by Mary Balogh
"Now, why should I wish to walk to the park alone?" Lord Beauchamp asked. "Sometimes I wonder about your intelligence, Vera."
She stopped walking, resolutely drawing him to a halt. "Enough!" she snapped. "I am tired of this verbal sparring that we always seem to become involved in. I have no wish to walk with you, sir, and no wish to speak further with you. I wish you will leave me alone. And Georgie too."
"Ah, Georgie," he said, turning to her and covering her hand with his. "She is at the root of all this, is she? Come, Vera. You will walk to the park with me-"
"No, I will not."
"Don't interrupt," he said. "It is ill-mannered to do so. You will walk to the park with me and we shall talk about this quarrel that you seem to think we have. And if you still believe you have a grievance at the end of it, I shall conduct you to my cousin's house and say goodbye to you. I shall not bother you ever again. Is that fair enough?"
"Fair enough!" she agreed abruptly after a moment's consideration.
"Good girt," he said, patting her hand and resuming their walk. He chatted about inconsequential matters while they picked their way through the more crowded streets around the entrance to the park, and steered her through the gates. Inside, the paths and the grass were nearly deserted.
"Now," he said at last, "you may let fly at me, my dear."
Vera said nothing for a while. "Tell me if it is true," she said finally, looking away from him toward a clump of trees.
"No," he said, not even pretending to misunderstand, "of course it is not true. I am wounded to think that you have even had any doubts."
"How could I not have doubts?" she cried passionately, turning a flushed face to him. "There is your reputation, your very forward behavior to me, your familiarity with Georgie, your admission that she has been leaving home late at night in your carriage, her pregnancy. How could I avoid being suspicious?"
He was grinning suddenly. "Is Georgie in a delicate way?" he asked. "That is new to me. And that will certainly put her into a nasty predicament."
"Then there is something going on," she said, "and you know about it. How can you stand there and smile?"
"Merely because your sister has got herself into an unbelievable scrape," he said. He held up a hand as she opened her mouth to speak. "And it has nothing whatsoever to do with immorality, Vera. I can tell you with some certainty that the child is Ralph's, that there is no possibility of its being anyone else's. And I believe I can assure you with equal certainty that those two are almost indecently in love with each other. There are merely a few tricky misunderstandings to clear up. I am not at all sure which of them is in the worse tangle. But to be quite honest with you, at the moment I do not feel like affording them another thought."
Vera looked doubtful. "And has Lord Stanley accepted the fact that he made a mistake?" she asked.
"I have no idea," he told her. "He made a very formal and abject apology this morning. But I could not tell if it was spontaneous or not. It struck me at the time that he might have been under pressure from whoever gave him the black eye and swollen lip."
"Ralph?" Vera asked, saucer-eyed.
"I think you must be right," he said, "though Ralph always seems the veriest lamb. But there was once a similar occasion when he became quite unreasonably violent on behalf of a female. It was only that memory that made me give up my conviction that Georgie was the architect of Stanley's morning face. I cannot think how Ralph found out, but he knew by last night, when he appeared in my dressing room breathing fire and brimstone. Only now does it strike me that I was probably most fortunate not to share young Stan's fate."
"I told Ralph," Vera admitted. "I assumed that he knew already, you see."
"Then you are probably my savior," Lord Beauchamp said, raising her hand to his lips and making her a bow. "My brains might be splattered on a barren field by now had it not been for you."
"A duel?" she said, her eyes wide with shock. "Lord Stanley challenged you?"
"Vera," he said, "I do wish you would not do that with your eyes in such an exposed part of the park. It is most unfair. Knowing how your lips taste is far more tantalizing than merely imagining, I find. Yet the two occupants of that barouche and those two pedestrians on the horizon would doubtless have forty fits apiece if I did what I badly want to do."
"I wish you would not talk so," Vera said, turning abruptly and beginning to walk again.
"We are very different from each other, are we not?" he said, falling into step beside her, and taking her arm again. "Do we have anything in common at all, Vera?"
"No," she said, "I think not. Unless it is a tendency to speak our minds."
"Is that why we have all these deliciously exhilarating arguments?" he asked.
"I fear so, my lord," she agreed.
"Would we be very unwise to marry?" he asked.
Vera looked at him, startled. "To marry?" she said faintly. "Surely there is no question of such a thing."
"What did you expect?" he said. "An offer of carte blanche? I would not dare, you know. It must have taken a full hour a few nights ago for my face to recover from the sting of your slap. And that was only from a supposed dishonoring of your sister!"
"I have not expected anything," Vera said. "I am an old maid, my lord, past the age of marriage."
"Ah, yes," he said. "I had forgotten. Do you wish to lean more heavily on my arm, ma'am? You need not fear that I shall totter under your weight, though I am far more advanced in years than you.' '
"Don't make fun of me," she said. "I think you should take me back now, or I shall be too late to visit Georgie. "
"To hell with Georgie," he said cheerfully. "I really want to know if a marriage between you and me would have a chance of success. I believe I must be quite mad to consider such a possibility, of course. You have been prim and disapproving since I met you, if one disregards those minutes when you were kissing me. Why do I feel that there is a deeper, more passionate nature to love if I can but penetrate your defenses?"
"Perhaps there is nothing," she said in some agitation. "Perhaps I am as dull and as much of a killjoy as I appear to be."
"Perhaps," he said. "And And perhaps I am no more than the shallow rake you take me for. Do you believe there is more to my nature, Vera? Do you think there is anything of value to make it worth your while to become better acquainted with me?"
She hesitated. "I sometimes like to believe so," she said. "I do not know."
"Or is love alone enough?" he asked.
"Love?"
"Well," he said, "I certainly am quite in love with you. and I am almost certain that your own feelings are engaged a great deal more than you will admit even to yourself. Could you bring yourself to marry me, Vera? I have not lived an utterly worthless existence, you know. I manage my estates myself and have made them solvent again since my father's death. Much of what you seem to have heard is true, I will admit. There have been many women in my life. But I have never ruined an innocent girl or cheated with any man's wife. And I believe I can safely promise that you will be the only woman in my life from this moment forward."
"Oh, please," Vera said. "Please, I am so confused. I do not know what to say."
He drew her to a halt again. "I think I will not make you a formal offer now," he said. "I have not spoken with your father, though I thought of doing so earlier. You are going down to Chartleigh for Gloria's wedding and for Christmas, are you not? I shall be there too. Shall we agree to an unofficial understanding until after Christmas? In the meantime we can get to know each other without the barrier of this apparent hostility that has been between us from the start. And we can discover if there is anything to bring us together in addition to love. Shall we, Vera? And plan a spring wedding if we still feel after Christmas that we cannot live without each other?"
"I have not said that I feel that way at all," Vera protested feebly.
"Then say it now," he said urgently, "Don't fight with me any longer. Tell me."
She looke
d up at him and smiled ruefully. "Very well," she said. "I do love you, Roger, though I cannot think of a single reason for doing so. There, are you satisfied, sir? All this is quite against my better judgment, you know."
"Quite," he said. "I think in consideration of your very advanced age and my fast approach to my thirtieth birthday that we should perhaps make that wedding very early in the spring, don't you?"
"But there is no official betrothal, is there?" she asked.
"Absolutely not," he agreed. "Shall we say unofficially early in the spring? You know, love, if we veer to our right just a fraction, we shall be on a collision course with those trees. A mere twenty paces if we sharpen the angle slightly thus. And this particular tree trunk in front of us looks to me like a very suitable shield from prying eyes. Come and kiss me."
"But, Roger," she protested, "is it not dreadfully vulgar to embrace almost in public?"
"Oh, dreadfully, love," he agreed amiably. "But I shall not tell if you will not. I take it your answer is yes, since I have riot had to drag you back here. And you see how slender you are in comparison with the tree trunk? No one who is not a determined prowler will even know we are here. Kiss me, Vera."
"I really ought not," she said, putting her arms up around his neck and lifting her face to him. "Roger, you cannot really love me, can you?"
"No, not at all," he said, feathering his lips across hers in a manner that set her to tightening her grip on his neck. "I could think of no other way of maneuvering you behind this tree than to say I did. And I fear that I shall have to marry you just in order to get you into bed. How you do blush, darling. You will probably force me to extinguish the candles on our wedding night, will you not?"
"Roger," Vera said from between her teeth, "will you stop this very improper talk and kiss me!"
He drew his head back and grinned down at her. "My apologies ma'am," he said. "I had not realized you were quite so desperate."
He lowered his mouth to hers and leaned his weight against her so that she was pressed against the tree, only his arms wrapped around her protecting her from its rough surface. But it is doubtful that Vera would have noticed anyway. She had melted into his embrace, her body molded against his in a manner that would have severely shocked her in a more rational mood.
CHAPTER 18
GEORGIANA WAS SITTING in the library sewing. It was an activity she did not particular enjoy, but she certainly did not feel like reading this afternoon, and she was very reluctant to sit doing nothing. She had made an excuse to leave the drawing room, where the dowager and Gloria were entertaining Lady Beauchamp. She did not know how long Ralph would be. She had not seen him at all that day. She hoped he would come in before dinner, before her resolve gave way. She blocked thought from her mind and concentrated on her sewing.
She heard him come into the house and looked up from her work, wondering if he would come here immediately or if she would have to send upstairs for him. The door opened quietly even as she was straining her ears for sounds of his movements, and she could feel her cheeks flush and her heart begin to thump as she met her husband's eyes across the room.
"Ah, Ralph," she said, "I thought I heard you come in." Too hearty, thought in dismay, listening to her own voice.
He smiled at her. "Hello, Georgiana," he said. "I was hoping I would find you at home. How are you feeling today?"
"Oh, far better, thank you," she said. "I wanted to go shopping this morning, but your mama would not hear of it. So I have stayed at home like a good girl. I am even sewing. See?"
"I am glad you are feeling more the thing," Ralph said.
They could go on like this for several hours, until it would be too late to say anything before dinner, Georgiana thought. She threaded her needle through the cloth on her knee and put her work aside. "Ralph," she said, "I wish to talk to you."
His hand rose quickly. "I have something to say to you, too," he said. "May I go first?"
She should say no, Georgiana thought. She was not about to lose her nerve. "Please do," she said meekly.
Ralph sat in the chair opposite hers and looked at her quietly for a moment. "I would like us to decide together, Georgiana," he said, "whether it is possible for us to start again. We have not had a real marriage thus far. I want it to become real. Now, Today. Tonight. Is it too late?"
Georgiana stared across at him, at his mouth, slightly upturned at the corners, at his kindly, vulnerable eyes, his unruly hair. She shook her head slowly, not taking her eyes from him.
"The fault has been entirely my own," he said. He flushed somewhat. "I hurt you on our wedding night and frightened you. I know you were afraid for me to touch you after that. And knowing that, I became afraid too. J had no experience at all, Georgiana. I really did not know how to go on. I did not know how not to give you pain."
"I should not have told you that," Georgiana said breathlessly. "My tongue always runs away with my sense."
Ralph leaned foward. "I love you, Georgiana," he said. "I fell in love with you the second time I saw you, and my love has deepened with every day since. You are so very beautiful and so full of life. And you have a mind that is willing to develop and grow. I want more than anything to have you as my closest friend and my lover."
Georgiana opened her mouth to speak, but he did not stop.
"And now that I have said that," he continued, “ what I have to say next will seem all the more inexplicable and reprehensible to you. Probably it will hurt you. But I must tell you. I have committed a terrible sin against you. For the past two months I have had a mistress."
He paused, looking across at his wife in the deepest apprehension. Georgiana leaned back in her chair and said nothing.
"You are shocked," he said, "and you have every right to be. I have no excuse. I knew what I was doing, and I quite rationally chosen to begin this affair. My reason sounds very silly. I thought that if I could gain some experience with another woman, I would be better able to soothe your fears and give you some pleasure without pain." He flushed again.
"And have you gained what you wanted?" Georgiana asked.
"I suppose so," he said slowly. "But I have learned a great deal more. I have learned that infidelity arouses terrible guilt feelings. I suppose I wanted to feel more of a man. But I have brok3n a vow I made to both you and God, and in so doing I have made myself less of a man."
"What is she like?" Georgiana asked. "Is she beautiful? Do you love her?"
"I love you," he said, looking earnestly into her eyes. "And yet…"
"And yet?" she prompted sharply.
"I don't know if you will understand," Ralph said. "I probably should not even talk of such matters to you. Such women are generally seen as creatures to be used and despised. Almost as if they are non-persons. I never spoke to her, Georgiana. Indeed, I never even really saw her. But she was real. She is real, a real person. She has thoughts and dreams and problems. She was probably driven to becoming what she is. She is as precious to herself as I am to myself or you to yourself. She cannot be dismissed as a creature of no account merely because she can be labeled a whore. And I have contributed to her degradation. In this way too I have sinned."
"I am sure she would not see it that way," Georgiana said.
"It is nevertheless true," he said. "And I feel I must do something about it. I must see her once more, Georgian, and offer her the means to live independently if she so wishes. I am sure you will find this hard to believe, but this too I must do."
Georgiana shook her head.
"It pains me," he said, leaning even farther forward in his chair and looking quite agitated, "that any woman can be driven to that way of life. How desperate must be the circumstances, Georgiana, for a woman to be forced to sell her body. And what about men of their class? What alternative do they have but to become thieves and footpads or to lose themselves in gin? We must set our minds to beginning some sort of industry at Chartleigh soon. Weaving or spinning, perhaps? At least maybe we can offer the poor of our o
wn part of the world an alternative to going into the cities in search of employment that simply is not there."
Georgiana smiled warmly at him. "I shall help you all I can," she said. "And you will do well, Ralph. You have a gift for relating to the poor and winning their affection."
The eagerness died from his face as he looked back at her. He eased himself back in his chair a little and flushed. "I am sorry," he said. "I have gone completely off the point, have I not? I am almost afraid to ask the question again, Georgiana, now that you know what sort of husband you have married. Is it possible for us to begin again, to pretend perhaps that our wedding has taken place today?"
The smile had been gradually fading from Georgiana's face. She still had her story to tell. And it was becoming more and more difficult to tell it.
"Ralph," she said impulsively, "will you kiss me? You have not done so for such a long time. Please will you hold me?"
Ile stared at her for a moment before jumping to his feet, his smile crinkling his eyes at the corners. He reached out both hands for hers and, when she placed her own in them, pulled her up and into his arms. She held her face up eagerly. He had never kissed her at Kensington.
He kissed her eyes, her temples, her cheeks, her throat. Georgiana closed her eyes and abandoned herself to his will. She did not try to participate or to guide him to her mouth, where she wanted him to be. She placed her hands on his shoulders and surrendered.
And finally his mouth was on hers, warm, gentle, seeking. He parted his lips and played with hers until she did likewise. And she shuddered and pressed closer when the tip of his tongue outlined her lips, exploring the warm, moist flesh behind them and penetrated beyond the barrier of her teeth.
Georgiana moaned and his hand came behind her head to steady it and the kiss became deeper and more urgent. She began to feel that familiar throbbing low in her abdomen. She felt heat rising like a wave toward her head. She wanted him. She wanted her husband.
"Oh God," he said, lifting his head and clasping her to him, his cheek against her hair. "Oh God, Georgiana, is it possible that you can feel as I do? Then what have I driven you to, love? What have I done to you?"