Valentine

Chapter Sixteen

Sylvester watched his guest out of sight, then turned back to the house, a slight frown between his brows. Edward Fairfax had shown no sign of having heard of the scandal of Vimiera. But sooner or later he might hear of it from some friend at Horseguards.

The scandal would dog him to his dying day. The bleak recognition seemed harder to accept now than ever before. He went into the library and stood staring into the empty grate. Was he going to live in terror that his wife would hear of it? Hiding out in the sleepy Dorsetshire countryside, shaking and shivering every time some visitor from London crossed his path?

The sound of the door opening brought his head up. Theo stood in the doorway.

"What happened to you yesterday?" she asked without preamble.

"It's an old wound, that's all. It acts up occasionally."

"How?"

He dismissed the question with a brief gesture. "I get a headache, Theo. There's no need to discuss it further, there are more important matters to address."

She was not satisfied, but it seemed it was all she was going to get. Again she reflected that there was so much about his life he refused to discuss.

But what did it matter? Why should she care what happened to him? Or what had happened to him in the past? Her face was set, the expression in her eyes that of someone who didn't know whether she was hunter or hunted.

"Lock the door," Sylvester instructed.

"Lock it? Why?"

"Because I don't wish to be disturbed. You may leave the key in the lock, however. I don't intend to keep you in here against your will."

"That makes a change," she said with heavy sarcasm, turning the key and stepping away from the door.

Stoneridge was leaning against the big mahogany table in the center of the room, his legs crossed at the ankles, his hands resting on the edge of the table. His eyes were quiet and assessing as they rested on her tense face.

Poor little girl, he caught himself thinking. The compassionate reflection startled him, he was so used to feeling he had to meet her as a combatant, never giving an inch, even when they were in charity with one another. But she was so very young and vulnerable in her uncertainty and her hurt. Somehow he must lead them through this thorny thicket, ignoring her barbs, treating them as the desperate defenses they were.

"Come here, Theo," he said, holding out his hands.

She made no move, merely stood in the middle of the room, her arms crossed over her breast. She had on one of the holland smocks she wore when she went racketing around the estate on her gypsy pursuits, her bare feet thrust into open sandals, her hair in two thick plaits hanging over her shoulders.

He pushed himself away from the table and seized her hands, pulling them away from her breast as he drew her toward him.

He cupped her chin, turning up her face, and a quiver ran through the slender frame, an instinctive response to a gesture that always preceded his lips on hers. He ran his flat thumb over her lips in another familiar gesture, and he saw the light change in her eyes.

"No!" she exclaimed, trying to turn her head aside. "I won't let you confuse things."

He ignored her protest, bending his head to take her mouth with his, his free hand running down her back, lingering on the curve of her hips. He pressed her against the rising heat in his loins and felt her breath quicken against his mouth.

"Don't do this… I don't want this." It was a low-voiced plea as she tried to pull away from him.

He held her steady, saying with soft assertion, "I know that you do."

And she did. Despite everything, she did want this. She told herself she loathed him, and yet it was as it always was. She was reveling in his strength holding her, in the heat and the power of his body, the scent of his skin, a mixture of earth and sun overlaying the lingering tang of soap from his morning's shave.

And deep down inside a part of her cried out for him to make her understand, to show her how to make sense of this misery and her dreadful confusion. She didn't want to loathe him, she wanted to feel warm and loving and to open herself to the warmth and love she had sensed in him. She wanted to believe again in that warmth and sensitivity, believe again that there was something essential in her self that he responded to.

But her hurt was still powerful, and she ignored the tiny voice, trying to withstand the insidious creeping arousal that would sweep all protest, all outrage, all rational thought from her mind and her soul. "You promised," she said. "You promised you wouldn't take advantage of this."

"I promised you a partnership," he said, drawing up her skirt so that his hands were on the bare skin of her thighs. His eyes held hers, piercing the midnight-blue depths as if they would see the secrets of her soul. "I want you as you want me, Theo."

She was about to sink into the warm liquid world of desire, to acknowledge the truth of what he said, to throw caution to the four winds and yield to this pulsing excitement; and then it hit her anew – what he'd done to her, what he'd taken from her.

"No!" She swung one leg sideways, catching him behind the knees as she brought both hands up and pushed against his chest. Sylvester felt himself toppling backward, but he had a fistful of her skirt in one hand and he yanked hard as he fell. The skirt tore, but he managed to hook the back of her calf with the crook of his elbow, and she overbalanced, landing on top of him on the carpet.

"Goddamned gypsy!" he exclaimed, but his eyes were smoky with passion.

He wrapped both arms around her, securing her arms at her back as he rolled over until she was pinned beneath him, lying on her hands. He scissored her legs with his own, and then, satisfied that she was immobilized, kissed her, driving deep into the sweet moistness of her mouth. For a second she resisted, her body tensing as if she thought she could throw him off, and then she yielded, her mouth opening beneath his plunging tongue, as her soul ceased to be a battlefield and desire reigned supreme.

Her ripped skirt was caught up beneath her, and her bare legs moved urgently against his. He slipped his hands between their bodies, raising himself slightly so he could grasp the waistband of her drawers. The flimsy material tore as he yanked downward, and Theo gasped against his mouth and bit his lip. He tasted blood and for a second raised his head. Her eyes were open, wild now with passion, and she was in a world far from this one. Her tongue ran over her own lips, licking away a bead of his blood.

"What a savage little animal you are," he said roughly, his eyes glittering with satisfaction, his swift fingers deft on the fastening of his britches. Her hands were still pinned beneath her, her legs still caught between his so that only her head was free to move, but he could read only an ungovernable excitement in her eyes and the set of her mouth as he pushed a hand beneath her buttocks. A fingernail rasped against the rich damask-soft curve as he lifted her on his palm to meet the thrust of his turgid flesh.

And when he was deep within her and she was watching his face, losing herself in his eyes as he was buried in her body, he began to speak softly.

"I'm not going to apologize, Theo. I'm not responsible for your grandfather's plots, but he knew perfectly well that Stoneridge and the title are nothing without the estate. And he wanted his son's blood to inherit his estate. If it had been divided among the four of you, it would have been almost impossible to administer. An estate can't have four owners and still prosper. This was his way of resolving all those conflicts. I'm no better and no worse than the next man, Theo, and I promise you that no man worth his salt would have turned his back on such an opportunity."

He ran his flat palm over her face in an all-encompassing caress that was also an assertion of possession. "Particularly when the prize was a wonderful, passionate gypsy."

His words punctured Theo's world of self-absorbed arousal as they'd been intended to, but she was too far up her mountain, too close to the peak, for them to send her all the way back to the bottom and the cold, clear lake of reality.

He watched her expression, the faint protest forming in her eyes, and he began to move, stroking gently within her, stoking the fires of passion again, feeling her tighten around him, the deep translucent glow appearing on her skin as her pleasure built.

"This is what's important," he said. "It's been like this between us, Theo, from the first moment. I felt it even before I knew who you were. Even when you were resisting me, you felt this, didn't you?"

She closed her eyes as if to hide her responses from him, and he chuckled softly. "False pride, gypsy. There's nothing wrong with admitting it. Tell me, Theo. You felt this, didn't you?"

Her tongue touched her lips, and her head moved in slight but definite affirmative.

"Open your eyes, love," he insisted, withdrawing to the edge of her body, holding himself there, watching the mobile features beneath him. Her eyes shot open and were filled with the surprised wonder that always flooded her, as if every time the sensations were unique.

Slowly, very slowly, he sheathed himself within her again. Her loins leaped against his thighs and her internal muscles rippled around his flesh. He stopped her mouth with his own, stifling the cry of joy that had no place emerging from the sunny library on a Wednesday morning.

He fell heavily upon her under the surging torrent of his own climax, forgetting that her arms were still pinned beneath their bodies, and for a moment, still lost in sensate bliss, Theo wasn't aware of the discomfort.

Finally he rolled sideways, gathering her to him, holding her head against his chest, stroking her hair, as the violent pounding of his heart slowed.

Theo lay still against him, her numbed arms and hands prickling as the blood flowed into them again. Her body was deeply at peace, brimming with fulfillment, but her thoughts were as torn and disheveled as her clothes.

His words replayed in her head. He wouldn't apologize for manipulating and deceiving her, because according to his view he'd had no choice. He was telling her that Stoneridge couldn't have survived with four owners. The estate manager in her acknowledged that truth, but she would have kept the management of all their inheritances in her own hands… wouldn't she? If it was up to her sisters, of course, she would have. But they would have husbands… strangers who might have different ideas.

She had a sudden image of herself, a crabbed spinster, squabbling with her sisters' husbands, sowing family dissension over a meadow.

She stirred in his arms, a restless movement of acute mental discomfort, and Sylvester traced the line of her turned cheek on his chest. "Let's hear it, my love."

"You've taken so much from me," she said in a low voice, pushing up against his chest so she was sitting sideways beside him. "By trickery. How can you expect me to pretend that didn't happen?"

"You've lost your independence," he said consideringly, "but marriage has taken that from you, Theo, not I – and you agreed to this marriage of your own accord."

"I believed I would be benefiting my sisters by marrying you, and that wasn't the case."

Sylvester sat up. "No, it wasn't," he agreed evenly. Her hands were making impossible knots in her lap, and he took them between both of his. "Listen to me. When I first came here, I intended to marry one of you. I assumed it would be Clarissa because she was the elder. Your mother said very firmly that Clarissa and I would not suit." A slight smile touched his lips, and his grip tightened on her hands. "I certainly wouldn't dispute that. But you and I, Theo, do suit."

"When did you decide that?"

"From the very first," he said, releasing her hands and taking her chin. "From the first curse you threw at my head, gypsy." He laughed softly, running his thumb over her mouth. "Such a tempestuous, fiery, combative creature you are. And I wouldn't have you any other way."

She wanted to believe that. Oh, how she wanted to believe it.

"If you'd wanted me for myself, why didn't you simply tell me the truth and court me for myself?"

Sylvester shook his head, and a flash of exasperation appeared in the gray eyes. "My dear girl, be realistic. A Gilbraith taking over your beloved manor! You'd have laughed in my face and sent me about my business without a backward glance."

He stood up and refastened his britches, looking down at her as she continued to sit amid her ruined garments.

"You may have lost your independence, Theo, but so, to a large extent, have I."

Theo looked doubtful. "I don't see how that works. It seems women give up everything and men simply gain everything." She rose to her feet, gathering her tatters around her.

Sylvester ran a hand through his crisp curls and over the back of his neck. "One day I hope that you'll feel you've gained much more than you've lost," he said finally.

Theo, her hand on the key in the lock, paused as if she would say something; then quietly she unlocked the door and left.

A heavy silence fell like a pall at her departure. Sylvester poured himself a glass of madeira and sat in a chair beside the hearth, where a copper jug of golden chrysanthemums blazed in the place of a fire. He'd won a victory, but it was hardly conclusive, and he'd used a weapon he'd promised himself he wouldn't use against Theo again. He'd sworn he would use her passion only for their shared pleasure. But surely there was a greater good to be served here…

"Lady Belmont, my lord." Foster spoke from the library door, and Elinor entered, her face shaded by the wide brim of her straw hat.

"This is an unexpected pleasure, ma'am." Stoneridge moved forward, hand outstretched in welcome, wondering what would have happened if his mother-in-law had arrived half an hour earlier to find her daughter behind a locked door in the throes of passion on the library floor. Knowing Elinor, she'd have slipped quietly away, and they'd have been none the wiser. The thought brought a flicker of amusement, lightening his somber mood.

"I trust I'm not intruding," Elinor said pleasantly, taking his hand.

"Not at all," he said. "Theo is upstairs, I believe. Foster will let her know you're here. May I offer you a glass of madeira?"

"Thank you." Elinor turned to the butler. "I'll go up and see Lady Theo in a minute, Foster. There's no need to disturb her. I wish to have a word with Lord Stoneridge first."

Sylvester raised an eyebrow as he turned to the decanter, wondering what could be behind this tete-a-tete. "Ma'am." He placed a glass on the small table beside the chair where Elinor had seated herself.

"Thank you." She drew off her gloves in a businesslike fashion. "I'll come straight to the point. I have it in mind to go to London for the coming Season. Thanks to your generosity…" She inclined her head as she sipped her madeira. "Thanks to your generosity over the girls' dowries, I am well able to afford a come-out for Emily and Clarissa. Emily should have been presented two years ago, but with her grandfather's illness it wasn't possible."

"No, of course not," Sylvester murmured, taking a seat opposite her, wincing at this reference to his generosity. At least Theo wasn't around to hear it. "Would you wish to open Belmont House? I should be delighted to put it at your disposal, of course…"

"Good heavens, no," Elinor said. "I wouldn't dream of expecting to be a charge on you, Stoneridge. I shall hire a suitable house for myself and the girls. Lawyer Crighton shall see to it for me. But it's Theo I wish to discuss with you."

He frowned. "You wish her to accompany you?"

Elinor replaced her glass on the table. "I was hoping to persuade you to take her yourself. She should be presented at court, and while, of course, I'll sponsor her, it would be more appropriate if she were under her husband's roof." She sat back, watching his reaction, her expression hidden by her hat brim.

Sylvester's mind whirled. To go to London. To face the turned shoulders, the raised eyebrows, the whispers.

To face them and face them down. Either that or he must hide out in this backwater for the rest of his life, waiting in dread for his dishonor to catch up with him. Waiting in dread for his dishonor to be revealed to his wife. Without a wife… without such a wife as Theo… he could have lived with his private shame, as he had done for the last year. But now it was different.

Neil Gerard's face, as it had been at the court-martial, rose in his mind's eye. Neil had averted his gaze, and Sylvester had assumed it was his friend's embarrassment. Gerard couldn't in honesty clear his old friend's name, so he was evasive. And Sylvester had read his own guilt in that evasion and had turned his own head aside to spare Neil further discomfort.

He'd avoided Neil after the court-martial. The one occasion they'd met, his erstwhile friend had given him the cut direct in public, and he hadn't been prepared to court a repetition of that mortification. Like the coward he'd been labeled, he'd fled the scene of his shame. But how long was he to go on in this fashion?

"Lord Stoneridge?" Elinor's soft voice broke into his reverie. She was looking puzzled, and he realized he'd been silent for a long time.

He rose to his feet, crossing to the sideboard to refill his glass. "It wouldn't hurt that ramshackle hoyden to acquire a little town bronze, ma'am," he said with a smile.

Elinor laughed. "My thinking exactly. So you'll open Belmont House for the Season."

"I bow to your judgment, Lady Belmont. But I think I'll leave you to persuade Theo. I don't see her embracing the idea with enthusiasm – she's too wedded to Stoneridge and its affairs."

"Very true," Elinor said briskly. "But her sisters will be most persuasive, and as long as we have your support…" She stood up, drawing on her gloves again.

"You have it for what it's worth," he said wryly.

"Then I'll go and tackle her at once."

Sylvester bowed his mother-in-law from the library and then stood in frowning thought, wondering what he'd let himself in for. Theo would wonder why her husband was a social pariah. She would hear the rumors…

If only he could remember what had happened that day at Vimiera, if only he could prove the rumors false once and for all. There had to be another explanation for what had happened. And there had to be a way to discover the truth.