A Matter of Temptation (23 page)

A
s she regained her strength, Torie couldn’t help but be aware that her husband was ever so attentive to her needs, but also cautious as he saw to those needs. He brought her meals on a silver tray as though they possessed no servants to do so. He would watch her eat as though he thought it was the most amazing activity in the world.

In the afternoons, he would wrap a blanket around her and carry her out to the garden so that she could benefit from the sunshine. Much to the diligent working gardener’s dismay, Robert would spend several moments plucking the brightest of the blossoms from the gardens until her lap was filled with an assortment of colors
and fragrances. Then he would sit beside her and ply her with questions about the Great Exhibition and the many inventions and changes that had occurred since he’d been out of society. That was how he’d begun to refer to the time he was in Pentonville, not as his incarceration, or his imprisonment, or his brother’s dreadful act, but as the time during which he was out of society. He never wanted anyone to know that his brother had swapped places with him for a time. He wanted her to explain all the modern inventions so that he could carry on as though he’d never been away.

As she told him of one thing and another, she was amazed at how much progress could be made in eight years.

In the late afternoons, he would leave for a time, and while he always told her that it was to see to estate business, and while she knew that he had a good many duties that required his attention, she suspected that he was visiting with his brother. She knew Robert was saddened by the fact that his brother was locked away from society, more saddened by the fact that he didn’t know why John had turned against him or why John believed he was Robert.

And doubts had surfaced surrounding the deaths of his parents. Arsenic was easily obtained, available for purchase from any chemist, a favorite among ladies who used it to enhance their complexions. The law did require that a
person sign the
Poison Book
, but what happened to it after that…well, not everyone used it on her complexion. It was becoming a favorite murder weapon among married ladies who wished to dispose of their husbands. Robert had hired a man to travel throughout London, searching all the apothecaries’ books. Robert’s signature had been found in one of them, the arsenic purchased a month before his eighteenth birthday. And as Robert had never purchased poison, he had to believe that once again the act was carried out by John pretending to be Robert.

But all that could be proven was that arsenic had been purchased. Not that John had actually used it. Although Torie had never thought that his complexion needed righting.

She knew the knowledge her husband had gained haunted him, so she was relatively certain that he was spending some time with his brother, trying to discern what had shaped him into such a different man, but it was a hopeless task. He would return in the early evening, more somber and solemn, reflective. And she would seek to cheer him by sharing portions of the letters that Diana wrote to her, telling her of her exploits to find a man who wouldn’t bore her after a day or two.

After Torie retired for the night, he would join her and simply hold her, as though she were delicate, too fragile for anything else. And they would talk.

“I want to understand the kind of man you are. What you endured. How it might have shaped you.”

“You are a morbid little thing, aren’t you?”

“Were you beaten? Flogged?”

“No. It wasn’t as bad as all that. Oh, a guard might strike you if you talked or didn’t put your peak on to cover your face. But they had a worse punishment: solitary confinement.”

“I can’t see how that was different from what you were already asked to endure.”

“At least in my cell, I could hear activity. So although I was alone within myself, I wasn’t completely alone. I knew others were about. I could hear them stirring as I worked my loom. I was fortunate in that regard. My job was to work the loom in my cell all day, to make cloth.”

“I don’t see how you could consider any aspect of your experience fortunate.”

“I survived. That was fortunate. And they would bring us a book to read from time to time. The worst part was at night, because everything got truly quiet.”

“Is that when you learned to do your hand shadows?”

“Yes. Each cell had a gas light to see us through the early hours of the night. Until the guards came through turning off our gas at nine, I would spend the time manipulating my hands, seeing what sorts of creatures I could create. And I would let them carry me away beyond the walls
in which I lived. Elephants in Africa and camels in Egypt. I tried to create every animal I’d ever heard of. And people as well. I can create a hag and an old bearded man.”

“I can’t imagine how lonely you must have been.”

“I don’t want you to imagine it. I don’t want you to imagine any of it.”

Then he would say, “Tell me about your life, what you enjoy, the things you like. I want to know everything about you.”

“Well, let me see. My favorite color is red. My favorite season is spring. I enjoy long walks and…”

But as she grew stronger, a part of her feared that it wasn’t her recovery that prevented him from making love to her, but a realization that he hadn’t chosen her to be the Duchess of Killingsworth. Rather his brother had. And she was a constant reminder of his brother’s treachery.

The doubts bombarded her with increasing frequency and strength, like waves bashed up against the shore during a tumultuous storm. Especially late at night, as she prepared for bed, wondering if her husband would assume his role as her lover.

Sitting at her dressing table, she was barely aware of moving the brush through her hair as she pondered her place in Robert’s life. She supposed any woman would be content with the attention he gave her, but it was difficult to settle
for less when she’d once had more. And perhaps that was the source of her growing discontent. She’d considered it while she’d taken a luxurious bath. Thought about it while Charity had helped her with her nightgown. Thought about it after Charity left her for the night and she awaited her husband’s arrival.

Divorce was the solution she kept turning to. He’d been a young man when he’d been imprisoned. He’d attended few balls, few dinners. He never had a chance to look over the debutantes, to select the one who might appeal to him most. He’d married her because she was the one who joined him at the altar.

“You promised that someday you would allow me the privilege of brushing your hair.”

Lifting her gaze to the mirror, she saw her husband’s reflection as he stood behind her, in a blue silk dressing gown that matched the shade of his eyes.

“I didn’t hear you come in,” she said.

“You seemed far away in thought, as you often accuse me of being, there but not really there. Where were you?”

“It’s of no importance,” she lied. Tomorrow she would ask him for a divorce, but not tonight. She wanted one more night with him…and even as she thought that, she thought perhaps she’d ask him the day after…or after…How many days could she postpone facing the truth?

Coming to stand behind her, he reached
round and gently took the brush from her hand. “Everything about you is important.” Slowly he glided it through her hair. “I remember the first time I saw your hair loose, spread out over the pillow of that bed.”

She watched him in the mirror, the intensity with which he gazed down on her. “My first night here, the night of the storm. When you brought me warm cocoa.”

“I thought I would crush the bones in my hands, because I had to hold on to them so tightly to keep them from reaching for you.”

“I wanted you to reach for me.”

“But you thought I was someone else.”

Something occurred to her.

“The pox,” she whispered. “That first morning in the library, you said you had the pox, not a fox.”

He appeared remarkably embarrassed. “I was trying to determine a satisfactory excuse for not fulfilling my husbandly duties. I wanted you to realize that the reason rested with me, not with any shortcomings on your part.”

“But you don’t have the pox.”

“No.”

“But you were trying to find a way to avoid being with me.”

“Not avoid being with you. Avoid making love to you. I had this insane notion that I could return you to John untouched.”

Nodding in understanding, she swallowed.

“That’s what I was thinking about earlier, when I was lost in my thoughts. How unfair to you it is that you found yourself with a wife whom you didn’t choose.”

“My thoughts have been running along a similar path. As John was being dragged away, he had the audacity to remind me that you loved him first.”

“No.” She twisted around and gazed up at him. “No, I told you that night in the coach, I had doubts…”

He cradled her cheek, “I remember. But when you look at me, do you see the man who asked you to marry him?”

She slowly shook her head. “No, I see the man I came to love.”

He fell to his knees and bracketed her face between his large, powerful hands. “You see Robert Hawthorne, the Duke of Killingsworth.”

“No. I don’t see a name or a title. I see only a man. A man who held me through the night while sitting in an uncomfortable position in a coach. A man who tried to hide the fact that he wept over the loss of his parents. A man who took a child on a shadow journey through the jungles of Africa and the sands of Egypt. A man who risked his life to save others in a storm. A man who was treated unbearably badly by his brother, yet still seeks to help him. A man whose wife betrayed him, and yet still he reads to her in the garden. I’m so sorry for doubting your name,
but please believe me when I tell you that I never doubted my feelings for you. I love you more than anything.”

“Oh, Torie.” He crushed her to him, bringing her down from her chair, positioning her on his lap. “You can’t imagine how unbearable it is to not feel love, to be isolated and alone with only your thoughts for company.”

“And shadow creatures.”

He drew back, holding her head, his hands tangled in her hair, his gaze riveted on her. “I thought I would go mad there. I had all these plans for revenge, how I would make John suffer, then you walked into my life and all I wanted was you.”

She watched as his throat muscles worked, felt him tighten his hold.

“I love you beyond all reason. I fought against the temptation of kissing you, of making love to you, of being with you. Victoria Alexandria Lambert Hawthorne, will you honor me by remaining my wife, by becoming the mother of my children, the lady of my heart?”

She felt her tears resurface and spill over onto her cheeks. The look he bestowed on her was as heartfelt as the words, love pure and true. Beyond all reason.

“Yes,” she rasped, her word choked, her throat clogged. “Yes.”

He blanketed her mouth with his own as though he wanted to seal the word for all eter
nity. He kissed her as though he thought he might never have the opportunity to do so again. Kissed her as though his life depended on it. Kissed her as though he would never have enough of her. Kissed her as though he loved her with all his heart, all his soul. As though she was the reason he existed.

And she returned the kiss with equal measure. She loved him.

Within her arms, she held her heart’s desire. Everything she’d ever wanted. To be loved, to be cherished, to be seen as worthy. He was everything to her because she was everything to him.

“How is your wound?” he asked, nipping at the tender flesh along her neck below her ear, before allowing his tongue to circle the shell of her ear.

“It’s completely healed.”

“Perhaps I should inspect the scar.”

She leaned back slightly, smiling at him as she wiped away the tears that had begun to dry. “Do you think?”

He nodded solemnly, and she thought perhaps he wasn’t teasing her, but was serious about his need to see it.

Easing off him, she sat back on her heels and undid the first button—

“I’ll do that,” he said, moving her hands away before he took over the task.

She could feel the tiniest of tremors in his fingers and she remembered the first time—

“You were locked away for eight years.”

He lifted his gaze to hers. “Yes.”

“You’d been a long time without a woman.”

“I’d been
forever
without one.”

She stared at him, in stunned disbelief. “Was I your first?”

“And you shall be my last.”

She again felt those irritable tears. “I can’t believe that you…showed such restraint. Legally—”

“I had the right, Torie. I know. But it wouldn’t have been fair to you. I wouldn’t use you as a means to slake my lust. When I finally came to you, it wasn’t lust that drove me there.” He angled his head slightly. “Well, I suppose it was a bit. I’m not sure men are ever completely devoid of lust.”

“You were so skilled that I would have never guessed that you’d never before—”

“I had eight years to ponder the possibilities. I shall have to share with you sometime some rather unconventional shadow images.”

“Are they wicked?”

“Decidedly so.”

Now she was the one left to ponder the possibilities as he turned his attention back to her buttons and released them one by one. He slid his hands inside the parted material and slowly peeled her gown back off her shoulders until it pooled around her hips. His eyes closed, his brow pleated, as though he were in great pain. When he opened his eyes, she saw that the pain ran deeper than she could have imagined.

“You should have let the bullet strike me,” he said, his voice hoarse with emotion. He dipped his head and pressed his lips to the nearly healed scar at her side that marked the entry of the bullet, which had miraculously not struck anything of significance.

She wove her fingers into his hair, kissed the top of his head. “How could I? Losing you would have been far worse than any physical pain I might have suffered.”

“If one of us must suffer, I prefer it be me.”

“Which is my point. If you’d died, I would have been the one suffering.”