Dawn in My Heart (26 page)

She sneaked a peek at Tertius. He hadn't taken her arm. She remembered the night of the ball when for a brief moment he'd put his arm around her. It was the first time he'd touched her like a husband. The feel of his arm around her had been oddly comforting. As soon as old Lady Shaftsbury had moved past them, he had removed his arm and Gillian had felt bereft.

Tertius seemed almost like the older brother she'd never had—there to lean on, to champion her, to defend her honor.

When had Sky's touch gone from disgusting to comforting? When had she stopped hating him and begun hating herself?

Was it since his supposed conversion? She still didn't trust it fully. It was true Sky was proposing radical changes in his father's business holdings and spending all that time reading the Bible.

“Pay laborers twice what they're getting now?” her father-in-law would sputter. “You'll have us all bankrupt before the end of the year.”

Sky never raised his voice to his father. Instead he used a more “gentle persuasion,” one that was as unrelenting and tenacious as a leech from what Gillian observed.

But still, she didn't trust this new Tertius completely.

He had revealed a side of himself once, a side that had terrified her. What would he do this time when he knew?

 

In the midst of all his new duties and activities, Tertius began to make discreet inquiries in his different clubs and his old haunts—the taverns and coffeehouses in the seedier parts of town. What he heard he didn't like. He found that the newly returned, much decorated hero, who had been promoted from captain to major for his valorous fighting at the Chateau Hougoumont, was now reaping the rewards of his labors in gambling and drinking in the more popular taverns of the city.

He made inquiries into his background and found that Major Hawkes came of a good if not illustrious family. Their wealth was modest, which caused Sky to wonder what the
major's debts at the tables would cost his family. He had several siblings, and he was third or fourth in line, which explained his career in the military. To purchase his colors in the Guards, one of the most elite companies, must have cost his family a pretty penny.

Gillian didn't seem to notice Sky's absences in the evenings. She was busy herself in the London social whirl. After the first questioning looks, their appearance together seemed to satisfy the gossips, and now news of victory distracted the ton.

Tertius called Katie to see him in his office one afternoon.

“I need to ask your help, as your brother in Christ.”

The fair-faced young maid looked at him in concern. “What can I do for you, my lord?”

“I would never ask you to betray your mistress, but I need to protect her.”

Alarm showed on her face. “Is she in danger?”

“In a manner of speaking. I need to know if she receives any correspondence…or…” This was getting more difficult than he'd imagined. He didn't want to have to expose Gillian, or his own vulnerabilities where she was concerned. “Or, whether she makes any type of…assignation with a…certain officer.”

Her eyes grew wide. “Oh, no, my lord, 'tisn't possible she'd do such a thing.”

“No, let us hope not. In any case, just keep your eyes open and let me know.” Seeing the doubt in her eyes, he added, “Lady Skylar was married very young and not wholly…of her own free will. She still retains many girlhood dreams of a dashing officer in fancy uniform.

“I am your brother in Christ, and I ask you this on that account alone. You can trust me not to hurt your mistress.”

The maid nodded slowly. “I'll do anything I can to help the two of you, my lord. You can trust me as your sister in Christ.”

“Thank you, Katie.”

 

When she'd been dismissed, Katie walked back upstairs, shaking her head. What was going on with her mistress? Carrying on with a soldier? And with such a wonderful husband.

Of course, Katie wasn't blind. There had been something havey-cavey since the wedding night. Katie had seen the awful disarray in her lady's room the next morning and her mistress's subsequent banishment. Even now, they lived separate lives, and that wasn't natural for a newly married couple, leastways not till a child had been born.

Lady Gillian didn't confide anything in Katie, but of course, she hadn't been her lady's maid long, so that was understandable.

Katie shook her head one last time. She'd better go down on her knees and pray for the mistress and master, as much as keep an eye on her.

 

Gerrit fumbled with the front door of his rooming house, his other arm draped around a lovely tavern wench named Molly.

“You're soused, you are, Major,” the girl told him with a giggle. “Let me have a go.”

He relinquished the door to her and she finally managed to unlock it. As they entered the shadowy corridor and headed for the stairs, a door opened halfway down.

“Major Hawkes, is that you?” asked a male voice.

“The very one, my good man,” he told the caretaker who worked for the building's owner. “What are you doing up so late, Johnny boy?”

“Waitin' up for you,” he replied, emerging into the hallway.

Gerrit squinted at him. “For me? That's a first. I haven't had anyone wait up for me since I was a tyke.”

The man came near and handed him a folded paper. “This come for you earlier. Thought it might be important.”

Gerrit took the note. “Thank you for your trouble.” He fumbled in his pocket. Drat it, his hands seemed two sizes too big. Finally, he extracted a coin. “Here you go. Go buy yourself a pint.”

“I'll do so tomorrow. Thank 'ee, Major.”

Gerrit finally made it into his rooms, staggering with the effort of walking arm in arm with the buxom maid. The two collapsed onto the couch in a burst of laughter. He extricated himself from her arms and legs. “You hold tight here for me, love, won't you, and I'll light us a lamp.”

“I can see all I need to,” she answered, tugging at his jacket.

Before she could pull him back down, he managed to step away. “Patience, my love. All in good time, as they say.”

He reached a lamp and struck the flint. As the light grew, he glanced down at the note in his hand. The writing looked familiar and the paper was of good quality.

He slit the seal with a fingernail and focused on the writing.

It was short and sweet, and reminded Gerrit of its lovely sender. He hadn't thought of her in a long time, but now the recollection was pleasant. Oh, the delectable Lady Gillian,
Lady Skylar now. There was a morsel. She was probably worth a few hundred thousand by this time, he realized, vaguely remembering her last communication, which informed him she might soon be a widow.

Mayhap he should rethink his aversion to marriage….

 

Gillian clutched the letter to her breast. At last she'd had word. He was dying to see her. That settled it. She belonged to him. She would be through with all the doubts that had been assailing her since she'd arrived in London.

Your words have filled my heart with longing. I must see you! Each second that ticks by as I await your reply is agony to my soul
….

He beseeched her to meet him at Vauxhall Gardens, as the last time. She must think of a way of going there without Skylar. She paced her room, racking her mind until she hit upon a solution. She would need to suggest to some friends to make up a party, and then convince Sky she was going with them. He had been so busy of late that he would scarcely notice if he thought she was being well accompanied. She would make sure Charlotte would go along and a few others Sky knew and trusted.

 

Vauxhall Gardens was wild that night. People in masquerade, some not. But there was an air of hilarity, whether due to the final victory over Napoleon or just summer madness, Gillian wasn't sure. All she knew was that as soon as she'd arrived, she already felt the doubts well up within her. She immediately tried to quell them, knowing everything would be all right as soon as she saw Gerrit. All she needed to do was see him, she kept repeating to herself.

After wandering the many gas-lit paths with her party for a while, she was finally found by Gerrit. He was bolder this time, coming up beside her in his flowing sultan's robes, his face thinly disguised by a thick mustache. He whisked her away before her companions could notice she'd left them.

He took her to one of the secluded walks and found them an alcove in a Grecian temple.

“My love, at last,” he whispered, taking her into his arms.

As soon as his mouth touched hers, she felt how wrong it was.

Instead of satisfying her longing, his kiss filled her with a sudden repugnance and brought back a memory of three years ago, a memory she'd suppressed.

Gently she pushed her face away from his, telling herself she just needed a little time to become accustomed to him, but Gerrit's ardor was strong.

“I have waited months for this,” he murmured against her face. “Don't be so cruel to make me wait longer.”

“It has been so long since I last saw you,” she began, breaking apart from his embrace. “I was so worried about you. Did you get wounded very badly?” she asked in concern, noticing he no longer wore a sling on his arm.

“A mere scratch,” he answered with a chuckle. “Many were not so fortunate as I. But I didn't come here to talk of wounds and battle. I came to look upon your beautiful face and persuade myself it's real.” His fingers caressed her skin, and soon he drew her back into his embrace.

His whiskers were rough and his breath hot against her. Another wave of distaste swept through her. She remembered how ardent he had been as a youth, always stealing kisses from her in hidden alcoves. At first, it had been pleas
ant, and such a balm to her loneliness, but soon he'd gone too far, demanding more and more from her.

She tried to push away from him now, but his arms clasped her tightly.

“I don't think we should—” she began when she was able to break away from his lips.

He looked at her with a smile. “You are no little innocent anymore. You have known two men, and I was the first.” His eyes glinted in the lamplight, and suddenly they looked feral to her.

“You mustn't speak like that,” she said, hurt at his blunt description of her conduct. What she had given to him had been given out of love. “You make me sound like a…a wanton,” she protested. “I didn't give myself to you just like that—”

“I'm merely claiming what is mine by rights,” he replied, before silencing her with another kiss, gentler this time.

She allowed herself be kissed, telling herself she would begin to feel the passion she had dreamed of. But it didn't come and, taking her passivity for assent, Gerrit became bolder.

He caressed her, and once again, like the seventeen-year-old she'd been, she complied. It seemed easier than fighting him. Before she knew it, he had her bodice half-undone.

“No! No,” she pleaded. “Please don't.” This was wrong. She could no longer deny the voice of her conscience.

“Why not? You gave it to me before. What scruples are holding you back this time. Aren't you a widow by now?” He touched her garments. “What, no mourning for the grieving widow?” he asked with a low chuckle.

“No!” Realizing his ignorance, she continued more calmly. “Lord Skylar has recovered. He's here in London with me now.”

“Ah. The husband lurks in the shadows. Well, it will require more caution, but where there is a will, there is a way,” he said, touching her once more.

She pushed his hand away. “I can't, not like this.”

As she struggled to explain, he only bent to rain kisses down her neck.

It wasn't supposed to be like this. A man who'd scarcely seen her after such avowals of eternal love in writing, could hardly wait to ravish her. As she felt his hands once more on her, she began to feel like a soiled handkerchief, being passed from man to man as he had implied. She shuddered, disgusted with herself.

“I'm sorry, please stop,” she repeated, softly at first, then more firmly, as she strove to evade him.

When he finally saw she was serious, he said with insolence, “You know, they have names for women like you who like to lead a man on with promises and then deliver nothing.”

She flinched at the rude words. All her self-reproach died in that instant as she realized the kind of man she'd given her heart to.

Without thinking what she was doing, she brought her hand up and gave him a resounding slap across the cheek.

Instead of becoming angry, he merely smiled. “I suppose I deserved that.”

She covered her mouth with her hand, suddenly feeling very sick. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that.”

“You should have done that and more,” he replied cheerfully. “It is I who shouldn't have heeded the summons of a young lady who doesn't know what she wants. Come, I'll take you back to your companions.”

As he spoke he rearranged her bodice, covered her with her cloak, then took her by the elbow and escorted her through the shrouded pathways back toward the center of the park. She walked beside him heedless of where he was taking her. What had she done? How could she have been so foolish? Those two thoughts were the only things running through her mind.

“I shall leave you here.” Gerrit touched her lightly on the cheek. “Don't look so forlorn. I was, and am, a thorough blackguard, and I suppose it's good you finally found out.”

As she stared at him, finding it hard to accept the calm way he was taking her refusal, he smiled as if reading her mind and said, “As for me, you mustn't worry; I never lack companionship for long.” He gave her a small salute. “I wish you well with your new husband.”

She stood watching him walk back into the shadows, his parting words confirming what she already knew. He'd behaved at the end with that boyish insouciance she'd once fallen in love with as a girl. Now she felt only sadness that she'd ever given herself to him. It was clear his feelings had never been deep. To him, she'd been just another conquest. His parting wish revealed he harbored no ill feeling, but it also showed how little he'd ever cared.