Читать книгу The Wilder Wedding - Lyn Stone - Страница 11

Chapter Four

Sean knew he could have left Laura last night and she would never have known the difference. He could have seen to their bags, which were no doubt stacked in some corner belowstairs awaiting his instructions. He could have ordered a late meal for himself so that his stomach wouldn’t be growling now like a bear just out of hibernation. But a promise was a promise.

“Where is it?” she mumbled, squinting up at him.

“What?”

“The cat.”

“What cat?”

“The one that slept in my mouth,” she muttered. “I know I have fur on my tongue.”

Sean laughed softly and pulled his arm from beneath her neck. He propped on his elbow and raked the length of her body with his gaze. “If there is a cat, it’s probably lost in the wrinkles of your skirts. We’re both a mess. I should have undressed us.”

He wouldn’t discuss with her why he hadn’t done that. He could not have borne holding her with nothing between them. The pain of their closeness, even fully dressed as they were, had nearly killed him. The powerful urge to give comfort with, as well as to, his body would have wrecked his resolve if he hadn’t left the fabric barriers exactly as they were.

Laura shifted and rubbed her eyes with her fists as a child might do on waking. He brushed the loosened strands of her hair back from her forehead and kissed her brow. “How do you feel?”

She laughed softly and shook her head. “Fuzzy. Could we have some breakfast?”

“Certainly!” he said, rolling off the bed and trying to straighten his clothes. “Right away.” Then he stopped what he was doing and braced one hand on her shoulder. “Will you be all right while I go and order?”

“Of course. Go ahead. I’m quite recovered.” She marched to the washstand and began splashing her face in the water. He watched her for a time to see how steady she was. Then, satisfied she told the truth, Sean left her to her ablutions while he arranged their passage on the train bound for Paris.

A little while later, they sat in the dining room of the hotel drinking the café au lait he had promised her.

Sean thought she looked a bit washed-out. He hoped that was only the result of the medicine he had ordered last night and her earlier bout with the nausea on the ship.

“So, tell me about our business in Paris,” she demanded with a bright smile.

“Our business?” he asked with a quirk of his brow.

“You don’t think for a moment I’m going to let you prevent me playing investigator! Now, tell.” She threw him a saucy wink over the edge of her cup.

Sean fought the urge to embellish his current case, to offer her some trumped-up derring-do to take her mind off her other problem. No, he wouldn’t lie. After all his insistence on honesty, she deserved better than that. Still he found himself tempted.

“My—our—employer is Mr. Frederick Burton, director of the National Gallery. He has set me the task of examining a painting offered for sale by a Monsieur Charles Beaumont. If the provenance proves legitimate and it is what he says it is, I—we—are to purchase it with the funds provided and take it safely home.”

“And?”

“That’s it,” he declared, noting her frown of disappointment.

“I thought it would be something more—”

“Dangerous? Yes, I knew you expected that. But it needn’t be so dull. If you like drawing, then you must be interested in art. This Monsieur Beaumont may have a fine collection as yet unseen by the public. He’s claiming a Rembrandt, at any rate. Won’t you find that interesting?”

She looked distracted. “How will you know if this picture is the real thing and not fake?”

Sean allowed his pride to show. He didn’t often do that, but he wanted her approval. Enough to boast a bit. “I know Rembrandt. I’ll wager I could tell you how many hairs in each brush he used in every known painting he produced. No one knows him as I do. I’ve already discovered two forgeries formerly attributed to him. That’s how I landed this case.” He grinned at her astonishment.

“You said you never studied painting.”

“Art history,” he admitted wryly. “Rembrandt was always my favorite. I’ve read everything ever written about him and his work. Later, as I traveled, examining his paintings and his technique in museums became something of a hobby. More like an obsession, really. I’ve seen them all. At least those not in private, inaccessible collections such as Beaumont’s.”

“So you will simply look at this painting, decide if it’s real, and buy accordingly?” she asked.

“Of course not. I’ll check the provenance and establish how it changed hands through the years, as well as examining the brush strokes, colors, composition and so forth. Burton and I did that together with a fourteenth-century Duccio a few years past in Florence, though I’m not really well versed on Italian painters. I’ve acquired lesser pieces for him since then. This is the most important thing he has trusted me with alone.”

Her eyes looked a trifle glazed as she said, “I’m fascinated!”

Sean laughed aloud and shook his head. “You are not, you little liar! You’re bored to tears. Come on, you wanted sordid disguises, flying bullets, mad dashes through the back streets. Admit it.”

“Childish, aren’t I?” She laughed, too, and blushed. Sean was delighted to see color in her cheeks, whatever the cause.

“Wonderfully so,” he said, standing and offering his arm. “Now let’s go to Paris, shall we, Mrs. Wilder? On my word, I promise you won’t be bored there.”

They arrived at the Hotel Lenoir very late that evening. Both were travel weary, but Sean noticed nothing faint about Laura. She seemed to have bounced back readily enough from her ills of the day before. While that relieved his mind somewhat, he couldn’t feel completely at ease.

There would come a time—probably quite soon—when she would not rally. Something vital shrank inside him every time he let himself think of that.

He tried to picture it, though, so that he could accept it when the worst happened. Laura still and white, beautiful in her final repose. Himself, stoic without and crushed within. It was no use. He could not make himself imagine. There was no preparing for such a thing anyway. Almost as heartbreaking as facing the actuality would be the pretending beforehand, the smiling and making of ordinary conversation, living as though there would always be a tomorrow for Laura. That much he must do for her, no matter how difficult or painful.

Facing the most deadly, knife-wielding bully in Whitechapel had not prompted such dread as he felt now.

Sean knew now that he hadn’t fully understood what he faced until Laura had fallen sick on the ferry. Death was no stranger to him, of all people. Sean could not begin to count the bodies he had viewed over the years, in the bowels of London, on battlefields, during days with the Yard and afterward. But thinking of Laura lifeless? His mind rebelled.

How could he go on this way, wondering if every breath Laura drew might be her last? And if it was this miserable for him, what the devil must it be like for Laura? Surely she marked the apprehension in his eyes every time he looked at her.

If only they could forget she was to die. Like being ordered not to think of elephants, he thought with an inner scoff. He could at least make her forget for a time. That would be something, anyway.

Sean glanced around the modest bedroom of Hotel Lenoir and thought perhaps he should have taken Laura somewhere fancier. Somewhere grand with a suite of rooms. Instead, he had selfishly chosen this place with its antique patina and its shared necessaries down the hall because the memories of his times here gave his soul comfort.

Right now he could use all the comfort to be had. For three school vacations during his adolescence, he had come here with his new friend, Eugene Campion. He and Camp had been the odd men out at Eton their first years there. Camp was the bastard of Baron Nesbitt Lorne, who had the good grace to see his natural son educated. And Sean, a product of the London stews, had a noble grandmother who had finally seen fit to rescue him.

Both benefactors believed they were doing the right thing by their respective charges. But neither Camp nor himself had had the background or a good enough grip on the king’s proper English to make themselves accepted. In the interest of self-defense, they had befriended and protected each other.

Accompanying Camp to his mother’s family in France for a few weeks of summer holiday had given Sean the only semblance of normal family life he had ever experienced. If life in a Parisian hotel could be considered anywhere near the norm, he thought with a wry smile. It ranked far above a brothel or the halls of Eton, Sean knew for certain.

When the boys had gone on to university, Annette Lenoir Campion had married and moved to Florence. Later, he and Camp had enlisted together and served two years in Africa. On returning, Sean had sought employment with Scotland Yard and Camp had gone on to medical school in Italy. Madame and Monsieur Campion, Camp’s aging grandparents, had sold the hotel to a cousin whom Sean had never met.

Now, whenever he or Camp traveled to Paris, whether their visits coincided or not, they always came here. With its fond memories, the old Lenoir had become a sanctuary of sorts. He had never even noticed its genteel shabbiness before today.

Laura returned from the bathing room down the hall looking refreshed and rosy in her prim white robe. He noticed bare, pink toes peeking from beneath the hem.

“Into bed with you,” he ordered with a forced smile. When he had tucked her in like the child she looked, he kissed her brow and turned to leave.

“Where are you going?” she asked before he could escape.

“To scrape off some travel dirt,” he replied, knocking dust off his trousers. “Go to sleep, Laura. We have a big day tomorrow.”

She squirmed impatiently and smoothed the covers over her knees. “I thought you might want to…well, you know.”

“No!” he said, rather too quickly. In view of her confused look, he felt compelled to offer some sort of explanation. “It’s too soon, you see.”

Her eyes widened as though to take in this new bit of information. “Too soon? You mean you can’t…manage?” The gears of her mind were nearly visible as she considered that. “How often can you, then?”

Oh Lord, he had spun a web now. And tangled himself up in it. He thought she would assume he meant it was too soon for her. He could not make love with her again. He would be totally, completely lost in her if he did. She already had half his heart. How was he supposed to guard the rest? He’d have nothing left to go on with.

“Well,” he said, looking everywhere but at her, raking his mind for something, anything, to extricate himself. “Once a month,” he declared, warming to the prevarication. “You understand your woman’s cycle, don’t you? Men have cycles of a sort, as well, you see. It’s not exactly the same for a man, but there must be a bodily change for the…uh…emissions and such to…to work. Yes. One has to wait.” He sucked in a deep breath and bit his lips together over the outrageous lie. “For the next cycle, you see.” He lowered his head and shook it in frustration. “It’s very complicated.”

“You lucky fellow!”

“Lucky?” he asked. His head came up smartly. He caught her slumberous gaze and watched it travel down to the buttons below his belt.

“Mmm-hmm,” she cooed with a knowing smile. “Your cycle seems to have…extended itself.”

Laura bit back a laugh at Sean’s distressed expression. His mind and body were at such odds, he had lost his usual equanimity. He obviously wanted her, but had decided she was not up to lovemaking because of her recent spell of sickness. If he only knew how gloriously energetic she felt right now. Excited.

She watched him with one brow cocked, her eyes traveling from his face to his groin and back again, curious as to how nimbly he would account for that blatant erection of his.

He didn’t disappoint. “Swelling,” he explained. “Too much recent activity, I suspect,” he explained somewhat breathlessly, still frowning down at his errant member.

“Sean?”

His head came up with a guilty jerk. “Yes?”

She gave him a pointed look. “I’m not sixteen anymore. My women friends who are long married have been rather vocal about what’s involved. And, believe it or not, I can read, as well. Now tell me what has prompted this absurd fabrication of yours? Are you teasing me?”

The pained look on his face wiped away all the humor in the situation. He wasn’t making sport of her inexperience at all. “Or is it my illness?”

Laura watched him carefully as he exhaled a protracted sigh. “In a way, it is,” he admitted softly as he trudged to the bed, turned around and sat down heavily beside her.

“You’re disgusted by it? Afraid of it? What?”

“No, no, nothing as simple as that,” he said as he caught up one of her hands and kissed it. He clutched it against his chest where she could feel his heart thumping hard against her wrist. “I’m falling in love with you, Laura.” A long pause ensued while she digested that before he added, “And I don’t want to.”

“I don’t blame you,” she said with a wry laugh. Laura plucked at the edge of the sheet with the fingers of her free hand. “Surely you realize what’s making you think this could be love. We’ve only known each other for three days. All this seems romantic to you, and tragic. You are a very compassionate person, Sean.”

“No, that’s not it. Something sparked the moment I first saw you. Before I knew about—” He stopped a moment, obviously unwilling to put her problem into words. “And then, of course, I do know what it’s like. Love, that is. It can be hell.”

Laura felt a sharp pang of jealousy barely tempered by compassion. She made her voice soft when she asked, “Your wife?”

He nodded.

“How did she die?” Laura had been told by her solicitor of the rumors surrounding the first Mrs. Wilder’s death. She hoped for Sean’s sake they weren’t true, but she thought she should know.

“She fell from a cliff,” he said, staring at the wall as though he could see into the past. “Ondine and I left London and went home to the house in Cornwall, where I attempted to clear the air between us. She wept that night.” He glanced at Laura and then away. “You see, she confessed to an affair with Wade Halloran before we married,” he stated in a flat tone. “Wade and I knew each other from Eton, and his family members were also Mother’s neighbors after she moved to Cornwall. Ondine swore things were over between them. So I forgave her.” Sean sighed and covered his eyes with one hand and shook his head sadly. “Then she told me…other things even more heartbreaking. Still I forgave her, though it wasn’t as easily done that time. She seemed all right when we said good-night.”

“When did she die?” Laura whispered.

“That next morning. Mother’s steward and I searched for her when we realized she was missing. We found Wade staring down at her body as it lay on the rocks just above the surf. He suddenly ran raving mad with grief. Only by using considerable force did I prevent his leaping after her. The authorities were forced to lock him away immediately for his own safety. Poor old Wade. I suppose he still languishes there in that locked room with his lost wits and his secrets.”

“Secrets? Was it…? Do you think she fell on purpose?”

Sean shook his head. “I don’t know. I truly don’t. Wade’s wild accusation, that I’d driven her to do such a thing, certainly made me wonder. But he obviously met Ondine there that morning for a reason. It occurred to me that maybe he pushed her, but I hate to believe that. Perhaps she jumped, as Wade declared, or fell accidentally. I suppose I’ll never know the truth. At any rate, she is dead and Wade ended as much a victim as she.”

“Oh, Sean,” Laura whispered, her heart aching for the pain he had obviously endured. “That must have been dreadful for you. Your wife and your friend. Such betrayal. I wonder how you stood it.”

“Not very well, I admit. I only brought it up to assure you that I do recognize what’s developing here between us. I did love Ondine at one time. I loved her very much.”

“And you lost her,” Laura added. “I can well understand why you wouldn’t want a repeat of that situation.”

He raked a hand through his hair and released a harsh breath. “God, it sounds so damned selfish of me when you put it that way! I do care so much for you already, Laura, but—”

“You don’t want to love me and suffer a grief you’ve already suffered once.” She patted his hand and squeezed it with reassurance. “That’s just good sense, Sean. Self-preservation. You mustn’t think for a moment that I fault you for it. I would feel exactly the same way in your place. You’re right, of course. The closer we become, the worse it will be for you. I really don’t want you to love me,” she lied, keeping her eyes averted so he wouldn’t guess what she really felt.

He remained silent, staring down at her hands clasping his.

“This simply won’t do. I should go home,” she decided with a succinct nod. “That’s the prudent thing, for both our sakes.”

“No!” His vehemence surprised her. “You can’t do that. I won’t let you.”

Laura frowned with frustration. “Well, we have to do something! Imagine how guilty I’ll feel at the end. Being left behind by someone you love has to be the worst feeling in the world.” She thought of her parents’ constant desertion and how it had affected her. Affected her still. “I refuse to hurt you that way,” she said. “I shall leave tomorrow.”

“I can’t let you go,” he whispered. “No matter what, I just can’t.”

Her hand wriggled out of his and she clamped it to the other so tightly her knuckles turned white. “Well, you’ll have to eventually, won’t you? For your sake we shall have to alter our relationship somehow. Or at least prevent its progressing into something more profound.” She considered for a moment. “Of course, you know that. That’s exactly what you have been trying to tell me, isn’t it? We can simply be friends,” she suggested. “Can’t we?”

“That did occur to me,” he said, wiping the sweat off his brow. “Yes, I think we must try.”

“Fine! It’s all settled then. No more of this playing at seduction, I promise. I was terribly clumsy at it anyway.” Her self-deprecating laughter sounded forced, even to her, but Sean joined her anyway. His sounded worse.

“You’re damned good at it, and you know it, you little minx.”

“Why, thank you! How nice of you to say so,” she said, preening theatrically. “I did have you going for a while there, didn’t I?”

Sean simply nodded, his eyes sad, his wide smile locked in place. He didn’t speak or move again for the longest time.

“I’m sorry, Laura,” he said finally. “I didn’t foresee this happening.”

She sighed and shrugged, fighting her disappointment. Time grew too short to waste any on regrets. “Oh, that’s all right, Sean. I wish you wouldn’t talk on so about it.”

He rose then and headed for the door. Grasping the handle, he turned and smiled. “Do me a favor, old chum?”

“Anything for a friend,” she said, relieved that he had regained his composure, and determined to hang on to hers.

“Lose the perfume and try to look ugly. Maybe develop a taste for garlic? I absolutely loathe the stuff.”

Laura laughed again, a real laugh this time. The rascal still had his sense of humor. And he really did want her. Maybe he wouldn’t mind a little flirtation later if she kept it light and funny. Perhaps, if they had enough time to become truly good friends, he wouldn’t resist a bit of superficial lovemaking.

Surely such a thing existed. Men fed these hungers all the time without getting their hearts involved. Sean, of all people, should be aware of that. Sympathy was getting in his way right now. He would get past that notion of love growing between them in a few days.

Even if she wouldn’t.

During the next week, Laura wondered why Sean still insisted on sharing a room. His presence gave her comfort but made sleep an elusive thing for both of them.

Occasionally she would surprise a tortured expression on his face that mirrored what she was feeling herself. One such fleeting look could start her body pulsing in places she had hardly noticed before he came along. Each night her desire seemed to double.

He would leave the room while she readied for bed and she politely turned her back to him when he returned to undress. That chaise longue by the window barely supported his tall frame, but he wouldn’t hear of her giving up the bed. Such a gentleman.

Laura ached to probe beneath Sean’s studied gentleness, but for his sake she carefully restrained the urge. Living together in such close quarters seemed akin to playing with fire in a room full of explosives. And neither of them knew just when an errant spark might set things off. Every time their eyes met, Laura expected the volatile entity that was their passion to ignite.

Friendship definitely was not working. By day, it appeared to flourish, but the nights—ah, those nights—when she lay so still, pretending sleep and watching the outline of his long body silvered by the moonlight from the window. Forbidden fruit.

At times, she would wake and feel his gaze on her, as well. Perhaps he only checked to see whether she still breathed, but Laura knew that was not his only interest. The desire emanating from his makeshift bed grew almost palpable.

Those torturous six nights aside, they had truly done Paris during the daylight hours. She certainly couldn’t fault Sean as a tour guide. He had pointed out all the sights promised and more. This morning they had walked for miles along the Seine, had luncheon at a café along the Champs Elysées, and then climbed the steps to the top of Notre Dame. The magnificent view of the city almost banished her exhaustion.

“I’ve saved the Louvre for tomorrow and the day after,” he said when they descended to street level again and exited the cathedral.

“Thank goodness, I’ll have tonight to soak some feeling back into my feet.” She would never admit it to Sean, but the attractions of Paris dimmed in light of his own.

The grandeur of Napoleon’s Arc de Triomphe, the magnificent stained glass of La Sainte-Chappelle, and the strange tower that Eiffel designed were only feasts for the eyes. Sean fed every single sense she had and a sixth one she only just discovered, an inner sense fully attuned to his hidden needs. It made her want to give him everything she was, to fill with light that dark void Ondine had left. But could he withstand another such loss when she had to leave him?

What she needed was a real distraction, something to engage her mind fully, something to displace the mind-drugging memories of their one intimate encounter the day they married.

“I wonder when we’ll meet this Charles Beaumont?” Sean had sent round a message to the man. They had expected an invitation from him every evening when they returned to the hotel. “He doesn’t seem to be in any rush to sell the picture, does he? Do you think he has decided not to part with it?” Laura asked as they approached rue St. Jacques where their hotel was located.

Sean shrugged. “Who can say? But I’m not in any great hurry. We’ve been here for a week now and he has my direction. It’s his move. Would you like an ice before we go back?”

She rolled her eyes and grinned. “Good Lord, Sean, you’ve already had two since breakfast! I’m beginning to think that’s the only reason you accepted this assignment.”

“It’s very warm today,” he said, looking a little petulant, “and you nag like an old nanny.”

“I’d hate to have been your old nanny. You were a right little monster, I’ll wager. A nasty little scupper.”

His eyes narrowed and he looked away. “Just so.”

With his taciturn reply, Laura recalled that Sean had never had a nanny at all. His childhood must have been frightening and shameful, lacking any of the amenities she had enjoyed. Unlike her, he’d had his mother with him. But could even a mother’s love compensate for passing one’s tender years in a place rife with sin and degradation? She thought not.

He had seemed cynical about it the one time they had discussed it, the day she had proposed to him. Small wonder. Laura felt guilty now that she had reminded him even though it had been inadvertent.

Though it was certainly not of the prurient sort, she admitted to a curiosity about what his life had been like there. Perhaps if he recounted some of his early experiences, they would not appear so ghastly to him after all this time. She could point out how such adversity had fostered a strength and self-reliance in him that most men envied and women found infinitely attractive, as well as comforting. Especially this woman who had married him.

“Shall we visit your mother in Cornwall when we return from Paris?” she asked, hoping to turn the conversation happier.

“No, I never visit unless it’s absolutely necessary. The memories I bring are distressing to her. And to me,” he added.

“Would you like to tell me about it?” she asked gently.

The look he gave her was angry and defensive. “Not for a sure place in heaven would I relive it, even with words. And certainly not with you.” With that, he strode right past the ice vendor and on toward the hotel, leaving her to follow.

Laura knew she had overstepped the bounds of their relationship. She cursed her quick tongue and wondered if she had destroyed what little progress they had gained in becoming true friends.

Hurrying her steps, she caught up to him and reached out for one of his fisted hands. “Sean? I do apologize. Please don’t be angry with me.”

He altered his stride so that she didn’t have to run to keep up. “I’m not angry, Laura,” he said without looking at her. “Not with you anyway. It is just that some subjects are not for the ears of a gently bred woman. Trust me that my existence on Gumthorne Street definitely qualifies.”

Laura sighed and remained quiet for the rest of their walk back to the hotel. Sean’s silent preoccupation led her to believe he must be dwelling on his past in spite of what he’d said about not reliving it in any way. How often did he do that? she wondered.

She must be very careful not to refer to it again. Somehow, she believed that his recounting it aloud might help him bring it into proper perspective, but the risk of alienating him altogether seemed too great. Perhaps, someday, he would trust her enough to bare that darkness in his soul.

If there was time. She accepted the fact that she would die soon. The certainty troubled her still, but strangely enough, the occurrence of death itself bothered her much less than the things she would be forced to leave undone. Important things like loving Sean as completely as he deserved.

Laura squeezed the large hand that encompassed hers and placed her other over the top of it. Sean turned his head, looked down into her eyes and smiled. “Tell me I haven’t spoiled the whole afternoon.”

“What’s past is past,” she said as brightly as she could manage. “Right now is all that counts.”