"You think I am honorable, do you? You don't even know me."
She bristled. "I know enough."
"No, you do not. All you know is one night four years ago when I led a few horses out of a bog, and more recently a week of good sex. Trust me, neither one of those things was terribly difficult, especially with you waving that diary in front of my face. What you do not know is that in reality I am a man who would betray his own brother, but more importantly, a man who could lead a woman to believe he could keep her safe, then cause her death. Maybe you would have been better off with this Rushton fellow."
She stiffened and said nothing for a long moment. "Who are you talking about? What woman?"
He almost enjoyed the surprised look on her face. The realization that she might not be so right about him after all, that she had in fact married a stranger. Because that's what they were. Strangers. She was certainly a stranger to him.
"There, you see?" he said. "You have no idea what I'm talking about, and I suppose since we are now man and wife, and secrets and lies are being revealed, it's time you heard the whole story."
Chapter 15
Rebecca fought the sickening jolt of regret in her stomach. She had wrecked it. She had wrecked everything. He was disenchanted with her now, and it was all her fault. She should have told him sooner. She should not have come here planning and conniving to hook him into marrying her, like some sort of devious fugitive. She should never have encouraged him to make love to her before any promises were made. In that regard, she had indeed forced his hand.
She walked to the bench and sat down, clasped her hands together on her lap. She supposed he was right in one other respect. They did not know each other very well. Maybe she had been in love with a fantasy hero-because in all her romantic dreams of him, there had never been any other women in his life. There had only been the two of them, as if the outside world did not exist.
It truly had not existed for her while she'd lived secluded in her father's house, safe from danger, wrapped up cozily in her daydreams. The only time there had been any threat to her dreams was when she learned she was to marry Mr. Rushton.
And since she'd arrived here, she'd always felt like the only woman in Devon's life. He had made her feel that way with his attentive behavior and constant flirtations. They had never once discussed his personal life before her arrival here, or what he had been doing in America for three years. It was as if they were living in a bubble. For all she knew, he, too, could have been engaged or even married. Perhaps he was still in love with this woman he had just mentioned, who was now dead. Perhaps she had been the great love of his life and he would always love her.
She felt slightly nauseated at the thought.
Devon sat down beside her on the bench, then spoke with a strange show of pleasure, as if he enjoyed proving how wrong she had been about him.
"The woman I am referring to," he said, "was Vincent's fiancee."
Vincent's fiancee. The nauseous feeling in her stomach swelled. "And she died," Rebecca said.
He nodded.
"Is that why you and he do not get on well?"
"That is an understatement. My brother despises me, and for good reason, which is why I cannot hate him in return, despite his many attempts to make it so."
"What reason does he have to despise you? What happened?"
He looked directly at her and spoke without emotion. "His fiancee, MaryAnn, was in love with me."
She swallowed uncomfortably and squeezed her hands together so tightly, she could feel her nails digging into the skin. "Did this happen before they were engaged, or after?"
He considered the question for a moment. "I only became aware of it after the engagement. I suppose it's a rather complicated story because there was a history between the three of us. MaryAnn's father was a lifelong friend of our father's, and we had known her since childhood, playing games on the estate. Vincent had always fancied her, and I knew it. I also knew she liked to pester me constantly, but I never thought anything of it until much later."
He stopped talking and gazed off in the other direction, as if he were recalling specific moments in time, those moments from childhood that gain clarity from years of reflection.
"How did she die?" Rebecca asked, wanting to steer him back to the point of all this.
"It was a week before their wedding," he said, "and she sent me a letter."
"Declaring her feelings?"
"She told me she could not marry Vincent when I was the one she truly loved and always had. She intended to call off the wedding and asked me to meet her at the treehouse beyond the lake, where we used to play hide-and-seek as children. I rode out there to convince her that she was making a mistake-that she would be better off with Vincent because he loved her and I did not. But it was a lie. I did have feelings for her, terrible passions that consumed me, and I didn't know what would happen when I got to the treehouse and was alone with her."
"What did happen?"
He sighed deeply. "I gave the letter back to her and told her it could never be. She cried and pleaded with me to return her feelings, and I was weak. I took her in my arms."
He bowed his head, and Rebecca sensed it was much worse than that. "Did you make love to her?"
He did not answer for a long time. "Certain things happened that I am not proud of. But when I realized what we were doing, I put a stop to it. She was very distraught and confused, so I attempted to bring her home to my brother."
Rebecca frowned. "Attempted?"
He stood up and walked away from her, but she did not rise. She waited patiently for him to return.
A moment later, he came back and sat down. "She was climbing down the treehouse ladder when she caught her skirts, fell to the ground, and injured her ankle."
"But that was not your fault," Rebecca told him, for she was anticipating the gist of all this.
"I realize that," he said. "I did what I could. I helped her up and carried her down the path and lifted her onto my horse, then we started back to the palace. She was in a great deal of pain and was urging me to hurry while she clung to my neck and cried and told me that she loved me, that I was the most extraordinary man she'd ever known, and that she knew I could take care of her better than anyone, including Vincent." He paused. "They were words that will haunt me until the day I die."
"Why?"
"Because that was the moment I wanted to be free of her. All I wanted was to get her back to the palace and deliver her to my brother, then turn around and disappear. I wanted her to forget me and realize that Vincent was the better man. He loved her and was devoted to her and wanted nothing more than to make her happy every day for the rest of his life, while I never really wanted to marry her. It killed me to think she preferred me, and that I had encouraged her affections. So I took a shortcut. I steered my horse off the path to travel through the woods and over a ridge. I should have known better."
"Why?"
"The hill was slick with mud because of the spring rains, which was not unusual. I knew I was taking a risk, yet I forged ahead, and even when Asher resisted and bucked against my commands, I ordered him on. All I knew was my impatience, my guilt, and my desire to get MaryAnn back to Vincent where she belonged. But Asher lost his footing and neither he nor I could gain control after that. The three of us started sliding backward down the hill, through the muck and slime, while Asher scrambled to stay on his feet. Then we all went down. My foot was tangled in a stirrup, MaryAnn was clutching onto me, and I watched as Asher rolled over her, crushing her body before he rolled over my leg and broke it."