She stopped and rested both hands on the balustrade, felt the roughness of stone and lichen under her palms. The gardens were developing towards their early summer glory, fresh tender green shoots everywhere, blossom on the trees, buds near to bursting on every plant.
A lovely season for a wedding.
‘And angry with me?’ Will asked again, close behind her.
‘I do not know,’ Verity said. She continued to look out over the borders to where the lawn sloped away, down to the lake. Was she? It was not his fault he was a duke, not his fault that he could not predict every wild scheme his brothers and sisters might come up with. He certainly had not invented the rules by which women were condemned to live their lives, even if he supported them.
‘I wish I understood what it is about me that repels you so.’
She felt him move away, rather than heard him. His absence felt as though a void had opened up behind her when before there had been something solid, something that would support her.
‘It would be idiotic of me to pretend that I do not know that I am considered an excellent match on every worldly level.’ His voice came from her left now, perhaps six feet away. She did not turn. ‘Humour matters to you, I know, and we have shared a joke or two, you know I am not humourless. We have shared kisses, too, and, forgive me, but you have not seemed to find them unpleasant. If it is something that I can change, tell me, and, if I can, I will.’
‘You do not repel me.’ It must have been hard for a man with his pride to even ask that question. ‘The loss of my freedom to a man who would insist on my conformity does. I would feel a prisoner as much as if you had loaded me with chains. You do not understand why I do not want to marry you, but I understand very clearly why you do not want me as your duchess. You are wise to feel that way. It would be a disaster for both of us.’
‘You want love, is that it?’ Will sounded as though she was asking for something strange and slightly eccentric. ‘People of our station in life do not marry for love.’
‘Most often not,’ Verity agreed. ‘But, yes. I can live without marrying and most probably I will. But if I do, I want to marry a man who wants me. Me. Not a conformable, suitable wife. Not to fulfil an obligation, not because his honour demands it. I want a man who would make my pulse stammer and my head spin whether he was a duke or a drayman. I want a man who can look into my eyes and understand me without words being spoken. I want a man for whom the world would be well lost if he could live his life with me.’
Her hand hurt. She looked down and found she had struck the balustrade with her clenched fist as she finally found words for her dreams and the courage to speak them.
‘You have hurt yourself.’ Will raised her hand and opened out the fingers. There was a smear of blood from a graze and he bent and touched it with his lips. ‘You have hurt your hand and you are dreaming impossible dreams. You will wake up and find that years have slipped by without this man you hope for. Years barren of kisses, of children.’
‘No. I—’
Will raised his head from her hand and took her mouth. He did not hold her, except that their fingers were intertwined still, he did not do more than move his lips lightly over hers, although she could feel the tension running through him like the vibration in a violin string that has been plucked.
There is this, a voice in her head said as she fought not to simply give in to the magic he was weaving. It was an illusion, this feeling of rightness in Will’s arms. But how long would it last, this flaring desire between them?
And it is only because he is a skilled lover, the cynical, hurt voice in her head told her. It is not you, not that you are in some way special to him. He simply knows how to kiss and he knows that he must marry you.
‘Verity, listen to me.’ He set her back from him and she could see no heat, no battle with his desires, in those intense blue eyes. ‘Think of how your father will feel if your reputation is ruined—and it may be. What the effect could be on his health.’
Will was perfectly correct. Papa would be distressed, but she was certain that if she told him how she felt then he would support her. His health would not suffer for it—she would be there to make sure it did not.
The effects of that kiss were beginning to wear off and she could feel the resentment boiling up at the tactics of the man in front of her.
First kiss the silly female until she is dizzy, then present the arguments logically—because she is only a poor, feeble creature unused to logic so it will overwhelm her and she cannot answer back.
‘When the scandal breaks your friends would be forbidden your company and be deprived of their safe haven as a result,’ Will continued inexorably. ‘I do not know why it is so important for them to gather together under your wing, but I can see that it matters a great deal to you.’
The impact of that must have shown on her face because his eyes narrowed, became those of a hunter who has seen his prey weakening after a long chase.
‘I could only offer them room in the tower for a short while, I knew that and so do they. We hoped that with you in the district their parents would stop scheming to marry them off in the hope that one of them might catch your eye. If I married you, that shelter has gone in any case. You cannot tell me that you would tolerate your wife encouraging the neighbours’ daughters to do things of which their parents disapprove.’
‘Of course not. But why are you so convinced that marriage is something akin to a sacrifice? Anyone would think you were all like Andromeda, chained to a rock for a sea monster to devour, or early Christian maidens being forced to choose between marriage to a pagan Roman or the lions in the arena.’ His exasperation was beginning to show in his voice now, in the taut lines of his shoulders, the thinning of his mouth.
‘For some women it is like being thrown to the lions,’ Verity said. ‘For all of us, it is a gamble. Even beginning from a basis of mutual desire for the union, with a man I could love, it is a risk.’
‘Life is a risk,’ Will retorted.
‘I choose the risks I want to run. And you?’ she asked. ‘Are you not going to add the reasons it is important to you to insist on this marriage?’
He shook his head, the proud, stubborn man. He was not going to use that weapon, or perhaps he gave her enough credit to understand his motives.
If she was not very careful Will could be branded as a man who had compromised an innocent lady and failed to do the right thing. His honour might be compromised.
I can rebel. I can be strong. Or will I merely be selfishly stubborn? Papa, my friends, Will...