Betrothed to one man, pregnant by another, and married to somebody else. The lady sure spread her favors around. Fighting back an absurd impulse to apologize to William for having betrayed him in so many ways, Robyn decided that the more she learned about the Lady Arabella Bowleigh, the less she liked her.
“Okay, so Arabella was pregnant with Zachary’s child,” she said. “I still don’t understand why she... why I ended up married to you.” Uncertainty made her voice deepen, and the words came out sounding far more hostile than she’d intended.
“My dear Arabella, however faulty your memory, you can surely understand that a woman with a babe in her belly is in desperate need of a husband. Captain Bretton refused to ally himself with a fallen woman. In such straits, any willing fool who offers himself will have to do.”
“And you were that willing fool?”
“Indeed I was. As willing—nay eager—as I was foolish.” His bitter smile mocked the memory of his own past. “If I can recall the emotions of that overheated time, I believe I indulged in some boyish fantasy of redeeming my brother’s honor.”
“Hah! I expect your sense of family honor would have been a lot less acute if Arabella... if I... had been cross-eyed and buck-toothed.”
“Undoubtedly.” William appeared unruffled by her heated accusation. “I make no claim to nobility of conduct, my lady, merely to youthful lust and astonishing lack of judgment. Our marriage was entered into for selfish reasons on both sides and we have reaped the harvest we deserve.”
“I’d still like to know why your brother didn’t take responsibility for the child he’d created. Why did you need to restore his honor when he could have restored it quite easily himself? I may not understand much about social customs in the eighteenth century, but I’d have thought a man who took the virginity of a noblewoman—”
She broke off. “Oh, is that it? Was I a peasant, or a farmer’s daughter, or something socially beneath contempt until you deigned to marry me?”
William gave a short, hard laugh. “Now, my dear, you almost convince me that your wits have truly gone begging. No, you were not a commoner, as a moment’s thought would tell you.”
“How so? Do aristocrats come with a certificate of authentication sewn to their navels, ready for any interested party to glance down and inspect?”
William looked genuinely puzzled. “I do not understand your strange attempt at repartee. I refer to the fact that you are addressed as Lady Arabella, which, as you very well know, is itself an acknowledgment of your noble birth.”
“Why?”
“Had you been a commoner before our marriage you would take my title and you would be addressed as Lady Bowleigh. As the daughter of the Earl of Marshe, you are of higher rank than I, a mere baron: a fact you normally delight in mentioning on every possible occasion.”
Robyn bit back a sarcastic remark to the effect that Americans had staged a revolution in part so that they wouldn’t have to waste their time worrying about the correct way to address the daughter of an earl, as opposed to the wife of a baron. She returned to her previous question, which remained unanswered.
“Since I’m a genuine, blue-blooded aristocrat, that ought to have been all the more reason for your brother to marry me. Why wasn’t my father pounding on Zachary’s door, demanding that he make an honest woman out of me? And why would Zachary refuse? I should think the daughter of an earl was a pretty good catch for a second son with little hope of inheriting the family mansion.”
“Zachary had left for France before your condition became apparent,” William said, after an almost imperceptible hesitation. “We considered sending a courier in search of him, but we were not sure of his precise route through France, and time, naturally, was of the essence. In fact, my brother never knew of your plight.”
Robyn paid less attention to the hesitation than she might have done, because she was struck by the sudden realization of what William’s revelation really meant.
“Good grief!” she exclaimed, shocked into tactlessness. “If I was pregnant when we got married, that means the twins... George and Freddie... they’re Zachary’s sons and you’ve always known that!”
William shot her a narrow-eyed glance. “No,” he said. “You miscarried Zachary’s babe within the first month of our marriage. George and Freddie were born eleven months later.” He gave a wintry smile. “Ever the optimist, I have allowed myself to believe that the twins are heirs of my flesh as well as the legal heirs to my estate.”
Robyn was surprised at how relieved she felt to learn that George and Freddie were truly William’s sons, although why she cared so much on his behalf she couldn’t imagine. The state of her feelings was confusing, so she decided to change the subject. Lord knew, there seemed to be a fresh puzzle for every mystery William cleared up.
“How did Captain Bretton discover that Arabella was pregnant? I mean, given that Zachary was lost in the wilds of Europe and Arabella was in urgent need of a wedding ring, she seems to have handled the whole situation with incredible stupidity. Or did she get a sudden attack of conscience and confess everything to the captain? Although, heaven knows, that doesn’t sound in the least like the lady. She seems to have kept her conscience pretty well tamed to suit her convenience.”
William stopped his pacing, his eyes narrowing as he looked at her. “Why do you persist in referring to yourself thus impersonally, as if you never knew the Arabella of whom we speak?”
“Because I don’t know her,” Robyn said, admitting the truth with a sense of real relief. At some point during the evening’s ventures it had begun to seem vitally important for William to stop disliking her. And if she wanted him to become her ally instead of her adversary she needed to find some way to persuade him that she could be trusted.
“I wish I could convince you that my accident affected my memories,” she said. “Honestly, William, I remember nothing about my past life with you and nothing about Arabella’s thoughts and feelings in the past.”
He made no effort to hide his impatience. “I find such a statement incredible. In fact, your actions since the accident give the lie to your claim. The first name you spoke on opening your eyes was my brother’s.”
How could she possibly respond without giving him grounds to doubt her sanity, let alone her integrity? “I don’t recall the first few moments after the accident,” she said finally, not comfortable with the half lie, but not sure what else she could say. “If you reflect back on the last few weeks, surely you must have noticed changes in my behavior? Changes that suggest I’m a different person from the Arabella you once knew?”
William inclined his head in mocking acknowledgment. “Indeed, my lady, the transformation of your behavior has been striking. I have wondered what new ploy you were attempting, and I believe I now stand on the brink of finding out. Enlighten me, my lady, I beg. If it was your aim to have piqued my curiosity, I confess you have been successful.”
“There is no ploy, William.” Robyn tried to lessen the tension stretching between the two of them by holding out her hands and meeting his gaze with frank, open appeal.
“My lord”—strange how easily the formal title tripped off her tongue—“my lord. This hostility between us is exhausting, and I think unnecessary. Couldn’t we try to treat each other more kindly? The truth is, the blow to my head when I had the accident affected my mind. I need your help.” God knew, that was the absolute truth.
William said nothing. He stood, silent and unmoving, his expression swept carefully clean. Only the sardonic gleam in his eyes suggested he was even listening. In her eagerness to forge a new beginning to their relationship, she moved even closer, grasping his hands in an impulsive attempt to establish a link between the two of them.
“I know the servants think I’m crazy, but I’m not, William. I just feel—bewildered—by my situation. But I can reason logically, and function in an everyday situation, which must mean that I’m not totally out of touch with reality.”
Of course, the reality she was in touch with seemed to be two hundred and fifty years out-of-date, but she wouldn’t dwell on that minor problem for the moment.
William still didn’t respond. She felt unnerved by his obdurate silence, but if she wanted his cooperation, she didn’t see any alternative to persuading him to change his opinion of her, so she drew in a deep breath and pushed on with her plea for help. “What I’m trying to say, I guess, is that I honestly and truly have no memories of my life with you before my accident. I’m not lying, William, or trying to trick you as part of some obscure plot. Believe me when I tell you that I don’t remember this house, or the servants, or the countryside around the Manor. Worst of all, I can’t remember the children, and that hurts me more than all the rest.”
She shook her head, blinking back tears. “I need your help, William, if I am ever going to find my way out of the mess we’re both in. Please let’s try to make a fresh start to our relationship.”
When she started speaking, she could have sworn she saw a flash of sympathy in his face, but as soon as she mentioned the children his mouth tightened angrily and ail trace of sympathy vanished. He withdrew his hands from her clasp with exaggerated courtesy and swept her a deep bow. Heart sinking, she recognized the signal for one of his sarcastic diatribes, and knew that she had failed to convince him that she spoke the truth. Perhaps that wasn’t surprising when she had no idea what “the truth” of her situation really was.
“You plead your case with superlative grace,” William said, his hand on his heart, his posture all cool, insincere elegance. “I vow ‘twould be monstrous ungentlemanly of me to let such an impassioned and eloquent plea go unanswered. I shall, of course, do my best not to disappoint your ladyship.”
“Disappoint me? I don’t understand—”
“Come, Arabella, do not be trite. Whatever your problems may be, my memory is not gone missing and I recognize the prelude to one of your usual invitations to seduction. When all else fails between us, you invariably promise a fresh start to our relationship and reward me with the offer of your body. ‘Tis a scant nine months since we last danced and fumbled our way through this scene and I clearly remember the details of our ritual. Smile, my dear, it is now time for you to simper a little and glance suggestively toward your bed.”
Robyn shivered. “Dear God, how could you imagine I want to make love with you? No such possibility crossed my mind.”
“Make love? What an inappropriate way to describe our couplings, my dear.” William shook his head. “The oddness of your speech since the accident can sometimes be quite diverting.” He took her hands and kissed the tips of her fingers gracefully, his smile glittering with derision.
“You should not strive so mightily to achieve so simple an object, my dear. I am but a normal man, with all the usual appetites. I am happy to oblige your ladyship if you feel a swift tumble between the sheets would serve to refresh your ailing memory.”
“I feel no such thing—”
“Come, my lady, why do you waste time with useless denials? Make this easy for both of us and tell me what you would like me to do next. You cannot expect me to invent all the lines in this play we are enacting, despite its tedious familiarity. Do you wish me to seize you with passion? Whisper sweet poetry into your shell-like ears? Or mayhap play lady’s maid and ease you slowly out of your damp clothing? Speak up, my lady, let me hear your pleasure. God knows, fornication is beyond doubt the activity which has played the most important role in our past. Why should we not make it the key that unlocks our future?”
“You are cruel,” Robyn said. “Ruthless and cruel. Good grief, William, I asked for your help, not for this vicious mockery.”
“You are ruthless and cruel,” he repeated, seeming to savor the words. Robyn recoiled, but even through the haze of her own hurt, she recognized that William’s ferocity sprang from a deep-rooted need to conceal his pain. “Ah yes, your familiar reproaches burst forth with all the old relish. It seems we have only to mention the possibility of a tumble on the bed, and your memory revives.”
She turned away from him, shivering under the lash of his tongue. “No more, William. We’re both tired, so you’d better leave before you say something unforgivable.”
“ ‘Tis surely years too late for such worthy advice. We have said everything that is unforgivable many times before.” He grasped her shoulders and twisted her around, crooking his forefinger under her chin so that he could tilt her face up to his inspection. “Such amazing beauty,” he murmured, smoothing her hair away from her forehead. “My God, it startles me still when I see such amazing, lying beauty.”
She grabbed his hand, shoving it aside. “William, get away. Get out of my room. This is sick behavior—”
He laughed, but she heard the harsh note of self-recrimination lurking behind the derision. “Sickness, madness, desire. Who cares what name we give to the passion since we both know that we feel it?”
“It matters a lot. We can either exploit each other—”
“Another odd but apt turn of phrase,” he murmured, lowering his mouth toward hers. “Kiss me, my lady. Let us exploit each other to the full so that we may find out if we still despise each other as acutely as we remember.”
His mouth came down on hers, rich with passion, hot and fierce with self-loathing. Robyn turned her head away, knowing that she moved an instant too late for the evasion to be convincing. She was surprised—but surely not disappointed?—when he drew in a shuddering breath and ended the kiss.
“Ah no,” he murmured against her mouth, his body tantalizingly close yet not touching her at any point. “You will not pretend that I force myself upon you against your will, my lady. Rapist is the one role I am not willing to perform for you. If you want me to kiss you, I fear that you must ask me nicely to oblige. Come now, surely you can manage one of your usual pretty speeches so that we may both indulge our needs?”
Robyn averted her eyes, frightened by the intensity of her longing to close the tiny gap between them and move into his arms. Despite William’s simmering anger, she wanted the comfort of intimate contact with another human being. She wasn’t truly William’s wife, but she was trapped here in this impossible situation. Why shouldn’t she refresh her memories of Zach and the joy of their lovemaking? William looked like Zach, at least a little bit. On one or two occasions, she had heard William’s voice take on the same mellow, laughing timbre as Zach’s voice. What harm would it do if she pretended, just for a while, that he really was Zach? If she made love to him generously, with thought for his needs and feelings, wouldn’t she be doing him a favor as well as herself? Arabella had probably never made love with generosity of spirit in her entire life. William would enjoy the change.
She swayed toward him. “Hold me,” she whispered, stumbling over the words, cutting herself off before she made the mistake of calling him by Zach’s name. “Oh, God, I’m so scared. I want you to hold me.”
For a moment he went utterly still. Then she heard the quick, stifled intake of his breath and felt the explosion of his desire as he took her mouth in a kiss that seemed to speak of years of silent longing.
Her body responded with mindless, primitive urgency. Her breasts, heavy with milk, tingled with arousal and she instinctively moved closer when she felt the thrust of his erection against her. Yes. This was what she had needed for days, for weeks, ever since the accident. She had needed Zach, holding her close. Zach stroking his hands over her hips, ravaging her mouth with kisses. She twined her hands in his hair, pulling at the velvet ribbon that tied it in place, relishing the silkiness of the long, thick strands curling around her fingers.
“Arabella, dear God, what has happened to you? You feel so warm and responsive.”
He said her name with soft, husky urgency. The syllables fell against her ears with the icy chill of a spring shower in the Arctic.
Arabella.
Good lord, she was not Arabella, and he was not Zach, and she had damn near committed the outrage of making love to one man while pretending he was another.
Trembling, her body still reluctant to admit the deception, she pulled herself out of William’s arms. “William, we must stop,” she said. “We cannot... make love. It was a mistake. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to... lead you on.”
His face shuttered, all passion and warmth draining away in an instant. “It was a mistake, and you are sorry,” he murmured. He stepped away, turning his back to her, and she saw the muscles strain beneath the serge of his riding jacket as he struggled for control. After a moment or two, he swung around to face her again, bowing in ironic salute.
“Congratulations, my lady. It seems you have proven once more that I am still the fool I had persuaded myself I was not. A month ago, I would have sworn you had entirely lost the power to make me desire you.”
He picked up his greatcoat from the chair where he had thrown it, and slung it around his shoulders. “Practice your new role of distraught innocent, my lady. In faith, ‘tis vastly more appealing that most of your earlier roles.” His voice sounded patrician, faintly bored, as it so often did. But she knew him better now, and she saw the tiny leap of the muscle in his throat, the almost imperceptible tension in the line of his jaw. William had been deeply aroused, and control was not coming easy to him.
She reached out her hand and touched him lightly on the arm. Beneath her fingers she felt his muscles bunch and then deliberately relax. His face remained impassive, so that only the closest of observers would have realized his tension.
“William,” she said wistfully. “Do you think it is too late for us to learn to be friends?”
William stared at her, then laughed. “Friends? My dear Arabella, the possibility of friendship between us is so breathtakingly absurd that I cannot believe you pose the question expecting a serious answer.”
“I am extremely serious. Think about it,” she said coaxingly. “Our relationship causes us nothing but pain at the moment, and yet we are forced to live in the same house and share our lives, at least to a certain extent. Isn’t it worth trying to make things better? We have so much to gain and so little to lose.”
“True, but alas, I see no method whereby we could achieve such a desirable end. The wounds between us are old and deep.”
“All the more reason for both of us to forget our past relationship. Why couldn’t we pretend we’ve just met and are anxious to get acquainted? Couldn’t we try that, William? Instead of assuming all sorts of hidden meanings and motives every time I say something to you, take my words at face value, as if everything between us is fresh and new. For my part, I would certainly be willing to try.”
“A clean slate?” he asked. “Alas, my lady, past reality is not erased as easily as chalk marks on a schoolroom board.”
“Then how else are we to move forward?” she asked. “If our past is an intolerable burden, we must either forget it, or be slaves to it forever.”
He looked at her for a long, silent moment. “In losing your wits, my lady, it seems that you have become a philosopher.”
She risked a smile. “Perhaps with all the frippery wiped out, there’s finally space in my brain to accommodate a few great thoughts.”
He seemed unable to look away from her smile. In the end, he shrugged and walked toward the door. “We could try a new start, I suppose. As you point out, what have we to lose? Indeed, the more time I spend with you recently, the more I feel that I truly do not know the woman you have become. To that extent, at least, there would be no pretense.”
“Then let’s do it,” Robyn said, elated by his semi-agreement. “Let’s discover all that we need to know about each other in order to become friends. Maybe you could come and have tea in the nursery with the children and me tomorrow afternoon? Clemmie would love to play hostess, and the boys would enjoy an excuse to stuff themselves with cake. We can have a good time, all of us, if we just keep our thoughts concentrated on the tea party and not on the past.”
“Tea in the nursery?” William’s expression became quizzical. “If I had not heard you extend the invitation with your own lips, my lady, I would refuse to believe you had made it.” He shook his head, looking somewhat surprised at his own acquiescence. “Very well, my lady. We shall meet each other over tea and cakes in the nursery tomorrow. Does five of the clock sound a suitable hour?”
Robyn laughed, lighter of spirit than she had been since the accident. “It sounds great. I’m already looking forward to it. Five of the clock it shall be!”