The Perfect Bride (23 page)

It
did not surprise him that Miss Fitzhugh chose to ignore his tone and stride
into his sanctuary like a Norman invader. "I must talk with you, my
lord."

He
eyed her assessingly. "I cannot think what there is to discuss, Miss
Fitzhugh."

For
a moment she hesitated — but only for a moment. Then she sank into a chair in
front of his desk.

"I
suppose now you think I am an unfit chaperon and a terrible example for
Felicity."

Not
by so much as the blink of an eye did Simon allow her to see his dismay that
she dared to broach the episode that had tormented him since this afternoon.

"Your
demeanor left something to be desired," he agreed, his tone condemning her
as thoroughly as he condemned himself for wishing that it had been he — not
Julian — alone with her in that dark cave.

"What
you saw, my lord, was not what it seemed." Embarrassment darkened her gaze.

Did
she think him a fool to be persuaded that up was down and night was day? Now,
he supposed, she would earnestly declare that she was not that sort of woman.
He waited, steeling himself for her lies. Her next words, however, caught him
by surprise.

"Julian
is deeply troubled."

If
he had nurtured the slightest hope that she did not care for Claridge and that
her behavior today had been but a momentary lapse, it vanished then and there.

"The
duke is not my concern. If he is yours, Miss Fitzhugh, I suggest you go to him.
I imagine he is in his room, seeing to his packing. Undoubtedly you can find
your way."

Flushing
at his barely veiled insult, she nevertheless managed a calm tone. "I know
you must have overheard some of his words in the tunnel today.” She hesitated,
as if waiting for confirmation before continuing.

“Claridge’s
legitimacy or lack of it is not my concern. The man is welcome to go to the
devil.”

“He
is quite intent in his quest to find his parents' marriage lines,” she said. “Julian
is a tormented man, my lord."

"Who
delights in tormenting others," Simon growled.

"He
is not beyond redemption. Especially if you would take a hand to help
him."

Simon
stared at her in disbelief. He would just as soon help a fox find the henhouse.
"I have no interest in saving Claridge's soul, Miss Fitzhugh. He was an
excellent officer and a skilled strategist, but like many men since the war, he
has lost his way.”

“I
agree. But it might yet be found.”

He
shrugged. “The war deprived many men of their moral compasses. It
happens."

"But
not to you."

"No."

Anger
darkened her eyes. "Nothing disturbs that cool control of yours, does it? Does
nothing move you, my lord?"

Simon
gave her a look reserved for the few hapless souls under his command who had
possessed the temerity to challenge him. "What of it?" he said
coldly.

Indignation
propelled her to her feet. "What of it? My lord, I scarcely know where to
begin.”

“Nevertheless,
I am certain you will do so,” he said wearily.

She
took a step toward him. “You once assured me you were not cruel, nor unaware of
a woman's needs. But I have watched you with Felicity. You extend her no
special consideration. You make no effort to get to know her, nor display any
tenderness toward the fiancée whose person will soon be yours to use as you
please."

Her
cheeks reddened, but her embarrassment was insufficient to stem the torrent of
words. "I can only pity my cousin for being saddled with a man of such indifferent
temperament."

Simon
wanted to shake her, to insist that she understood nothing about him. But all
he said was, “A man of my profession cannot afford to be swayed by
emotion."

"You
are not at war any longer, my lord," she replied. "And my cousin is
not an enemy soldier."

Simon
considered that for a moment. "Has it never occurred to you, Miss
Fitzhugh," he said at last, "that you might be mistaken in your
conclusions about me?"

"There
can be no mistaking the fact that you are as cold a man as I have ever
encountered, despite your earlier pledge to try to bring some affection to your
marriage."

His
temper rose. "Given your previous encounters, any man who does not throw
himself into your arms must seem cold by comparison."

She
stiffened. "You know nothing about my `encounters,' as you so delicately
describe them."

Verbal
fencing was for fools, Simon decided.

"I
know what my eyes tell me," he growled, "and what you yourself have
detailed of your activities in Vauxhall with Claridge." His gaze strayed
longingly to the bottle of brandy, hoping against hope that Miss Fitzhugh would
finally see fit to let him be.

He
should have known better. She glared at him.

"And
I might have known that a man like you, a man of no feeling, would take
advantage of the momentary weakness I had in confessing my past mistake,"
she flung at him. "I might have known that you would throw that
humiliating incident back at me — "

Abruptly,
she broke off. Her eyes widened as if she had seen a ghost. "Dear Lord!"

Simon
tore his gaze from the brandy bottle. "What is it now?"

"I
never...told you," she said slowly.

"What
the devil do you mean?"

"I
never told you about that time at Vauxhall."

"Of
course you did." He waved a dismissive hand. "That night in your
room..."

Suddenly
he understood. Oh, foolish, irredeemable mistake.

"It
was
Mr. Thornton
I told," she said. "The night Julian emerged
from my wardrobe, the night Mr. Thornton came to my room." She stared at
him in horror. "It was
you
," she whispered "You were
Thornton."

Denial
was useless. Miss Fitzhugh's accusing gaze bore all the certainty that reason,
instinct, and moral indignation could provide. Simon wondered how he could have
been so witless as to make such a slip. Had that scene in the tunnel today
affected his concentration more than he knew?

Now
she knew the truth: That he had allowed Thornton to do what honor forbade Sommersby.
That he, Simon Hannibal Thornton, Earl of Sommersby, had thoroughly kissed his
betrothed's chaperon on that sun-drenched cliff. That he had wanted her,
cloaked himself in a disguise to be with her, and allowed desire to supplant
honor.

Simon
sat motionless at his desk.

"So
you are not so cold after all, my lord," she said softly, though her gaze
bore the derision of a hardened general confronting a wayward soldier. "Or
was that kiss but a calculated maneuver designed to bring me to disgrace?"

"The
masquerade started with the best of intentions,” he said quietly. “In the
beginning, it was my method for finding a suitable bride. I had a list of
qualifications, you see, and then — ” He broke off at the look of amazement on
her face.

“Yes,
I do see. You wished to assess the ladies not as the earl — in whose presence
they would be on their best behavior — but as the earl’s poor relation, who
could observe them closely without attracting notice.”

Simon
was pleased that she understood. “An excellent strategy, if I do say so —”

“No,
it is a perfectly horrid one,” she shot back. “You sought to get at their
authenticity through your own duplicity. That you fail to see the irony does
not surprise me. But none of that explains why you brought Mr. Thornton back
after you had settled on Felicity as your bride.”

A
question he had asked himself over and over again in recent days. “The simple
answer is that I thought to protect you from Claridge.”

“By
making love to me yourself.”

Simon
shook his head. “I never intended to kiss you. I certainly intended no
disgrace."

"I
see. Then you merely meant to make of me a fool," she concluded. "For
that is what I feel like at this very moment — a complete and utter fool."

"Miss
Fitzhugh," he began.

"Oh
come now, my lord," she flung at him. "Do you not think we are at
`Amanda' by now? Considering the nature of our various ... encounters? And to
think that I thought you more of a man than Julian."

"Do
not compare me to that debauched rogue," he said evenly.

A
bitter smile flitted over her mouth. "The truth is that you are no
different. Both of you use women for your own ends."

"I
have never used a woman ill in my life."

"Pray,
what do you call it when you worm your way into a lady's affection, ply her
with kisses, come to her room in your nightclothes...?"

"Damn
it, woman!" Simon rose, his control shattered. "It was only a
kiss!"

A
deafening silence followed. But his words hovered over the heavy air between
them, robbing that cliff-top kiss of its magic.

"Yes,"
she said in a flat voice. "Only a meaningless kiss. Nothing to dwell on.
It was of so little consequence, I cannot think why I even remark upon
it." She turned away.

"Amanda."

Strangely,
saying her name gave him a sudden thrill.

"Amanda,"
he murmured, savoring the soft vowels as they slid off his tongue. He came from
around the desk.

She
did not turn around to face him. He put his hand on her shoulder and she
flinched, her stiffly upright posture evidence of the damage his masquerade had
wrought.

Shame
filled him. The lie had sprung so easily to his lips. She really believed that
the kiss was nothing to him.

"I
did not mean to denigrate what happened between us," he said. "It was
not..." He searched for words, but heartfelt speech had never been his
strong point. "It was not meaningless," he finished helplessly.

She
turned then, and he saw that her eyes were unnaturally bright. "Pray, what
was the meaning then, my lord?” she said softly. “To have fun at my expense? To
seduce Felicity's spinster cousin? La, what a joke that would have been!"

"I
did not — "

"For
if you did not intend those things,” she continued mercilessly, “if you did not
intend ridicule or seduction, then I can only conclude one thing."

Foreboding,
born of the premonition of danger that had saved him from many an ambush in
battle, filled him. Unfortunately, Simon had no idea how to ward off whatever
cannonball Miss Fitzhugh was about to fire his way.

"I
can only conclude, sir, that in spite of your principles, your `obligations,'
your much-vaunted honor — you
wanted
to kiss me. In spite of your
betrothal, in spite of everything."

And
there it was. Simon did not reply. What, after all, was there to say? He could mount
no defense.

"How
curious that you had to hide behind Mr. Thornton,” she added softly. “Could it
be that one of England's most esteemed heroes is at heart a coward?"

Simon
knew he deserved that. What he did not know was why he suddenly gripped her
arms with the desperation of a wounded man trying to staunch the loss of his
life's blood.

For
a moment she looked shocked. He’d grabbed her too hard, he realized. But he was
powerless to let her go. Their gazes locked.

"Go
ahead, my lord," she challenged. "I give you leave to kiss me now — as
yourself, if you dare."

Simon
was not thinking of doing that. He was not thinking of enfolding her in his
arms, or of pulling the pins from her hair and running his hands through those
silky tresses until they tumbled around her shoulders in glorious disarray. He was
not thinking of the fire that licked at his gut, of her little gasp as her lips
parted for him, of his body's primitive and almost painful response to her
womanly softness.

He
was not thinking of any of those things, but they happened as naturally as
breathing. He allowed himself to kiss her, to hold her, to savor the closeness
that made them both tremble. And just like that, his tarnished honor failed anew.
Still he held her in his arms, unable to let her go.

Until
he felt her tears on his face.

"Amanda,"
he murmured helplessly, even as he set her from him. He brushed the tears from
her cheeks.

She
caught his hand and placed it over her heart. His own heart lurched
treacherously. He could not move.

Her
chin rose.   "I shall not fight you, my lord,” she said fiercely. “I shall
hand you my virtue without the slightest struggle. I am not too proud to
acknowledge that you make me abandon every principle I hold dear."

"Stop.
You do not know — "

"It
is you, my lord, who persist in ignorance. You think your superior control
makes you impervious to such an untidy force as desire."

She
smiled ruefully. "I learned long ago that I am a foolish and weak woman. I
thought to hide myself away in the country and avoid facing my flaws, but it
seems I was too wise by half. Neither my foolishness with Julian nor my
solitary refuge prepared me for true passion."