The Forest Lord (35 page)

Old bitterness gave his words a harshness he had not intended. "I do not apologize for taking you," he said, "but I was… cold to you. I caused you pain you did not deserve."

Eden
inched back on the bed until she was encased in a fortress of pillows heaped against the headboard.
"How kind of you to say so.
May I assume by this affectionate declaration that you do not intend… do not intend to—" Her words were lost in a low sob. "You will not… take advantage of…"

He reached across the bed for the only part of her he could touch. Her bare foot was icy cold. He thought of warmth, and felt her flesh come back to life under his hand.

"You know me so little," he said thickly. "Have I been so heartless,
Eden? Have I ever treated you so ill?"

She was fighting tears with all her strength, determined not to let him see her vulnerability. He stroked her foot from toe to ankle, soothing with no intent of seduction.

"We wanted each other," he said, "and we gave each other pleasure, did we not? But I… it has been very long since I have been affected by a woman as I have been by you."

He said it for her sake, and then he realized that it was true. Even more true than it had been when she was an innocent, and he so certain of his Fane superiority.

The frozen rigidity of her face gave way at last. A tear slid down her cheek. He caught the crystalline drop on a fingertip.

"Don't," she protested, averting her head. "When you are gentle like this, I—"

"Believe me? Believe that I wish no harm to you, Eden." He caught her chin and turned her to face him again. He closed his eyes and forced out another truth. "I… care for you."

She trembled. "Do not attempt to be kind—"

"I have not often been called kind. What kindness I possess you have awakened. But I do not make promises that I cannot keep."

She looked at him, clear-eyed and suddenly done with weeping. "You never did make promises, did you? Nor did
I
.
As I can make none now."

"No."

She remained burrowed among her pillows like a hedgehog halfway coaxed from its nest. "All of this… seems somehow beyond our control."

"Then why struggle,
Eden?" He took her small, cold hands and kissed her fingertips. "You behave as if you have earned punishment, when it is pleasure you deserve.
That I can promise you.
I did please you?"

Her breathing quickened. "Yes."

"And you, Eden… you pleased me very much. Why can we not continue to please each other?"

She withdrew her hand from his. "But for how long?
A week?
A month?"

Her voice was completely calm, her words measured and rational and unweighted by emotion. Surely he had been right to believe her that night in the park, when she had told him that love was impossible. She did not love him. Already she accepted that there could be no future for them, though her reasons came of ignorance. She didn't question why he did not offer marriage. She would have been appalled if he had.

Appalled no matter what guise he wore.

But a proposal was the last thing she need fear from him. "You speak of time as if it were solid and unchanging," he said. "A day can seem a week, and a month a year."

"Why?" she asked. "What do those days and weeks bring to you? This was not simply a challenge for you, a conquest, to prove yourself my equal. It was not for power or money or ambition." She counted all the motives she must have ascribed to him in the past few hours, rejecting each one in turn, and yet her eyes continued to search his. "What do you want, Hartley Shaw?"

He leaned close, brushing her lips with his.
"What you want,
Eden.
No promises, no demands.
Only this."

There, in her widow's bed, he kissed her, and began to make her believe that a minute could last an hour. He kissed her again, and tried to make himself believe that he might, against all evidence to the contrary, sate himself with her body as she did with his, get her with child, and leave her content—yes, even content to surrender her son. He salved his guilt by thinking only of what he would give her, not what he would take away. He shrugged off his absurd and all-too-human urge to seize her and make her confess that she loved him. And he called what he felt for her obsession, lust, admiration, affection.

Even Fane could lie… to themselves most of all.

Summer began with a riot of growth and color that the
villagers and dalesmen hadn't seen for many years.

Young women continued to apply for positions at Hartsmere; young men returned to the dale, including the errant Mr. Singleton. Sturdy Berwick lambs gamboled on green hillsides, vegetable gardens thrived free of vermin, and the weather was a perfect balance of rain for the crops and sunshine for the soul.

For
Eden, it was an idyll such as she had not imagined could exist in her life. She had taken Hartley as her lover, casting off all doubts and regrets. Her heart blossomed like the land; new energy coursed through her body, and she could walk miles without fatigue, alert to every joy the countryside had to offer. It was as if she had been blind, deaf, and incapable of all understanding before this miraculous season.

Incapable of loving as she loved Hartley Shaw.

She had made peace with her emotions. Not once did she demand that Hartley reveal what he felt for her, beyond what he had done that day in her bedchamber. She did not want to know.

If he loved her, then giving him up when the time came would be that much more difficult.

For he never attempted to suggest that they ought to marry.
She loved him all the more for his perception, that his pride did not extend to an ambition to wed so far above his station, and thus endanger her hopes for Donal.

It shamed her now to think that once she'd considered him capable of such scheming. She had come to realize that his coldness after their first time had been his way of dealing with the unexpected: the powerful magic they made together in the act of love. If he had ever possessed ulterior motives in pursuing her, they had not survived that night.

But so much else had.
So much more had altered forever.

They sought the magic together, night after night, stealing what moments they could. Sometimes, when it seemed safe, he came to her bed; at others, he took her back to his forest bower or introduced her to some new sanctuary where they could not be discovered.

During the day, no one seemed to suspect. Hartley became a model servant, showing her more deference than he ever had when she'd regarded him as such. Donal continued to worship him, and though
Eden knew that her son, like she, would suffer Hartley's inevitable loss, the things he could teach outweighed all other considerations. Hartley understood him. Hartley loved him. No declaration was required.

And whenever she wondered at his true origins, she laughed off her misgivings.

Aunt Claudia continued to speak of marriage and the marquess. Lord Rushborough had returned to
London for the Season, but Claudia dropped hints that he planned to return in early autumn. His letters, addressed to Eden, continued to arrive—brief and irregular, but proof that he had not been discouraged by
Eden's confession or Donal's display.

Eden
was glad that she had not lost his friendship. His acceptance was tacit agreement that he would support the story she chose to tell about Donal's background, and that he would not betray her confidence. He was even vital to Donal's future, for he could be an influential sponsor. But any thought she had held of nurturing his affection, or his proposal, had died when she gave herself to Hartley Shaw. She could neither delude the marquess nor discard her lover.

Autumn seemed very far away. It might never come at all. The days moved with glacial slowness, just as Hartley had promised. Each hour gave up every joy it could hold.

The natural world she'd once disdained revealed its secrets one by one. She and Donal would meet Hartley near the wood, and the three of them dined by the beck among trees that shielded them from Hartsmere's view. The birds and animals came to Donal, and soon they came to her as well, unafraid.

The only remaining mysteries lay in Hartley's eyes.

Eden
refused to pursue them. What the two of them had shared was like some treasure in a fairy tale, apt to vanish if examined for flaws. When he showed her a hidden wild-flower, or loved her under the stars, that precious magic created a timeless world of its own.

And if sometimes she caught him gazing at her with an unspoken pain, his brows creased in a frown, she pretended not to see.

The familiar rhythms of dale life continued with no regard for her petty concerns. Care of the flourishing flocks and fields kept the people of Hartsmere
busy,
and they revealed their contentment with much laughter and song. Such good fortune had come to the dale that
Eden had little to do in supervising the needs of her people. Instead, she found many excuses to hold celebrations at Hartsmere, and farmers who had once regarded her with suspicion now openly displayed a fondness that compounded her happiness. Eden and Hartley were considered good luck, and almost every farmer found an excuse to summon them both for any project dependent upon good fortune.

As if blessed by the same fertility, daleswomen began to show certain signs beneath their aprons; Mr. Appleyard was pleased to note, with some diffidence, that most of the expectant mothers were married. A little persuasion brought to bear by the lady of the manor would surely uncover rightful husbands for the rest.
Eden was happy to do her part and encouraged reluctant suitors by promising a generous contribution to a dowry or a wedding gift.

The farmers and their families who attended the simple weddings would never have guessed at
Eden's inner turmoil. She had told herself many times that one disastrous near marriage, and another ending in bitterness, had extinguished any romantic notions she had about such unions. But she watched the brides and grooms at the altar, and she envied them, nevertheless.

Claudia certainly did not let her forget the prospect of a most admirable future union. She showed no sign of being aware of
Eden's liaison with Hartley. Her dislike of Hartley was pointed, but she had no grounds to complain of his public behavior.

Instead, she threw all her efforts into promoting the marquess and joining
Eden on visits to nearby landowners, squires, and gentry.
Eden had proceeded well into her half mourning, and lacked an excuse to remain a recluse among those of her own rank. Still, she was reluctant to return to the world she had known, so distant and unreal.

Society could be spared the knowledge that she was living the happiest time of her life without the company of a single one of its members.

The dale's fine weather and ideal conditions were so extraordinary that the time of sheep-shearing came early, and Mr. Appleyard suggested a competition among the clippers, both native and hired, to celebrate the harvest of thick wool that the rich pasturage had produced.

Eden
was glad to oblige. She met with several of the dale's prominent farmers to discuss the details, and the competition was set to be held at Mr. Topping's great stone byre on St. John's Eve. Two days before the event, Aunt Claudia was unexpectedly called to
London to visit an ailing friend. She did not bother to pretend that she would regret missing the sheep-shearing contest.

Eden
was relieved. Claudia never attended such events in any case, and she remained critical of her niece's active participation in the affairs of the dalesmen, as if the farmers' dirt might somehow rub off on her.

On the day of the shearing, Donal woke
Eden before dawn with excited, almost indecipherable chatter about the coming contest. His sleepy nursemaid—Jane Singleton, Mrs. Singleton's eldest—apologized, but
Eden only laughed.

"Never fear," she said, scooping Donal up and setting him beside her on the bed. "I am used to rising early. It is you, Jane, who look most in need of sleep!"

Jane smiled sheepishly.
"No, my lady.
With Papa home, and the new baby born, and Mama so happy…" Her eyes lit. "Samuel Topping is to be in the contest, my lady. May I go?"

"Is Samuel your sweetheart, Jane?"

The girl blushed.
"Aye."

"Well, then, I shall not deny you the pleasure of watching him win. Donal will come with me today."

"Oh, yes!" Donal said. "But Samuel will not win."

"It is hardly polite to say so, Donal,"
Eden chided gently. "Have your breakfast, Jane, and I will bring Donal down myself."