Silent Melody (12 page)

But she gave.

And he took.

He heard himself shout out as he burst and spilled into her. He heard himself sobbing as one of her hands smoothed over his back while the other softly played through his hair.

And then for a few blessed moments or minutes or hours he lost himself. For a few moments he found what he had blindly sought for a whole year and longer, and rested in it.

S
HE
gazed up at the stars, finding the formation that always reminded her of a giant soup ladle with a slightly bent handle. She lay still and quiet and uncomfortable, cradling his too-thin body with her arms and legs while he slept. She would hold him all night if necessary.

She knew she had deceived herself. She knew she had come because she loved him. She knew she had come to comfort him. She had known and admitted those facts before she came. But she knew now that she had come with the sole purpose of giving—of giving herself, if that was what he needed. And she had known deep down that her mere sympathetic presence would not be enough, as it had used to be. She had known that the passing of the years would have made all the difference. Even then, seven years ago, when he had been leaving her, the change had been coming. He had begun to be aware of her as a woman, and so the possibility of pure friendship had been disappearing.

Of course, she had always loved him as a woman loves a man. Even at the age of fourteen she had known that her love for him involved the whole of her person, body as well as mind and emotions.

She had come tonight to give her body for his comfort if that was what he needed.

And so she had betrayed the promise she had made to herself just that morning. Worse—far worse—she had betrayed another promise. She had involved another person in her betrayal. Other people. She thought of her own family, and of Lord Powell's. He had written to them that morning and sent the letter on its way.

Tomorrow she would know bitter remorse. She would live with guilt and remorse for the rest of her life. She doubted she would ever forgive herself.

It was all her fault. Entirely. He had been completely frank with her. He had not only given her the chance to stop it and to escape to the house, he had urged her to do so—more than once. And she did not have the plea of innocence. She had known—deep down she had known—almost from the first moment. Perhaps before the first moment. Perhaps she had known it before she left her room.

It had been different from what she had expected. Not sweet union, sweet romance. It had hurt. Constantly, from the first moment. From the moment he had started to push into her. He had felt too big. She was still sore. He was still inside her, though she was no longer stretched painfully by his hardness. There had been no shared emotion, no shared tenderness, as she had dreamed there would be in such an intimate act. It had not been an act of love—not in the romantic sense, anyway. She did not believe he had enjoyed it. But then it had not been done for enjoyment.

She could not feel sorry. She could not feel the wrongness of it. She could only
think
about her own guilt and
think
about her sorrow for those innocent people she had wronged tonight. But she could not feel sorry.

He was at peace. For these few moments at least he was at peace.

She thought of the kind of grief and guilt that could still torment him so even after a year. Of the kind of love there must have been to have left such a storm of darkness behind it.
She was exquisitely lovely, Emmy . . . Is it any wonder I tumbled head over ears in love with her?

She stared upward at the stars, her fingertips still absently massaging his head through his hair.

And then she knew that he was awake. There was tension in his body, a vibration in his chest. He had said something. He drew free of her body and lifted himself to one side of her, sliding an arm beneath her neck and about her shoulders as he did so. Cool air rushed at her naked body, but he reached over and drew his cloak about her. She could see his face quite clearly in the moonlight.

He gazed at her for a long while before he spoke. “You have given a great and reckless gift this night, Emmy,” he said at last. “I cannot condemn you. I am too touched by your enormous generosity. I can only wish that I had had firmer control over my desires. I will forever regret what I have just done to you.”

No, not that. No regrets. It had happened. And it had happened because he had had need of her and the need had shown itself in physical form. She had come to bring him comfort, not more guilt. No, not regret. Not forever. Forever was too long a time.

“No,” he said, “I know you will never blame me, Emmy. You never did. You never asked anything for yourself, did you? You encouraged selfishness in me, and I readily took advantage of what you offered. All those years ago and again tonight. Well, it will be my turn now. My turn for the rest of my life.”

Though she did not catch every word he spoke, she could see the bitterness in his face. But he did not give her the chance to reply. He set his mouth to hers, his lips closed, and kept it there for a long time, one hand firm against the back of her head.

“I hurt you,” he said when he finally put a little distance between them.

She did not reply. It had been merely a physical thing. He had not
hurt
her.

He put a handkerchief into her hand, but she looked at him, uncomprehending. And so he took it from her and used it himself, setting it gently against her sore and throbbing flesh, cleansing away what she guessed must be blood, folding it, and pressing it lightly but firmly against her again, soothing her.

She turned her face in against his chest and closed her eyes. She was soothed by the vibrations, though she did not know what he said. If it had been important he would have lifted her chin so that she could see his lips. His hand massaged her head as hers had done for him just a few minutes before.

She wondered what the future would be like now that there had been this between them. She wondered if it would be more or less bearable than the past seven years had been. But suddenly she knew she would be fooling herself if she imagined even for one moment that it would be more bearable. She knew him now with her body as well as her heart. She had loved him with her body. She had given herself with the whole of her being, but it was her body he had taken, coming inside her and using her as a woman.

She did not regret it. She knew that tomorrow and perhaps for the rest of her life she would bitterly regret many aspects of what had happened tonight. But she knew equally that she would never regret loving Ashley. With her body as well as with every other part of herself. She always had loved him. She always would.

Without even realizing that she was close to doing so, she slept.

•   •   •

She
had slept, he guessed, for well over an hour. Perhaps two. Deeply. As he might have expected Emmy to sleep, warm and relaxed and trusting.

But finally she stirred and looked at him and smiled—how could she
smile
when she had been so misused tonight?—and moved away from him in order to sit up and pull on her shift and her dress. He adjusted his own clothing, shook out their cloaks, set hers about her shoulders and buttoned it at her throat, pulled his own about him, and led the way through the trees back to the house.

He considered sending her on ahead of him when they came to the open lawn and keeping an eye out for her safety—for her
safety
!—but he rejected the idea. If they were seen together, what difference would it make now anyway? Tomorrow everything must change. He walked beside her, not touching her, not saying anything. He had not spoken a word since she woke up.

He took her to the door of her room and opened it for her. But there was not enough light for her to see his lips. He put his arms about her and set his lips to hers. Without passion. Merely a good-night embrace.

“Thank you, Emmy,” he said afterward, though he knew she could not hear him. “For what you tried to do and for what you did, thank you. Good night, little fawn.”

He took a step back and waited until she had closed the door between them.

He spent most of the rest of the night standing fully clothed at his window.

He had debauched Emmy.

Through all the darkness that had engulfed his life in the past three years, he had finally touched the very heart of darkness. He had taken sweet and bright innocence and destroyed it, pulling it into the darkness with him.

And perhaps she did not even know it yet.

Emmy!

•   •   •

The
Earl of Royce had walked with his wife and child and some of his nieces and nephews out to the hill behind the house. Ashley was strolling alone on the terrace when they returned. He declined the children's eager invitation to play, and Constance, throwing him a look of sympathetic apology, herded them into the house. Victor would have followed them after nodding amiably, but Ashley stopped him.

“I would have a word with you, Royce, if I might,” he said.

“Certainly. 'Twould be my pleasure,” Victor said, making to stroll along the terrace instead of accompanying his wife and the children indoors. He schooled his features to quiet sympathy.

“In greater privacy,” Ashley said. “Luke is out riding. The study will be unoccupied.”

“Certainly.” Victor looked somewhat surprised, but he followed Ashley willingly enough.

Ashley closed the door of the study behind them and half smiled as he stood against it. “This is going to come as something of a shock to you,” he said. “Especially in light of some of yesterday's events. But I must ask you for Emmy's hand.”

Victor, who had been in the process of seating himself, changed his mind. He stared blankly. “Emily,” he said. “Her hand?”

“In marriage.” Ashley clasped his hands behind him.

“In marriage.” The earl still looked blank. “She is already betrothed. To Powell.”

“But 'tis me she will marry,” Ashley said quietly. “She is of age. I do not need your permission except as a courtesy. But there is the matter of a marriage settlement. I am well able to give her the sort of life the daughter of an earl might expect.”

Victor appeared to be recovering himself. He frowned. “Emily is
betrothed,
Kendrick,” he said. “The announcement was made yesterday. You were there. A betrothal is as binding as a marriage. Besides, you have been back at Bowden less than two days. You came a little too late for such maneuverings, did you not?”

His manner had become stiffer, more disapproving. It was hard to believe, Ashley thought, that Royce was younger than himself. The responsibilities of his position and family life had put dignity and the illusion of years on him.

“Her betrothal must be ended,” Ashley said. “She will marry me.”

“I am well aware,” Victor said, now sounding downright irritable, “that you have suffered a severe loss, Kendrick, that coming home and having to break your news has put great stress upon you in the past couple of days. But—”

“But she
will
marry me,” Ashley said. “She has no choice. Neither do I.”

The Earl of Royce went very still and looked at him fixedly for several long moments before coming toward him.

“What exactly do you mean by that?” he asked.

“Just what you think I mean,” Ashley said.

He saw it coming. He might quite easily have avoided it. He did not move, even to the extent of taking his arms from behind him. The back of his head crashed against the door, pain exploded in the right side of his jaw, and his vision blackened for a few moments. He kept his hands where they were.

“You swine!” There was fury and contempt in Royce's voice. “You will meet me for this, Kendrick.”

“If I must,” Ashley said. “But perhaps it would be more rational to talk business. If I lived through a duel, nothing would have changed. If I died and there were . . . consequences for Emmy, she would be in an impossible situation.”

He watched the other man fight his fury as he considered the sense of what had just been said. His nostrils flared.

“It was ravishment?” he asked.

Ashley did not immediately answer him. “If she says so,” he said. “You must ask Emmy. But her answer can change nothing. We will marry.”

“Powell may feel less concern than I about whether you live or die,” Victor said.

Ashley inclined his head. “That will be his choice,” he said. “I shall find him as soon as I have left here.”

“No!” Victor said sharply. “You will leave that to me, Kendrick.”

Ashley considered the matter and nodded. “Let us proceed to business, then,” he said, indicating the desk that faced him across the room.

But Victor did not turn. “You will pardon me if we postpone this discussion until later today,” he said. “This matter is hard to digest. And by my life, 'tis hard to accept. 'Tis not enough that you are scarcely out of mourning for one wife, but you must be stealing another from under the nose of a perfectly decent man?”

Ashley's head went back, but he said nothing.

“If you will excuse me,” Victor said coldly.

Ashley stood away from the door, but he spoke again. “I would have no harsh words spoken to Emmy,” he said. “She is under my protection now, and I will allow no one to upset her.”