Chapter Seventeen

“Gillian?” Jeremy frowned as he heard hoofbeats. He looked in their direction, and there, around the corner of the house, came Gillian, riding her pony at a sedate trot. Follett was beside her on his own mount, watching her with a sharp eye, but she apparently needed no such supervision. Gillian sat straight and tall, and her every movement bespoke confidence. She was riding. “My God,” he murmured. “My God, I didn’t think you’d do it.”

“Gillian did most of it,” Thea said, softly, so as not to distract her. “She’s a very brave little girl.”

“My God,” he said again, not taking his eyes from his daughter. “She was so scared. Did you ever find out why?”

Thea stole a quick look at him. “Yes. She saw the accident that killed her mother.”

Jeremy drew in his breath sharply. “Good God.” At that, he at last looked at Thea. She had done it. Thea, her face glowing with love and pride as she watched his daughter; Thea, who was made to be a mother but who, by a cruel irony of fate, never would be. He hadn’t forgotten the look on her face at Rochester when she had told him she couldn’t have a child. It didn’t matter. More than anything, he wanted her as his wife. “Good God, you did it.”

“Yes,” Thea said, and her voice sounded flat, now that Gillian had rounded a curve in the drive and disappeared from sight. She could let her guard down and admit to some of the other feelings Gillian’s accomplishment had brought her. She had ostensibly come to Moulton to teach Gillian to ride. Now she had, and she no longer had an excuse for staying. It was time to go. It was time to leave Jeremy.

“I did it, Daddy, did you see?” Gillian cried, running toward them. Jeremy stepped onto the drive, swinging her up into his arms. Thea, watching, swallowed past a lump in her throat. Father and daughter. For a time she had pretended that Gillian was hers, and that she would stay at Moulton forever, with Jeremy. Now that pretense was over. Jeremy would marry someone else, and she would be out of his life.

It hurt. Oh, how it hurt, more than it had when his engagement first had been announced. Now her last hopes had been shattered. She was nothing to Jeremy, nothing, not even his mistress. He’d made that clear. The irony was that, should he suggest it again, she would gladly become his mistress, in spite of her ideals, in spite of her child. Such was what she was reduced to. She loved him so much that she would take him on any terms whatsoever. It was not right, it would not even be particularly satisfying, but it was all she would have of him, and all she could ever expect.

Jeremy, his eyes sparkling with happiness, turned toward her as he set Gillian down. “Thea. I don’t know how to thank you.” He took her hand, and though she tried to pull free, he would not release her. “You’ve given me my daughter back.”

Thea smiled, acutely aware of the warmth of his hand on hers. Even this brief contact was welcome, sweet torture though it was. “She’s a lovely girl, Jeremy. You should be proud of her.”

“I am. And of you.”

“Daddy,” Gillian called, and Jeremy turned, at last releasing Thea’s hand. “Will you ride with me?”

“Yes, poppet.” He turned back to Thea. “We’ll talk more later.”

“Yes,” Thea said, and through a haze of tears watched father and daughter walk away. Her time here was done. Tomorrow she would leave, and when she next saw Jeremy, he would be married. The thought was too painful to bear.

Francis came out to stand next to her on the step. “Stanton must be pleased with you. Even Evadne is impressed.”

Thea blinked several times before turning to face him. “Evadne?”

“Excuse me. Miss Powell.”

“Mm-hm.” Thea turned to go back into the house. “I shall be leaving tomorrow, Fran. Will you escort me?” She would tell Francis the truth when they were away from Moulton. If she were to carry her charade off, she would need his help.

He followed her into the hall. “I say, that’s too bad of you, Thea! I’m not ready to leave yet.”

“Oh? I thought you were concerned about Linwood.”

“Dash it, Thea, you know that’s not why I came here! What does she see in him?”

“I don’t know, Fran.” She pushed her hair wearily away from her face. “What, for that matter, does he see in her?”

Francis looked at her sharply. “Like that, is it? I thought you had your chance already.”

“I did. More fool I.” She laid her hand on his arm. “We Thornes seem to be prodigious unlucky.”

“I haven’t given up, Thea. Not yet.”

“I fear I have.” She turned toward the stairs. “I’ll tell Stanton we’ll be leaving tomorrow.”

“Damn,” Francis muttered, turning toward the drawing room. Dashed poor-spirited of Thea, he thought. Well, he hadn’t given up. Perhaps he would have to leave tomorrow, but he would be back.

 

“Leaving!” Jeremy exclaimed, looking up sharply as Gregg handed him his coffee. Dinner was over and they had gathered in the drawing room for coffee and conversation.

“You’re leaving?” Evadne said at the same time, sounding startled.

“Yes.” Thea nodded, her head down. “I came here to teach Gillian to ride, and now she does.”

“You needn’t rush away, you know,” Jeremy said, his eyes never leaving her face. “Gillian is by no means an expert.”

“No, but she is more comfortable with Follett now.” Thea kept her eyes on her cup. “She’ll do well with him. And I’ve been away from Linwood long enough. I must return.”

“You’ll be staying, won’t you, Mr. Thorne?” Evadne asked, her tone casual.

“Afraid not, Miss Powell.” Francis threw her a smile meant to be both apologetic and reassuring. “I’ll be escorting my sister home.”

“Oh.” Evadne’s eyes dropped, too, at that bit of news. “I wish you a pleasant journey, sir,” she said, and rose, crossing the room to the pianoforte and listlessly turning the pages of the music on the stand. Jeremy watched her for a moment, and then turned his attention to his other guests.

“Are there problems at Linwood?” he asked, quietly, his eyes holding Thea’s.

Thea’s eyes dropped before that steady, almost accusing, gaze. She had to tell him, but how? “No, nothing serious, I believe. Francis has done well managing for me, but there are some matters I must see to myself.”

“And then?” Jeremy’s eyes shifted to Francis, who rose.

“It’s Thea’s stable, after all. Excuse me,” Francis said, and walked over to join Evadne. “Miss Powell.”

Evadne glanced up quickly, and then returned to the music, picking out a tune with one finger. “Sir?”

“You are looking uncommonly well tonight.”

“Thank you,” Evadne murmured, and turned a page of the music, seemingly so absorbed that Francis frowned. This was deucedly uncomfortable. Never before had Evadne been so discouraging. Was she glad he was going?

“Evadne,” he said, his voice low and urgent, “you do realize leaving tomorrow is not my choice?”

Evadne glanced swiftly up at him, and then away. “No, sir, I’m not certain of that at all.”

“Aren’t you?” There was a funny little smile playing around his lips, and it did strange things to her, making her heart pound faster. “Do you care?”

“Why, sir, why should I?” she said, tossing her curls.

Francis grinned. “Why, Evadne, because I—”

“Evadne,” Agatha called. “Play something for us.”

Evadne glanced toward her mother, and then back at Francis. “Will you stay?”

“I can’t,” he said, regretfully. “I’ve no choice. But I’ll—”

“Evadne! Play the Bach sonata you do so well,” Agatha commanded. “I’m sure we’d all enjoy hearing it.”

Evadne looked up at Francis again, searching his face, but his eyes were impenetrable. Oh, why had her mother had to interrupt just now? And why wouldn’t Francis defy them all? “I’m sorry, Mama,” she said abruptly, turning away from the pianoforte. “I have the headache.”

“Nonsense, girl, you never have headaches!”

“But I do tonight. Will you excuse me, sir?” she said, turning to Jeremy, who had risen. “I’d like to go to my room.”

“Of course, Evadne. The rest will probably help you.”

“Of course, sir,” Evadne murmured. Dropping a curtsy, she fled the room. In the hall, however, she turned, not to the stairs, but to the door, running lightly out onto the graveled drive. She had no intention of going to her room. Moulton Hall was too oppressive for her just now.

At first she had thought that Francis might follow her out, but after a few moments, it became obvious that he wouldn’t. What was wrong with him, she wondered, stamping her foot, and then wincing as a stone cut into the sole of her thin satin evening slipper. Of course she couldn’t encourage him, not when she was engaged to someone else, but surely she had given him enough clues as to her feelings? Even if she had teased him when he was trying to be serious, surely he realized how she felt? And yet, he was leaving tomorrow. He was hopeless! If she wanted to change her life, she would have to take matters into her own hands.

Walking with more purpose now, she climbed the drive on its winding path upwards, until she had reached the top of the hill. Dusk was beginning to fall, and so she would have just enough light to leave a message for Mr. DeVilliers. Since the first afternoon she had met him, she had managed to slip out to meet him many more times. Oh, there was nothing romantic about it; mysterious and dashing though he was with that scar, he was not at all what she would consider marrying. Why, he was quite old, and almost as dark as Stanton! Nor did he seem interested in her in that way. Rather, he listened to her when she poured out her misery and frustration at all that had happened. Stanton treated her as a child, and Francis was leaving, but Mr. DeVilliers gave her respect. She needed that now. Her heart was set on someone who would not come up to scratch.

Unwinding the silver ribbon that was threaded through her curls, she walked toward the oak tree. There she would tie the ribbon around the branch, a signal to Mr. DeVilliers that she wished to see him. As she neared the tree, however, someone stepped out of the shadows. Startled, she turned to run, and the man spoke. “Miss Powell.”

She turned. “Oh! Mr. DeVilliers!” she exclaimed, her hand flying to her heart. “Such a turn as you gave me!”

“My apologies, Miss Powell.” He bowed. “But what do you here at this time?”

“I could ask you the same thing, sir.”

“Spying on Stanton,” he said, his voice light, and went on as her eyes widened. “No, I was merely out for a ride before retiring for the night.” He gestured toward his horse, tethered nearby. “But come, Miss Powell, you look pale. Sit.” He led her to a fallen tree trunk, and sat beside her. “What has happened to overset you?”

“Nothing, sir.”

“No?”

“No, I—oh, sir it’s all so awful!” she exclaimed. The entire story tumbled out, then, her desire to free herself from Stanton, her feelings for Francis, the botched proposal and his subsequent reluctance to do anything. “I thought, when he came here that he was coming for me,” she finished, “but he’s leaving tomorrow.”

Something flickered in Roger’s eyes at the mention of Francis, and then was gone. “He is a fool, Evadne,” he said, patting her shoulder.

“Oh, sir, I knew you’d understand!”

“Yes, of course I do, child. Now, come, you must let me help you.”

“Oh, would you? I was hoping you would.”

“You may trust in me. What you must do, Miss Powell, is something that will make Mr. Thorne notice you.”

“Oh, yes!” Evadne leaned forward, her lips parted eagerly. “That is exactly what I want to do! But, how?”

Roger’s teeth flashed in a smile that looked devilish, a fancy Evadne immediately dismissed. “Well, child, there is something I’ve been thinking of.”

 

Jeremy sat down again after Evadne had left the room, and smiled at his guests, proposing a few hands of whist to pass the time. Sitting back with his cards, he mulled over the situation. Evadne clearly did not wish to marry him, and yet she was being pushed into it by her mother. Lord knew he didn’t wish to marry her, but if she didn’t break the engagement, he would have little choice. A gentleman could not in honor cry off, but what would happen if he didn’t care about honor? What if he decided to put happiness first, his own and others’? For he knew Evadne would not be happy with him, and he was certain he would not be, with her. And Thea was not meant to be alone. Oh, he would not come out of the affair well, he knew. He would be looked on as a cad, but he cared little for the opinions of others, not when his future was at stake. Tomorrow he would talk to Evadne.

Thea glanced around the room through the haze that had clouded her vision all day, looking at everything and avoiding Jeremy. She had not thought that even the thought of leaving would be so hard, though she knew she was doing the right thing. If he would say something, give her some sign—but he wouldn’t. He was betrothed. It was a bitter lesson, one she had finally to learn. He was a man of honor, and he would put his commitments first.

Thea remained in the drawing room until she could stand it no longer. Then, claiming early rising the next morning as an excuse, she went up to her room, where at last she could be alone with her unhappiness. Tears only left her feeling drained, however, and she was lying in bed, wretched and unhappy, when there was a light tap on the door.

She rose up on her elbow. “Come in?” she called. The door opened, and Jeremy, carrying a candle, stepped in. “Jeremy!”

“Shh.” He put his finger to his lips. “I need to talk to you, Thea.”

“But you shouldn’t be here!” she hissed, clutching the coverlet around her.

“You hardly gave me a chance to say anything downstairs.” He set his candle and the bedstand and sat on the side of the bed, and she edged away. “Why are you leaving?”

“Jeremy, this isn’t right—”

“I don’t want you to go.”

“I have to, Jeremy. There’s Linwood, and—”

“That’s not why you’re going.”

“There’s nothing for me here.”

“There’s me.”

“No, there isn’t! What can you offer me, Jeremy? You’re engaged.” Her fingers combed through her hair, and he watched their motion. “And I will not be your mistress.”

Jeremy opened his mouth to speak, and then closed it again. “No, of course not, Thea. I’m not asking it of you. Just—don’t go.”

“I have to, Jeremy,” she said, her voice little above a whisper. For the sake of her child, she had to.

“Will you at least allow me a good-bye kiss?”

“Jeremy—”

He leaned toward her. “I think you owe me that, Thea.”

She shrank back against the headboard. “I don’t think—Jeremy—”

“Shh.” He brushed his thumb lightly over her lips, and they parted. “One kiss, Thea,” he said, and bent his head.

She had expected a long, passionate, kiss. Instead it was very brief, and very gentle, a true kiss of farewell. When he drew back she gazed up at him, her eyes clear and yet unreadable, and, suddenly, hooked her arm about his neck, bringing him back down to her. This time the kiss was neither gentle nor brief. His arms went around her, pulling her hard against him, only her nightgown and his shirt acting as barriers to their closeness. Their lips met and clashed, almost desperately, in kisses that were both illicit and unbearably poignant. She wanted this, oh, how she wanted it, she thought, and when Jeremy at last released her she could read his own desire in his eyes, in his uneven breathing, in his flushed cheeks.

“Thea.” His voice was ragged. “Stay with me tonight.”

“Jeremy, not here—”

“My room, then.”

Thea looked up at him for a moment, her eyes wide and vulnerable. One night. What would it matter? One night, to hold and to treasure against all the lonely days ahead.

She scrambled out of bed, affording him a glimpse of shapely calves. “You have beautiful legs, love,” Jeremy commented, his hand slipping caressingly down her arm. Thea flushed and snatched up her dressing gown, her arms tangling in it in her haste. “Slowly, love.” Jeremy reached out to knot the sash of the wrapper and then dropped a quick kiss on her lips. “We have all night.”

“Yes.” She allowed him to lead her out into the hall, after he had first checked to see that it was deserted, and then to his suite of rooms, not thinking, only feeling. She would not allow herself to think about what she was doing. She wanted tonight, wanted one last time with him. She wanted one last time of joy.

Jeremy’s bedroom was empty, his valet having been sent away, for which she was grateful. She stood in the middle of the floor, gazing around appreciatively. It was a very masculine room, done in shades of brown, rust and cream, with touches of green in the carpet and the bed curtains. The bed itself was massive, of carved mahogany, and it was on this that her eyes fastened, her mouth growing dry. At Rochester Castle she could have pleaded the madness of the moment, but this was something else. This was deliberate. “Jeremy—”

“Come here,” he said at the same time, in a voice which brooked no disobedience. Swallowing hard, Thea crossed the room and stood unmoving before him, her head bent. Jeremy tilted her chin upwards with his thumb, and they surveyed each other, very seriously, before his head lowered to hers. His arms went around her, his hands slipping down to curve about her hips and pull her close to him. She gasped, but before she could make any protest his lips were on hers, and all desire to pull away died. She wrapped her arms around his neck, opening her lips under the relentless pressure of his, returning the kiss with a passion she had never before known she was capable of. When his hands went to the sash of her wrapper she let him untie it and then brush the robe from her shoulder, and when his fingers began to fumble with the buttons of her nightgown, she shifted to make it easier for him. Then he was lifting her in his arms and carrying her over to the bed.

They were together again, and it was as sweet as she had remembered, it was better. No quick coupling, this, done thoughtlessly and in haste; this was slow and deliberate, the first time, the last time. All of it, she must remember all of it, the caress of his hands on her, the strength of his arms, the feeling of his skin against hers. And then he was a part of her, and she was his, moving with him, rejoicing at the closeness, the wonderful, incredible sensations, until, at the end, there was pleasure unimagined and yet remembered, and a joy that bound her to him forever.

She lay, drowsy and somehow complete, in his arms, feeling his fingers lazily stroke her hair and her arm, completely at peace. “I never knew,” she said, more to herself than to him. and felt him stir.

“Sweetheart.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “What was he like, your husband?”

“Hugh?” She thought about that a moment, startled that he would ask such a thing at such a time. “Selfish,” she said, finally. “He cared only for his own pleasures and pursuits. And an heir.”

Jeremy’s arms tightened about her protectively. “He never made you feel like that, did he?”

“No, I—no.”

Jeremy smiled a little at the embarrassment he heard in her voice, but his eyes remained grim. Foolish to be so jealous of a dead man, and so angry, but if Hugh Jameson were to appear, Jeremy thought he could kill the man with his bare hands, because of what he had done to Thea. The man had been a fool, not to avail himself of her warmth and her passion. And she was his! Only he had kindled the fire inside her. If he could only tell her how much she meant to him, speak of his love—but he couldn’t, not yet. Tomorrow, after he had spoken to Evadne, he would be free to tell her. “You won’t leave now,” he said, and Thea rose up on her elbow.

“How can I stay?” she asked, and realized that he was not listening, but was looking at her where the sheet had fallen away. Oh, dear. But she had to tell him. She had to try one last time. She owed him, and herself, that. “Jeremy.”

“What?” He traced her breast with his fingertips. “You are very beautiful, Thea. Did I tell you that?”

“N-no. Jeremy.” She gasped as he pressed her back into the bed, his lips stroking over one soft mound until they reached the peak. “Jeremy, no, we have to talk—”

Jeremy raised his head, stroking her with his fingers until her nipple tautened. “Not now, love,” he murmured, and bent his head to kiss her. Thea sighed, and gave in, hopelessly lost. No words of love, no talk of the future. He couldn’t promise her tomorrow, she realized that, and the thought, as his hands stroked lovingly, knowingly, over her, was bittersweet. It didn’t what happened next. She would not have foregone this night for the world.

The second time was, if anything, more beautiful than the first. Afterwards Jeremy curled up on his side, holding her close against him, his breathing slipping into the easy rhythm of sleep. Thea lay still, treasuring this brief moment of joy. She must not be here when morning came.

When she was convinced that he was so deeply asleep that she wouldn’t wake him, she slipped from the bed. He murmured something, his arm moving as if seeking her, and she nearly faltered, nearly climbed back in with him. But she couldn’t. Before she could stop herself, before she let her emotions overrule her good sense, she picked up her nightgown and wrapper from the floor, slipped them on, and walked to the door.

There she stopped, turning to look back at the room where so much had been revealed to her, so much love, so much joy. Jeremy still slept, and, as she looked at him her eyes burned with unshed tears. After this, she must never see him again. He would belong to someone else, and it would only cause her pain. She must make this one night, this time of happiness, last forever, a shining memory to treasure when things got bad. Tomorrow, she would leave.

Thea opened the door noiselessly, turned back for one last look, and then was gone.