Passion's Twins (5 page)

“Let’s not argue, Rowena.” Settling beside her, he examined
the intricate inlays and wood hues then handed the instrument to Rowena. She
took it, her right hand on the neck, her left arm cradling its pear-shaped
bowl. Plucking and pegging, she tuned Ariel to sweet perfection.

While he waited, Edgar stared at the summer blue sky.
Through the canopy of the mother tree, he could catch glimpses of puffy white
clouds. A hawk drifted on a breeze unfelt below. His eyes saw, yet his mind
kept busy on the matter of Rowena and her lute. He pictured Gerard lifting his
lute from her velvet-lined box—his left hand on her neck, his right cupping her
rounded bottom.

Was telling the twins apart that simple? Was one
right-handed, the other not? Would he and Gerard ever see them together to know
the difference?

“Edgar? Lively or sad? The tune, I mean.”

“Lively, to match our mood.”

A slight blush tinting her cheeks, she played a tavern song
a gentlewoman never should have heard. Not only did she play it perfectly, she
knew every bawdy word. Nodding encouragement, she fed him the words until—no
longer embarrassed for either of them—he sang them.

“Your voice is…magnificent,” she said, strumming a tune he
didn’t recognize.

“And you play magnificently. I wonder… Years ago, Gerard
composed a ballad. If I sing it, can you play it?”

“I can try. You must allow mistakes, Edgar. It may take me
several attempts to get it straight.”

“Gerard invested several weeks before he decided to play it
for his lady.” Seeing Rowena’s eyes flash and her lips purse, Edgar hastily
added, “A cousin he fancied himself in love with at the time. He was fifteen,
she nearly twenty and safely betrothed to another.”

“Ah. A May-December love then. Fifteen being May—”

“And twenty December.” Edgar laughed. “Are you jealous that
Gerard fancied another?”

“At so young an age? No.” She looked down at the lute.
Raising her clear blue gaze to his face, she asked, “Did you form such an
attachment at that tender age?”

“No. I was a year or two younger when I first fell in love.
She was ten, with sable hair and big brown eyes. And the longest tongue I had
ever seen.”

Rowena cocked a brow and grinned. “Horse or dog?”

“You are too quick-witted, Rowena. A horse. Gerard’s horse,
as a matter of fact.”

“So you began your rivalry at an early age.” She looked down
once more.

“What of you, Rowena? Have you ever fancied yourself in love?”

“Once I thought I was in love.”

“Tell me.”

She glanced up sharply, her expression grim. “He served as
my father’s ambassador to the Outerford court. ‘Twould have been an
advantageous union for him but he could not tell us apart— That is, I came to
dislike him and my father deemed it better that Roland marry another.”

Edgar stored her slip of the tongue away. With care he said
lightly, “Banan and Vinn had difficulty telling Pippa and Willa apart. When
they first met, my cousins saw each woman in dim light. ‘Twas only when they
saw them together…” Edgar chuckled. “One day I shall tell you the entire story.
For now let us focus on Gerard’s tune.”

“Are there words as well?”

“Aye. Once you have mastered the tune, I’ll sing them for
you.” He hummed the entire melody. It began gaily with the hopeful exuberance
of new love. The middle reflected love unrequited. The ending exposed the
callowness of youth—caught by a different pair of eyes, a more winsome smile.

As she had warned, it took several attempts for Rowena to
play it through correctly. When she had, she looked at Edgar. “Sing it.”

He took the lute from her hands. Leaning it against the
mother tree’s trunk, he said, “Later. Your fingers must ache from playing.” His
gaze on her face, he kissed each fingertip and watched her eyes darken.

“They do hurt a little,” she confessed in a breathy voice
that had his cock stirring and his balls aching.

Would she let him make love to her? Here? Now?

A shout, a burst of childish laughter gave him an unwanted
answer. Her fingers curling over his palm added a silent
no
.

Tomorrow, by damn, would bring a different response.
Tomorrow
he
would take
Rowena
to the willows.

* * * * *

Perched on a cloud, Kerrie smiled, pleased at the lack of
progress between Edgar and this twin. Poor prince, he must suffer abstinence a
while longer. But—oh!—when he finally achieved his goal!

Unable to quell it, she laughed. Two puzzled faces looked up
sharply. Seeing nothing, they smiled sheepishly at one another then headed
reluctantly toward Marchon Castle.

Gazing down at the lovely woman lounging in the bow of his
punt, Edgar wondered at her sullen expression. When he’d first seen her rushing
down the embankment toward the small boat, she’d seemed a picture of
anticipation. When she saw him, her smile faded and her eyes revealed
disappointment. Since they’d set out upriver, she hadn’t looked at him once.
‘Twas as if the sight of his naked chest—his hairless chest—now repulsed her.

“Rowena.” He said her name softly then repeated it. “Rowena,
have I done something to offend you?”

“No.”

“If there is someplace else you would rather go, I can take
you. We can ride or walk if you would prefer.”

Sighing, she sat up and looked boldly into his eyes. “’Tis
only that I sense a difference in you, Edgar. A purpose in you I have not seen
before.”

“Perhaps you seek to blame me for your own…differences.”
Have
I developed a sixth sense? Or am I simply so attuned to Rowena I recognize her
twin without being told?
Dismissing the idea as an old woman’s fancy, he
continued to hold his companion’s gaze. But he wondered if she sensed
his
disappointment,
his
wanting Rowena and not wanting her sister.

She opened her mouth as if to deliver a scathing retort, but
closed it, her thoughts hidden behind her teeth. She shrugged. Her left sleeve
slipped. A tiny butterfly fluttered on her shoulder as she inhaled deeply. “I
thought I might paint today.”

“So this case you brought contains your paints, not your
lute.”

“’Tis too small a case for Ariel.” She looked away.

“I noticed.”

“Yet you said nothing.”

“I supposed you would tell me when you wanted me to know,”
he said mildly. What he really wanted to know was why Edina had taken her
sister’s place. Why today—of all days—had Rowena deserted him? “Would you
rather be with Gerard, Rowena?”

Her startled gaze flew to his face. How much longer, he
wondered, could she maintain the ruse? How much longer could he pretend he
believed she was Rowena?

“No,” she said at last. “In truth I…I simply want to paint.
In truth, I need to think and have no wish for conversation.”

“Ah. A kind way of telling me to keep quiet.”

She giggled. “I would enjoy hearing you sing. If you can
sing—”

“Softly? I think I can manage that, m’lady.”

“Thank you…m’lord.”

So
, he thought,
she understands the subtlety of
using a title in lieu of a name. Good. But does she recognize why I did not use
her name?
And when might she reveal the truth—if not to him then to Gerard?
More important to Edgar—when would Rowena tell
him
the truth?

It seemed as though the women considered Gerard and him
complete fools. That they were so blinded by lust they could not discern the
tiniest differences in the women. Which, he admitted, he still found difficult.
He depended more on the woman’s reaction to him than on his own eyesight.

Still, he disliked the twins continuing their attempts to
dupe him and Gerard. ‘Twas almost as if—despite all logic—the women were unable
to stop their games. Somehow, he and Gerard must force a confrontation amongst
all four. That should bring an end to this silliness once and for all.

As he had in the orchard, he thought he heard chiming
laughter.

* * * * *

“His Royal Highness, Prince Gerard,” Rowena’s
lady-in-waiting announced in disapproving tones. As if her displeasure could
keep the prince from doing exactly as he pleased.

Rowena moaned and pressed her hand to her belly. The first
day of her monthly had never hurt so much. Now this…this invasion by the only
man—other than Edgar—she did not wish to see.

“I have brought my lute to ease your pain, Edina.”

St. Christopher on a crutch! A bellyache and now I must
pretend to be Edina too? If only Edina and I shared our cycles as we share our
looks! How can I maintain the ruse when Gerard must realize a woman’s cycle
does not happen this often?

“Joan told me you have spent too much time outside. Hence
you suffer megrims now.”

Rowena seized the excuse as a drowning sailor would clutch
an outstretched hand. “Aye.” She dismissed Joan with a wave of her hand.

“Does the sunlight hurt your eyes, Edina? I can pull a
tapestry over the window and—”

“No!” Edina would kill her if she spent even a minute with
Gerard in a darkened room. “I shall close my eyes against the light.”

“Let me prop your pillows behind your back then.” Doing so, he
went on. “This window seat cannot be comfortable, Edina. I could carry you to
bed.”

“No!” She licked her suddenly dry lips, saying, “I am truly
comfortable here, Gerard.”

He chuckled. Not knowing the cause of his merriment, she
squinted up at him as he drew a chair to her side. Settled in it, lute in hand,
he strummed a sweet melody that soothed her rattled nerves. Small wonder Edina
had succumbed to Gerard’s charm. If he played Edina’s body—

No! She refused to think about Edina and Gerard bedding.
Refused to imagine Edina lying with Edgar. Although Edina had not said the
words, Rowena knew her sister had fallen—neck or nothing—in love with Gerard.
Edina surely would not betray either Gerard or Rowena by joining with Edgar.
Would she?

“Does my playing make your headache worse?”

“No. Why do you ask?”

“Your frown deepened. Perhaps this will soothe.” He played
the tune Edgar had taught her yesterday.

The pain in her head and belly eased.

He muttered the words. So relaxed she felt as if she soared,
she sang them.

When he strummed the final chord, she opened her
heavy-lidded eyes. Smiling at him, she sighed. “Beautiful.”

“Liar.”

* * * * *

Gareth’s Encampment

Gerard, ensconced in a chair in the tent he shared with
Edgar, looked up as Edgar entered.

“Your Edina paints. Landscapes at the moment. Although she
has promised me a self-portrait. Most likely that will be of my Rowena.”

“Whose singing voice can charm birds from trees. Despite
being in pain—her flux, I suspect—she sang the song I composed for Cousin… What
was her name?”

“Blanche.” Edgar poured ale for himself and Gerard. Flinging
himself into a chair, he offered, “I believe we are wearing them down.
Edina—playing at being Rowena—clearly expected to meet you. She sulked the
entire trip upriver. When she claimed she only wanted to paint, I sang to her.”

“Trying to charm your way between her legs?”

“But she wanted me to remain silent.”

Feeling a grin replace his scowl, Gerard said, “Did you?”

“Aye. I had the impression she would drown me if I said or
sang another word.” Edgar quirked his eyebrows—a silent demand for Gerard to
share information about Rowena.

“You should have seen her face when I called her a liar. She
looked as if she would welcome any hole to hide in. After I explained she had
lied about her singing voice, she made up some cockamamie tale about disliking
to sing in public. That her parents insist she sing to any would-be suitor.”

Edgar chuckled. “I’d wager a goodly sum that Edina replaces
her on those occasions.”

“So would I.” Gerard frowned into his tankard then looked up
at Edgar’s morose expression.

“I cannot take much more of this,” Edgar muttered. “I had
planned to seduce Rowena today. Now…Bartholomew’s balls!”

“You’ll have to wait a week. Or more,” Gerard added, a taunt
in his tone.

“While you and Edina swive like rabbits.”

“It hardly seems fair, does it?” Gerard stood. Pacing the
circumference of the spacious tent, he mused aloud, “I think, despite the game
she plays, I am in love with Edina.”

“How do you know which twin you love when we cannot tell
them apart? And remember how you thought you were in love with Blanche.”

“As to knowing which twin I love…there is something in
Edina’s eyes when we’re together that I don’t see in Rowena’s. As for Blanche,
she was a boy’s infatuation, Edgar. One you seem to have avoided.”

“Not entirely,” Edgar mumbled. “I too composed a song. Kate
laughed at it and me. And
you
are avoiding the question. How do you know
you love Edina?”

Smiling wryly, Gerard said, “I want to give her babies. Lots
and lots of babies.”

“Bartholomew’s balls!”

“We need to take matters into our own hands. Force them to
tell us the truth.”

Nodding, Edgar said, “I agree. But I can’t imagine how to
bring them to the same conclusion.”

“I can.”

* * * * *

Aida’s Tower Guest Quarters

Rowena stared at the empty field below the solar window. The
weather had turned beastly hot and even Yvonne had quit training her men.
Perhaps she and Edina should do the same. Just…quit. Her tongue poking her
cheek, Rowena shook her head. No matter how much she wanted to tell Edgar the
truth, she couldn’t. She and Edina had promised each other they’d see the game
to the very end.

But at what cost? How could Edgar forgive her duplicity?
Even if he did forgive
her
, could he—would he ever forgive Edina? Rowena
could endure Edina’s snits, but could she survive if Edgar forbade her seeing
her twin ever again?

Why? Why had she dismissed Edina’s earlier concerns about
their game, refused to see the wisdom in them? Why, when the truth would free
her to be herself, had she demanded they continue their game?

Why, why, why?

For the first time in her life, Rowena admitted she had no
answers to her own questions. Neither, she suspected, did Edina.

Yesterday Edina had ridden out with Edgar while Rowena and
Gerard had punted upriver to the willows. But instead of sheltering beneath the
branches, Gerard had anchored them in a shady spot and taught her to fish.
Fish!
As if he remembered she’d compared kissing him to kissing a fish.

And today, she and Edgar had punted to the same spot.
Anchored in the same spot. Probably caught the same damn fish—the same ones
Gerard had thrown back yesterday.

Sighing, she retrieved Ariel from the corner. When Edgar
finally moved the punt under the willows, every nerve in her body quickened.
Now.
At last. We’ll make love.
He put Ariel in her hands, gazing at her with
such intense tenderness, she ached to be naked in his arms. But he only looked
at her, longing in his golden-brown eyes that seemed to mirror her own. But he
hadn’t touched her except to support her getting into the punt and out again
when they returned to Marchon Castle.

A carefree ne’er-do-well surely would have taken advantage
of their intimate solitude. Not Edgar—
wretched man
! He’d behaved as if
he, not Gerard, were next in line for Gareth’s throne. As if he intended to
ensure no bastard of his would threaten Puttupon’s peace. While Gerard—king in
training—seemed not to care if he populated Marchonland, Puttupon and Beaufort
with his get, be he married to their mothers or not.

If only she were brave enough, bold enough to seduce Edgar.
If only he would give way to the desire she could see in his golden-brown eyes.
If only…

She could tell him the truth.

* * * * *

Edina slammed the solar door behind her. Glaring at Rowena,
she strode to her sister. Snatching the ivory comb from her hand, she flung it
across the room.

“What?” Rowena demanded when Edina simply glared down at
her.

Chest heaving, arms akimbo, Edina hissed. “What have you
told Gerard? I thought we’d agreed not to tell either of them the truth until
we reached the altar.”

“We said we’d carry the ruse as far as we dared!” she
corrected. “I also told you that Gerard lulled me into singing. I could not
help myself—any more than you could leave your pots and paints alone for only a
few weeks.” Sighing, Rowena went to retrieve her comb. “Why are you so upset?”

Edina buried her face in her hands as she sank onto the
window seat Rowena had vacated. “We—Gerard and I—have not bedded since before
your flux began. Wh‑When I kiss him, he demurs. Says my condition—your flux—means
I am too delicate for bedding. No matter how much he wants me. Hah! He wants me
not.”
Or am I suffering a guilty conscience for deceiving him? Of course
not! I intend to tell him, just…not now.

“If ‘tis any consolation…” Rowena began.

Edina’s murderous expression stopped her. “I suppose—monthly
or no—you and Edgar are swiving your brains out.” She blushed at using the
crude word but didn’t apologize for it.

“We aren’t! Not that I don’t want to but… If Edgar touches me
at all, he… Just when I most want him to go on, he stops. If he kisses me at
all, ‘tis only a brotherly peck on my brow or cheek or lips. I can feel how
much he wants me—can see his cock tent his breeches. But…he also demurs.”

“I cannot bear much more! Abstinence suits me not at all.”

Rowena patted Edina’s shoulder. “And I wish I had not taken
the cautious path. I want Edgar to make love to me. I want what…what you and
Gerard have.”

Edina swiped at unwanted tears. “Just now Gerard and I have
nothing. I…I thought he loved me. When he looks at me…there is such tenderness
in his eyes. But now it seems he cannot bear the sight of me. ‘Tis obvious he
only wanted to bed me. He will cast me aside, I know it. He’ll seek you out,
Rowena. Make love to you. Perhaps he’ll marry you and not abandon you.
You
,
after all, will be Beaufort’s queen.”

Rowena chuckled. “How absurd. If Gerard cannot tell us
apart, why would he pursue
me
—think me a future queen? Besides, I shan’t
have him, Edina. My heart has belonged to Edgar since I first saw him.” She
sighed. “When I pretend to be
you
, Edgar treats me differently. He does
not kiss me or touch me as he does when I am myself. At least, he used to.
Now…”