The Whisper Of Wings (31 page)

He cupped her cheek with his palm and murmured, "You need never be anywhere else."

"Do you mean that?" she whispered, her voice tremulous with need. Lord, if she could truly believe that.

"With everything that I am," he assured her, his eyes intent as they held hers.

"I can work...to pay my way. I...." She broke off when he shook his head, became a little affronted when he even had the audacity to laugh a little.

Sensing that he had offended her, he was quick to explain his amusement. "I don't want you to work for me. You'll have no need of that."

She stared at him, confused.

"Tell me now, Michaela. Trust me now," he whispered, the very tone of his voice compelling, coaxing it from her. "I want to know everything. From your lips."

She sighed and tried to collect her thoughts, her tears almost gone now. He pulled her close to him again, and she rested her head on his chest as she began. She would tell him. To please him. Because she wanted so desperately to please him.

"It was awful. Father wanted sons. Strong, able sons. Not flighty daughters. My older sister married a prominent cotton grower the moment she was out of school. It sealed a partnership with my father. He had all but lost his own business, and the marriage gave him back a little of what he'd lost. He thought I would do the same for him when I came of age. But I wanted to write. It was my dream, and I could think of nothing else."

Her beginning was shaky, but as she spoke, her voice gained strength. He pulled her closer, and she nestled against his chest, happy just to be near him, to be in his arms. She didn't question how they'd come to be so familiar, didn't question how he'd come to be holding her like that. Nothing mattered but the moment. Everything was going to be all right now. She could sense it.

"When I passed my twenty-first birthday and I still hadn't found a suitable man to marry, my father became angry, even abusive. He called me horrible names, swore at me, criticized me, locked me in the house like a prisoner. I didn't care. As long as I could write, I was happy. But when he took that away from me too, my spirit was defeated. He made me feel so unworthy."

"I know," Christopher soothed. "But you know now that you
are
worthy, don't you, Michaela? You must know."

"You make me feel worthy. You've restored that for me."

"He won't ever hurt you again," Christopher promised.

"He's gone now," she whispered. "I'm not sure how I feel about that. I suppose a part of me is relieved. And the other part is sad. Sad because I didn't really have a father, sad that he never really knew me."

She closed her eyes when he began to stroke her hair, enjoying the sense of peace he gave her, the sense of relief it gave her to speak about it to someone who understood, to someone who cared.

"At twenty-six, he considered me an old maid," she mused. "In my father's estimation, I had few good childbearing years left to me. He was thrilled when Geoffrey Yelvington decided to court me. I was secretly appalled. I couldn't believe these two men were scheming amongst themselves, planning my fate. They didn't even ask me."

Christopher listened as he stroked her hair. He was pleased that she was confiding in him. She finally trusted him.

"Geoffrey was as horrible as my father, domineering, controlling. He wanted a servant for a wife, someone he could rule. I wanted to be respected, and I wanted the man I married to respect my dreams to write. But just like my father, Geoffrey didn't approve. He would never have let me continue writing. They didn't care about what I wanted, what I needed to make me a whole person. They only cared about themselves, their own plans. It was as if I didn't even really exist."

Christopher made a little sound of displeasure in his throat.
He
cared about her needs, her wants. "I care," he admitted, before he'd even realized what he was saying. Odd, how it came so easily, so naturally. And all those weeks of agonizing about it, weeks of trying to hide it. The discipline, and the misery. All of it gone with two little words.

Michaela felt herself blush with pleasure, immediately warming to the idea that he cared, but she just as quickly suppressed her pleasure. She would be foolish to read too much into his admission. He was just being kind. Of course, he cared. After all, he had come looking for her, had given her shelter all these weeks. But she couldn't dare hope that he loved her as she loved him. Romantically. Deeply.

"But you are different," she told him. "You're...special somehow. God touched you with something he didn't offer my father, or Geoffrey. It's why I love you so much."

Christopher felt something tighten in his chest. Had he heard right? Had she said that she loved him? Bloody hell, he couldn't wipe the smile off his face. He wanted to press her to him, confide his feelings to her, never let go. He was so caught up in her innocent admission that he had to force himself to focus on what she was saying next. She'd gone on as if she'd been telling him all her life that she loved him, as if there was nothing unusual about it. It was simply a matter of fact.

"Both men thought my desire to write was unusual. Father believed that only masculine women write, women who don't ever marry, women who don't know their rightful place in society. He believed the largest problem a woman is ever capable of handling is what to wear for dinner. Women could never hope to have the aptitude for societal significances. Men were made by God to run the businesses and governments of the world. Women were made to bear sons and to be used as bargaining chips wherever possible."

"Not a very enlightened fellow," Christopher acknowledged.

"I couldn't stop writing." She was speaking in earnest now, her voice full of emotion, passion, and sadness. "It was a part of me. I hid it from him. When he found out, he beat me for it. It was the only time he ever physically abused me, but I never forgot it."

Christopher couldn't stifle the rage response that welled up inside him. If Michaela's father had still been alive, he would have beaten him senseless for raising a hand against her.

"Then suddenly my father died. They allowed me a brief mourning period, and after a time, I thought I could escape the arranged marriage altogether. I thought Geoffrey would respect my wishes and release me from my father's promise, but he grew angry and impatient, insisting that we hasten the nuptials. He argued with my mother, threatened her. I couldn't stay. I didn't know where to go, but I couldn't stay. I couldn't trust anyone. I didn't even know if I could trust Eugenia anymore. Dear Eugenia."

She broke off with a sigh, then smiled as she suddenly became aware of Christopher's heartbeat beneath her cheek. Being in his arms, having him stroke her hair, felt so good, so right. It seemed as though they belonged together, as though they had always been together. It was wonderful, comforting.

"She was like an aunt to me. At one time, I was best friends with her daughter. But even Lucy believed that I should marry Geoffrey. She swore that love had nothing to do with marriage. I didn't agree."

"I must side with you. Without love, a marriage cannot stand," Christopher said.

Michaela's smile broadened. Christopher was as hopelessly romantic as she was. "Some people believe that's an outdated notion."

"Some people are ignorant. They don't know what true beauty life holds."

She lifted her head to look up into his eyes. "You are a beautiful man, Christopher Standeven, with a beautiful heart."

An odd expression flickered across his face, and his eyes filled with emotion so intense that it bordered on pain. He looked as though he was searching for something, as if he needed to tell her something, something vital, something that would change both their lives forever.

"You needn't worry about Yelvington any longer, Michaela," he finally said. "I've seen to it that he is never a concern again."

She straightened a bit, her brows pulled down in a frown of consternation as she stared at him. "I don't understand."

His voice was earnest now, and he squeezed her shoulders a little as though for emphasis, to help her understand. "You don't have to marry him. You don't have to do anything you don't want to do. Ever."

Michaela was still confused. "I thought that's why my mother was calling. I thought you had discovered my deception and had...."

He shook his head, his eyes bright with sincerity. "I would never betray you. I went to her to get your novels. I never invited her to call."

"You have my novels?"

He suddenly looked sheepish, almost guilty. "Yes. All of them."

"And Geoffrey?"

"Bought off."

She fell silent for a long time as she contemplated this new information.

"Are you very angry with me?" he asked.

She shook her head.

He went on in a rush. "I didn't know how you would receive it. I took a reprehensible liberty, but I felt it was necessary to your welfare."

"I can't argue that point," she admitted. But she was still frowning when she said, "I just don't know how I will ever repay you."

He didn't answer her for a long time, just stared down at her, his fingers biting into her shoulders, his eyes probing. She wondered if he realized he was hurting her a little, but knew that he mustn't. He would never intentionally hurt her.

"Marry me," he finally said, his voice broken, so unlike any sound she'd ever heard him make before. There was something almost tragic about the way he said it, a bit helpless and pleading. She was so stunned by it that she couldn't speak.

"Not as repayment," he quickly amended. "I don't ever expect you to repay me for anything. Marry me...because I want you to."

She was still too amazed to answer. She just sat there staring back at him, her blood singing through her veins, her heart a deafening roar in her ears. She couldn't believe what she was hearing. She had yearned for this day to come, and now that it was here, she had a hard time believing it was real. It had to be a dream. It couldn't be real. Why would a man like Christopher Standeven want a penniless waif?

"You said you loved me," he murmured, as if to convince her.

"I did?" she squeaked in surprise.

With an air of defeat, he dropped his hands away from her shoulders. "Just a moment ago. Don't you remember? Or...didn't you mean it?"

"Of course. Of course, I meant it," she insisted. "I do love you."

She flushed and looked away, mortified that he might think her gauche, mortified that he might not love her in return.

Christopher was barely aware of her discomfort. His mind was already racing ahead, planning, worrying. There was so much to consider. "I'll have to speak to Gerald," he murmured.

Michaela glanced at him in surprise. "Gerald?"

Christopher frowned as he gazed into the distance. "I'm afraid it will be a shocking blow for him."

Michaela reached out and touched his arm to get his attention. He wasn't making sense, and she needed to know what all this talk of Gerald was about. "I don't understand."

Christopher turned his eyes back to hers. He seemed surprised that she didn't understand, even a bit perplexed. "He's in love with you. It's going to crush him when I tell him."

She stared at him in honest amazement, then very slowly a smile began to break over her face, spreading until she was eventually laughing, laughing with the most heartfelt sincerity he'd ever heard. She was so caught up in mirth that she wasn't even looking at him anymore. She was just giving in to the laughter, her hands clasped across her waist. He stared at her in total confusion. He couldn't for the life of him imagine what she found so amusing.

When Michaela noticed the odd expression on his face, she was quick to suppress her mirth. "Gerald isn't in love with me," she explained.

Now it was Christopher's turn to be surprised. "But it's why...I've stayed away from you for so long. I was in an agony...."

She smiled. "Oh, Christopher. I love you so much, you silly man. Of course, Gerald
loves
me. But not like that. It's all perfectly innocent. It's just a very deep, very lasting friendship. Nothing more."

For a moment, he seemed to flounder in his confusion, but then as he realized what she was saying, he began to grin. "I suppose I was being rather silly, jumping to conclusions. Perhaps because...."

Her eyes were shining with hope when she prompted, "Because?"

"God, but I'm relieved. You can't imagine how."

"Perhaps because what?" she pressed, poking him with her fingers to get him back on track.

He smiled, his eyes sparkling with mirth. The bold little devil was actually prodding him. "Perhaps I couldn't see clearly because I was blinded by love."

Michaela's hands were trembling when she reached out to trail her fingers down his cheek. He loved her. She had prayed for this day, had yearned for him to love her. It was like a gift from heaven, a gift she would cherish for the rest of her life. Christopher truly was her wings. He would love her, respect her, honor and adore her, and she would make him a good wife. Forever.

Christopher's mind was still churning with plans. "I've bought out the partnership. Mason was not happy about his son's behavior, and, consequently, James won't be taking over the partnership now. Still, I proceeded with my plan. It's been in the back of my mind to get out of that venture for some time. Not that Mason isn't a wonderful friend. I just needed the freedom, I suppose. I'm not business partner material. I'm too set in my ways."