Tom stood in the doorway, suddenly uncertain. For the past few hours he had been tortured, listening to talk of Nell from Mrs Godwin—how pale she was, how ill she looked, how shocking it was that she had suffered such ill-effects after turning her ankle during a short walk.
The guests had no reason to question this version of the story, stating only that she should have taken a maid to accompany her.
Tom had endured praise for his part in finding her and returning her to Wyatt House. He had brushed this away, feeling like the lowest sinner who had ever lived.
He desperately wanted to see her, to apologise, to try somehow to convey his sense of shame. Now—this moment—would be his best chance.
There she was, in the bed that was also his, looking up at him with those beautiful autumn eyes. Her magnificent hair was unbound, and she was clad in nothing but a fine nightgown. He groaned inwardly, then pushed away his body’s reaction. His task was to reach her soul. In this moment the needs of his body could only be a distraction.
She looked terribly pale, it was true, and yet to him she was the essence of beauty. He was lost for words, momentarily overwhelmed with relief that she was truly still alive.
‘Mr Beresford!’
Her tone was polite, easy, restrained—just as if she was not in a bed en deshabillé.
‘So nice of you to visit me.’ From her tone, they might have been in a drawing-room.
He stepped forward, his eyes sweeping over her, noting the bandaged hands. A pained expression flitted across his face as he felt the force of her injuries.
‘Well?’ she asked, tilting her head to one side. ‘You wish to speak to me?’
This is the moment. Do not fail.
He stepped inside, closing the door behind him. ‘Yes. I would like the opportunity to explain some things to you. If you are well enough for such a conversation?’
‘I am listening.’
Her expression was closed, with nothing of warmth in it. Well, why would there be, when he had behaved so badly towards her?
There was an upright chair beside the bed. His bed. He sat, then hesitated.
‘It begins,’ he offered—then stopped, frowning. ‘It truly begins when I was five and my mother died.’
Her eyes widened briefly. ‘Go on.’
‘I have told you some of it. My brother and I were sent to boarding school, where we basically lived for the next ten or twelve years. We saw our papa once or twice a year, but there was no warmth from him.’ He remembered Nell’s mama’s portrait. ‘You had a loving mama for a long time.’
Her expression remained guarded. ‘I did.’
‘My father had gambled away most of the family fortune by the time my brother reached his majority, and when the old man died of fever we discovered he had also run up significant debts.’
Nell was frowning now. ‘I see. That must have been very difficult for you both.’
‘We made a vow.’ He gazed sightlessly at the window, recalling that moment. ‘We declared we would not rest until we had paid off every one of those debts and rebuilt the family’s wealth.’ He looked at her again. ‘And we have done it.’
Her lip curled slightly. ‘Your business ventures?’
‘Yes. We sold a small estate that was to have been mine, though we kept the hunting box. The family estate is entailed. We had to sell some of the remaining stock in the funds, but instead of using it to pay off the most pressing debts we bought a ship.’
‘A ship?’
Now she looked intrigued. He hoped she was intrigued.
‘We sent it to Brazil, with a cargo of manufactured goods, and it returned with raw materials. Thankfully it did not sink, and we made enough from that one expedition alone to pay my father’s creditors. And we kept going. Ships, goods, property... My brother and I are now two of the wealthiest men in England.’
She looked decidedly unimpressed. ‘Mr Beresford, is there a point to any of this?’
‘Yes. Yes, there is.’ His heart had begun to thump rather loudly. ‘When I came here, it was with the intention of persuading your stepmother to sell Wyatt House to me.’
‘As a place of entertainment, to sweeten your business deals.’ Her tone was flat.
‘Yes. And there is nothing wrong with that. I have never cheated anyone or stolen anything. But my work includes a need to be persuasive at times.’
Nell tilted her head to one side, considering this. He could see her lively mind turning it over, could see that, despite his cruelty towards her, she was honouring him by giving him a fair hearing.
He took a breath. ‘But something unexpected happened here.’ Now he had her full attention. ‘You.’
‘Me?’
‘I was drawn to you from the first—and in a way I had never experienced before. I believe you understand me?’
She remained impassive.
‘We kissed in the copse, and then again downstairs. At midnight, under the mistletoe.’
Nothing. Not a flicker of emotion pierced her mask of impassivity.
‘Afterwards I went to my chamber—to this very room—feeling as though I had been charged by an unbroken horse.’
There! Something flashed in her eyes, just for a moment.
‘And we talked. Each time we walked together you honoured me by revealing more of yourself.’
He talked on—of how he had pieced together her journey from a happy life with her papa, through to Beatrice’s arrival and her father’s death.
‘I felt every day of it in my own heart,’ he finished. ‘I learned to know and love everything about you—your indomitable spirit, your kind heart, even your wit.’
Her eyes softened a little at this, but still she sat unmoving, a vision of remote beauty. ‘Pray continue.’
‘Then came yesterday—New Year’s Eve. I rode out across the fields in turmoil. I did not understand what was happening inside me.’ He stabbed at his own chest. ‘Never had I been so lost, so frightened.’
‘Yes, you had,’ she countered.
He felt puzzlement crease his brow.
‘That is how you felt when your mama died,’ she said softly.
He closed his eyes tightly, screwing up his face against the pain of it. ‘Yes,’ he managed.
Once he had regained a little self-control, he continued.
‘I resolved to buy the house and run away. Never to see you again. Never to feel these feelings inside me. To regain control of my heart, and my mind, and my spirit.’
‘So you spoke to Beatrice?’
He nodded. ‘I was shocked to discover the house was yours. All my supposed business talent has been entirely absent since I met you. I had not even properly established the basic facts! This is how you have changed me.’
‘Not for ever, I hope.’
What does that mean?
‘Now to my second confession. You called me a fake and a charlatan. You were correct. Because last night, when I talked of the house and blocked out my heart, I was wearing a mask. I was lying to you, and to myself. After you left I realised I was fighting an unnecessary war and I admitted the truth.’
‘Which is?’
‘That I love you. I cannot live without you. When I was looking for you in the snow—’ His voice cracked. ‘Nell, I was in an agony of spirit. If you had died, I would not have lived without you.’
He searched her face. Slowly she lowered that curtain in her mind—the one that had prevented him from seeing her thoughts. Her eyes were shining, and a slow smile grew on her face.
His heart leapt, and he dared to gently take her hand. ‘Nell! You feel it too?’
She nodded, turning her face up for his kiss.
This kiss was different from the ones they had shared before. The passion was there, but this time it was carefully banked. This kiss sealed their future together. Acknowledged their love. Marriage, soon. Children, hopefully. Never being alone again. Ever.
‘Nell...’ he murmured again. ‘Nell.’