Wolf, Joan (11 page)

"Not precisely the same situation, Mama," Edward said dryly. "Are you certain that Van cares for Bradford?"

"No," returned Lady Linton sunnily, "but we shall find out as soon as we return from Staplehurst."

Van found herself surprisingly glad to see Staplehurst again. One forgot, she thought as the carriage came up the drive through Capability Brown's famous park, one forgot how truly beautiful it was.

Beside her Lady Linton sighed and expressed similar sentiments. "My, but it's always good to come home. I adore London, of course, but Staplehurst is... well, home." She turned to smile at Van. "I'm glad Edward decided we should come down for a week."

"I hope you're not just saying this to be polite, ma'am," Van said ruefully. "I should be sorry to think I had deprived you of any parties you were looking forward to."

"Nonsense." Lady Linton laid a hand on Van's. "There will be plenty of other parties, dear child."

Van looked back into Katherine Romney's smiling eyes. What a genuinely lovely person her mother's cousin was, she thought.

"You have been enjoying yourself, Vanessa, have you not?" The violet eyes now looked a little anxious.

"Yes," Van returned truthfully. "I have been." She caught sight of Edward's figure riding horseback next to the carriage. "I wonder that Edward can bear to be parted from Miss Ridley for so long," she remarked to Lady Linton with careful unconcern.

"I suggested that we invite the Ridleys down with us for the week," Lady Linton replied a little despondently, "but Edward wouldn't hear of it. I hate to nag at him, Vanessa, but I do wish he would..."

Her voice trailed off and Van looked at her with affectionate amusement. "You never nag at him, ma'am. You think the sun rises and sets on that blond head of his."

Lady Linton laughed. "I know." She pressed her lips together. "But for all that, Vanessa, I do wish that he'd bestir himself and get married!"

Van settled into her old room at Staplehurst and it did feel, oddly enough, as if she too were coming home. Signore Martelli had parted from her with a long list of instructions, but Van decided she was going to take a rest from study for a while and simply play to please herself. The prospect of a whole week of unstructured time was delightful.

It rained the following day. An hour before dinner Van was curled up before the library fire reading when she heard Edward's step at the door. She had not seen him all day. The shoulders of his russet coat were wet and his hair was rain-darkened to a tawny bronze.

"Where were you?" she asked.

He came over to the fire and held out his hands. "At the stables. Cora looks as if she's going to foal very soon."

"Why are you so worried about her?"

He frowned. "I don't know. She's never had any trouble before. There's just something about the way she looks..."

Van put a marker in her book and set it down on the table. "What are you reading today?" he asked.

Her eyes were still on the book.
"Joseph Andrews
by Mr. Fielding."

He looked at her averted face, at the beautiful line of brow and cheekbones. "Do you like it?" His voice sounded strange to his own ears. "I thought it was a very funny parody of Richardson's
Pamela,"
he said more firmly.

Her face flashed suddenly from gravity into smiling. "Wasn't she a dreadful hypocrite? I had a tremendous argument with Lord Bradford about that book." She looked directly at him. "I didn't think she was virtuous at all. She didn't love that man. She only wanted to get him to marry her."

He stared at her for a long moment in silence, at the narrow, dark, fine-boned face with the great light eyes. "Did
you
think she was virtuous, Edward?" she asked.

The atmosphere in the room was too close, too airless. He was finding it difficult to breathe properly. "No," he said. "No, I did not. I thought she was a clever little schemer."

Van looked pleased. "Precisely my feeling."

He had to get out of this room. "I'm going to go change for dinner," he said, his voice harsher than usual, and he forced himself to walk to the door with long and deliberate steps. He could feel her eyes on him. Up in his bedroom he refused the ministrations of his valet and simply stood for a long time at his window, staring out.

In the end he did not go down to dinner at all. He received a message from Blackstone that Cora was going into labor and, rather grimly thankful, the earl returned to the barn to spend the evening with his mare.

When Edward still had not returned to the house by eleven o'clock, Lady Linton went to bed. "He is most likely passing a brandy bottle around," she said to Van with affectionate resignation. "Cora's foals are special to him." She yawned and stood up. "Are you coming, Vanessa dear?"

"I'd like to finish my chapter, if you don't mind, Cousin Katherine."

"Of course not." Lady Linton kissed Van's cheek. "I'll see you in the morning, my dear child."

"Good night, ma'am." Van watched Lady Linton leave the room and then turned back to her book, but for some reason the hilarious adventures of Joseph Andrews could not hold her attention. Outside, the rain was still coming down steadily. She had a premonition that something was wrong at the stable.

He came in at twelve-thirty. Van heard his voice in the hall talking to the night footman who had let him in. Robert would tell him she was still up. She put her book down and looked worriedly at the drawing-room door.

She knew something had gone wrong the moment she saw him. His hair and coat were soaked with rain, his boots caked with mud. "Edward, you're drenched!" Van stood up. "Come over here by the fire." Then, as he hesitated in the doorway, she went over to him, put a hand on his soaked sleeve, and guided him to the chair placed closest to the chimneypiece. She pushed him into the chair and he looked up at her, his blue eyes clouded with pain.

"She died," he said.

Van's heart ached for him. "Oh, Edward. I'm so sorry." She began to unbutton his jacket. "Come, you must get out of this wet coat. It's soaked through. However did you get so wet?"

"I walked back from the stables." He let her slide the jacket off his shoulders. There was blood as well as water on the sleeves. His shirt was wet as well. Van went to add another log to the fire.

As the flames blazed up she turned to look at him. "What happened?"

He was staring down at his muddy boots. His shirt was open at the neck and the firelight glimmered on the strong, smooth column of his throat. "The foal was in the wrong position," he said in a strange, dull voice. "We couldn't get it rotated. She was trying so hard that we couldn't turn him. One of his legs was caught." He leaned forward and pressed his knuckles against his eyes. "She just couldn't get him out," he said, his voice muffled. "Christ. It went on so long."

Van's throat hurt with the tears she was trying to suppress. She left the fire and came over to stand beside him. "I'm so sorry," she repeated, feeling how woefully inadequate the words were.

His fists tightened and the motion set the muscles rippling along his arms and shoulders. The wet shirt was clinging to his skin. Van drew her breath in sharply. "I had a feeling about this foal," he was saying. "I just had a feeling."

"There was nothing you could have done," she said. "Edward." She knelt so she could see his face. "You tried," she said. "There was nothing more you could have done."

He dropped his hands away from his face. The heat of the fire had begun to dry his hair and the loosened strands that slanted across his forehead were turning a coppery gold. She continued to kneel beside him, her face very close to his. She scarcely saw his hands move to reach for her, and then his mouth was coming down on hers, crushing, urgent, merciless. Van flung her arms around his neck. She felt his body rock-hard against hers, his strong arms lifting her up. It was a savage, searing kiss, one that should have frightened a girl of Van's inexperience. What she felt running hot through her veins, however, was not fear, but desire.

His mouth left her lips and moved to her throat, her breasts. She could feel the fire of his kisses through the silk fabric of her blue gown. She slid her fingers into his disordered wet hair. "Edward," she whispered in a shaking voice. "Edward."

She felt his entire body tense. He pulled away from her a little and lifted his head. If taking her would ease his pain, Van thought, she wouldn't stop him. He read the thought in her eyes and drew a deep, shuddering breath. "Van," he said in an unrecognizable voice, "this is not a good idea."

She didn't reply and, without another word, he set her away from him, stood up, and walked to the far side of the room. Van ran her fingers through her disordered curls and sat back on her heels.

"I can't bear to see you so unhappy," she said in a small and wavering voice.

He was breathing as if he had been running, but he had got his voice under control. "Is this true?"

She ran her tongue around suddenly dry lips. "Yes."

There was a very long silence. Van found herself listening to the tick-tocking of the clock in the corner. A log fell on the fire, sending up a spray of sparks.

"We don't even like each other," he said at last. There was a look about his mouth she had never seen before, not even for his mother. Van's heart began to pound.

"Viking," she whispered. "Sassenach." At that he crossed the floor back toward where she was still kneeling. When he reached her he held out his hands and drew her to her feet. Then he bent his head and kissed her again.

It was not so frantic this time, but long and slow and remarkably thorough. Van melted to him, answered to him, her body pliant and yielding against his. When finally he raised his head, she found herself trembling. He held her close against him and she leaned her cheek against his wet, warm shoulder. His back felt so strong against the palms of her hands. She closed her eyes.

"That settles it then," he said in a deep voice. "You'll marry
me."

Van's eyes flew open. "Marry you?" she said, clearly startled. Then, as his words registered, she stared at him out of wide and frightened eyes. "I can't marry you, Edward. My father would never allow it."

The eyes that met hers was burningly intense. "I'm not interested in your father," he said. "At the moment I am only interested in you. Do
you
want to marry me, Van?"

His eyes were so blue. She said, on an audibly caught breath, "Yes. Oh, yes, Edward. I do want to marry you!"

That look was back about his mouth again. "Van," he said. "The most honest woman in the world."

Her whole body was aching for the feel of his hands. She forced herself to move away from him and ask, "Why do you say that?"

He smiled, that beautiful tender look still about his mouth. "You never pretend," he said. "Not even to yourself. That time I kissed you at the Evesham ball— any other woman would have blamed it on me. But not you."

"But, Edward," said Van, "I kissed you back." He laughed and the fireplace flames danced in his brilliant eyes. "You see what I mean?" he said. "You admit it."

Van gave him a long, considering look. "You sound as if that sort of thing has happened to you before."

He chuckled. "As it happens, I don't make a practice of kissing girls in anterooms."

"Well, I should hope not!" she said forcefully, and he chuckled again.

"I have been trying so hard not to think about that kiss," Van said.

"I have been trying so hard not to do it again," he returned with amusement. Then, a serious look coming over his face, "But it was not until this afternoon that I realized how much I loved you."

She gazed up at him out of wondering eyes. "This afternoon?"

"Mmm. When you said you couldn't abide Richardson's Pamela. I knew then. I had known for a long time, of course, but I wouldn't let myself know I knew." He smiled faintly. "If that makes sense?"

Van smiled up at him tenderly. "It makes perfect sense. I have been telling myself that my feeling for you was only a physical attraction."

His eyes began to dance. "Well, there
is
that, of course."

She ignored him. "But tonight, when you were so hurt, / hurt too."

He cupped her face in strong, gentle hands. She gazed up at him, her eyes full of trouble. "Edward," she whispered, "I cannot marry you without my father's permission."

He sighed. "I know, sweetheart. I know." He kissed her forehead and dropped his hands. "We'll get his permission."

She looked at him doubtfully. How was she to explain her father to a man like Edward? "He is not very... flexible, you see," she began. Her narrow, sensitive lips quivered faintly. "He is never going to understand my wishing to marry a Sassenach!"

"If I understand correctly, he married one himself," he said dryly. "Sit down, sweetheart, and let's talk this out."

Obediently she moved to the sofa he had indicated. Then, when they were seated side by side, "Dhé! What if there is a French landing?"

"There won't be a French landing," he said calmly and convincingly. "The French are far too busy consolidating their gains on the Continent. Perhaps, if Louis XIV were still king, he would send an army for the Stuarts. But this king won't. He proved his lack of interest when he gave in to English demands and forced the Pre... ah, James to move his court from France to Rome."

Van believed him. They had been waiting since 1715 for the French to send an army, she thought. Why should it happen now?

"But, Edward, my father still thinks there is a good possibility the French will come."

"What does your mother think of all this?" he asked.

"Of the possibility of a French landing?" Van thought, her brow furrowed. "Mother never says very much about it," she answered at last, slowly.

"Would your mother object to our marrying?"

Van thought of how her mother had deliberately deceived her father about the Linton political affiliations. "No. I don't think she would object."

"Well, then, I suggest that you write to your mother while I write to your father. From what I gather, Morar took your mother from parents who were fully as unhappy about him as he is likely to be about me."