Читать книгу Captivated By Her Convenient Husband - Bronwyn Scott - Страница 13

His arm was as strong and as real beneath her fingers today as it had been last night, yet losing him was exactly what Avaline feared. Not in the sense that he’d dissolve physically, but that another, less tangible, piece of him would indeed evaporate if held up to scrutiny, the piece that had played the hero, who’d swept her up into his arms, who’d been solicitous of her needs, aware of the shock she must feel over his reappearance. He’d not pushed her to consummate their reunion last night, which hadn’t surprised her. Fortis had never shown interest in her bed beyond his wedding-night duties. What had surprised her, though, was the concern he’d shown for her well-being when he’d left her at her bedroom door. That was the man she didn’t want to lose, not before she could discover him, this more mature, less self-centred version of the husband who’d come home. Yet it was this very newness that hindered her now as they walked in the garden, silence between them once more. What should she say? There was so much to say, but none of it seemed quite the right place to start.

‘Shall we start with last night?’ Fortis ventured as they turned down a path lined with oaks that formed a vibrant canopy of changing leaves overhead. He was taking charge just as he had in the drawing room. It had been courageous of him to invite his family’s questions, to offer himself openly, and it had cost him something. She’d sensed he hadn’t been entirely comfortable with it.

She’d wanted to reach out and take his hand in the drawing room, to let him know he wasn’t alone. But the Fortis she’d married wouldn’t have wanted such sentiment. He would have seen it as an assault on his strength, so she’d not risked it. Perhaps she had not risked it for herself either. She could not allow this heroics-induced empathy she felt for the man who’d swept her up in his arms, who’d come to her aid against Hayworth, also sweep away the realities of their marriage.

Fortis had made his position on wedding her very clear before he’d left. So clear those words were still burned in her mind seven years later.

‘This is a marriage of convenience, Avaline, to secure for you an unentailed property of your father’s and eventually join it with my father’s. I have done my part. The property is secured. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I promised to meet the boys this evening.’

He’d left with the army the next day. She could not let herself forget her place, for fear she would again fall victim to the fantasies she’d once harboured about their marriage.

She had to stay strong. Fortis could not come home after seven years of not answering her letters, miracle from the grave or not, and take her for granted again. She was stronger now, smarter now, no longer the fresh-from-the-schoolroom miss straight from Mrs Finlay’s Academy, no longer the child he’d once accused her of being. But the man who walked beside her seemed oblivious to her inner turmoil. He was more concerned with the present than the past. ‘Is it safe to assume Hayworth has been making an idiot of himself?’

‘Ever since news came from Balaclava.’ Avaline paused, gathering herself against the emotions of that awful day in London when Cam Lithgow had told them Fortis was missing. Her reaction had been part fright and part an overwhelming numbness. All Fortis had left her was his name and with Cam’s announcement she’d stood to lose even that. She’d felt exposed, the very last of her protection against Hayworth ripped away. But another part of her had been shockingly numb, emotionally empty. While family members around her had wept openly, she’d not been able to conjure such a depth of feeling over the loss of a husband who had not wanted her and whom she had not seen in years.

That lack of feeling had compounded her guilt. The loss of Fortis was her fault. She’d not been enough of a wife to make him stay and now he was likely dead because of it. Last night, all that had changed. She had a second chance to keep him here if she chose to take it.

‘Hayworth wants—wanted—’ she corrected herself ‘—to have you declared dead and, if not that, he wanted the courts to declare abandonment.’ She was clearly not abandoned now. Fortis was here. Her protection was restored simply by Fortis being alive. He needn’t stay and perhaps he did not intend to, yet another reason for withholding her heart. She didn’t need to engage it in order to have what she needed from him—the name of a living husband.

‘Abandonment? That’s ludicrous.’ Fortis laughed at the notion. ‘He never could have won that.’

‘Couldn’t he? There were six years of unanswered letters,’ Avaline argued quietly, not for Hayworth’s sake but for hers. It was proof Fortis cared so little for their marriage, for her. That disregard had nearly cost her everything.

‘Well, I am here now,’ Fortis answered gruffly, his jaw tight. She immediately felt terrible for making the accusation, yet she couldn’t help riding that little crest of anger she’d allowed herself. He’d endured years of war and a year of who knew what hardships. But so had she. In her own way, she’d gone to war, too, alone and unarmed against Hayworth, against a world that talked about her behind her back without knowing the whole truth; that she’d married a man she didn’t know when she was little more than a girl in order to save her estate and herself from marriage to Tobin Hayworth years ago. The marriage hadn’t been a love-match as the Treshams had put about, painting it as a whirlwind romance during Fortis’s leave to explain the haste. It had been a marriage of convenience, pure and simple. Only it wasn’t so simple any more. Fortis was back and the past must be dealt with. Resuming a marriage with a man who didn’t want her was the price for thwarting Hayworth.

‘Yes, you are here now. For how long?’ The question came out sharply. Other than putting her beyond Hayworth’s intentions, what else did his appearance mean for her? For them? Was he home to stay? Or simply to lend her the protection of his name once more before he was off on new adventures?

Fortis’s brow knit in perplexed question or maybe shock that she’d asked such a thing. ‘I am home to stay, Avaline. I am resigning my commission, of course.’ He was staring at her as if he couldn’t believe she’d not already concluded such action was a natural progression of events. ‘I am home to share the running of the estate, although I dare say there is much you’ll have to teach me. The army isn’t keen on imparting estate management skills.’ He gave a soft chuckle at his humour. ‘I am home to be a husband to you, to have a marriage with you, a real marriage this time.’

He was acknowledging the imperfections of what had lain between them in the past and his part in that. It was her turn to stare, all her girlish hopes surging to the fore, refusing to be held back. Oh, what she would have given to hear those words from him years ago! Now, she didn’t know what to make of them. If her question about his intention to stay had hindered him, his answer had positively stunned her. A real marriage? With this handsome man who both did and did not resemble the man she’d married in looks and deed?

What did he think a real marriage involved? Sex? Children? A family? Running an estate together? All of it or just some of it? As she stood in the autumn garden, surrounded by the vibrant colours of the leaves, the sun out, the autumn air crisp, it was easy to be swept away by his declaration, easy to dream. Even now, a nugget of hope blossomed at his words. Was the kind of union she’d always dreamed of within her grasp; one of love and mutual respect, one where husband and wife shared daily life together? The possibilities of what that marriage could hold were endless and tantalising. And frightening. To achieve such a thing would require great risk on her part, a risk she would not contemplate blindly. Broken hearts were not blithe considerations. Did he know what he asked of her with his declaration? How like the Fortis she’d known to consider only his wants without understanding the cost to others. She’d already paid the price once.

Avaline stepped back. They had drifted together as they talked and now she needed distance. She needed to remind herself she was not a green girl any longer. She’d given her innocent heart to this man once before, naively thinking that marriage inherently included love. She’d been proven wrong. She’d already seen what marriage had meant to Fortis Tresham. Nothing. It had meant absolutely nothing. It hadn’t been worth a backward glance before going out hunting with his friends, or worth a single letter home. To trust that man again would be an enormous leap of faith, one she would not take carelessly.

He did not miss or misunderstand the movement. Hurt flashed in his blue eyes along with realisation. ‘Avaline, are you sorry I am home?’

* * *

She did not answer immediately. He wished she had. He found himself wishing for many things in those critical seconds. He wished she’d flung herself into his arms and kissed away his doubts, that she’d murmured a rush of reassuring words. No, no, no, how could you think such a thing? I’d never want you dead. She’d done neither of those things. Instead, she’d moved away from him, separating herself from him, and that one step back communicated volumes long before she spoke the words, ‘I don’t know.’

It occurred to him the answer might have been different, better if he’d answered those beautiful letters he’d found in his campaign trunk. What a cad he must have been. But her answer might also have been worse, if Tobin Hayworth hadn’t posed a threat to her. She might have said, ‘Yes.’ Yes, that she was sorry he was home, that he was a disruption to the life she’d carved out. He’d been gone for seven years and his wife wasn’t sure if she was glad he was home, safe and mostly sound.

‘You’re honest, I appreciate that.’ But, damn, the honesty hurt, like tearing off a scab and reopening a wound, an all-too-apt metaphor, Fortis thought. Now that the family was gone and the first sweetness of homecoming past, it was time to get down to truths. The first truth was this: he had hurt her. He had hurt this lovely creature with his neglect and his absence. That he had done so was unconscionable. There was no question there. The real question was why had he done it? And why didn’t he know?

The strength of those realisations sent him stumbling backwards to the stone bench set on the pathway and he sat down hard from the shock of it, the consequence of it. Avaline’s dark eyes were shuttered and wary when they should have been full of warmth and hope. That’s what he wanted to see when she looked at him. The intensity of that desire surged in him, strong and powerful, a testament to how much he wanted it. He wanted, he needed, his wife’s approbation.

‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.’ Avaline looked suitably horrified. That was some consolation, he supposed, but he didn’t want it at the expense of a lie. He wouldn’t let her undervalue her own feelings to save his.

‘Of course you should have. What you should not do is pretend that everything between us is suddenly perfect after a seven-year absence, any more than I should simply absolve myself by saying we never had a chance.’ It would be so much easier if they could, though, if they could just start afresh as Fortis and Avaline. ‘But this, my dear, Avaline, is an apology, if you’ll accept it. I’m sorry I hurt you.’ He was sorry, too, for why ever he’d done it. He hoped in time he might understand his reasons. ‘We’ll take this homecoming slowly. We will figure out what we can be together if you are willing to let me try again, although I’m bound to make mistakes.’ He gave her a hopeful smile. He would try to make her happy. He would try to be a better man than the one he’d been before, a different man, one whom she’d be proud to have at her side.

* * *

Who the hell did Fortis Tresham think he was, crashing a party to which he was not invited and then assaulting the host? His actions were nothing short of barbaric. Tobin Hayworth nursed his jaw with a juicy slab of raw steak while he gingerly sipped an afternoon brandy. Eating luncheon had been out of the question. His jaw hurt twice as badly today as it had last night—something he’d not thought possible. He’d barely slept from the pain and he certainly hadn’t attempted to chew anything. He still wasn’t convinced his jaw wasn’t broken, although the doctor, whom he’d roused in the middle of the night, assured him otherwise.

The only benefit to the pain was its clarifying properties. It brought into sharp relief the import of Fortis’s return and all it meant. Blandford and its mistress were no longer accessible to him. He’d hoped to capitalise on Avaline being a baron’s daughter to help solidify his candidacy for a knighthood. A living breathing husband was far more problematic to deal with than one who didn’t come home. But Fortis Tresham had come home and at the crucial moment. For Avaline and the Treshams it couldn’t have been more fortuitous, one might say, all puns aside. There was nothing funny about how conveniently Tresham had appeared just when he was starting to make his push with Avaline and with the courts. He’d begun the paperwork to declare Fortis Tresham dead a few days ago.

Tobin’s stomach growled, rebelliously acknowledging it hadn’t been fed since dinner the night before. He’d even missed the midnight supper on Avaline’s account and now there was only soup to look forward to for supper tonight. He readjusted the steak. His jaw was eating better than he was. Of a certainty he’d have to withdraw his claims, but only temporarily. He did not think for a moment Tresham’s return merely a coincidence. It was anything but. It was far too convenient after a year missing, after Major Lithgow’s reputedly tearful meeting with the family in London last spring informing them that he had searched diligently for Tresham and come up empty-handed, that suddenly a man claiming to be Fortis Tresham had walked out of a Crimean forest and Lithgow had brought him home.

No, it reeked of rotten and he knew why. The Duke of Cowden despised him. On the surface, one might think the two neighbours would be bosom friends. Both were shrewd businessmen. Both had made fortunes through a series of lucrative, successful ventures. Cowden sat at the helm of an exclusive investment group known as the Prometheus Club, a nod to setting the world on fire with innovation or some such literary drivel Tobin didn’t pretend to understand or enjoy. Tobin didn’t have time for such niceties. He only had time for money and for people who made him money.

Therein lay the difference. He was well aware the Duke did not share his values or morals when it came to how money was made or how business was conducted. The Duke felt him to be a man with no scruples. Well, so be it. Scruples didn’t keep one warm or fed. Only money did that.

Tobin drummed his free hand on the polished surface of the small table beside his chair, his feet resting comfortably on the fireplace fender. At least some part of him was comfortable as his facile mind went to work on this latest scheme. A missing man was home after an over-long, unsubstantiated absence. Perhaps someone should question that if Cowden didn’t? By rights, Cowden ought to be the one questioning it. The son of a duke, even a third son, came with enormous advantages. Fortis Tresham, through his marriage, had an estate and a pretty wife. Through his birthright, he had access to the Cowden coffers, entrée into the highest echelons of society. Whatever he wanted to do, he could do it without much effort at all: diplomacy, politics, or simply do nothing. Tresham could afford the latter, too.

Surely Cowden was sharp enough to understand the temptation such a plum posed, or was Cowden too honourable to contemplate the allure? Perhaps Cowden believed too much in his unassailability to think that someone would attempt to grab Fortis’s seat at the Cowden table. Cowden might be above envisioning such contretemps, but Tobin wasn’t.

He could easily imagine someone doing just that. He just needed to make Cowden imagine it as well and he would, as soon as his jaw healed sufficiently to pay a call and, in the most genuinely concerned way possible, voice his misgivings. After all, he didn’t want anyone taking advantage of his dear neighbour, especially if the one taking advantage wasn’t him. Meanwhile, if he couldn’t talk to anyone, he could write. He could begin making polite enquiries about the nature of Fortis Tresham’s return. He couldn’t ask directly, of course. He wasn’t family. No one was required to tell him anything. But he had friends on the inside, people whom he’d had contracts with and who would like to do lucrative business with him again. They could access information he could not.

He smiled to himself and poured another drink one-handed. It would be the scandal of the Season come spring if it came to fruition. Cowden would never live it down, especially if Tobin could prove the Duke had done it wilfully. Still, even if the man was a fraud and he’d swindled Cowden on his own, Cowden would look like a fool. It wouldn’t do the old man’s business reputation any good. People would finally think he was losing his touch. That all assumed the news came out. If the opportunity arose, Tobin would give Cowden a chance to keep the secret. Tobin was very good at keeping secrets, for a price, and this, if it were true, would be a secret that kept on giving.

He toasted himself in victory. It seemed every cloud did have a silver lining. Now, he had to prove it. All of this was merely conjecture until he had evidence. But if the evidence was there, he would find it. A dog with a bone could hardly compete. Tobin Hayworth was nothing if not tenacious.