To Eternity (5 page)

Sian pushed the advert across the table to him. “No, it says they take a donation of five pounds on the gate.”

“I see. The display seems interesting.”

“Don't you go comparing this to the fireworks for the king or anything extravagant like that.” Her gaze snapped with crackles of her own.

A wash of tenderness hit him. She spoke so readily of his longevity, as though it might be an ordinary part of their life together. “Of course not. I'm sure the display will be a most pleasant, simple entertainment.” He broke the chicken leg in two. “Thank you, for finding the event. I shall look forward to it. I'll telephone Monty this afternoon. I'm sure he won't mind taking one of the cars out tomorrow evening.”

“Now, what was it you wanted to tell me? I'm intrigued—you sounded so mysterious.”

He took a deep breath. “A discovery I made regarding the horticultural company you found.”

“Oh, yes, the Green Girls. “

“Indeed. It appears their sales pitch is no exaggeration. Martha Raynalds is, in fact, the descendant of a Land Girl who worked in this area in the 1940s.”

Sian's eyebrows arched. “No. Did you know her ancestor?”

The link between them had deepened, as he'd suspected it would. Already, he must make an effort to keep information back from her. “Yes, I believe I did.”

The delightful smile dissolved. Her brows drew together as she narrowed her eyes. “How did you know her?”

He gazed down at his plate for a second or two in an effort to gain time. Today, he'd made a grave mistake, one born of his stupid lack of emotional perception. Sian was special in so many ways, but she remained a young woman, with all the emotions of a young woman. She'd not had a couple of centuries to teach her the true depths of his callous selfishness. Cursing his foolishness, he looked at the wedge of tomato on his plate as if it were the latest art offering to the Tate Gallery.

Sian might be hurt if he told her his suspicions, yet he couldn't live his life refusing to share the truth with her. As time passed, it would destroy them. Due to their situation, they both had to accept unusual occurrences, some of them difficult. He looked up into eyes full of fire and ice. After a small cough he spoke. “Martha Raynalds's grandmother, a delightful woman, Dorothy Fowler, worked in this locality for some time. I, er…” He paused.

“You slept with her?” She set her half-eaten sandwich down.

“A very brief liaison.”

“Did she know the truth about you?”

“No.”

“Did you love her?”

He shook his head. He shouldn't have told her, should have kept the secret. “I was home on leave. We met at the Highwayman's Rest. The pub in Heathstoke. Dorothy was a marvelous darts player. I spent a little time with her during my leave.”

Her gaze held his, searching, but she didn't speak.

“No, I didn't love her, Sian. I have only loved twice, you know that.”

“Do I?”

“Yes, you do.” He swiped the napkin over his fingers before he took her hand in his. “I have loved Julia and you. No other woman has touched me in the way you do. After Julia's death, I thought I would never love again. A creature such as I has little right to ask for love. I'd not offered to make Julia like me, therefore she had no protection as I do. I never wanted another cruel disease like smallpox to steal my loved one from me in such a bitter way again. My passion for Julia seems a pallid thing in comparison to my feelings for you. I never anticipated I might find you.”

“So, why tell me of this woman Dorothy? Did you think your—” She shook her head. “It's no good, I don't understand, Magnus.”

“You would have discovered it, either in the dreams or from my reactions to her granddaughter. You would have known, and I thought it worse for you to find out then, rather than now from me.” He pressed a kiss to her palm.

She leaned back from the table. The napkin slipped from her other hand. “You've booked them?”

“Yes. They'll come to the house at the end of November. I've scheduled the visit to take place before the next full moon. From my conversation with Martha, as long as I'm agreeable to their terms and plans, once they've evaluated the garden, they'll work through part of December to clear and repair, do some minor decorative planting. After the initial work, they'll offer me more in-depth plans for spring.”

“I see.”

“I'm not sure you do, but I thought it important to tell you.”

She narrowed her eyes. “There's more. I know it.”

“It's an inkling I have. I won't know for definite until I meet Martha in person.”

“You think she's a relative?”

He stared, not astonished she'd understood so quickly. Her pain radiated to him, but it was too late to do much to mend the situation. “It may be possible.”

She removed her hand from where it topped his. The set of her shoulders squared. “Magnus, how could you?” She shifted her gaze from him to stare away across the dining room.

“I wanted you to know.”

The gloss of tears shone in her eyes.

Guilt snapped through him. “Would you rather I'd not said?”

“No.” She faced him again. Her sadness poured like a corrosive through his soul. “But I wish you could understand.”

“I do.”

“No, you've no idea. Since you told me the truth about you in September, I've spent hours longing for you to say we will be together always. That you'll allow me to be your love in truth, that one day we'll become a real couple and have children. Yet, each time we've spoken of it, you back off, tell me it's impossible, you won't inflict your malady on a child. Yet today, you sit here at lunch and tell me a woman gardener I found on the internet happens to be what you believe is your granddaughter!” She swiped at a tear. “How could you?” She pushed the chair back and stood. The thick weave of her curls swung when she shook her head. She turned on her heel to the door. “I need to think about this.”

“Sian! It's not like that.”

The heavy carved door slammed behind her. He buried his head in his hands. Sometimes the truth hurt more than anyone could imagine.

Chapter 5

Sian grabbed her jacket from the walk-in cupboard in the entrance hall. She shoved her arms in the sleeves as she headed out the front door and through the black and white tiled portico. Outside, her confusion didn't lessen as she'd hoped. She strode down the cinder path, her vision bleary with tears. She palmed them away, but more fell. What an arrogant, soulless, thoughtless bastard he could be.

No one in their right mind would welcome the news he'd just shared. The possibilities this discovery opened up were so disturbing she couldn't get her head around it. She'd not considered he might have had a child. This woman, who could be his granddaughter, might represent something she could scarce believe. Was this the only relative he had? Over the years, he might have fathered hundreds of children. He could have scattered infants throughout eighteenth century Europe in his youth. More since as he traveled. Though he'd explained his relationship with Julia, he couldn't have always lived like a monk since 1763.

She stood still where the cinder path forked, one side leading to the gateway to the rose garden, the other to the lake.

“How could you?” she yelled.

A wave of anger sent an adrenalin rush barreling through her body. She broke into a run, pounding down the path toward the lawn and lake.

No, not that way. She changed direction for she'd no wish to look at the pagoda or recall the golden autumnal day she and Magnus had first made love skin to skin. What a bloody fool she was
.
The steps to the terrace came into view. The early autumn day that had changed her life, all happened here. After the best sex she'd ever known, and with her shredded underwear in the bin, she came here to sit with Magnus for tea. Trust and truth, they'd spoken of both, but the conversation had delved into much more. Magnus hadn't pressed her, but she'd acknowledged there was no other man she wanted. She'd trusted him, but look at the truth he had offered her.

She wasn't good enough for him to make her his forever. Oh, no, she was just a one-lifetime screw. Not much more than a roll in the hay for a guy who was near immortal.

He'd refused to make her like him, point-blank. No way. Yet a girl he met in the pub had his child. “Selfish then. Just as bad now!”

Turning away, she ran off the path, over the slope of slippery grass, along the thicker, rough turf on the flat ground. She didn't slow the pace as she pushed herself hard on the track into the woods. She dodged to avoid fallen branches and rotting logs half-buried in the undergrowth. Despite the difficult ground, she raced on until her chest burned fiery with her efforts. No matter how fast she ran, she couldn't leave the pain behind.

Twiggy branches lashed her face as she dashed through the trees. One vicious hit caught her cheek a stinging blow that forced her to slow. A few paces on, she had to pause. She bent with her hands on her thighs. A muscle burn flamed. She must make the time to run more. Finally, her breathing slowed, her legs eased, and she sank down onto a mossy damp tree stump to think.

She'd never imagined he might have had a child, or dreamed the idea would hurt so much. Self-analysis proved hard. It wasn't the child, or in this case grandchild, who might appear in his life that bothered her most. It was the symbolism of what it might mean.

Magnus said he hadn't loved the woman. That, at least, was something.

She wiped her eyes with a tissue, and her nose with another, as she recalled his surprised expression at her reaction. He didn't expect her to be hurt or even upset because…he thought she wouldn't feel that way.

She shook her head trying to get into Magnus's mind. He thought he'd offered her something no one else had ever had from him. She stood and walked for a short way as an idea formed. No one else had ever gotten so close to him. Maybe she'd gotten more intimate than even Julia. Of course, Magnus offered Julia marriage, but she'd refused and they had parted, in the physical form at least.

They hadn't discussed marriage, but with contraception, there was no need these days. At least they had that freedom in their physical relationship. And, God, it was so good with him.

The complexities of life with Magnus needed a lot of mental agility. She swallowed past the ache in her throat, blinking her eyes to finish the tears.

Rain dripped from the branches, oozed through her hood, sneaked in cold rills down the back of her jacket. She ambled on, kicking dead wood out of her path with no real sense of direction. Did it really matter if she met a woman who could be his relative?

A huge sigh broke. It mattered all right. The news rocked her trust, shook up their insulated little world. That was part of the problem.

She must try to get him out of the house more. For twenty-four and a half days each month, he passed as an extremely attractive man. A dozen women checked him out in not so subtle a fashion the day they'd visited Hatfield. A fresh prickle raised gooseflesh. Never having been the jealous sort, the heart-thumping reaction to his news had surprised her as much as she might have shocked Magnus. She'd not permit jealousy to beat her. She'd squash the emotion before it took a hold.

For at least part of each month he could go out, meet people, socialize. They could even go to London. If she could persuade him to take a trip there, he could forget for a time the werewolf days. She would make sure they came back in time for the change.

She sniffed because her tissues sat balled in her hand, a sodden, crumpled mess. The raucous call of crows sweeping over the trees brought her back to the afternoon and where she stood. Wiping her nose on the back of her hand, she turned to head to the house, trying to work out the convoluted path she'd taken to get to this spot in the woods. She couldn't see the building through the trees. Slowly, she checked for any sign of the roof or chimneys. The gleam of one of the lights from the turrets shone through the pines. Magnus had repaired a large part of the house after the bomb damage in the war. A pity there wasn't more illumination on that section to show her a path back. Muddy and sodden as she was, she'd aim for the front door so she didn't trail dirt into the drawing room, or have to take the longer route around the house to the kitchen entrance. She walked toward the light, cradling her hurt like an infant to be soothed. Magnus was hers, and one day they would be together forever.

* * * *

Inside the glazed portico, she paused, flipped off her muddy shoes, and took off her wet jacket. She placed her hand on the house door and it opened at once. She took an involuntary step back, dealing with the staff here didn't come easy at times, and today the housekeeper seemed almost psychic.

“Miss Sian, what has happened?”

“Nothing dreadful. I got caught in the rain, Mrs. Tyson. I'm a bit wet that's all.”

“I thought you'd gone out with Mr. Johansson.”

“He's gone out?” She couldn't hide the astonishment.

“Yes, miss. Mr. Johansson took the car over two hours ago. I thought you were with him. I thought it a little odd he didn't say whether you'd be in to dine.”

“Yes,” she said, fighting off the catch in her throat. “It is a bit odd. I'm sure he'll be back and we'll…” She could hardly believe he'd gone out in the car. Would he be back this evening? “I'm going to take a hot shower. Would you please bring me a pot of tea upstairs?”

“Of course, miss.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Tyson.” Certain the housekeeper would be aware she'd been crying, she hurried into the main hallway to the stairs. Magnus never left the house. She had to give him reason to go out, or offer the lure of entertainments to persuade him to venture into the world beyond Darnwell. Every time they'd gone anywhere, she'd always found the venue. She thumped up the stairs.

Their room was spotless. The log fire burned steady, livid coals forming from the thick rack of wood. The hearth offered a comforting glow in the late afternoon gloom. Tyson would come up with her tea in a few minutes. The housekeeper would draw the drapes after she put down the tea tray, and then leave. The strangeness of having staff to wait on her, like in some kind of television drama, still struck her. Most days when Cook and Mrs. Tyson were here, there was at least one encounter when she waited for someone to call, “That's a wrap.”

She glanced around at the sumptuous splendor. Soon, she'd be alone with nothing but the carved wolves at the foot of the bed for company. She sighed, tugging off her muddy jeans and damp socks. Clutching the wet bundle, she went into the bathroom where she stuffed the grubby clothes into a large laundry hamper.

The copper bath beckoned, offering her comfort and warmth. A long soak might make her feel better. She peeled off her shirt as the water ran. A shame he had no perfumed candles in here. At least she could have the lights a nice moody violet. She tipped some Ylang Ylang scented oil into the water.

The bedroom door slammed. Concerned Mrs. Tyson might struggle with a tray, she went through to the bedroom.

Magnus.

She froze, staring into the gray eyes that bored into her.

“Where did you go?” he asked, his voice clipped. His tone sent a shiver through her.

“To the woods. I needed to think.”

“I looked for you.” His voice grated like minced gravel.

“But you didn't find me.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “No. You were lost to me.”

She swallowed hard, blinking back a hot teary sting in her eyes.

The tap at the door rang like a gunshot. Magnus snapped around to stare at the housekeeper.

“I've brought up the tea for you, Miss Sian. There are two cups. I saw Mr. Johansson park the car.” Mrs. Tyson's voice faltered as she looked to them both. She placed the tray on the side table by the hearth. “I'll leave this here, sir. Do call down if there's anything else you need.” Tyson backed away and whisked out the door.

Magnus reached out. He touched the curls at the side of her face. “Your hair's wet.”

She shivered. “I know.”

He rested his hand on her arm. “You're cold, too.”

“Yes, Magnus. I'm wet, cold, and—”
God
damn
it.
She couldn't stop her lips clamping together as she grimaced, fighting tears. A fresh shiver chased the first.

“I didn't mean to hurt you.” He slid his arm around her and urged her into his embrace. “Forgive me? Please?”

She didn't put her arms around him but remained motionless.

He held her for a long, bleak time.

“The bath's running,” she eventually said.

“Go and bathe.” He released her from his embrace. “I'll pour the tea. We'll talk when you're warm.”

Right this second, though she ached for him, she couldn't make this easy or offer what he wanted—forgiveness.

“Sian, let me help you.” He urged her toward the bathroom.

He'd said those words once before, the first day they made love in the flesh. She'd wilted with the power of his command that day. He'd robbed her of all the will she possessed. Today proved no different. He guided her with his hand on her shoulder. She moved as he wished until they both stood in the steamy warmth of the bathroom. Magnus flipped off the taps before he tested the temperature with his hand. He yanked off his shirt. The rest of his clothes followed, dumped on top of the chair in the corner.

Dazed, she stood—present, yet not. Awake, but unmoving. The mesmeric command he used was a deliberate control. She had neither the strength or the wish to fight it. The physical lure of him proved as powerful as ever. She feasted her gaze on his body. The need to touch him grew stronger, and she took a step forward.

He lifted her chin so she met his eyes. So much sorrow and concern filled his gaze. The combination brought a lump to her throat. She raised her arms so he could tug off the camisole top. He took the chain with the key to his wolf bonds from her neck and bent to ease her panties down her legs.

“Now, get into the water,” he said.

She stepped into the bath. “Oh,” she exclaimed when the heat contacted her chilled flesh.

He joined her, easing himself down at the taps end. A gentleman even though they'd quarreled. She lay back in the water until it warmed the base of her ears. It wasn't the kind of row many couples might have. Not a yell and shout fight. No.

This was worse. He'd hurt her and not understood how.

“I do understand. I can only plead for you to forgive me. I didn't think it through before I told you. I never meant to cause you pain. Believe me, all I want is to protect you from the horrors that can be caused by what I am.”

The day dissolved with the touch of his palm on her leg, the way he smoothed her skin. He leaned forward. A tingle of sensation snapped her back to full consciousness as he placed his other hand on her thigh, rubbed with his fingertips until she breathed out on a long sigh.

“We need to talk.”

His low voice soothed her more than the warmth of the water. A tremble shook her lip. They'd talked already, and she'd lost it in a way she'd never experienced before. She hooked her forefinger around his. “What do you want to say?”

“Will you listen to all of it?”

“Yes, Magnus.”

“I want to tell you how much I need you and make you believe it. If you understood how important you are to me, then today you'd not have been so hurt.”

She sat up. Her hair dripped over her shoulders. “You think I'd have been okay with you having a child with a woman you hardly knew, whereas, with me, you've said it can't happen. I don't understand the difference.”

Magnus closed his eyes for a long moment. “The two things are not one and the same, not at all. One is an accidental event from long before you were born and many years before I met you. The other is your wish for something very different.”

“So, if this girl is your granddaughter, she'll be like any other girl?”