The Temporary Wife/A Promise of Spring (47 page)

She had thought herself very strong-willed and independent, Grace thought now, watching the dancers perform a quadrille and smiling at her husband, who was with a flushed little girl who could not be a day older than sixteen. And yet she must have been extraordinarily like a puppet on a string. Gareth’s puppet. She had been twenty-one years old when he went away. They had been talking of marriage for four years. Had he ever really intended to marry her? The idea that perhaps
he had not was a novel one. But not by any means an impossible one.

Gareth had always had his way. They had quarreled and fought, sometimes quite physically, but she could not now recall any important matter on which she had won. Most notably, he had refused to marry her before going away, after giving her any number of very good reasons for not doing so. At the same time he had overcome her objections to their lying together before he went. And she had lain with him with a stubborn and foolish disregard of the consequences and conceived his child.

Far from being the strong and determined girl that she had always thought herself, she had in fact been a weakling. And very, very foolish.

“It was at just such a party that I first met Martin,” Ethel was saying. “I did not like him at first because he rarely smiled. I thought him haughty. But it is amazing how different a person can seem once one makes the effort to get to know him well. Martin is really a man of great sensibility, and he is frequently unsure of himself.”

Mrs. Stebbins tittered. “Papa chose Mr. Stebbins for me,” she said, “because he had a modest fortune and we had an ancient name to uphold. Papa’s great-grandfather was Baron March, Lady Lampman. Unfortunately, his grandfather was a seventh son. I do think it important for fortune and good family to mingle. Provided that the fortune has not been made in vulgar trade, of course.”

Her father should have brought her to town, Grace thought. He should have insisted that she make her come-out, be presented at court, mingle with the
ton
, meet other young ladies of her own age and other eligible young gentlemen. Perhaps she would have grown up, acquired a degree of common sense long before she had. Perhaps she would have seen Gareth more clearly if
she could have compared him to others. Perhaps she would have understood his selfishness sooner.

But would it have made any difference? she wondered. She had been a headstrong girl. Doubtless she would have fought her father every step of the way and closed her eyes and her mind to any experiences that might have saved her from her own future. She had been in love and hopelessly blind. Jeremy, or his older brother or sister, might well have been born a few years earlier if her father had tried to separate her from Gareth.

But had she ever completely shaken off the power Gareth had over her, even though her eyes were now opened? Would she ever do so? She watched him conclude a conversation with a small group of men at the other side of the drawing room and begin to make his way toward her. She knew that it was toward her he came. She knew that this whole party had been planned with her in mind, and especially this evening’s entertainment. Gareth was bound on getting her alone, and he would do so. Partly because Gareth always got what he wanted. And partly because she would not be able to resist finding out what the end of their association was to be. If it was the end that was now coming and not a new beginning. One never knew when it was Gareth with whom one dealt.

Ethel leaned toward her suddenly and whispered for Grace’s ears only. “It is a warm night, Grace,” she said, “and will doubtless be very pleasant outside. You may say that you and I have just agreed to stroll on the terrace if you wish.”

Grace looked at her, startled. But she had not misunderstood. Ethel was flushed and embarrassed, not quite meeting her sister-in-law’s eyes.

“Only if you wish,” Ethel said. “I do not know how you feel. I never did know. But I have liked you this
time. And Perry. I like Perry.” She turned back to reply to a remark made by Mrs. Stebbins.

“Not dancing, Lady Lampman?” Lord Sandersford said, bowing in front of her chair and including the other two ladies in his smile. “I grant you that my drawing room is nothing in comparison with the ballrooms you have danced in during the last weeks, but you are used to country living.”

“I have danced once with Perry,” Grace said.

“And you must dance the next with me,” he said, stretching out a hand for hers. “As your host, ma’am, I must insist on it.” His dark eyes looked mockingly down into hers.

“Such a distinguished company, my lord,” Mrs. Stebbins said.

He bowed his acknowledgment of the compliment while Grace could feel Ethel looking at her. She put her hand in Lord Sandersford’s and rose to her feet.

“Thank you, my lord,” she said.

“And now, Grace,” he said, having maneuvered her with consummate skill across the room to the opened French doors, stopping on the way to smile and exchange a few words with several of his other guests, “it is time for you and me to disappear for a while. Is it not?”

“Yes, Gareth,” she said, looking steadily at him, “I think it is.”

He looked at her appreciatively. “You always had the courage to meet a challenge face-to-face,” he said. “I am glad you do not feel it necessary to simper and protest.” He offered her his arm. “Shall we take a turn on the terrace, ma’am? It is, as you just remarked, a warm evening.”

Grace took his arm and walked with him into the darkness of the night.

Peregrine, withdrawing his eyes from the doors, informed
Miss Keating with a grin that if she expected him to stop stumbling in his steps, she must find somewhere else to fix her very blue eyes than on his face.

Miss Keating giggled, blushed, asked if Sir Peregrine really thought her eyes blue, not merely a nondescript gray, and proceeded to gaze at him with even wider eyes.

I
DO NOT WISH TO GO OFF THE TERRACE,
” G
RACE SAID
as Lord Sandersford led her across it, ignoring the two older gentlemen who were in conversation farther along. “It would not be right.”

“We will walk down by the river,” he said. “We have a great deal to say to each other, Grace, and if your mood of last week prevails, we may well wish to raise our voices and even our fists. The terrace is altogether too public.”

Grace said no more but allowed herself to be led in silence down over the darkened lawn, past shrubberies and flower beds, to the water’s edge. Yet again he was having his way, she reflected bitterly. But there was sense in what he said.

“Now,” he said finally, releasing her arm and turning to face her, “we are alone, Grace. No one is watching or listening. Neither of us has any need of a mask. Let us speak plainly, then. I want you. And I do not speak of a clandestine affair behind the esteemed Peregrine’s back, though I have no doubt it would be an easy matter to cuckold him. I want you to leave him, provoke a divorce if you will so that we may marry. But if we cannot do so, then to hell with marriage. We will live openly as man and wife and dare the world to censure us.”

“You have not changed at all, Gareth,” she said. “You
are as selfish now as you were as a boy. You want! That is all that matters, is it not? You do not know or care what I want.”

“Tell me, then,” he said. “But you must be honest, Grace. You will not get away with saying what you think you ought. The truth! What is it you want?”

“I want things to remain as they are,” she said. “As they were before I met you again, Gareth. I don’t want change. I was happy.”

“Things cannot remain as they were,” he said. “ ‘Were’ is past tense, Grace. You have met me again. And you ‘were’ happy. You are not now. Are you?”

“No,” she said.

“Then something has to change,” he said. “But you cannot go back, Grace. We can never go back. Only forward. You are unhappy because you know yourself married to the wrong man. You are unhappy because you have come alive again after fifteen years. And you know that you still love me. And always will. Tell the truth now.”

“How can I love you?” she said. “How can I love you, Gareth? I stopped loving you a lifetime ago. I hate you. No, not that. I am indifferent to you.”

His face was angry, she saw in the moonlight. “Liar!” he said. “We will have the truth spoken, Grace. The truth at last. You hate me, perhaps. I will accept that. You are not indifferent to me.”

“How could you do it,” she cried suddenly, her eyes kindling. “How could you do it, Gareth? You knew you were my whole world. You knew you had ruined me, that I could hope for no other husband. And you knew I was with child. You knew. And you had said that you loved me. Many times. And you expect me now not to hate you?”

“No,” he said. His eyes were burning into hers. “No, I expect your hatred, Grace. Tell me more.”

“I carried him alone,” she said. “I bore him alone. I had a hard time giving birth to him, and there was no one at the end of it all to rejoice with me. You were not there, Gareth, when my son was born. You were married to your heiress.”

“Yes,” he said.

“He was a bastard,” she said. “Jeremy was a bastard. My father never looked at him, yours never acknowledged him. He was a nonperson. A beautiful, innocent child. He was your son, Gareth. Your son! You never cared about his existence. Or his death. Or about me. I hate you. I hate you!” She raised both fists and pummeled at his chest.

He did not defend himself. She was surprised to see him looking exultant when she glanced up, distraught, into his face.

“Now we are getting somewhere,” he said when she finally stopped punching, the sides of her fists resting against his chest. And he took her by the upper arms and lowered his head and kissed her.

She could have pulled back. It was several moments before he moved his hands from her arms and encircled her with his own. But she did not pull back. He was so very unmistakably Gareth, though she had not been in his embrace for fifteen years, though he had been little more than a boy then and was now a powerful man. His embrace was all confident demand, his mouth pressed to hers with a fierce urgency, his hands boldly exploring her body. There was the familiar taste of him, and smell of him, that could only be Gareth.

She felt her knees weaken as she sagged against him. She felt fear at the evidence of his arousal, dread at the seeming inevitability of her own response. She fought to think of something else. Someone else. Perry.

“Grace,” he whispered against her mouth, “my
sweet love, I want you. God, how I want you! Lie with me here. Now. Follow your heart. Give me your answer here with your body. You will never be sorry. I swear it.”

She pushed against him and felt as if her heart would pound through her ribs and burst from her body. “Gareth,” she said, “I do not love you. I do not want you. I hate you.”

“Yes,” he said fiercely, “I did a dastardly thing to you, Grace. I have no defense. I knowingly deserted you for wealth. And our child. And I was too ashamed to seek you out afterward. But I never stopped loving you. I cannot go back and amend the past. I wish I could, but I cannot. I can offer you only the future and my devotion for the rest of our lives.”

“And yet,” she said, “you would destroy me again. You know that I am married. You know that I have been happy. And you know that I want none of you. And yet you persist in forcing yourself on me.”

“That is unfair,” he said quietly. “You know why you were invited out to Hammersmith, Grace. Yet you did not refuse the invitation. You know why you were brought out here tonight. Yet you came freely. And you did not fight my kiss a moment ago. You are afraid to admit the truth.”

“No,” she said. “The truth is that you are evil, Gareth, that you cannot resist the urge to try to seduce me again. I want none of you. I want you to leave me alone.”

He laughed softly. “Grace,” he said, “you are such a coward. You used not to be. Is your marriage worth fighting for?”

“Yes, it is!” she cried.

“Why?” he asked. “What is good about it?”

“We are friends,” she said. “We do things together. We are content together.”

“Friends! Content,” he said mockingly. “What a yawn, Grace. Is he good in bed?”

“What!” Her eyes snapped to his, shocked.

“Is he good?” he asked. “Does he satisfy you? Does he have you often? Ever? Or is this just a very maternal sort of relationship for you, Grace?” His eyes were mocking. “I cannot imagine the laughing boy being particularly skilled in sexual passion. And you need passion, Grace. I know. I have had you, remember?”

“You know nothing of my marriage,” she said. “Nothing. It is the most valuable thing in my life. Yes, it is worth fighting for.”

“And yet,” he said, “you are out here arguing the matter with me. Happily married ladies are not tempted by former lovers, Grace. Why did you come?”

“I don’t know,” she said after a pause. She swallowed. “I don’t know.”

“I do,” he said. “You love me, Grace. You don’t love the boy. You merely feel sorry for him. You need not, you know. He will be quite happy to be released to the company of the sweet young creatures he favors.”

“I love Perry!” she protested.

“So!” He laughed gently. “Perhaps I should kill him, Grace. Would you like me to play jealous lover? I notice that he does not do so. And I would be very surprised to have a glove slapped in my face by Sir Peregrine Lampman. I doubt that his knees would keep from knocking together as he did so.”

“I hate you, Gareth,” she said. “I hate you. I only wish I could be indifferent. You were right to say that I am not. I find that old wounds have not healed, after all. They are raw and festering again. But there is no love in me for you. None! We have talked. It is what you wished and what I felt necessary. Well, it has been done. And it is finished now. I want you to leave me alone.”

“Never,” he said. “Not until you can tell me that you have no feelings for me whatsoever. And I know that day will never come, Grace. I love you, and I mean to have you.”

“No,” she said, “you do not love me, Gareth. If you loved me, you would wish for my happiness. You would leave me alone with Perry.”