The emerald of her eyes darkened. She looked at him for a long moment, then, swallowing, she lifted her chin. “Love is not something one can promise.”
She turned and left him, the skirts of her peignoir trailing behind her.
Chapter 17
Love was something that came slowly, on silent feet. Something that crept up on a man unawares and took him prisoner. She’d said she felt like a prisoner now-she was a captive, did she but know it, to the love that had him in its grip. Neither he nor she could break free. Not now.
It was too late for second thoughts. Too late to take evasive action. Once love struck, it was an incurable disease. Ineradicable.
He’d accepted that, finally, not without a fight, but the long hours of the previous night when he’d held her tight against him had revealed a reality far more absolute than he’d believed could be.
Love simply was. It asked no permissions, required no decisions. It lived. It lived in him.
Gyles’s thoughts ran on as he stood beside his tallboy and unbuttoned his shirt. Wallace came back in; sitting in a chair, he allowed him to pull off his boots. Gyles remained in the chair, his gaze fixed, unseeing, across the room.
What to do? The memory of her eyes just before she’d turned and left him was etched in his mind. He could eradicate that look with three little words, reinstate her glorious smile. He could tell her, and then try to work out some framework of existence, together. Was that wise? Could he trust her?
One small corner of his mind whispered yes, the rest of him ran screaming at the thought. Trust a woman with his heart, with the key to his defenses? Give her the ability to destroy him? The concept ran deeply against his grain; if the barbarian was absolute in protecting her, he was equally committed to protecting himself.
There had to be some other way. He rose. Dragging his shirt from his waistband, he continued unbuttoning it.
The terms of their marriage-the terms he’d specified-rang in his mind. She’d given him all he’d wanted. All except…
The truth hit him, rocked him.
His gaze shifted to, then focused on the connecting door. Muttering a curse, he strode across, opened it, stepped through. Remembering Wallace, he shut it behind him.
It took a moment to locate her in the moon-streaked dimness. She was on the other side of the bed, in an armchair pulled to face the window. She flicked him a glance. As he rounded the bed, he saw her surreptiously dab at her eyes.
He stopped behind the chair. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
She glanced back and up at him. “Tell you what?”
Her voice was thick, her puzzlement genuine.
He set his jaw. “You’re pregnant.”
Her wide-eyed look told him she’d known, but had, at least momentarily, forgotten. She twisted to partially face him. “I… wasn’t sure. It’s only been a few weeks…”
They’d been married seven weeks.
The clash of his emotions was so powerful he swayed, physically shaken, emotionally at sea. The future had just become so much more dangerous-so much more precious. To him.
What did it mean to her?
The huge eyes that stared up at him, green even in the poor light, were overbright. She was watching him, waiting…
He couldn’t think. His mind was streaking in a dozen directions, panicked, reeling. He had to keep her safe, had to take her out of danger. He looked into her eyes. He couldn’t explain-couldn’t find the words, couldn’t force them past the vise locked about his heart. Couldn’t face his vulnerability. He’d let her think he was rejecting her. If he now asked for her company, would she reject him? Possibly. If he ordered her, would she go? No. Yet he had to get her away. Had to.
He drew in a huge breath, mentally girded his loins. Curtly, he nodded. “I’ll be leaving for London in the morning.”
Her lips parted in shock. Then her breasts swelled; her gaze kindled. “Indeed? Am I to take it you’re invoking our agreement?”
“Yes.” The shadows hid his deception. “We go our separate ways.” He turned as if to recross to his room.
“Wait!” The word resonated with fury, hot now, not cold. He turned back as she scrambled from the chair. “If you’re going to London, then so am I!”
He held his breath, searched for the right tone. “I wasn’t aware you had any acquaintances in town.”
“I’m looking forward to making some.” Her voice purred with anger. She tilted her chin. “I’m sure there’ll be many eager to befriend your countess.”
He managed not to react. Managed to coldly incline his head. “As you say.”
He thought he heard her teeth grind. “I do say!” She flung her hands in the air. “I’ve offered you more than you required, more than you looked for in our marriage. I’ve been understanding and patient-how patient I’ve been!”
She started to pace, flinging words at him. “I have not made demands, I have not pressed you-I’ve waited, self-effacing, for you to come to your senses! And have you? No! You set your path-designed our marriage-before you even met me. Yet although the potential’s far greater than you imagined, will you rescript your views? No! You’re too pigheaded to change your mind, even when it’s in your best interests!”
Her skirts whirled as she rounded on him, eyes afire, hands dramatically flying. “Very well! If you’re so insensible as to turn your back on what might be, so be it! Go back to London and your scintillating mistresses! But I won’t be left here, immured in your castle. I’m coming to London, too-and I fully intend to enjoy myself as I please.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “What’s sauce for the gander is sauce for the goose.”
She didn’t wait for an answer but swung away. Fury shimmered in the air about her. She halted, her back to him. Folding her arms, she stared at the window.
Gyles let a moment pass-it would be unwise to agree too quickly-then said, coldly and evenly, “As you wish. I’ll give orders that you’ll accompany me tomorrow.”
Throughout her tirade, he’d held to the shadows. He’d schemed and got what he wanted, what he needed-and rather more besides. The story of their marriage.
He heard her sniff. Without turning, she inclined her head in haughty agreement. Face set, he crossed to the door to his room. Opening it, he saw Wallace, waiting patiently.
“Her ladyship and I will leave for London as early as possible tomorrow. We anticipate taking up residence in the capital for the immediate future. See to it.”
Wallace bowed. “Indeed, sir.” He considered for only a moment. “I believe we can be ready to depart by eleven o’clock.”
Gyles nodded. “You may go-I won’t need you again tonight.”
Wallace bowed again. Gyles watched him go, then turned-and discovered Francesca close beside him. He shut the door. “Satisfied?”
They were close, face-to-face in the dimness. She rose on her toes, bringing their faces closer still. Her expression was belligerent; banked anger lit her eyes. “Rawlingses are so very stubborn.”
Her eyes, narrowed, held his for an instant, then she flung away, crossing the room in a glide of swishing silk.
His own eyes narrowing, Gyles watched her go, replaying her words, then he realized.
She was a Rawlings, had been born a Rawlings, too.
Releasing the doorknob, he followed her to her bed.
She’d risked a lot on a stubborn man changing his mind.
As she sat in the swaying carriage the next day, Francesca had ample time to dwell on that fact. To consider all she’d risked-her future happiness, indeed her life, for she was too deeply committed, now, to draw back. She’d placed her heart on the scales in allowing herself to fall in love with him; that was done and could not be undone.
It wasn’t just her future, either, but his, too, if only he would acknowledge it. She was sure he saw the truth, but getting him to admit it, act on it? There lay the rub.