You Only Love Twice (18 page)

“Rosemary?”

When she was sure she had command of her breathing, she turned slowly to face him.

“Rosemary,” he said. “I thought it was you.” Then, “Rodie,” as though savoring the pet name only he had ever called her. “Fifteen years is a long time, yet it seems like only yesterday.”

She answered him with composure, but her heart was beating painfully. She felt as tongue-tied as a young girl with her first beau. And that was stupid. She wasn’t a young girl, and she wondered if he was shocked by what the years had done to her.

The years had been kind to him. There were lines in his face, and his dark hair was threaded with silver, but oddly enough, this only made him seem more manly. He’d always been too handsome, and now that flaw had been corrected. He was taller than she remembered, but his eyes were the same, a brilliant blue and fringed with long, dark lashes.

“Walk with me?” he said.

She put her fingers on the back of the arm he offered and allowed him to lead her outside. He made a remark about the extensive work Rupert had done to the grounds and she answered him vaguely. But her thoughts had taken a different turn. She was remembering the first time they’d met, when they were both out riding. He was a new neighbor and she’d taken an instant liking to him. Their friendship had become more meaningful when they’d discovered they both had invalid spouses. Her husband had had a stroke. His wife had broken her spine in a riding accident. No one else understood their loneliness and frustrations, and since they couldn’t talk to their partners about them, they’d confided in each other. She hadn’t understood what was happening when their eyes would meet and hold in a roomful of people, or when her spirits
would lift just because he had walked into a room. They’d fallen in love long before they were aware of it.

They were silent as they descended the steps leading onto the lawns. It was dark now, but the gardens were well lit, and by tacit consent they chose one of the flagstone paths that wound along the bluff. Small talk didn’t seem appropriate, and there was no way she could voice what was really on her mind.

“I’m going to change all the rules between us, Rodie,” he said, “and I thought I should warn you first.”

The seriousness of his tone alarmed her. “What rules, Matt?”

He took a moment before replying. “Now that my period of mourning is over, I intend to become a more sociable animal, take in parties, balls, that sort of thing. So you can expect to see a lot more of me. And when we meet, I hope we can put the past behind us and be natural with each other.”

She swallowed hard. She thought she understood. He had no children. He would want to marry again, choose a woman who was young enough to bear him sons. That’s why he would begin to attend social functions—to find a suitable bride. He was telling her as a courtesy, and it really wasn’t necessary. They meant nothing to each other now.

“I understand,” she said. “What do you understand?”

“A man in your position will want to marry and have heirs.”

He said quietly, “I have heirs, Rodie. A brother, Nephews. I wanted children once, but not now. I want to do other things with my life.” He stopped speaking suddenly and turned to face her. “Do you still hate me, Rodie?”

“Matt, I never hated you.”

“Did you not?”

“No. It was simply that we could no longer be friends.”

“Can we be friends now?”

“What would be the point?”

“It would be more pleasant for both of us when we meet at gatherings like this, as we probably shall.”

The prospect of other evenings like this one when she would have to pretend to be indifferent to him chilled her to the marrow. “Friends?” she said. “That would be impossible, Matt, but at least we can be friendly.”

“Why can’t we be friends? Because your son still hates me?”

“We never talk about you,” she said quickly.

“Are you never lonely, Rodie?”

His abruptness as well as the question itself took her aback, and she faltered before answering. “Of course I’m never lonely. Life has been good to me. I have my family and friends.”

A long pause ensued, then, “Aren’t you going to ask me if I’m ever lonely?”

There was no need to ask. She already knew the answer. He’d remained with his wife, but he hadn’t been faithful to her. He’d always kept a mistress. But in this last year after his wife’s death, he’d embarked on a frenetic round of pleasure.

She spoke lightly because it was too awkward and painful to reveal what she really thought. “Matt, I know you’re not lonely. People talk, and I have ears. You never lack for female companionship. And your latest mistress—” She stopped abruptly.

He gave her a searching look. “You know about Madaleina?”

Madaleina Cartier was an opera singer and the leading light of the King’s Theatre, and she was no older than her own son. “Everybody knows about her, Matt. You’re not exactly discreet about your
affaires
.”

He smiled ruefully. “What reason do I have to be discreet? I have no wife, no children, no one who would be hurt by my indiscretions. In short, Rodie, nobody cares.”

A lump formed in her throat and that appalled her.
Once they’d been lovers, but now this man was a stranger to her. She shouldn’t be feeling like this.

She smiled serenely into his eyes. “Don’t explain yourself, Matt. Not to me. There’s no need. I should go back. My ward must be wondering where I am. No, don’t come with me. I’d rather go alone. Please.”

She didn’t exactly run from him, but she did move swiftly. When she came to the terrace, she hesitated. Jessica was there with the young man she’d been dancing with earlier. The last thing they’d want was a chaperon hanging on their sleeves. There was the conservatory, but Ellie was there with her friends. Ellie wouldn’t welcome a chaperon, either. Men had it so much easier. They could always retreat to the billiard room or the card room. She had nowhere to go where she could think her thoughts in private.

There was, of course, the ladies’ cloak room. With a breezy smile and a wave to Jessica, she crossed the terrace and entered the house.

Jessica’s eyes were thoughtful as she watched Lucas’s mother enter the house. Mrs. Wilde’s smile was unnaturally bright. She seemed distracted. She was going against the stream, pushing past guests who were coming outside to take in the fireworks display that would begin shortly after the last dance. Jessica returned her gaze to the walk from which Mrs. Wilde had emerged, and she sensed something, but whatever she sensed stayed tantalizingly out of reach.

A warm breeze touched her skin and she raised her head, listening, watching, as if the breeze were trying to tell her something. There was nothing to tell. It was all very ordinary. Servants were going about their business, clearing up the debris of the sumptuous supper the guests had consumed. The walls of the marquee flapped in the breeze; lanterns were hung from the trees and winked like distant stars as they disappeared into the dense shrubbery;
laughter floated over the lawns, and she could hear a horse whinnying from one of the many carriages that were stationed along the drive.

She looked at her escort and saw that his lips were moving. Mr. Stone was talking to her. She blinked and gradually came back to herself.

“… a walk in the fresh air might do the trick,” he said.

She was immediately contrite. She’d forgotten all about poor Mr. Stone. They’d been dancing the waltz when he’d suddenly stumbled and put a hand to his brow. The heat was too much for him, he’d said, and so they’d come out to the terrace for a breath of fresh air. And no sooner was she on the terrace than her mind had wandered to another partner and another waltz, and how very differently she had felt in
his
arms.

She should have been thinking of Mr. Stone. He really did look rather hot. His fairish red hair and the flush on his skin made him seem very young. But boyish or not, he was dressed in the height of fashion. His peacock blue coat was so snug that she didn’t know how he’d managed to dance in it. Perhaps that was part of the trouble.

She heard the catch in his breath and she said anxiously, “Are you sure you wouldn’t like to sit down, Mr. Stone? I could ask one of the footmen to fetch you a glass of water or a glass of wine.”

“No, really, I’m feeling much better.” He felt in his coat pocket, produced a handkerchief and began to mop his brow. “It was the heat. It’s cooler out here. Shall we walk?”

He didn’t offer his arm, but it was evident that he took it for granted that she would accompany him. And she had no objection. She’d learned from her mentors that in lieu of a dance, a gentleman might ask a lady to promenade around the ballroom, or go for a walk, or simply sit the dance out and talk. And anyway, she couldn’t possibly leave Mr. Stone when he was unwell.

They left the terrace and strolled along the driveway where all the coaches were stationed. Mr. Stone did most of the talking. Jessica’s eyes kept straying to the shrubbery. She felt something, sensed something, but again, whatever it was stayed out of reach.

At one point, she glanced over her shoulder. They’d turned the corner of the drive, and the house was no longer in view. Even the carriages had thinned out. Her steps slowed and finally halted. She hadn’t realized they’d come so far.

“I think we should go back,” she said.

She didn’t hear his answer. A flare suddenly streaked across the night sky and exploded in a thousand little stars, illuminating the whole countryside.

“My carriage,” said Mr. Stone. “Haven’t you been listening to me, Miss Hayward? I’ll drive you back to the house in my carriage. Then I think I must go home.”

Jessica glanced at the carriage he indicated. It seemed isolated and—Without warning, a wave of something dark and malevolent slammed into her. There was a roaring in her ears and she felt as though she were suffocating. But everything in her mind was crystal clear. Nothing was as it appeared to be, not Mr. Stone and certainly not the unremarkable carriage.

He wanted her in the carriage. Not Mr. Stone. Her Voice. He wanted her in that carriage. Then he would deal with her later. Even now, he was on his way to her. He wasn’t aware that he was betraying his thoughts. His emotions were too strong, too violent. One thought came to her loud and clear. He would do anything to be rid of her.

Mr. Stone had taken hold of her arm. “Don’t turn missish on me now,” he said. “I’ve been wanting to kiss you all evening.”

It was an act, a pretext to allay her fears. He didn’t want to kiss her. He wanted to get her into that carriage.

“Please, no,” she said. “I must return to my friends.
They’ll be wondering what’s happened to me.” She tried to free herself, but his grasp only tightened.

“You weren’t worried about your friends a moment ago. A kiss. That’s all I want. Come to the carriage with me and I’ll drive you back to the house.”

She fought back the panic and tried to think. She remembered Joseph’s parting words to her.
Keep your guard up at all times
. It hadn’t been a joke. Oh, why hadn’t she paid more attention?

“I don’t know what’s come over me,” she said. “I feel faint.”

He relaxed his grip. “You’ll feel better in a moment. Let me help you to the carriage.”

Jessica seized her advantage. She sagged against him, then brought up her knee with all her might. He blocked her blow, but it landed on his thigh and one hard shove sent him sprawling on his back.

“Get her!” he shouted to his coachman.

Jessica acted instinctively. She took a flying leap into the shrubbery and landed on her hands and knees. Thorns like spikes tore at her face and became embedded in her filmy gown. She didn’t wait to recover from the shock of her fall. She heard two sets of footsteps converging on her, and throwing off her shoes, she took off like a hare.

Her first thought was to find a place to hide, but as another flare exploded, turning night into day, she put every ounce of will and strength into outrunning her pursuers. She knew they were gaining on her, but she didn’t dare look back. She was making for the house. It wasn’t far now. Please God, it wasn’t far now.

Shadows of trees blurred and wavered. She saw a light and sobbed with relief. Suddenly, the ground gave way beneath her and she went tumbling into space. She put out her hands to save herself, but when she hit the ground, her momentum carried her along. One hand buckled under her, and she came down heavily on her
side. She would have screamed at any other time, but terror gave her an ironclad will and the scream died in her throat. If she gave herself away, they would find her, and that determined malevolence would be unleashed against her. The very air she breathed was thick with his presence. That’s what she had sensed all evening.

She lay there for a long time unable to move for the pain that stabbed at her side. Her wrist ached and she feared she might have cracked a rib. But it was terror that brought tears to her eyes, not pain. At any moment, she expected rough hands to be laid on her and haul her to her feet. It was no use. She couldn’t go on. Then she heard Stone’s voice, a sinister whisper, wafting to her out of the darkness, calling her by name, and she forced herself to concentrate.

There was no light from fireworks to guide her now, only the pale glow of the moon. The light that she’d tried to reach winked tantalizingly a little way to her right. It might as well have been a sun in some distant galaxy.

Close by a twig snapped, then another. Her eyes frantically searched the gloom. A boulder or a bush, she could not tell which, lay just ahead. Biting down on her lip to stifle a moan, she slowly hauled herself to her knees and began to crawl. Inside her head she was praying.

Lucas
, she thought.
Oh, Lucas
.

CHAPTER
13

I
n the billiard room, the gentlemen were filing out one by one. Lucas was putting the cues away when Adrian entered.

Adrian shook his head. “I like a game of billiards as well as anyone, but this is going too far. Lucas, you’ve been holed up in this room for hours on end.”