Rexanne Becnel (27 page)

“W
HY
are you here?” Sarah repeated.

Marsh considered his answer. But mostly he just stared at Sarah. She was dressed casually, for a morning at home. But still the blue-striped muslin dress with its round neckline and short sleeves managed to emphasize her youth and vitality. Her hair was loosely tied back with a short length of ribbon and tumbled down her back in a way he’d seen only once before. In her bedchamber.

He felt the rush of blood to his loins. God, but he wanted to hold her. To kiss her.

She wore no jewelry, nor adornment of any sort, an altogether simple and unpretentious garb. Yet in that moment she appeared more beautiful to him than she ever had before. More desirable.

Let her be with child
.

It was a mad thought but a sincere one.
If she is with child, then she cannot send me away. We will have to be wed
.

He cleared his throat and tried to suppress the intense yearning he felt for her. He knew how to stroke her and please her and give her physical pleasure. But a simple conversation, the words he wanted to say to her—those he could not seem to dredge up.

If only he could hold her.

But he tightened his hands into fists and kept his arms rigidly at his side. “I came here,” he began, “because there is unfinished business between us.”

“You will get your money,” she retorted with tightly held composure. “You did not have to come here to harangue me.”

“That’s not why I came!”

“Then why? To alarm me? To renege on our agreement? To make more trouble than you already have?” She crossed to the window and glanced warily out, then turned back to face him. “You want Olivia to find out who you are, don’t you? Even though we’ve agreed, you still need to strike out at your father. And since you can’t do that, you mean to hurt her—”

“No! No, Sarah, that’s not it at all.”

“Keep your voice down,” she hissed. Back to the door she scurried and looked out before she closed it and spun around once more. “What do you want? Tell me, then be on your way.”

“Damnation, Sarah. What do you think I want?” he burst out. “I want to know if you’re pregnant!”

It wasn’t how he’d meant to say it, so loud and angry. When she went pale and fell back a step, he grimaced. “It’s a possibility,” he went on in a more reasonable tone. “Surely you considered it too.”

Mutely she shook her head.

“No? No, you hadn’t considered it? Or no, you’re not…ah…in the family way?”

She opened her mouth, closed it, then wrapped her arms around her waist and looked away. “No. I’m not…in the family way.”

Disappointment washed over him, illogical, deep-seated disappointment. “Are you certain?”

Quite the opposite
. But Sarah nodded vigorously as if that could somehow make it true. She was not at all certain. But she did not want him to marry her merely out of a sense of duty. “I’m certain.”

In truth, all she felt certain of was that Marshall MacDougal was nothing like his father. Marsh would not abandon his child. That’s why he wasn’t halfway across the Atlantic Ocean. The loyalty to his mother that had brought him all this way would extend also to any child he made.

If she hadn’t already been in love with him, this new knowledge would have pushed her over that edge. He was such a good and loving son—and father. But that did not mean those familial bonds would extend to her. He might do right by her, but that did not mean he loved her.

She took a painful breath, shaken by the overwhelming power of her own love for him and the devastating realization that he did not return it. “You came here for nothing, Mr. MacDougal. Your purpose is commendable, but…but you are free to return to America now. Really free.”

They stared at one another for what felt like forever. Sarah was afraid to move, afraid even to breathe, for fear she might break down and beg him to stay. The spacious drawing room felt like a monstrous tomb, an enormous well that echoed back every least sound. Beyond the door, two maids passed by, their muted conversation something about fresh water and airing out the burgundy room.

With a nod, Marsh finally released them both from that state of awful suspension. His eyes were shuttered and his mouth set in a grim line. “Very well, then.” He scooped up his hat from one of the chairs. Sarah sidled away from the door. He paused there with his hand upon the knob. “Goodbye, Sarah.”

“Good…good-bye,” she choked out.

Olivia was waiting when the American descended from the front door of her house. She’d positioned herself strategically on a bench halfway between the front door and the shaded watering trough where Mr. MacDougal’s horse had been tied. Adrian had wanted to stay with her, but she’d sent him off to the stables. She wanted to take this Mr. MacDougal’s measure without any other distractions.

She looked up when he strode in her direction. He did not notice her at first. In fact, she wondered if he meant to march right past her, he was that mired in his own thoughts. Dark thoughts, if his furrowed brow and downturned mouth were any indication. When she stood, however, his eyes jerked up from the path. His frown turned into a look of surprise. Then, most confusing of all, his sun-browned face seemed to pale. When he came to an abrupt stop, just staring at her, almost as if in fear, her brow creased in puzzlement.

Wasn’t he the odd fellow? Good-looking, in a rugged sort of way. Tall, fit, and handsomely attired. But exceedingly odd of manner.

Still and all, she
was
the lady of the house and she knew her role well. So she smiled and extended one hand to him. “I am guessing that you are Mr. MacDougal. I am Olivia Hawke, Sarah’s sister, and I’m so happy to finally meet you.”

Marsh stared at the attractive woman standing before him, the woman he’d known he might run into. He’d tried to prepare himself, yet all the preparation in the world could not have equipped him for his thunderstruck reaction to her. She was pretty and smiling, only a year or so younger than he. With her open demeanor and extended hand, she was exactly the sort of woman he would ordinarily be pleased to know. A young matron easy to converse and dance with, without the pressure of any further expectations.

But Olivia Byrde Hawke was not just any other pretty wife and mother. She was his father’s other child, and his closest living relative.

“You
are
Mr. MacDougal, aren’t you?” she asked when he did not immediately respond.

“Ah. Yes. Yes, I am Marshall MacDougal.”
Marshall MacDougal Byrde
. But he did not add his true name. He’d made a promise and he would stand by his word. But he wanted to tell her. As he took his half-sister’s proffered hand and made a very correct bow over it, he wanted to tell her everything.

But not if it would hurt her.

To his own amazement, he realized that his plans for revenge had at some point fallen by the wayside. Not grudgingly, but completely. There was nothing left of his need for revenge against the Scottish side of his family. Now, as he stared into his half-sister’s curious blue eyes, eyes very like Sarah’s, he could hardly believe he’d ever considered striking out at any of them.

He released her hand and they stood there, awkwardly facing one another. He couldn’t think of anything to say. First Sarah, leaving him as tongue-tied as a green lad. Now this woman—this stranger who was his sister—paralyzing him with emotions he did not understand.

“Well, Mr. MacDougal, as I said, I’m very pleased to meet you. I’ve heard much about you since I’ve returned from Glasgow.” She paused and her eyes made a swift inspection of his person. “I was very sorry to hear that you had departed before we could meet. So of course I am elated to see that you are not gone at all, but rather are here at Woodford Court calling upon my sister. Where is Sarah, anyway?”

“I…uh…I left her in the drawing room.”

She cocked her head slightly and toyed with the delicate rose she held. “Does that mean she did not invite you to join us for luncheon?”

Marsh shifted from one foot to the other. “I don’t believe she would appreciate my company right now.”

“And why is that?”

He should have bristled at her nosy question. He should have brushed her off and been on his way. But her nosiness was tempered with such obvious love for Sarah that he could not. He cast about for some answer that might satisfy her.

“Sarah does not enjoy my company.” That was true enough.

“How curious. I’m told she saved you from drowning—Oh, I am remiss not to have already thanked you for not pressing charges against Adrian. There are not many men who could be so generous. In case you had not noticed, he seems belatedly to have developed quite a case of hero worship for you.”

“He should not.”

“Really?” Though she smiled, her gaze grew sharper. “I’m afraid it’s too late to change that. It’s plain to us all that Adrian worships you. And equally plain, at least to me, that Sarah mopes around here all because of you.”

“She does?”

“Oh, yes. That’s why I cannot understand her sending you so brusquely away. Or is it you who are so eager to depart?”

“No—” He broke off when her smile became a grin. Then slowly he grinned at her in return. “Am I that obvious?”

She chuckled. “You’re here, aren’t you? I can’t think of any reason save because you and she have formed some sort of attachment.”

Her happy assumption unfortunately chilled Marsh’s soul. For a moment he’d begun to relax with her, to respond to her as the pleasant, astute woman she seemed to be. But he could not discuss Sarah with her, not if he was to keep his true identity hidden. “I’m afraid you mistake the situation. Your sister feels no such attachment to me.”

“And I’m quite convinced you’re wrong.”

How he wished he were. His voice altered from determined pleasantry to morose frustration. “You must be awfully eager to foist her off on anyone if you think that. She has sent me away. How much clearer can a woman be?”

Olivia crossed her arms and gave him an impatient look. “Mr. MacDougal. I realize we have only just met. Nonetheless, I feel I must speak frankly with you. There is something going on here, something between you and my sister. That you say ‘she has sent me away’ only proves it, so there is no need to deny it.” She paused, studying him. “Perhaps I should tell you that I am something of a matchmaker and have always been attuned to such things. That’s why I would like you to join us today for luncheon.”

“Sarah will not appreciate your meddling.”

“I’m sure she will recover. After all, I’m her sister—her only sister. It goes without saying that I have her best interest at heart.”

Marsh heaved a sigh. “Perhaps I ought to tell you, then, that your sister despises me.”

“Really?” Her gaze was searching. “Why?”

Too late he realized he’d gotten into water over his head. He clamped down on any display of emotion. “Again, that’s a subject best addressed to Sarah.”

Olivia shook her head. “I confess, you leave me bewildered, Mr. MacDougal. Adrian thinks the world of you. He says you are honorable and generous and brave, and I have no reason to doubt him, save on one point. I could swear that you are terrified of Sarah.”

They were challenging words. Insulting, by some standards. But there was such compassion shining in Olivia’s eyes that he could not take offense. By the same token, however, he was not about to admit anything.

“I would not use so strong a word as
terrified
,” he countered. “I will admit, however, that I do not understand her. Certainly we do not get along.”

“Ha! If she terrifies you, it’s probably because you love her!”

Coming on the heels of his lie, her confident statement took Marsh by surprise. So much so that he could come up with no reply, he was that paralyzed. She took immediate advantage and hooked her arm in his, then started for the house, tugging him until he reluctantly accompanied her. “Come along.”

“This will not work.”

“It will. My sister has always been the troublemaker of the family. But I’ve always been the matchmaker.”

The matchmaker. Was that what he wanted, for this stranger who was his half-sister to make a match for him with a woman who saw him only as a threat to her family—and to herself? It made a reasonable sort of sense if Sarah was pregnant with his child. Under those circumstances he had a mandate to pursue her, a rope to hang on to. But she wasn’t pregnant, and she wanted him gone.

Most certainly, seeing him in the company of her sister would rouse her animosity to a fever pitch.

Halfway back to the house, he came to an abrupt halt. “I’m sorry, Lady Hawke, but I cannot do this.”

“Of course you can. Oh, look. There’s Neville.”

Marsh had the distinct feeling of being sucked into a whirlwind, that wind increasing exponentially with every person dragged into the storm. He watched Lord Hawke stride toward them, a man who would likely call him out before he’d allow Marsh to tamper with his wife’s reputation. It didn’t help that Adrian trotted on his heels, or that a little girl came charging out of the house straight for them.

He stiffened when he spied Sarah fast upon the child’s heels. She skidded to a halt when she saw him with Olivia. He could almost see her tense with outrage and accusation. And disappointment.

Ah, Sarah
, he wanted to say.
Can’t you trust me, just a little? Can’t you see that the last thing I want—the very last—is to hurt you or anyone that you love?

At the sight of Marsh with Olivia, Sarah’s breath caught in her throat. Oh, no. What was he doing here still, and with Olivia? She stifled a groan, but like a painful knot of pent-up emotion, it remained there in her chest, churning and growing, the culmination of the last month’s desperate struggle against him.

Only she was losing. After everything that had happened, the very thing she’d most feared had finally come to pass.

The oddest part was that she couldn’t blame him. Nor could she hate him. She pressed a hand to stomach, where buried deep down within her there beat the tiny heart of their unborn child. She should tell him.

She
had
to tell him. It struck her then with such certainty that she could not believe she’d actually considered any other course of action.