He held her gaze, slowly arched one brow. “How do you plan to stop me?”
She frowned.
He went on, “I’ve no intention of letting you refuse my suit. I’ll keep after you, keep seducing you-you’ll have to agree in the end.” Resolution rang in his tone; to him there was no other option. “As for returning to the Hall, either with you in your father’s coach, or ahead of you in my curricle-either way, I’ll be there to hand you down.”
Still frowning, she looked down, staring at his waistcoat. A moment ticked past, then she looked up and met his eyes. “I won’t agree to marry you-I won’t acknowledge that I love you in any way. I can’t stop you from returning to the Hall, but I can speak with my father and make him understand why he must turn you away, and insist you return to London.”
The stony determination he saw in her eyes chilled him. “Why don’t you explain that to me?”
Her features tightened. “Very well. Think of this-I’ve loved, and lost twice to this murderer. First with Thomas, a young girl’s love, which was bad enough, and then with Mama-and that was devastating.” Her voice shook, her lashes flickered, but she drew breath and went on, lifting her eyes to his, the green and gold burning with a fire he took a moment to place, to recognize, “Now there’s you. This murderer is waiting at the Hall-we both know that. To love and lose a third time…”
Dragging in a breath, she shook her head. “No-I won’t risk it. If you understand at all, you won’t ask that of me.”
He held her gaze for a long moment, then quietly replied, “I do understand.” He reached for her hand, let his fingers slide over hers, then twine. Lock. “But I’m not asking you to love and lose a third time. I’m asking you to love, and have the courage to embrace it and fight for it, with me.”
She opened her mouth-he squeezed her fingers to silence her. “Before you argue, consider this-whatever you say, whatever you do, no longer matters. I know you love me-you’ve shown me you do-and I love you. I’ll follow you to the ends of the earth if need be, and badger you until you accept me as your husband.”
Her eyes searched his, then he sensed her inner sigh. “I know he tried to kill you-I know about the arrow.”
“Ah.” He held her gaze as perception swung, revolved, then settled again. He remembered the door to the stairs, left open by the footman who’d come to remove his shaving water; he’d been on his way to shut it when Barnaby had knocked on the other door. Suddenly all was clear.
She tried to tug her hand from his; when he didn’t let go, she glared at him. Belligerently. “When were you going to tell me? Never? But if we’re considering things, then you ought to consider this-if I loved you, I’d move heaven and earth to keep you from this madman.”
He searched her eyes, then he smiled.
Jacqueline’s heart melted; there was no charm in the gesture, no artful seduction, just an overflowing understanding, acceptance, and love. It glowed in the rich brown of his eyes, a light she couldn’t mistake, a light he made no effort to conceal.
He raised his free hand and cradled her cheek, tipping her face up so he could study her eyes more closely. When he spoke, it was with awe, as if he’d made some great discovery. “It’s not your heart you’re trying to shield by denying you love me-it’s me. You’re trying to protect me.”
Of course. “Perhaps. But-”
His smile deepened; he bent his head and kissed her.
She tried to hold aloof, apart, tried desperately to simply exist and not be swayed…and failed. A shuddering sigh escaped her, and she sank into his arms, parted her lips and welcomed him in.
And felt, again, the power rise between them, felt it swell and whirl and cocoon them. Felt it bind them, hold them, fuse them until they were not the same separate beings they once had been.
When he lifted his head, she was defeated-not by him, but by that power. He, too, seemed caught. When he spoke, his voice was raspy, gravelly. “I thank you for the thought, sweetheart.” He brushed a kiss to her knuckles, then met her eyes. “But that’s not how it’s going to be.”
For a long moment, she felt as if she was drowning in his eyes, then he said, “Timms said something, not long ago, when she was twitting me about love and my attitude to it. I can’t remember her words, but I remember her meaning: when it comes to love, what will be will be-it’s not up to us to decree.”
Those words were patently, self-evidently true. There was no point arguing. However…“I won’t agree to marry you.”
He held her gaze, then nodded. “Very well. If you insist, we won’t make the announcement yet.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. He met her look blankly. Unyieldingly. But she could be unyielding, too; if she gave in, even to a secret betrothal, he would use it to, as he would see it, protect her. “No, I am not agreeing. Not yet. Once we’ve exposed our madman, you can ask me again.” A memory stirred. “Knights who champion ladies can’t claim their reward until after the dragon is slain.”
His eyes narrowed; the look in them held more than a touch of hard arrogance, of his customary ruthlessness. His lips thinned, but then he nodded. “Very well.” He drew a deep breath, his chest swelling against her breasts. “We’ll take the portrait back to Hellebore Hall and, hand in hand, side by side, wait for the murderer to appear.”
But first they had a family dinner to attend, all the while concealing the complex web of emotions that, it seemed, hour by hour steadily grew, wove and twined more tightly, linking them ever more incontrovertibly.
He, of course, encouraged it, and she was helpless to prevent it.
They’d arranged to show the portrait in the drawing room; it stood in pride of place before the empty hearth. Before any others arrived, Minnie, Timms and Millicent stood in a semicircle in front of it-and simply stared.
Then Minnie turned to Jacqueline, and took her hand. “My dear, I confess I had no idea matters were quite so bad.” She glanced back at the portrait. “But I can see they are.” She looked up at Gerrard. “Dear boy, this is the best you’ve ever done-and for more than one reason.”
Timms gruffly concurred. “It conveys so much-there’s so much of you both in it-hopefully it’ll accomplish all you need.”
The doorbell pealed; guests started to arrive. Without exception, all were amazed and somewhat stunned by the portrait. Jacqueline’s head spun with all the comments, but she’d met everyone before, knew them, felt comfortable in their company, felt at home within their circle.
Despite all the portrait so eloquently revealed, although she did indeed feel her emotions exposed, she didn’t feel vulnerable. In part it was a matter of trust-of trusting all those around her-but it was also a reflection of the strength she drew from the light in Gerrard’s eyes when they rested on her, from the touch of his fingers lightly trailing her arm as he passed by.
Nothing occurred to mar the evening. The conversation about the dinner table was all about the portrait, of what others saw in it, of their hopes for it. Of the situation that awaited her, Gerrard, Millicent and Barnaby at the Hall, and how they planned to resolve it.
Warm wishes flowed all around them, but in the glances the men shared, Jacqueline read a seriousness, and a readiness to support in whatever manner was required, that was almost medieval. A rallying to the clarion call, a warriorlike response from elegant gentlemen who were clearly only one small step removed from their sword-wielding ancestors.
It was obvious that Gerrard was cut from the same cloth.
None of the men dallied about the table; all rose and followed the ladies back to the drawing room, back to the portrait. Powerful and evocative, it dominated the gathering.