Mary Jo Putney (39 page)

He put a hand under her chin and forced her to look at him. "Everyone said not to fall in love with a whore, but I always said you were different. I even believed it."

She could no longer avoid his green eyes, and her heart twisted at the pain visible as he asked harshly, "Where were you, and with whom? Or were there too many men to count?"

"There were no other men, Nicolas."

His expression was disbelieving, but he released her, unbuttoning his wet greatcoat and throwing it across a chair. The last years must have been difficult ones for Nicolas, Lord Farnsworth. He was thinner and grayer than when she had last seen him, and he looked haggard in his black clothing.

Madeline knew he would not leave without making love to her, and she craved that, even though the problems still lay between them, even though scars that had partially healed would be ripped open again. So thoroughly had she believed that he was gone from her life that she had never imagined such a scene, and now she was unsure how to proceed.

His intense gaze holding hers, he said slowly, "I couldn't believe you would leave like that without telling me. I came back from Hazeldown and you were gone, the servants dismissed, the furniture in holland covers, not a single personal thing of yours in the house. Your man of business wouldn't tell me anything, even though I had referred you to him myself." The anger was leaching out of him, leaving the pain. "Why, Maddy?"

She realized that the truth was far less hurtful than what he imagined. She took his hand and drew him to the sofa, sitting at the far end from him. "I left because I was dying, and I didn't want you to see."

His eyes narrowed as he studied her. "You appear healthy enough."

"I am now." She pressed one hand to her breast in the old reflexive gesture. "There was a lump... it was growing rapidly. The physician said it was only a matter of months."

His anger returned. "Did you trust me so little that you thought I would abandon you to die alone?"

She said gently, "No, love, I knew that you wouldn't. That's why I left."

"I don't understand." His voice was flat, but his eyes were naked and vulnerable.

"Have you forgotten what was happening then? Your wife threatened that if you didn't give me up, she would ruin you."

His face worked for a moment. "Of course I haven't forgotten. But I chose you. I was prepared to let Vivian do her worst."

Madeline leaned back against the sofa, her face deeply sad. "Her considerable worst. Your children would have been torn in their loyalties, your family ripped apart, your reputation ruined. Even Hazeldown might have been threatened." His arm lay along the sofa back, and she reached over to take his hand. "It was too high a price to pay for a few months with a dying woman."

He turned his hand and caught hers, gripping convulsively. "You should have let me make that decision."

She looked into his beloved face. He was not what the world called handsome, but his craggy features had distinction and they were inexpressibly dear to her. "Can you honestly say you did not feel any relief when I left?"

He hesitated, unable to deny her words. After a long silence he said slowly, "I wondered at the time if you left because of some misguided impulse of nobility. I did everything I could to find you, but you might have vanished from the face of the earth. Where did you go?"

"Yorkshire, to the village where I was born." She gave a wintry smile. "My sister wouldn't have me under her roof."

He swore again while she continued, "Diana, the woman you terrified in my old bedroom, saved me from a blizzard and gave me a home. More, she made me part of her family. It was a blessing to be accepted, not condemned."

Madeline closed her eyes briefly, remembering. "I grew stronger and the lump gradually disappeared. When I came back to London, I visited the physician who had treated me. He said such tumors are unpredictable. Usually they kill, but sometimes, inexplicably, they go away." Opening her eyes again, she said, "That's the whole story.
 
It was very simple, really."

"Why did you come back to London?"

"Diana wanted to live here." Madeleine swallowed hard as he released her hand so he could caress her arm under the sleeve of her robe.
 
A delicious, melting sensation flowed though her body, and they both knew that she was his for the asking, at least for this night.

He slid down the sofa and took her face between his hands. The anger was gone, leaving gentleness and desire. "Why didn't you let me know you had returned?"

Her pulse was quickening and it was hard to remember what had been so clear. "My health has improved but your wife still has the power to ruin you. And so much time had passed... time enough for you to forget me."

His green eyes were tender now. "Do you think that only women know how to love?" He kissed her..

She moaned, hungry for the familiar touch and taste and weight of him. Her arms went around his neck, pulling the hard length of his body against her. There had always been rare passion between them, and the years of separation had fanned it to inferno heat.

As his lips moved to her throat and he opened her robe, she found that she was crying. Through her tears she whispered, "Oh, Nicolas, I love you so. Your wife will eventually find out and we will have to separate again, but let us make the most of what days or weeks we have."

In the drama and intoxication of reunion, he had neglected to tell her the fact that made all the difference. "Vivian is dead."

Madeline gasped, her body stiffening as she stared at him. He smiled wryly. "Don't look like that, I didn't murder her."

He slid his hand into her robe and circled her breast, holding it with gentle possessiveness. "In one of God's little ironies, she died six months ago of the same disease that you had. Didn't you notice that I'm wearing mourning?"

She shook her head, her face stunned.

As a gentleman, he had told his mistress very little about his wife, but now he wanted Maddy to understand. "When my father died, the estate was bankrupt. I married Vivian for her dowry. In return, she became Lady Farnsworth. A common arrangement."

He shook his head. "I never dreamed how high a price I would pay for Hazeldown. I treated Vivian with the respect due my wife, I gave her a position she could never have achieved as a merchant's daughter, I gave her children. Butit wasn't enough. She tried to own me, body and soul, and when she couldn't, she made my life hell. It wasn't because she loved me, but because she needed to dominate. She wanted me to give you up because she couldn't bear to think that I had found some happiness."

Madeline laid her hand over his with silent sympathy. He continued, "For eight years, you made my life worth living. You were wrong to leave like that, without telling me, but... it was so like you to act from a generous spirit." Her heart was a steady throb under his palm. "Don't ever leave me like that again."

He leaned forward and claimed her lips, and this time she made no attempt to resist the rising swirl of passion. She kissed him fiercely, glorying in the rediscovery of every remembered inch of his body, still not quite believing they were together again. If lightning were to strike her dead in the morning, she would die content for having loved Nicolas one more time.

Later, when desire was temporarily satisfied, they lay in each other's arms and talked as they had so often in the past. She spoke of Diana and Geoffrey and Edith, and how she had learned to pluck a chicken again. He talked of Hazeldown and his children. She had watched their growth at second hand, and delighted in knowing that his daughter had married and presented him with a grandchild, that his younger son enjoyed life in the army, that his heir had become a keen agriculturist.

She was dozing with her head on Nicolas' shoulder when he said, "When shall we be married?"

She turned her face up to his. "It is quite unnecessary that you marry me. With my past, it would cause something of a scandal. I'm content to be your mistress."

"That's not what I want for either of us." Her braid had long since come undone and her hair drifted across his chest. He stroked the thick dark strands, then leaned forward to brush a kiss on her forehead. Like him, Maddy was no longer young, and the lines of living in her face made her all the more dear to him. "All my life I have done my duty to Hazeldown and the Farnsworth family. Now I'm going to do something for myself."

She smiled and snuggled closer. "If you still feel that way when you are out of mourning, we can talk about it then." As she sank into sleep, she reminded herself to tell Diana that falling in love with one's protector was not always a bad thing.

* * *

In the years that Diana had known Madeline, she had seen her friend go from despair to resignation to a deep, unshakable serenity. Now she saw Maddy radiant with joy. For the next week Lord Farnsworth was at the house constantly. Since he acted as his own land agent, he could not be away from his estate for too long during the summer, and he made the most of the time before he had to return to the country.

Farnsworth was a mercurial man, quick with words and laughter and occasional impatience. He watched Madeline in a fashion that made Diana wish that Gervase regarded her that way, rather than with the dark, puzzled wariness she seemed to inspire in him.

After Lord Farnsworth left, the house seemed quieter than ever, and Diana welcomed a visit from Francis Brandelin. Though he was as polite and charming as usual, he was edgy, and she guessed that he had been drinking. For courage, perhaps? They talked of commonplaces over tea, with Francis crumbling the cook's excellent cakes without eating any. He reminded her of Geoffrey when her son had something regrettable to confess.

Deciding it was time for a bit of coaxing, Diana poured herself more tea. "Is there something you wish to discuss, Francis?" They had gotten on a first-name basis quickly. Leaning back in her chair, she added with grave reassurance, "You know that anything you say to me will go no further."

Carefully setting his own cup in the exact center of the table, he said in a low voice, "I know that. But... it is still almost impossible to speak."

"Because words have power, and once you say them, what you fear will become true?"

He considered a moment, then gave her a fleeting smile. "I suppose that is it. You're very perceptive."

"Not perceptive," she said with regret. "Experienced at not being able to say what should be said."

He gave her an inquisitive look, but today was not the time to talk about her problems. Instead she said, "Because words have power, saying them can also set you free."

He stood and crossed the room in quick, nervous steps, coming to a halt in front of a window, where he stared out, his hands linked behind him. "I know that, Diana. I suppose that is why I want to tell you about... about my weakness. Because talking to you may be the beginning of freedom."

She rose and walked quietly to the window, standing to the side so she could see his profile. "What those men said about you at the Cyprians' Ball... it was true?"

"Both true and false." Francis swallowed hard, the tendons in his neck drawing taut. "Young boys are separated from everything they know and sent to school, thrown together without privacy, tormented by older boys. Intense friendships can develop. Sometimes they behave in ways that the world considers... unnatural." He turned to face her, his light blue eyes as bleak as the hinges of hell. "Most men outgrow such things, pretend that they never happened. Despise the very thought, despise those who behave that way."

"But you did not?" Her voice was very gentle.

"But I did not," he answered flatly. "I hoped, prayed that I would outgrow my... unnatural desires. As an adult, I have never acted on them, but it doesn't matter. The desire is still there." Francis shrugged, then gazed across the room, his eyes distant. "It's ironic, you know, I'm the exact opposite of most men. I like women, I really do."

He glanced at her a little shyly. "I like you a great deal." His eyes slid away again. "But I don't want to... to make love to women. It wasn't just Eton. I think I was born this way. I'll never be what the world considers normal."

Diana had a flash of insight. "Something has changed recently, hasn't it?"

"You really
are
perceptive." He turned back to the window, absently watching a curricle pass. "Ever since I came down from university, I have behaved like a proper young gentleman, doing all the proper social things. I've gone to balls and met young misses, always taking care to avoid raising expectations. I hoped I would meet a girl I could fall passionately in love with and everything would be all right, but it never happened."

"And then?" Diana prompted.

"I have fallen passionately in love." A muscle jumped in his jaw. "But not... not with a woman."

His situation was far beyond Diana's experience, but she sensed Francis's desperate pain and prayed that she would say the right words. "Does he... return your feelings?"

"We've never talked about it." He played with the edge of the blue brocade drapery, his fingers stiff with agitation. "He's a few years older than I, more experienced. I think we are... the same kind. When we are together... nothing happens that could not be seen by anyone. But the way I feel... and what I see in his eyes..." His strained voice broke off.