Petals in the Storm

Chapter 27

Though ordinarily Maggie would not have wanted to return to Chanteuil, going for Rex provided a convenient excuse to be out of the house if Rafe called to see how she and Robin were faring. The day was as sunny and warm as high summer, which made the drive enjoyable.

When she reached the castle, the Prussian guards at the gatehouse told her that all of Varenne's servants had fled, leaving the estate empty. The sergeant in charge recognized her from the day before, so he was easily persuaded to allow her in when she explained that she had come for a cat, and perhaps to view the gardens.

It didn't take long to achieve her first objective; whoever said that cats were aloof had obviously never met Rex. Within five minutes of entering the castle and starting to call his name, he trotted out to greet her, ready for food and adoration.

Being no fool, Maggie had brought some sliced chicken with her. After Rex dined, he was quite happy to sleep off his meal while draped over her shoulder.

The lush, overgrown gardens were very lovely, the flowers bright with the flamboyant splendor of the last days before frost. She sensed no lingering trace of Varenne's evil, and for that she was grateful.

When Rex began to feel heavy, Maggie decided to sit and enjoy the sunshine. In a small rose garden completely surrounded by high hedges, she found a stone bench under a blossom-covered arbor. She sank down on it, grateful for the shade. The scene was extraordinarily peaceful, the silence broken only by the fluting of birdsongs and the gentle splashing of a small fountain in the center of the garden.

Rex slept with his head on her lap, the rest of him sprawled along the bench, one back paw in the air. The cat would be a fine tutor as she learned to live a normal, quiet life, for he had a truly remarkable talent for relaxation.

The tranquility soothed her strained nerves. Though the last weeks had been harrowing, the experience had been worthwhile, for she and Rafe had made a kind of peace. She also had an unforgettable night to cherish for the rest of her life.

Her musings were interrupted by the crunching of footsteps on gravel. She looked up to see Rafe walking swiftly along the path. Seeing her, he paused, then proceeded toward her at a slower pace, his expression reserved. Though his hair was uncharacteristically windblown, he was dressed with his usual damn-your-eyes elegance, and was so handsome that she realized she was forgetting to breathe.

Though this meeting would mean another night of tears, she couldn't help but respond to his presence. "Good afternoon, your grace," she said with a carefully casual smile. "What brings you to Chanteuil?"

"You. May I sit down?" At her nod, he settled on the other side of Rex. "It's rather eerie. Apart from the Prussian guards at the gatehouse who said you might be in the garden, the place seems deserted."

"Not so much as a cook or a scullery maid left," she agreed. "It's fortunate that I came for Rex. Perhaps he could have survived on castle mice, but he would have been lonesome. He's a sociable creature."

Instead of answering, Rafe studied her face, his expression intent. There was something subtly different about him this morning. Perhaps it was only imagination, but to her eyes he looked less like a duke and more like the young man she had fallen in love with.

Before the silence could become too uncomfortable, he said, "One reason I came out here was to offer you an apology. Northwood was the one who claimed that you had lain with him. Looking back, it's hard to understand how I was fool enough to believe him."

She would much rather discuss weather or the gardens, but there were some things that should probably be said, since they were unlikely to meet again. "I learned that it was Northwood yesterday, when he boasted of what he had done. It was clever of him to pretend drunkenness-it's easier to believe a whisper than a shout."

Rafe grimaced. "Lord knows that I have been punished for my unreasonable jealousy. I'm profoundly sorry, Margot. Not trusting you was the worst mistake of my life."

He hesitated, as if seeking the right words, then said haltingly, "My parents had a fashionable marriage. After they did their duty and produced me, they were seldom under the same roof, much less in the same bed. I wanted a different kind of marriage. When I met you, I thought I had found what I was looking for. Yet I don't think I truly believed that it was possible for me to attain such happiness, which may be why I was susceptible to Northwood's slander."

"I don't remember you ever talking about your parents before," she said quietly.

He shrugged. "There was very little to say. My mother died when I was ten-her demise made so little difference in my life that I scarcely noticed she was gone. My father believed in Lord Chesterfield's maxim that there was nothing so vulgar as audible laughter. He was quite punctilious about his responsibilities to his heir, just as he was conscientious about caring for his tenants and taking his seat in the Lords. A true English gentleman." Rafe glanced down and began stroking the cat's, silky belly. "Having Colonel Ashton for a father-in-law was a… refreshing prospect."

His uninflected words made Maggie's heart ache. At eighteen, it had not occurred to her that tall, confident Rafe had not only desired her, but needed her. She wondered why he revealed that. Not for sympathy, she was sure.

Deciding to ask a question that had often occurred to her, usually late in a lonely night, she said, "If I had denied Northwood's charge, would you have believed me?"

"I think so. I wanted-rather desperately-for you to throw my words back in my face." He stopped, men added painfully, "The fact that you made no attempt to deny it seemed like proof of your infidelity."

"My wretched, wretched temper," she said sadly, feeling the ache of old anguish. "I was so angry and hurt that I had to escape before I fell apart in front of you. I should have stayed and fought."

"My lack of trust was far more reprehensible than your justifiable anger," Rafe said, his voice tight with self-condemnation. "If your father hadn't felt that he needed to get you away from London, he never would have died in France."

She shook her head. "It's my turn to apologize. In spite of what I said when we had that horrible fight, I never blamed you for his death. It's true that we originally left England because of my broken betrothal, but we overstayed our time in France because my father was sending reports to army headquarters. He was sure that the peace wouldn't last, so he used our travels as a cover for observing French troops and armaments." She gave Rafe a wry glance. "As you see, I came by my spying abilities naturally."

Rafe sighed. "Thank you for telling me that. It helps a little."

"Life is a tapestry of interwoven events," she said slowly. "If we hadn't come to France-if Father hadn't been killed-if I hadn't gone to work with Robin- who knows what would have happened in Paris this week? Varenne might have been successful, and Europe would be sliding toward war again. So perhaps my father's death wasn't as meaningless as it seemed at the time."

"I hope you're right. There is comfort in believing that some good has come from the tragedies of the past." He pulled a velvet box from his pocket and handed it to her. "Another reason I came out here was because I wanted you to have these."

Recognizing the box, she tried to give it back. "I can't possibly keep the emeralds. They're too valuable."

His brows lifted. "If I gave you flowers, you would accept them. What is the difference?"

"At least five thousand pounds," she said tartly. "Probably a good bit more."

He laid his hand over hers where it rested on the velvet box. "The cost is unimportant. What matters is that they are from the heart, no more, and no less, than flowers would be."

The warmth that spread through their joined hands weakened Maggie's resolve. The truth was that she wanted the emeralds, not so much for their beauty and value as because they were from Rafe. "Very well," she said in a low voice. "If you really want me to keep them I shall."

"I would like to give you a great deal more."

His words triggered a rush of fury. Why did he have to say that and spoil everything? She rose to her feet, leaving both jewels and an indignant Rex on the bench. "I don't want you to give me anything more," she snapped. "This is already too much. Take those damned emeralds away and give them to a woman who will express her appreciation in the way that you want."

Back rigid, she stepped into the sunshine and plucked a rose from one of the bushes. As she broke thorns from the stem, she told herself that she was not going to lose her composure.

It was another resolution doomed to failure. Rafe came up behind her and rested his hands on her shoulders. Though there was nothing overtly sensual in the contact, his nearness undermined her good intentions with dreadful ease.

In his deep, mellow voice, he quoted, " 'Come live with me and be my love, Then we will all the pleasures prove…'"

She yanked away, turning only when she was safely out of his reach. "Damn you, Rafe Whitbourne, we've been over this before! I won't be your mistress."

He could have followed her and used all the intoxicating weapons of the senses to try to change her mind, but he didn't. Instead, he said quietly, "I'm not asking you to be my mistress. I'm asking you to be my wife."

Maggie had believed that matters could not get worse, but she had been wrong. Rafe was offering the deepest desire of her heart-and his words triggered a numbing wave of fear and grief.

Not daring to investigate the roots of her distress, she said tightly, "You do me a great honor, your grace, but we both know that when men like you marry, they choose rich, beautiful, eighteen-year-old virgins." She gave a brittle laugh. "I am none of those things. High adventure can be like a drug-don't let a few days of excitement warp your judgment."

In spite of her flat refusal, Rafe felt a flicker of hope. Margot had said nothing about not loving him,which was why she had refused Robin, and which was the only reason that really mattered.

"I'm not 'men like me'-for better and worse, I'm the one and only Rafael Whitbourne," he said in his most reasonable tone. "I also have quite enough money for any two people, or even any hundred people, so fortune is not an issue. Beauty? That is in the eye of the beholder, and in my eyes you are the most captivating woman in the world. You always have been. You always will be.

"As for age"-he closed the distance between them and caught her gaze, willing her to believe-"the only eighteen-year-old I ever met who didn't bore me to paralysis is you-and the woman you have become is even more irresistible than the girl you were."

When her lips parted to reply, he touched his forefinger to them. "That being the case, why won't you marry me?" He thought he saw a flash of something dark and anguished in her eyes before she masked her expression.

Brushing his hand aside, she said coolly, "Because I know myself too well, Rafe. I could never share you with another woman. The first time you had an affair, I would turn into a raving shrew and make us both miserable. I suppose you might be able to conceal your other women from me, but I will never live a lie, be it ever so charmingly told."

"I didn't want a fashionable marriage when I was twenty-one, and I don't want one now," he said emphatically. "If we marry, I swear that I will never give you cause to doubt my fidelity."

Shrugging off his avowal, she said, "Everyone makes mistakes, Rafe. You don't have to marry me to atone for believing Northwood. I enjoy my independence, and have no desire to give it up."

"Are you sure? No one whose hands are clenched is thinking clearly, and this is too important to decide while upset."

With a choked sound between laughter and tears, she looked down and saw that her hands were white-knuckled fists. Carefully she straightened her fingers and saw that they were trembling. "The love we had when we were young was very real, and very special," she said unsteadily, "but we can never go back to it. Accept that it's over, Rafe."

He took her left hand and gently massaged the crescents that her nails had dug in the palm. "Why go back when we can go forward? Surely now we can bring a depth and wisdom to loving that we could not have done all those years ago."

She bit her lip, then shook her head.

"Can't we even try?" he said intensely. "Life doesn't offer many second chances, Margot. For God's sake, let's not throw this one away!"

She dared a quick glance at his face and saw that the layers of civilized detachment had been stripped away, leaving him open in a way that she had not seen since the morning he had ended their betrothal. Wishing that she could match his courage, she broke away and retreated to the fountain in the middle of the garden. In the center of the pool, a worn stone cherub held aloft an urn from which the water flowed. Staring at the cherub as if it were the most beautiful sculpture she had ever seen, she said bitterly, "You're deceiving yourself, Rafe. There are no second chances, in life or in love."

There was a long silence. She began to hope that he finally understood, and would stop trying to change her mind.

She should have known that he would not surrender so easily. He came to stand beside her, saying, "Don't keep retreating, Margot. You said yourself that it was a mistake to run away thirteen years ago. I won't let you do it again."

The undercurrent of her fear became stronger. "Leave me alone, Rafe," she said sharply. "I know what I want, and it doesn't include marriage to you."

He steeled himself for what-must come next, for he sensed that unless he addressed the full horror of her past, she would continue^ to give him superficial reasons why they would not suit. "I know what happened in Gascony, Margot."

When she whipped her shocked gaze back to him, he said with slow emphasis, "I know all of it."

"Robin told you?"

"Yes, when we were in the cell together."

"Damn him!" she swore, her eyes blazing. "He had no right to speak of that, and to you of all people."

"I convinced him that… I had a strong need to know."

"So that's what is really behind your proposal," she said savagely. "Guilt. It's generous of you to be willing to accept damaged goods for your duchess,but it's bloody not necessary. I can take care of myself perfectly well without your misguided charity."

A spasm crossed his face. "Is that how you see yourself-as damaged goods?"

She sank down onto the rim of the fountain and buried her face in her hands. Until now, only Robin had known the whole, ugly story. It was unbearable that Rafe, of all people, was also aware of her disgrace.

The sunny garden disappeared as dark memories threatened to overpower her. She forced her mind away from them, only to come face-to-face with the fact that her utter helplessness had been even more devastating than the pain. In some ways, her whole life since then had been about proving that she was not helpless.

Battling desperately to avoid the ultimate humiliation of falling apart in front of Rafe, she said harshly,

"More than damaged-shattered beyond repair. That's why I welcomed the chance to stay in France with Robin, why I wouldn't let even Lord Strathmore know my real name. Margot Ashton was dead, and I wanted her to stay that way."

"Margot Ashton didn't die-she became a remarkable, compassionate woman." Rafe's voice was very soft. "You have touched more lives, accomplished more good, than most people ever dream of. I won't deny that I feel tremendous guilt about how I treated you, but that's not the reason I want you for my wife."

Afraid of what he would say next, she raised her head and said wearily, "I don't want to hear any more."

Ignoring her remark, he seated himself beside her on the rim of the fountain. "When I was twenty-one I loved you with all that was best in me," he said soberly. "At the time, I was frightened of how much I was in your power, because I loved you more than pride and honor."

He plucked several strands of grass and absently rolled them between his thumb and forefinger. "After I lost you, only pride and honor were left and I slid into all their traps. When I look back at the man I became, I don't much like him. If I was usually courteous, it was because it was beneath me to be rude. When I was sometimes arrogant, it was because being a duke gave form and structure to a life that was essentially meaningless." He turned and looked at her, his grave gaze holding hers. "You are what gives meaning to my life, Margot."

By exposing so much of himself to her, he was paradoxically making Maggie herself more vulnerable. Feeling more and more afraid, her gaze slid away so that he could not see her cowardice. "I don't want to be responsible for giving your life meaning."

"You don't have a choice." He twined the strands of grass around his finger like a ring. "It will be true whether we marry, or whether we never see each other again."

With every sentence, he was undermining more of her defenses. The horror of Gascony joined the separate fear she had felt when he proposed to her, creating a torrent of panic. Unable to conceal her feelings any longer, she cried, "I haven't the courage to try again, Rafe! The idea of risking myself with you terrifies me. Varenne's threat to blow my brains out was child's play by comparison."

The blades of grass snapped between his fingers. After a long silence, he said, "My life has been easy compared to yours, but I do know something about fear-I've spent the last dozen years living a life shaped by it. Because I didn't dare risk the kind of pain I felt after losing you, I kept life at a distance, never allowing myself to get close to a woman whom I might love."

"Then you should I understand how I feel. Give up, Rafe, please." Her breath was coming in raw, painful gasps and she knew that she should refuse to listen any longer. Yet she was utterly unable to make herself leave.

"Not until I'm convinced this is a hopeless case," he said, his tone adamant. "Admitting that I love you terrifies me, yet I must risk it because even pain is better than the emptiness I've known for the last dozen years."

He turned to her, his gaze compelling. "After the riot in the Place du Carrousel you said that the only thing stronger than fear is passion. But you're wrong." With gossamer tenderness, he brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. "It isn't passion, but love, that is stronger than fear. I love you, and I think that you must love me at least a little, or you would never have shared my bed. The love exists-give it a chance to heal the wounds of the past."

She yearned for what he was offering like a woman dying of thirst yearned for water. Yet she could not accept. Ever since Rafe had come to Paris, she had experienced one brutal shock after another, and the barriers she had erected for survival were collapsing. The storm of fear intensified to hurricane force, threatening to shatter her beyond any hope of healing.

There was only one form of solace that she trusted.

She slid along the marble fountain rim, then twined her arms around Rafe's neck and kissed him with desperate hunger. His calm demeanor fractured and he crushed her hard against him. In the fierce embrace that followed, her fear retreated a little, driven back by the molten madness of desire.

He unfastened the back of her gown and dragged the garment down to bare her shoulder. But instead of kissing her again, he stopped, his hands shaking. "We should be talking," he said unsteadily, "not pulling each other's clothes off."

She opened her dazed eyes. "Talking won't help, Rafe. Passion will-at least for a little while." She slid her hand down his torso until she felt a ridge of warm male flesh. He hardened instantly under her palm.

His breath caught. "Oh, God, Margot…"

Unable to withstand her, Rafe drew her willing body to the sun-warmed grass. Their limbs twined together and clothing was stripped away so that yearning flesh could be kissed and touched. Beyond fear, she gave a shuddering sigh of relief when he entered her in a swift, powerful act of possession.

But instead of proceeding to the blazing, inevitable conclusion, he became still, his arms trembling with strain as he throbbed within her. "Not yet, love," he gasped. "I haven't finished talking about fear. Life has taught you to be afraid, but it doesn't have to be that way. Let me love you."

"Isn't that what we're doing now?" Determined to draw him down into desire, she rotated her hips provocatively.

He involuntarily drove deeper, then caught his breath and eased back a little, sweat shining on his face. "This isn't love, it's sex-glorious and intoxicating, but not the same as making love."

"Stop talking about love!" Furiously she struck out at him, her nails raking his shoulders and chest.

He caught her wrists and pinioned them to the grass with gentle implacability. "I have to," he panted, "because it was the failure of love that sent us both off on such joyless, fearful paths."

"This isn't a bloody parliamentary debate, Rafe!" More than ever craving oblivion, she contracted her interior muscles in a ravishing caress.

He groaned and his head fell forward, his black hair tumbling damply over his eyes. She tightened again, and thought she had won when a violent tremor pulsed through him.

But once more his control defeated her. Raising his head, he said huskily, "Let me love you, Margot, for passion will never give you anything but temporary relief."

"Perhaps you're right," she whispered, inexplicably wanting to weep. "But passion… is safer than love."

He braced himself above her, his wide shoulders blocking the sun, filling the world so that there was nothing real but him. "Safe isn't good enough."

Unable to bear his probing gaze, she closed her eyes and tried feverishly to recapture the mindlessness of passion.

Sharply he ordered, "Look at me!"

Though she didn't want to obey, her eyes opened.

She was appalled to realize that she seemed to have no will of her own.

More quietly he said, "You deserve more than simple safety, Margot. You've already suffered the pains of loving-let yourself feel the joy."

Piece by piece, her defenses had been flaking away, and abruptly the last of them disintegrated, pitching her into a maelstrom of fear, pain, and anger. She had survived devastation by never allowing herself to fully experience the horror of the past, but now the memories swept over her with a ferocity that splintered her spirit. Her father's agonized death cry, and his blood spilling over her face. Clawing hands and the excruciating defilement that forever destroyed her innocence. Unspeakable acts that had been literally unimaginable to a sheltered eighteen-year-old girl.

She cried out with terror, desire vanishing as brutal sobs racked her to the core. She was cold, so cold, and absolutely alone…

Instantly Rafe released her wrists and enfolded her in his arms, using his body and spirit to shield her from the storm. "I love you, Margot!" he said urgently. "I always will. You don't ever have to be alone again."

She had known, in the very marrow of her bones, that if she ever faced the full horror she would die.

Yet she didn't. Rafe was around her, within her, his tenderness and strength protecting her, his forcefully repeated words of love a lifeline that saved her from annihilation.

Gradually the maelstrom of terror began to lose its power and her rasping breath eased. The past had not changed; her memories were still bitter, the scars still deep. Yet his love was dispelling the clouds of terror as inexorably as the sun burned off the morning fog.

Fear ebbed, leaving emptiness. Then slowly, like the flow of the tide, the hollowness at the center of her soul filled with love. The warmth of his caring banished the dark shadows and suffused her with light.

And with love came a rekindling of desire. It was not the desperate craving that had ruled her earlier, but a powerful upswelling of emotion in which love and passion were inseparable.

Though he had softened while holding her against the storm, they were still locked together as intimately as man and woman could be. She arched against him, letting her body speak to his. As passion rose again, she whispered, "I love you, Rafe."

He exhaled roughly as he moved into the primal rhythms of mating. There was no trace of the distance she had sensed in him the first time they made love. Now he was wholly with her, spirit as well as body.

As they tried to merge their separate bodies into one, his powerful thrusts created another storm, this one the white wind of desire. She cried out and clung to him as she spun out of control. Savage contractions blazed through her, searing outward from the place of their joining. Her cry was echoed by his heart-deep groan as he released his seed deep inside her.

The descent from ecstasy was slow, a swirl of tranquility and light. As her fragmented consciousness slowly returned, she found that Rafe was shaking as badly as she. She stroked his sweaty back until her breathing steadied. "How did you know that I felt so alone?" she murmured.

Rafe lifted himself on his elbows and studied her face, his strained expression revealing how much her emotional cataclysm had cost him. "Recognition, I suppose. When I looked back, I realized that fear of loss had made me withdraw from the hazards of deep emotion. Yet what I found was not safety, but loneliness. I guessed that it was the same for you."

"That's it exactly," she said slowly. "I never forgot what happened, yet I never let myself fully feel it, either. To survive, I had to retreat from the terror. By doing so, I cut myself off from everything-and everyone."

"You speak as if that's in the past."

"It is, because you wouldn't let me retreat this time. Thank you, Rafe." As she looked into his clear gray eyes, her mouth curved into a smile. "In case I didn't make myself clear earlier, I love you."

He returned the smile with entrancing warmth. "As I believe I mentioned forty or fifty times, I love you, too."

She laughed a little. "It appears that for once we are in agreement."

A shadow touched his face. "I'm sorry that I forgot myself so entirely that I didn't withdraw." He hesitated, then said, "I hope that… there won't be any unwanted consequences."

Joy blossomed within her, and a pleasing sense of female power. "Such consequences would not be unwelcome to me," she said serenely. "And surely you would like an heir."

He looked startled. Then, with dazzling suddenness, his face lit up, as radiant as the sun above them. "Does that mean you'll marry me?"

Tenderly she ran her fingers through his tousled hair. "If you're sure that you want a lady with a shady past, there is nothing I would like more than to be your wife."

"If I'm sure!" Laughing, he caught her in his arms and rolled onto his back so that she was sprawled on top of him. "I've never been more certain of anything in my life."

"You were right, Rafe. Love is stronger than fear, and it feels a whole lot better." She rubbed her cheek against his. "Bless you for being braver than I."

"It was a risk worth taking." He stroked her bare backside lovingly. "You were concerned that I would be unable to resist the charms of other women, but remember, it's said that a reformed rake makes the best husband."

She hesitated, then decided that there must be complete honesty between them. "Frankly, I've never believed that. I know that you meant what you said-but leopards and unchangeable spots come to mind."

"I have always liked women in direct proportion to how much they reminded me of you, but no one else has ever held a candle to the original Margot." He grinned. "Will you find it easier to believe me if I say that I have grazed in enough fields to know that the grass is not greener?"

"You've just convinced me." Laughing, she laid her head on his shoulder. "Why is it that an ignoble assertion is so much more persuasive than a noble one?"

"Human nature, I'm afraid."

As they lay languidly together, it occurred to Rafe that he'd better protect Margot from the sun, for her fair complexion would burn much more easily than his dark hide. Gently he deposited her on the luxuriant grass, then propped himself on one elbow so that she was shaded by his body.

"You were lovely by candlelight, and you're even lovelier in the sun." Delicately he touched one of the fading bruises on her ribs. In the last several days, it had gone from blue-black to yellow-olive. "I'll be glad when these have faded away." His voice tightened. "You're a miracle, Margot. What you survived would have destroyed anyone with less strength."

She caught his hand and clasped it to her heart. "Nothing is without value, love. From the day my father died until ten minutes ago, fear was a constant companion, as close as my own shadow. Yet curiously, I was not afraid of small things, because the worst that I could imagine had already happened. In most ways I became stronger, capable of actions that would have been unthinkable earlier. That's why I could be an effective spy."

He kissed her forehead. "My indomitable countess and soon-to-be-duchess."

Hesitantly she said, "I have a request."

"Anything," he said simply.

She considered a dozen ways to express what she meant before saying, "Robin is my family. He always will be."

Rafe gave her a wry smile. "And you don't want me to act like a jealous, possessive idiot of a husband. Fair enough. I like and respect Robin enormously. If I work on it a bit, I think I'll be able to convince myself that he's your brother. He will always be welcome in our home, and I genuinely hope that he is a frequent visitor. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

"Yes, my love." A silky object pressed sensually along her side, and she looked down to see that Rex had decided that it was safe to sprawl along her bare flank. With a grin, she asked, "How about Rex?"

Rafe laughed. "He's welcome, too. Every household needs a tomcat, and now that I've reformed…"

Her joyous laughter chimed through the garden as she lifted her face to Rafe's, running her fingers through his black hair, molding her body against him in the sheer delight of closeness.

As their lips joined again, she had a fleeting moment of gratitude that this garden was so very private. They had a lot of years to make up for.