tried to eat poison. If I had not been there, she might have died, or seriously harmed herself.

“Then she told me she was pregnant. I was appalled. I offered to pay for the care of the child, send him away to be raised in the country, but she would not hear of it. I was at a loss for what to do. She had worn me down with her hysterics, and I was beginning to hate her. But she carried my child, and if I abandoned her she might hurt not only herself, but the babe. I resigned myself to staying with her at least until the child was born, and then trying again to persuade her to some other goal than marriage to me.

“She hid the pregnancy up until the fifth month, when she miscarried.

“Well, there was no hiding that. Of course a doctor had to be called in. When Lawrence discovered what had happened, and who the father was, he demanded I marry Laetitia. I refused, and he challenged me to a duel. I could not refuse. What little honor I had left made it imperative I give the man the chance to avenge himself and his family.

“I had no intention of trying to kill Lawrence in the duel, or even wounding him. I chose swords, with the thought that he could beat out his fury on me, spill some of my blood, and we could both retire from the field.

“But I had underestimated his anger. He would not stop with a show of blood. He wanted me dead, and he fought for it. I confess I was not so noble as to stand still for my own slaughter. When a man comes at you with death in his eyes, you fight for your life, thoughts of honor and good intentions long forgotten. I have spent time in the army, and know that well.” He paused, and stared into nothing, seeing again the blood on his sword.

“I killed him.”

He was silent for a long moment, then looked at Valerian, and saw that she watched him, face expressionless, waiting for his next words.

“Laetitia still wanted me, even after that. I told her no, that I would see her well settled with a husband of her own rank, and offered to settle a sum on her. But she wanted me.”

His voice went flat. “We were in a carriage, arguing over it as we always did, she was alternately weeping and yelling. The carriage slowed in traffic while crossing a bridge over the Thames. She opened the door and leapt out, then ran to the low wall and climbed up on the stones. She threatened to throw herself off.

“People turned to look, staring at the shrieking woman, but kept their distance. I went after her. She saw me coming, and put out her hand to stop me. I stopped, not wanting to force her into action. If she wanted to talk from ten feet apart, so be it.

“And then the wind caught at her skirts, billowing them against her legs, a great gust of wind that felt as if it had traveled the whole length of the river to reach her. I lunged for her, but I was too late. She fell.

“It took three days for her body to float to the surface and be retrieved. Her father never recovered from the shock.”

He fell silent once again, and when he resumed his voice was more matter of fact. “By now, of course, everyone knew my part in the sorry affair. My friends knew, my relations knew, bare acquaintances on the street knew.

“My parents and grandparents, the uncles and aunts, they all came together. This was a scandal such as the family had not faced for decades. Laetitia may not have been of their circle, and they would have done all in their power to prevent a marriage, but she had been no street prostitute either. This was a disgrace that had cost two people their lives, and ruined the health of a third.

“My family banished me to Raven Hall, more than one of them having visited it in the past, and knowing how remote and, by their reckoning, desolate it was. I was not bound to obey—I have money of my own—but spending time in Cumbria seemed a small penance for what I had done.”

He met her eyes and could read nothing in them. “It is as terrible as you imagined, is it not? You can understand now why Paul views you as such a threat. He does not want to watch me make the same mistakes twice.”

“So where is the difference between what you did with Laetitia and what you wish to do with me? Why do you pursue me, when you know what havoc you wreaked on her family?”

How could he explain the difference, when it was so unformed a feeling that he could not describe it even to himself? Laetitia had been young and selfish, attractive to him through her beauty and his own vanity. He had never truly cared who she was inside. They had been shallow pleasures he had with her, pleasures of the body but not of the soul.

“I can give you honesty from the beginning,” he said. It was not much, but it was all he could offer, and was more than he had given Laetitia.

“Does that honesty extend to my family? Will you tell my aunt what you wish to do with me, as you did not tell Laetitia’s brother?”

“I think she already knows.”

She was silent, eyes staring unfocused at a distant point. He waited, dreading what she might say. At last she returned his gaze. “Give me time to think.”

He nodded once, curtly, although his heart cried out that he should not let her leave him, even for a moment. Let her decide while his arms were around her, while he kissed her weak with passion, and made clear thought impossible.

But still, her response had been almost more than he had hoped for. “As you wish.”

Chapter Nine

“And to think I went to them for help. I can hardly believe myself,” Gwen ranted. “The scheming witch. I probably gave her the idea. How old is she now? Too old. Too desperate. She is man-hungry, that is what she is, and all the time standing there like butter would not melt in her mouth, with her aunt telling me not to cheapen myself. A pair of whores, they are. Well, I will not let them have you, Eddie, you can count on it.”

“Huh?” Eddie was drawn from his lewd thoughts by his name. Gwen had been yakking non-stop for the past mile, and he had long since ceased to listen. He shifted his grip on Valerian’s clamming shovel, and wondered if Gwen would finally let him touch her breasts when this was through.

“At first I thought you preferred her to me, can you believe that?” Gwen angrily tore a handful of leaves from a branch crowding the path and ripped them into little bits as she tramped down the narrow trail, Eddie in tow. “But then I heard Mrs. Torrance talking with my mother. Strange things have been happening of late,” Gwen intoned darkly. “ ‘Tis most likely the three of you were lured to her. She used the devil’s own wiles, and drunk as you were you had no defenses. She made easy work of you three. Another reason not to drink so much, Eddie.”

“Uh-huh,” he grunted, his eyes on her backside.

“She needs to know that I am the one you want, and that I know what she is trying to do. She will not dare continue, if I threaten to expose her.” Gwen stopped suddenly, and Eddie bumped into her. She turned around, her cheeks flushed, and leaned against his chest. “I am the one you want, right?”

Eddie looked down the top of her bodice at the valley between her breasts. His mouth went dry and he felt himself harden. “Yes, Gwen.”

“They were lying to me, telling me not to give myself to you,” she said, and rubbed against him. “They wanted you for themselves. But I know better now. Do you still want me, Eddie?” she pouted up at him.

“Yes! You know I do.” He could hardly keep from grabbing her and grinding his hips against her soft body.

“Tonight, I will sneak out of the house—”

“Tonight?” He could hardly believe his good fortune.

“That is . . . if you will tell her to leave you alone. Tell her that I am the one you want, not her, the old hag, and that you know she put a spell on you. Then I will make myself yours, truly. Will you tell her, Eddie?”

In the quiet forest, with her pink lips wet and parted, her belly pressed up against his erection, he would say yes to anything. He could even begin to believe anything. “She has been sending spirits to me in my sleep,” he told Gwen. “They fondle me.” He would not add that he woke sticky with spent pleasure, vague images of plump thighs and breasts flitting through his mind.

Gwen smile up at him. “Would it not be better to have me fondle you?”

His eyes widened as she slipped her hand between them and rubbed her palm against the ridge in his breeches. His hips thrust against her hand, and he pulled her into his arms, pulling up the back of her skirts until he could hold the cool soft mound of her buttock. He moved his hand over the giving flesh, kneading it, then sliding his fingers down to where the tips could brush against the furry wet heat between her legs.

“You did not feel like this when you kissed her, did you?” Gwen breathed at him, still rubbing.

“God, no . . .”

Gwen pulled away from him, her skirt dropping back over her legs. “That just goes to show. You never really wanted her. ’Twas witchcraft.”

He stood panting with frustrated desire. He wanted to finish what they had started. He would finish it with his own hand, if he had to. Her hand would be even better.

“Come on, then,” she said briskly, turning and continuing down along the path. “Let us get this over with.”

Hopelessly aroused, he followed.

Valerian saw nothing of her surroundings during her walk home, her mind a muddle of emotions and conflicting thoughts.

Common sense told her that the practical course would be to refuse any but the most cursory contact with the man. Her reputation, or what was left of it, would remain intact. She would retain her virginity, on the almost nonexistent chance that someone would one day want to marry her. If she rejected him, she would not risk caring for him, only to be abandoned at some later date.

Common sense had guided her through many difficulties. It was safe. It was practical. One seldom regretted using it. And it was boring.

She admitted it to herself: She was tired of being careful, and tired of denying her desires. A careful life was so difficult to maintain, so much work and worry. A rebellious light within her wanted to smash it to pieces, relieving herself of the burden of doing the right thing. She wanted to destroy it all in a glorious bonfire of misguided passion, and not spare a single thought for the future after the flames had died to ashes.

Nathaniel Warrington was the only man who had taken an interest in her. It did not seem possible that there would ever be another, or at least not another who was young and handsome. Maybe some fat old sheep farmer who had been alone in the hills for too long would want her, but she sure as God would not want him. This might very well be her only chance.