B006DTZ3FY EBOK (11 page)

It was silly,
Cynthia
scolded herself, to feel relieved. Derek
’
s interest in other women was none of her business. Hannah
’
s interest in Derek, had it existed, would also have been none of her business. And yet she was conscious of feeling, rightly or wrongly, that a great weight had been lifted from her mind. She was still wrestling with her wayward emotions when Hannah slipped a hand into hers.

“A
nd besides,
”
Hannah whispered shyly,
“I
am in love with someone else.
”

This was news.

Cynthia
stared at her, amazed.
“Y
ou are? With whom?
”

“S
omeone I have loved for simply
ages.
”

“Y
ou never said a word!
”

“Y
ou didn
’
t know him.
”

“D
o I know him now?
”

Hannah nodded, her eyes sparkling. She suddenly looked much prettier.
“C
an
’
t you guess?
”

Cynthia
couldn
’
t. Her mind went completely blank. Hannah, in love! And
not
with Derek Whittaker. The idea that any girl who was acquainted with Mr. Whittaker could somehow fall in love with someone else struck her as inconceivable. She blinked at her friend in baffled astonishment.

Hannah
’
s face was rosy with blushes. She leaned in to
Cynthia
and breathed,
“I
t
’
s John Ellsworth, of course.
”

Of course?
Cynthia
’
s first reaction was incredulity. It seemed impossible that Hannah
—
or, indeed, anyone
—
could harbor a secret longing for the supremely uninteresting John Ellsworth. But Hannah had burst into a whispered explanation, as if spilling her secret had unleashed a torrent of confidences she had been longing to share.

“I’
ve known him all my life. He is only two years older than I, so we often played together as children, and I promise you he has always been so good
—
so decent
—
just everything a man should be.
”
Hannah was aglow with tender emotion.
“I
had the measles when I was eight and he used to come and read to me. Can you imagine? He never showed the least fear of catching the contagion from me. I was lonely and miserable, and frightfully ill, and he brought in his toy ship and showed it to me, and promised we would sail it on the fish pond when I was well. He sat with me for hours and hours, making things with his hands
—
he
’
s very good at making things
—
and talking to me, even when I was too ill to answer properly. I never shall forget it.
”

“A
nd
... and you have loved him since you were
eight?
”

Hannah nodded, laughing.
“I
believe I have. Yes.
”

This was terrible. Hannah in love with Mr. Ellsworth!
Cynthia
found she had to look away to hide her growing consternation. What could she say, to convince Hannah to look elsewhere?

“P
erhaps,
”
she suggested at last,
A
you simply find it easier to talk to Mr. Ellsworth than to other gentlemen. Since you have known him all your life.
”

“O
h, certainly,
”
Hannah agreed.
“I
know I am shy, and that I ought to make an effort to overcome it, but I can
’
t seem to help it
—
especially with men. Most men are very off-putting, don
’
t you think? I never know what to say to them. But I
’
m completely at ease with John.
”

“Y
es. But that is the point I meant to make.
”
Cynthia
cleared her throat delicately.
“I
n other words
... perhaps if you knew other gentlemen as well as you know Mr. Ellsworth, you might find them agreeable, too.
”
Inspiration struck.
“O
nly look at Mr. Whittaker, for example. When you gave him a chance to be kind to you, he was.
”

“O
h, I
’
m sure many men are pleasant and kind. Perhaps most are.
”
Hannah looked thoughtful.
“I
don
’
t know why it is, but somehow
—
out of all the kind and pleasant men in the world
—
one
’
s heart seems to fix on a particular man, and want no other.
”

Cynthia
’
s spirits sank. She certainly could not argue with Hannah
’
s observation; she knew it was true. How many men had danced attendance on her, since she turned seventeen and was thrust into the
ton
? It was impossible to count them. And yet, out of all that horde, only one had touched her heart.

One question remained. She studied Hannah
’
s face, trying to read every nuance in her friend
’
s expression.
“D
oes Mr. Ellsworth return your regard?
”
she asked softly.

Hannah
’
s face fell.
“I
don
’
t know,
”
she admitted, sighing.
“H
e has never spoken.
”
She fidgeted with her skirt, trying to smooth the area she had twisted earlier.
“W
e are very young,
”
she said hopefully.
“S
ome girls do marry at nineteen, but John is only one-and-twenty. That
’
s an early age for a man to choose a wife.
”

“Y
es, that
’
s true.
”
Cynthia
had to suppress a twinge of guilt. She and her mother had been trying to use Mr. Ellsworth
’
s youth and inexperience to their advantage. But the very qualities that would assist a beautiful girl to trap a man into a loveless match, would work against a plain girl who truly loved him.

“A
nd I
’
m very sure of his friendship,
”
Hannah added.
“S
o, in that sense, I know I have his regard.
”

Cynthia
hesitated. Oh, she had to spare her friend heartbreak if she could! But how to say it in a tactful way
—
? Meanwhile, Hannah had noticed her friend
’
s silence. She was looking puzzled, and slightly hurt.

“W
hat is it?
”
Hannah whispered.

Cynthia
shook her head.
“N
othing. It
’
s just that
... I have heard that men often overlook what is under
their noses. I am wondering if
... if it would be easier, actually, for you to win the affections of someone else. A man who was
not
already your friend.
”

Hannah seemed about to speak, but her attention suddenly shifted to a point over
Cynthia
’
s shoulder.
Cynthia
turned, following the direction of Hannah
’
s eyes. The door was opening. The men had arrived.

Cynthia
felt her pulse begin to race.
Be calm,
she told herself sternly. The duke walked in first, deep in conversation with Lord Grafton and Sir Peter Ellsworth. Lord Malcolm followed, his eyes immediately seeking his wife.
Cynthia
felt a twinge of wistful envy at the smile they exchanged; it was so warm that one felt compelled to look away, as if intruding on something private. Malcolm headed directly for Natalie
’
s side. Behind him, out of the shadowy passage and into the light, came Derek and Mr. Ellsworth.

She felt Hannah sit up straighter, and, out of the corner of her eye, caught her friend
’
s welcoming smile. Poor Hannah! Now that
Cynthia
knew her friend
’
s secret, Hannah
’
s feelings for Mr. Ellsworth were painfully obvious.
Cynthia
thought she would rather die than be so transparent.

Still
... there was something wonderful about Hannah
’
s wholeheartedness.

What would it feel like, sh
e wondered, to smile like that—
with no thought of whether one
’
s smile would be returned? What would it feel like, to wear one
’
s heart on one
’
s sleeve? It took
courage
,
Cynthia
suddenly realized. She looked again at Hannah, new respect dawning in her. Hannah, for all her shyness, was brave in ways that
Cynthia
was not.

It was a disturbing thought. Did she owe her legendary poise, the self-possession she prided herself on, to
cowardice
? She had to admit it was possible. That was definitely fear she felt as Derek walked through the door. In response to her fear, she assumed her customary posture of graceful impassivity
—
aware, for the first time, that it was a defensive gesture. It was fear that was setting her features, even now, into their habitual mask of serene reserve. Donning her Frost Fair disguise made her feel safe. Or, at least, safer.

From behind her wall of self-control she watched Derek. Inwardly, she was a mass of quivering insecurities, confident of nothing. Outwardly, she displayed utter composure. She knew she had perfected the pose; no one would guess the turmoil she felt, just being in the same room with him. No one would guess, from her cool, faintly bored demeanor, that she would lie awake tonight burning with heartache.

And, as fate would have it, Derek had entered with Mr. Ellsworth! Seeing them side by side, in stark contrast to each other, it was impossible to deceive herself. Hannah was right. One
’
s heart settled on a particular man, and wanted no other. Waves of despair battered
Cynthia
. What a colossal fool she had been, telling herself that all she required in a husband
—
after escaping Sir James Filey by the grace of God
—
was a kind heart.

She had no reasonable hope of finding happiness wed to John Ellsworth, however kind he was. It had been a mistake to pretend, even to herself, that she might. And now, in addition to the misgivings she already felt about Mama
’
s ambitions,
Cynthia
must face wounding Hannah through her actions.

All in all, it had been a dreadful day.

Chapter
6
             
             
             
             

It was blessedly cold in the passage.
Cynthia
halted on her way back to the drawing room and pressed her exhausted forehead against the cool wallpaper.

Solitude. Thank heaven. What a wonderful thing it was to be alone, away from the flaring candles and the roomful of eyes.

The eyes in the drawing room expected her return. She could not hide from them forever. She wished it were possible to escape to her bed chamber but, unfortunately, she had already slept for several hours this afternoon. If she excused herself early, claiming to be tired, her mother would be alarmed. And she could not face another inquisition. Not tonight.

The chill silence enveloped her, soothing her. She closed her eyes and slumped against the wall, limply allowing it to hold her up. Soon it would be possible to go back. Soon. But not yet. She needed a minute
’
s time. Just a minute to herself. Then she could face them all ag
ain, and go on with the charade
... pretending that she felt nothing, when in truth she was miserable.

             
* * *

It was colder than Greenland out here in the passage. Where the devil was she? She
’
d freeze to death in that wisp of a frock she was wearing.

Not that he cared, of course.

Right.

Derek
’
s lip curled in bitter amusement at his own folly. He did care. It was ridiculously obvious. He didn
’
t know how to stop caring. He had tried anger, and anger had failed him. What nex
t? Was he doomed to pine for this
heartless jade forevermore?

And there she was. He halted in his tracks, the cold air forgotten. He had come in search of
Cynthia
—
the more fool he. Well, he had found her. Now what was he going to do about it?

And, more to the point
—
what was wrong with her? She seemed to be half-swooning. Her slender form sagged against the wainscoting. Her face was pressed to the wall. The remnants of Derek
’
s hostility melted into nothingness at the sight of her distress.

He stepped forward. He had to, though he cursed himself for it. He could no more turn away from her pain than he could stop breathing.

“
Cynthia
?
”

She gave a startled gasp and spun to face him. She was still pressed against the wall. Now her hands moved back to clutch it, fingers splaying against the flat surface. It was an oddly vulnerable, self-protecting gesture, as if she sought reassurance that there was something solid at her back.

He understood the impulse. For him, too, the world seemed a suddenly
flimsy
place. A world where three years
’
worth of anger could crumble in an instant was a world where anything might happen. The furniture might dissolve. The floor might fall away. Solid walls might evaporate. The line between reality and fantasy had blurred, and Derek was no longer sure he was awake.

He must be dreaming; her eyes were too blue. Nobody
’
s eyes were that blue. Only
Cynthia
,
Cynthia
in his dreams, had eyes like that. How could she be real? How could she be
here,
in this house, in this passage between the rooms, in this private place with him, alone?

But she was here. She was real. No dream could be this vivid. He could see her eyes dilating, see the tiny flutter of her pulse beating in her throat. He could sense the rush of her breath. And the tremble of her lower lip, a tremble echoed at her neckline where the warm flesh beat high against the silk, betrayed the emotions she struggled to hide from him.

Oh,
Cynthia
. A rush of unexpected tenderness swamped him.
You cannot hide from me.

             
* * *

She mustn
’
t cry. Why did she feel like crying? He had startled her. The shock of being near him again, all unprepared, must be too much for her. He had caught her off-guard, that was all.

No. That was not all. Had she forgotten? There was something about this man that crumbled her defenses. Oh, how could she have forgotten that?

Helpless, she stared at him and felt her knees go weak. All her resolve, the will to be strong, seemed to drain out of her. She might hide her secret self from all the world, but not from this man. From this man, she could hide nothing.

A sense of hopelessness washed through her. Was it possible to feel despair and exhilaration at the same time? Evidently it was. She had tried so hard to erase him from her heart! Until today, she actually believed she had succeeded. It seemed incredible to her now, that she had ever convinced herself of such a lie. And yet, had they never met again, she might have gone on believing it.

Was she glad or sorry to have the truth revealed? To know, indisputably, that she had been touched by something that people searched their entire lives to find? She was glad. And, of course, she was sorry. She had never felt so glad about anything. She had never felt sorrier. Gladness and sorrow, exhilaration and misery, spilled through her in a rush of cold and hot and utter confusion.

She had told herself, over and over, that her so-called feelings for Derek had been wholly imaginary. She had come to believe that the man she longed for did not exist, that she had created him out of dreams and yearning, as young girls will, and that the man she remembered was largely a product of her own imagination. But here he was, as solid and inescapable as reality itself. She could no longer delude herself into thinking she had exaggerated that long-ago encounter. Here stood the man she remembered, in the flesh, to prove that whatever she had felt when she met him had been every bit as earth-shattering as it had seemed.

He stood so close it made her dizzy. His shirt front gleamed in the dim light. He smelled good. Everything about him shot pleasure through her, from the strong planes of his handsome face to the expression in his eyes
when he looked at her. His eyes
... so dark, so compelling. She stared into them, her heart soaring and breaking simultaneously, and saw them fill with compassion. Tenderness.

The bitter stranger who had shared his horse with her was gone. Before her stood Derek. Her own Derek, the man she had dreamed of and longed for, despite all her efforts to forget him. Her secret love.

             
* * *

She seemed to glow in the semi-darkness, pale and pastel and shimmering. She was a creature of ether, fragile as gossamer, insubstantial as illusion. If he tried to touch her, would she shatter?

No matter. He was going to touch her, if the contact splintered them both. Angel or phanto
m, shadow or solid, he must
touch her.

He reached for her. He had to. The impulse to reach for her was stronger than his pride. And she swayed toward him as if in a trance. They came together like magnet and steel, caught in a mutual, spontaneous, pull and dragged into each other
’
s arms as if by an irresistible force.

There was nothing gentle about this kiss. Nothing tentative. Derek saw
Cynthia
’
s features swim out of focus as she dreamily lifted her face, heard the sharp intake of his own breath through his nostrils, and then crushed her mouth beneath his. The instant their lips met, insanity seized them both. Years of desire denied, of emotions suppressed, burst their confines and exploded.

He plunged into the kiss, famished. And she responded, incredibly, with a hunger that outpaced his. She met him move for move, clinging to him, frantic with need. Her eagerness urged him to greater and greater madness. Spurred by his own amazement
—
for this was
Cynthia
,
beyond all hope, beyond all imaginings,
Cynthia
in his arms
—
he dived into the flood of sensations and willingly drowned.

It could not last, of course. He lost all sense of time and place, but knew, even through the swirling emotions pounding him, that it could not last. Eventually she tore her face away, gasping, and hid her features in the breast of his coat. She pressed her forehead against the broadcloth the way she had pressed it against the wallpaper, earlier
—
as if hiding her face could make the world disappear.

Deep, shuddering breaths wracked her. His own chest was heaving. For a few moments, neither of them could speak or move. Then
Cynthia
, with what seemed a Herculean effort, pulled herself out of his arms and turned away from him. She lifted a shaking hand to her mouth, as if checking to make sure her features were still in place after that ruinous kiss.

“
Cynthia
,
”
said Derek hoarsely. It was as far as he got. She lifted her hand in a sharp, urgent gesture, palm out, imploring him to be silent. Begging him to keep his distance.

He waited quietly, watching her averted face. It was obvious to him that she was trying, pathetically, to reassemble her fractured composure. She was still struggling for breath, but soon she would
fight her way back to normalcy.

And once she regained her poise, she would undoubtedly try to belittle what had just occurred. He could not allow that.

He stepped forward, ignoring her gesture of supplication, and placed his arm around her. She threw her head back as if in agony, sucking in a ragged gulp of air.

“T
hat
’
s enough,
”
he said, with quiet authority.
“Y
ou have tormented yourself long enough. And me,
”
he added.

Cynthia
gave a strange little moan, shaking her head.
“Y
ou don
’
t understand,
”
she said, in the thread of a voice.

Well, that was true. He didn
’
t.

“C
ome,
”
he said gently, leading her resistless body to a settee against the wall. They sat, and she sagged against his body in defeat.

“O
h, this is terrible.
”
She seemed to be speaking to herself; her voice was barely audible.
“W
hat shall I do?
”

“M
arry me, I should think.
”

He could have kicked himself. What an idiotic, flip thing to say. The problem was, it was impossible to behave properly while his heart was singing with joy.
Cynthia
was in his arms, and he didn
’
t care why, or how she got there. He was drunk with happiness.

His absurd proposal had no discernible effect on
Cynthia
. She neither stiffened in outrage nor turned her face up for another kiss. She merely sat there, expressionless, as if she had not heard him. Then she sighed.

“W
e must go back,
”
she said tonelessly.

“N
ot yet,
”
said Derek firmly.
“Y
ou can
’
t ignore a chap
’
s offer of marriage. Granted, I did it badly. But the words have been said. They require a response.
”

She gave him a wan little smile.
“I
wasn
’
t sure I heard you properly. I
—
I
’
m not thinking very clearly.
”

“N
or am I.
”
He sat up and took her by the shoulders, turning her to face him. Her expression was woebegone. He longed to wipe the unhappiness from her face. He cradled her cheek in his palm, his fingers gentle as they curved against her soft skin.
“B
ut I
’
m thinking more clearly every minute,
”
he whispered. His throat felt thick with emotion.
“
Cynthia
. I love you.
”

She flinched, her eyes darkening with fear.
“N
o.
”

“Y
es.
”
He was completely sure.
“I
don
’
t pretend to understand it. But I love you.
”

“T
hen you must stop.
”
She shivered, pulling away.
“Y
ou must stop loving me,
”
she repeated dully.
“A
s I must stop loving you.
”
She took a deep breath and faced him again, trying to smile.
“I
t can
’
t be that hard. We don
’
t even know each other. Our lives have never touched. We can go our own ways, and never miss each other.
”