Oxford Whispers (17 page)

Chapter
33

HAPPINESS HAD A SWEET taste. Telling the truth might not be worth losing it.

Their first date had gone well. Madison had even accepted his invitation to his father’s wedding. He was tempted to pinch the inside of his right hand, as he used to do when he was a kid and something really good happened.

Desire pulsed through Rupert’s veins with each heartbeat, every time he looked at Madison. They sat next to each other on the Chippendale sofa at the Morse Bar, in a corner of the Randolph.

The bar was dimly lit, and he could pretend he was alone in the world with her.

“What would you like to drink?” he asked to hide how turned on he was.

Perusing the cocktail list, Madison decided on an Oxford blue. She winked. “This is my contribution to your hard training.” She peered back at the list and added, “Vodka, crème banana and various other liquors. I’ll drink it on your behalf, now you’re off the booze.”

Rupert passed the order to the waitress, sticking to elderflower water for himself. After his two months of clean living, drinking vodka would be like rubbing undistilled alcohol over his tongue.

They didn’t talk for a while, absorbed in the sound of the piano playing somewhere in the hotel.

“Bill Clinton stayed at the Randolph,” Rupert said. “You too might run for the presidency one day. After all, you’re already following in his footsteps: Yale, Oxford …”

Madison giggled. “I very much doubt I have a political future. That’s more likely one of your master plans.” Her eyes sparkled and he wanted to dive into them. “I can already see the headlines:

The Earl of Huxbury becomes the youngest prime minister ever
.”

“Well, talking about headlines, you might be closer to my real dreams.” Rupert stopped mid-sentence. The waitress was back with the drinks. He laid his arm along the top of the sofa, his hand now inches away from Madison’s face, itching to caress her toffee-colored skin.

She seized her cocktail, brought the glass to her lips and grimaced. “Good heavenly days. That’s strong.” She took another sip, swallowed, closed her eyes and whispered, “But delicious, I could get addicted to this.” Her eyes sprang wide open again. “So, what’s your dream?”

The curls of her thick black hair cascaded over her shoulders in a way he hadn’t noticed before. Rupert grabbed the elderflower water to steady his jittery hands and not make a fool of himself. He wanted to bury his face among those curls, taste the skin of her neck. Taste her skin everywhere.

Pulling his senses back together, he replied, “I managed to get an internship at the
Times
this summer. I want to be a journalist, but my father expects me to become a banker.” Rupert shifted his position, and the leather of the sofa squeaked. His knee brushed against Madison’s. The contact shot an electric wave through his whole body. He wanted her badly.

He crossed one leg over the other. She kept her eyes fixed on him, unaware he was as hard as a rock.

Watching her in turn, he took a sip of his drink and wished for booze instead of the flat taste. Tonight he had to find the courage to tell her who he was.

He had to find the strength to let her walk away.

Madison broke the silence at last. “So what are you going to do if he says no?”

“I want to be a journalist. I’ve never been so sure about anything in my life.” Apart from wanting to be inside her and make her scream his name.

“But he could cut off your funds. You’ve never had to struggle over money before and I can tell you one thing for certain, it
ain’t
a lot of fun.”

“He won’t do that. He has other ways to pressure me into doing what he wants.”

“You talk as if your father is blackmailing you. What can he threaten you with?”

“You, Madison.” He didn’t want to say any more. He could stop there, change the topic and keep her in his life. “If I don’t do what he wants, I could lose you.”

Madison choked on her drink. Once she had managed to swallow, she teased him with a laugh. “Come on, Rupert. You’re being melodramatic. You’re not going to
lose
me,” she hesitated, “whatever we have, just because you’re rebelling against your old man.”

She had no idea the lengths Hugo would go to control his son’s life. Rupert glanced around at the elegant décor of the bar and the clientele entering the hotel, wrapped in their winter coats. Then his eyes settled back on Madison. He had to escape before telling her the truth and losing her.

Shuffling his feet again, he signaled to the waitress for the bill.

“I’m sorry. I’d like to leave now. I have training very early tomorrow morning.”

Her forehead creased into a question, but she answered, “Of course.”

As he was leaving a couple of notes on the table, she covered his hand with hers and gave it a squeeze. Because he kept staring down in thought, she took his chin with her other hand and turned his face toward her.

“Let’s not play games.” Her eyes locked with his, so his gaze couldn’t escape.

He managed a nod. There was no way out. He’d have to tell her.

When they stepped out of the Randolph, onto Beaumont Street, the cold engulfed their bodies. Next to him, Madison shivered. He wanted to cuddle her in his arms, but he buried his hands deep in his pockets instead.

The gothic facade of the hotel towered over them, overwhelming him. He had to walk away from it. Without a word, they turned on the corner of Magdalen Street. Apart from teenagers drinking beers at the feet of the Martyrs’ Memorial, the city center was deserted in the February night.

Fat snowflakes landed on his face, but he kept on heading forward; he didn’t know where he was heading. Then, in the middle of the pavement, alongside St. Giles Church, he froze.

Her cold hand had wormed its way inside his pocket, and her fingers were now intertwined with his. She made him swivel and leaned against his chest. Her lips came closer and closer. But she was so petite, her efforts failed. Even standing on tiptoes, her mouth was still inches away from his.

He stood there, passive, powerless … until a smile lit up her face. The barriers inside him crumbled. He lowered his head, and their kiss pierced his heart.

It was a simple kiss, their lips brushing one another’s, hardly moving. But his stomach fluttered, and he felt as though he had never been kissed before.

Guilt shot back. He tore himself away from Madison. Shaking his head, not even trying to control his voice, he shouted, “I can’t do that to you. I’m not worthy of you.” His arms now hung at his sides. He clenched his fists to divert his self-loathing.

“We agreed we were starting from scratch. I don’t care how many girls you’ve been with, or if you behaved like a jerk in the past.” She stepped closer to him, her eyes searching and reassuring at the same time. “This is a new beginning, for both of us.”

Rupert stared down at his feet, once again shaking his head, frustrated with his inability to find the right words.

“It’s not about other girls. It’s about my mother.” His voice cracked. He repeated in a murmur, “It’s all about my mother. She died four years ago, and I killed her.”

Madison’s face was bare of any feeling. When she talked, her Southern drawl punctuated every word. “As my mamma would say, ‘Slap my head and call me silly.’ Rupert Vance, you are
not
a murderer.” Strutting past him, she instructed, “Follow me.”

Rupert looked up at the tower of the church above them, then followed Madison into its graveyard. The streetlamps dimly lit the pathway between the tombs.

Madison sat on a narrow stone bench and gestured for him to join her there. When he did, the weight of the memories made his shoulders slump. He leaned forward, his forearms resting on his thighs.

He breathed in the icy air, and he felt the crystal of snow solidifying around his lungs, making his chest heavier. The moment had come. “The truth, Maddie, is that I’ve lied to everybody. Monty is the only one who knows, and we never talk about it.”

He chose not to mention Harriet’s revelation, whether she knew the entire truth or not, and however long she had known it wasn’t relevant. He had to focus on what needed to be said.

“My mother died in a car crash. I was the one driving.”

Madison didn’t say a word. She remained immobile at his side, so he explained.

“We were coming back from Magway to London, to celebrate my birthday with my Eton friends.” His mum had gone through so much trouble to organize the party, to make him happy. “I was seventeen, so I could drive. I was very angry that day. I had learned about my father’s latest affair with the mother of one of my school friends. All London knew, and I didn’t want Mum to get hurt again, be humiliated again.”

He had trouble speaking, but Madison snuggled her head in his neck and kissed his earlob. Her touch injected strength into him.

“All those years she had never said a bad word against him, and I was angry with her for her silence. I said terrible things, I made her cry. It had started raining. The road was very slippery. I should have been focusing on my driving, not arguing with her.”

The loss, as wrenching as on the days right after his mother’s death, ripped him apart. Maybe the days of coma had been a blessing, giving him time to stomach the loss.

“The irony in all of this is t
hat I’ve learned she had filed for divorce the day before the accident. I had no reason to be angry with her. Things would have been better from then on. Instead, my father had to cover my arse and used all his connections to save me. I should have gone to
jail.”

His throat tightened, and he buried his face between his knees to hide his tears. Madison wrapped her arms around his back, her small body spreading warmth into his. Her cheek now rested against the nape of his neck. That’s how he felt the dampness of her tears. He couldn’t be responsible for hurting her.

Rupert straightened up and turned to face her. “Please, don’t cry. It kills me. I never want to make you cry. Ever.” He cradled her face between his hands.

“Your daddy is a jerk to use what happened on that day against you. You were barely an adult.”

“You don’t need to say that. I don’t want your pity.”

Laying her own hands over his, she fixed her eyes on him. “I don’t have any pity for you. I feel for you, for your mother, for all this waste, but that’s not pity.”

He wanted to believe her. Hope gave him the strength to ask, “Do you still want me, now that you know the truth?” He prepared himself for the blow her rejection would cause, but it didn’t come.

“That is not even in question.” She shook her head as if shaking away a ridiculous thought. “But you have to go and talk to the police. It might scare the shit out of you, but that’s the only way for you to move on. I’ll come with you.”

The idea terrified him. But he knew she was right.

He leaned his forehead against hers. Her breath caressed and warmed his face. “So now we have no secrets between us anymore.”

Madison lowered her eyes, but didn’t answer.

He searched for her lips and kissed her in relief.

Chapter
34

NO SECRETS ANYMORE. Not quite yet. Madison struggled to respond to Rupert’s lips. A knot tightened in her stomach, and her brain went into overdrive. His arms were now around her, and his voice was low and husky. She couldn’t let herself fall under the spell.

“I’d like to go somewhere warm. Monty has a poker night at home to celebrate his recovery in a completely teetotal way. I don’t want to send tongues wagging if the worst gossiper in Oxford sees us going up to my bedroom.”

He misinterpreted the frown wrinkling her forehead. “I didn’t mean I wanted to get you into the sack. But could we spend the night together, like we did at Christmas? I want to keep on talking.”

Sorting out the options in front of her, she nodded in silence. Her virtue wasn’t her concern at all, or at least, not her prime concern. “Let’s try and sneak into my dorm,” she heard herself suggesting.

The streetlamps making the snow crystals sparkle over their fleece-like blanket, she followed Rupert through the snowy path across the graves. The temperature had plummeted, and she could have stuck her head in a freezer to warm up. Their feet crunching on the duvet of snow that had formed on the deserted pavement, they headed toward St. Aldate’s. Rupert’s confession had taken their relationship to a new level. He had the guts to bare all, to show his true self.

Showing her true self was so
not
Madison. She had trodden a path through life acting like someone she wasn’t and sweeping her dirty little whacko secrets under a LeBon magic carpet.

They arrived at Christ Church and crossed Tom Quad, walking around its central fountain. The statue of Mercury in the middle of the pond witnessed their arrival.

They climbed the staircase, Madison relaxing now that she could enjoy central heating again. Her grin froze into a grimace at the sight of her bedroom door, wide open, its wood frame smashed.

Behind her, Rupert swore. He pushed her aside and ordered her to wait, then he entered the room, reappearing a minute later. “It’s weird. The room is tidy. Your laptop is still there. Come and have a look. It’s safe.” He moved back inside.

Her room was as pristine as she had left it four hours earlier.

“Ollie should have heard something.” Rupert didn’t disguise his anger. Against the thief? Against Ollie?

“He drove away to London tonight, for his mom’s birthday.” Madison opened her narrow wardrobe, flicking through the clothes, a sinking feeling penetrating her soul, seeping into her guts.

Something was deeply wrong. And it went beyond a simple breaking and entering.

When her eyes rested on her uncluttered desk, they were drawn to an ancient book wrapped in a worn, brown leather binding. As if in slow motion, her hand touched the cover, and an array of images punched into her mind. Peter’s severe face was in all of the mental snapshots: walking by her side in a clearing, kneeling at her feet, holding her hands.

Shaking off the memories and the fear they inspired, Madison opened the book. On its first page she read words handwritten in a dark ink:

He will never love you, not the way I do.

Panic grabbed every single one of her organs, running through her veins like a glacial stream in late spring.

She had already heard those same words, way back in Louisiana, when Peter’s spirit had “rescued” her from Tarquin.

But the book in her hands was solid and existed in their current world. She could touch its fragile paper and read the first page. The Holy Scriptures. A Bible, like the one the Puritan had held in Burton’s painting. This wasn’t cosmic energy, or a perception of her paranormally wired brain. This was real.

Why would Peter, a mere spirit, need to trash her door to make his way into her room? On the other hand, how could he carry such a heavy object, since he was a ghost? How could he even own anything at all?

Jackson was the one she had confided in. Even if he had wanted to make a bad joke, he couldn’t have. Not tonight. He had flown to Geneva earlier in the day for a seminar.

“Madison, please talk to me.”

Rupert had taken hold of her shoulders
from behind, and she flinched at his touch. He squeezed her tight muscles and transported her back to the here and now.

“It’s nothing. Someone came in, expecting a wealthy student’s possessions. He got the lean pickings of a cash-strapped redneck.” She ga
ve a faint sob. “My laptop dates back to the last century.” Facing him, she struggled to raise a tight smile.

Rupert encircled her in his arms, and she buried her face in his woolen coat, where melting snowflakes pricked at her skin.

“I won’t let anything like that happen to you again.” To convince her, he cradled her face between his hands, and light, soft kisses rained over her eyes, her forehead, her mouth. “I’ll make sure of that.”

How she wanted to believe him.

Someone here at Oxford knew about Peter. Someone here knew Peter himself. Some living
human
being here might even be Peter.

Madison shut her eyes. A long time ago, Sarah had felt cornered too.

Oxford
–
December 1650

THE CARRIAGE IS heading toward St. Giles Church.

My sister as my sole companion, I shut the outside world away and turn my attention from her rushed words. I avoid meeting her eyes, for I do not know if I can hide my misery.

Although Oxford, its fellows and scholars, have long supported King Charles, this is where the nuptials will be celebrated. Peter decided so; he intends to settle here, once Oliver Cromwell’s triumph has been duly acted out. My future husband is certain he will be called to a position of authority.

My hands circle on my bridal bouquet, a bunch of heather, crushing its stems in my desperate attempt to control my fears. Their miserable sight cannot compare to the brightness of the rose my Cavalier gave me when we were children.

We—Puritans—do not believe marriage to be a sacrament. The enormity of the act I am about to commit overwhelms me, nevertheless. But I have to survive, I have to do what is right. Marrying Peter is right. I slump forward and my shoulders bow, while a dull pain spreads across my chest.

The movements of the carriage make my sister’s body lean toward me. She is with child. Her head bends closer to mine. Too close.

“Peter has such promising prospects.” For the whole morning, she has been lavishing praise on him in an attempt to make me a smiling bride. To no avail. My lips are pressed.

Facing my silence, she finally touches the subject we have been avoiding since my father accepted Peter’s proposal to marry me. “You must forget about him. About this Cavalier of yours.”

I am ready to accept everything, even a loveless marriage, but I will not let anyone spoil my memories. “Do not talk ill of him.” My voice rises. “I forbid it. You do not know anything.”

Her chin lifts as she smirks. “I know he forgot about you, after luring you to commit mortal sins.”

My mouth opens to give her a vehement denial, even in the face of the facts. I try not to yell when I accuse, “You are the one who betrayed me in the first place by sharing my secret. You had no right to tell Peter about Robert, about our love.”

“I have done what virtue ordered. I had no choice.” She squints, and a hard smile forms on her lips. “You have no choice either. I do not want dishonor to strike our family, our name.”

The carriage comes to a brutal halt, and my body collides with my sister’s. She ignores the contact. The driver comes and opens the door for us, and we make our way into the cold December fog. I adjust the warm cloak above my wedding gown, gray like this day.

She lays her hand on my forearm, but I recoil at her touch.

The church dominates me, its tower throwing a threat over my future. My sister swaggers ahead of me. I follow her, my walk stiff.

We enter St. Giles, and my eyes find Peter’s on the other side of the altar. The urge to flee is so strong that I nearly faint under the impulse. I hold back a scream.

I will never love this man. Guilt makes me close my eyes. I am entering into this union
under false pretenses

But I have no choice.