Falling in Love Again (15 page)

She transferred the stewed chicken from the pot to a round platter and set it on the table. “I'm not certain I want to talk right now.”

His hand came out and captured her wrist. He held her in place with a direct, unwavering gaze. “We must talk. I've made enough mistakes with you without making the same one my father did. We must clear the air.”

Mallory slowly sat down across from him, knowing she could not avoid this confrontation.

He released her hand. She folded her arms protectively across her chest.

“Mallory, I didn't have an assignation with Ruth at the pond. She completely surprised me.”

Mallory almost breathed a sigh of relief. They were only going to talk about Ruth. “I know that, John.”

He raised his eyebrows. “You do?”

“Yes.” She smiled, pleased they weren't going to have a deeper conversation. She would have gotten up and gone to the hearth, but John reached across the table and held her in place.

“There have been other women, but no one serious.”

Even though she knew such a reaction was silly, the pain of his admission staggered her. She'd always known there were other women. She'd met Lady Ramsgate. There had to have been more besides her. “What is
serious
, John? What does the word mean to you?”

He sat back in the chair, his hand still on the table, but no longer touching her. He thought for a moment before saying, “It means my affections were not attached.”

“Affections?” She heard the chill in her voice but couldn't help it.

He looked resentful. “You aren't going to make this easy, are you?”

“Should I?”

He drummed his fingers on the table, the sound loud in the silence. “I've never given my heart to a woman.”

Mallory lowered her head and stared at her hands. Why did she feel disappointed? What had she expected him to say? That he'd fallen in love with her? “What a ridiculous notion.”

She hadn't realized she'd spoken aloud until John said, “I beg your pardon?”

Mallory felt like a fool. She also feared she was going to cry. She never cried. Leastwise, not for John….

She rose from the table, wiping her hands on the apron around her waist, and would have returned to the hearth except that John again captured her hand.

He stood. She stared at their joined hands. He had what her father would have described as a swordsman's hand, his fingers callused by a hard day's work.

She looked up to find him studying her, the intensity in his bright, blue eyes disconcerting. If she wasn't careful, they would see too much…emotions too new and awkward for her to understand herself.

And then John slipped beneath her guard by saying, “I'd like us to have a real marriage.”

For one wild, heady moment, Mallory's heart stopped.

“You can't mean that,” she whispered.

“Yes, I do.” He rubbed his thumb, the one with the small scar on it, over the wedding ring on her finger. “I was thinking about us today while I was working, and I believe it would be reasonable of us to honor our union.”

“Reasonable?”

“Desirable, even.”

“Desirable in what way, John?” she asked carefully.

He inched closer. “I feel a certain attraction for you.” His hand slipped around her waist.

Mallory heard the pounding of her heart in her ears. She raised her eyes and found him so close she could see the shadow of his whiskers along his lean jaw and her image reflected in his eyes. Their lips were only inches apart.

Her common sense warred with her fantasies. Common sense won. “Are you attempting to seduce me?” she asked bluntly.

He blinked as if her words had caught him off guard, then smiled. “Yes.”

Mallory pushed away from him. “Of all the cheap, underhanded things for a man to do—”

“Mallory, you're my wife. I'm
supposed
to seduce you.”

She pointed a righteous finger in his direction, warning him back. “We had an agreement! I help you; I get a divorce.”

John shrugged. “Agreements can be changed.”

Mallory wanted to scream with vexation. She paced the length of the cottage before facing him. “I am going to marry Hal Thomas—”

“Oh, yes, your potbellied, balding little squire.” John sat down and crossed his legs, his expression disgruntled.

Mallory was momentarily diverted. “What makes you say he's potbellied?”

“Because all squires are,” John said reasonably. He pulled a piece off the chicken and popped it in his mouth. “He'll probably suffer gout, too, when he's older—if he doesn't already.”

There was truth in his words. Hal did complain of various ailments—but she wasn't going to admit that to John! She raised her chin proudly. “Hal Thomas is a good man.”

“Good men are bores.”

“Good men honor their wedding vows.”

John stood, brushing off his hands. “I'm willing to honor mine.” He bowed.

Mallory raised a hand to her forehead. “Some
thing is not quite right here. I seem to recall that you've had seven years to honor your vows,
which you haven't
. Is that not correct?”

“But I'm ready now.”

She rolled her eyes heavenward and would have turned away, but John stepped in her path. “Mallory, haven't you heard that rakes make the best husbands?”

“I never believed it,” she snapped. She walked to the hearth. John followed.

“Give me a chance. That's all I'm asking. Let me into your life—”

“And my bed?” she added sarcastically.

“Well, if you insist,” he said, and gave her a smile so charming it made her feel light-headed. As if sensing her vulnerability, John pressed on. “Mallory, I need you in my life. I know my past behavior was thoughtless—”

“Thoughtless!” The word burst out of her.

“Unforgivable,” he corrected. “But I'm asking for your forgiveness.”

He sounded so sincere, every alarm inside Mallory cried out a warning. She crossed to the other side of the cottage, away from him. “Hal is solid and dependable,” she said, more to remind herself than to answer John. “I've known him all my life. It will not be difficult to be his wife.” The back of her legs bumped the bed. She jumped forward in surprise. John smiled—even as she quickly moved away.

“Mallory, it won't be difficult to be my wife, either. I hope that in the last two days you've discovered I'm not an ogre. I'm a man, a man who makes mistakes. I know I can be a better man if I
have a wife. But not just any wife. I need one who can set me to rights, keep me in line—”

“Are you looking for a wife or a conscience?”

“A wife,” he said firmly without missing a beat. “Besides, solid and dependable can be boring.”

“How would you know? You've never understood the meaning of the words. You're like the sun, John, a blazing star too bright for my predictable little corner of the world. You know Wellington. You've dined with the Prince Regent. You've traveled the world.” She waved her hand at the stewed chicken. “More nights than naught, that is what Mother and I ate, and afterward we went to bed.
I'm
dependable and boring.”

“Then you need me!”

Mallory stared at him, dumbfounded he'd taken her words that way. “John, that's not what I meant.”

“It's what you said.” He placed his hands on his hips, challenging her.

She groaned her frustration aloud. “Yes, but it wasn't the point I was trying to make. Please stop putting words in my mouth.”

A spark of temper flared in his eye. “I'm not putting words in your mouth. You said I was like the sun.”

“I didn't mean it as a compliment. I was pointing out how different we are.”

“Well, you compared me to something powerful and inspiring. I'm flattered.”

“You wouldn't be flattered if you were listening to me,” she said through clenched teeth.

“Mallory, I've been hanging on your every word since I walked in the door.”

“But you don't understand what I've been trying to say. And that is the problem between us.” Mallory took a step away from him. “John, I'm not beautiful enough or confident enough or clever enough to be the wife of a man such as yourself.”

He snorted. “That's nonsense! You're a very handsome woman—”

“John, please! You heard Lady Ramsgate and the others laugh at me. I'm a country woman raised in a crumbling castle on the East Anglia coast. In the few days we've been together, every time I turn around, one woman after another is flirting with you or tearing her clothes off.”

His lips formed a grim line. “That won't happen again—”

“It's more than just the women. Marriage should
mean
something. It should mean companionship—”

“I'm trying to be a good companion—”

“—Commitment, understanding,
children
,” Mallory continued, as if he hadn't spoken.

“If it's children you want, Mallory, I can give you children.”

Mallory stopped, struck by a new thought. “You don't already have children, do you, John?”

“Absolutely none,” he said, “and I'm certain of that. I'd never condemn another child to the stigma I've had to deal with most of my life. What I was suggesting is that we could, ah…create our own children.” He gave her a positively wicked grin and nodded hopefully to the bed. “We could start tonight.”

His suggestion startled Mallory and turned her
insides to softened taffy. Almost of their own volition, her feet took a step toward the bed—until her good sense and reason prevailed.

“That's all you think about, isn't it?”

John shook his head. “Is
what
all I think about?”

She couldn't put a word to it. She didn't know any! So she waved her hands toward the bed.

“Making love?” he suggested helpfully, his tongue lingering over the words. He began walking toward her, his steps slow and deliberate. To save her soul, Mallory couldn't move. He stopped in front of her. His teeth flashed white in his smile. “You, Mallory,” he said softly, “you're the one who keeps talking about having children. I'm just trying to be accommodating.”

He leaned down, lowering his lips to hers. Fascinated, Mallory watched him come closer, her heart pounding. She wanted him to kiss her with all the force of her being. But then, at the last moment…she ducked.

His lips grazed the top of her head. Mallory kept moving. She marched over to the door. Her fingers closed over the latch as if grasping a lifeline. She pulled the door open. “I think it would be best if you left now, John.”

She didn't look at him. She couldn't. If she did, he might soften her resolve, and she couldn't let him do that. Instead, she kept her focus inward, reminding herself of Lady Ramsgate, Ruth, and the others.

“Mallory, I didn't mean to offend,” he said tensely.

“You didn't,” she replied. Her voice shook
slightly. “It's just that I think it would be best if we didn't spend the night under the same roof.”

“You want me to sleep in the barn again?” he asked incredulously.

“I think it best.”

“I won't go.”

Mallory drew a deep breath and came to a decision. She lifted her gaze to meet his. “All right, I will.”

John's eyes narrowed in fury. “This is ridiculous!”

“Not to me.” No, to her it was self-defense. She was protecting herself, protecting her heart. She had to keep a safe distance from him. She turned to walk out the door.

“No, wait,” he said. “I'll go.”

Mallory felt no surge of triumph. If anything, she felt a small frisson of disappointment that he was willing to leave so easily. What was the matter with her? She usually knew her own mind…

She stepped back from the door.

John started out, but stopped in front of her. Unable to meet his gaze, Mallory gazed at the scuffed toe of his boot. “You promised me supper,” he said. “We're civilized. We should be able to sit down and share a meal together.”

She went to the table, picked up the platter of chicken, and placed it in his hands. “Here, take this with you.”

Then, as an afterthought, she lifted the ledger off the table and shoved it into his hands under the platter.

“What's that?” he asked.

“The rent ledger. Lord Woodruff wants you to collect back rents tomorrow.”

“I have to be a rent collector?” John said in angry disbelief.

She nodded.

John muttered, “Good night,” the words sounding constricted in his throat. He didn't move, apparently waiting for her to respond.

Mallory didn't say a word. She didn't trust herself to speak.

At last John charged out the door and into the night. As he climbed the path up to the barn, she heard him shout, “Louis! Wherever you are, you are damned well going to pay for this!”

Mallory closed the door behind him and put down the bar. She leaned her head against the door.

Her gaze rested on the pitcher of wildflowers. Instead of peaceful, the cottage seemed lonelier than ever.

She went to bed.

 

John stayed up late. He and several of the hounds that hung around the barn made quick work of the chicken. Of course, he had a bit of trouble getting rid of his newfound flea-ridden friends after such a delicious meal, but he managed.

He stretched out on a bed of new hay and stared up at the rafters, his thoughts on Mallory.

She wanted him. He knew the signs of desire, and his little wife showed every one of them, no matter what she said. The tension in her this
evening had been incredible. Every time he'd come near her, she'd practically quivered.

Lord! There had been fire in her eyes when she'd dumped the dairy maid's clothes in the pond.

What would she have done if he'd marched into the cottage, swept her up, carried her to the bed, and kissed her into submission?