The Diary of Cozette (34 page)

I nodded.

He took a deep breath and kissed my other breast before he laid his head on my chest. I threaded my fingers through his dark curls, now speckled with silver. I savored this moment, here with the elusive man of my dreams. In all the men I’d known, each had bits and pieces of my perfect lover, but not until now were they all complete in one man.

“No pity, Cozette.”

“You’ve made that clear, Ernest. Now, tell me,” I prompted. A cold trickle of fear clung to the edge of my heart. I sensed something that I tried to shove away, hoping silently my instinct was wrong. However, even as I steeled myself to the possibility, this much I knew. If Ernest had suspected, even for a moment, that my life was in danger, he would have done anything to protect me.

“When Abbot found out that I’d helped you escape, he demanded compensation for his loss. He lied, telling me if I gave him all my savings, he wouldn’t send his men after you.”

“May his soul burn in hell,” I muttered.

“Cozette.” He gave quiet warning.

I waited with a sickening sense in the pit of my stomach.

“I didn’t trust him, but what choice did I have? I gave him everything. All that I had saved to get to London and to start our new life together.”

Hot tears escaped the corners of my eyes, sliding over my flushed cheeks. I swallowed. “And the scars, your eye injury—what of those?” I grasped his hand, closing my eyes tight as he pressed my hand to his lips.

“Master Archibald showed up at the orphanage a few days after you left. I had no idea who he was, but after he and Abbot exchanged words and I suspect a few coins, he told me I was to go to work for him.”

A sudden realization gripped my heart. Were his injuries at the hand of Lord Archibald? I sat upright. Fury filled my soul for a man already cold and dead. “Did that bastard do this to you, Ernest? The swine—I suspected him of brutality from the first. I feared for the mistress many times, but I had no idea he’d stoop so low as to strike a child.”

He pushed himself up, bracing his body over me. “Master Archibald did nothing of the sort. Master Archibald came to my aid. Now, you vowed to let me tell my story without interruption. Do not force me to turn you over my knee and paddle you.”

I offered him a sly grin.

“Wipe that look off your face if you wish to me to continue.” He touched my mouth, following with a soft, thorough kiss.

“I will be quiet,” I whispered, stroking my finger over his lips.

“The master and I were never close, but he treated me well. We had an agreement—if I would be silent about my identity, he would see to my mother’s care.”

“All his business trips? And that is why you couldn’t reveal who you were?” I realized then what he’d had to live with.

“He was seeing to my mother for many of them. Until she passed on.”

“And you never saw her again?”

“She knew of me only through the master’s visits. In the end, she didn’t recognize him, nor did she remember who I was.”

I stared at the tree branches swaying lazily outside his chamber window.

“But you haven’t told me about this.” I touched his eye patch and let my fingers skim across the deep-welted scars, trailing over his shoulder. Though faded with time, they were still evident on his bronzed skin.

“I was about to climb into the carriage behind Master Archibald when I noticed Abbot riding from the barn, hell-bent for somewhere. I don’t know why, but stepped in front of him and grabbed his reins, demanding to know his destination. He warned me to let go, but the sneer on his face made me hold tight. Somehow, I knew that he’d found you.”

His hand rubbed gently over my thigh as he spoke, his gaze distant in reliving the moment.

“The next thing I knew he was hitting me with his horse whip. I tried to pull him from the horse, but he jabbed my eye with the end of the riding stick.”

“Oh, Ernest. I hope that fate has not been kind to Mr. Abbot for all the suffering he’s caused.”

“And do you think for a moment that if I could go back and change any of what happened that I would?” He held my chin, forcing me to look at him.

My vision blurred from my tears. I could only shake my head, for I knew the answer was no.

“Archibald fought him off with his cane and struck a lucrative bargain to make up for his loss. Abbot relented, reluctantly, but he took the money. That’s all that mattered to him.”

“My dearest love, I am so, so sorry.” Tears streamed down my cheeks. It was the first time I remembered crying since the day I’d left him at the orphanage.

He drew me close, comforting me even as he had done many years ago.

“Shh, now this is why I didn’t want to say anything. This is none of your doing,” he soothed.

My fingers trembled as I touched the soft leather patch covering his eye. “I want no more secrets between us.”

He covered my hand, his gaze unsure. “Cozette, this isn’t necessary.”

“Ernest, your eyes are what I first loved about you. They are what kept me going each day. Whether you have sight in one or both, I will cherish them. And most especially when you look at me.”

His hand was warm on mine for a moment more and I knew that he struggled with what my reaction might be. He lifted the patch and drew it slowly over his head.

The left pupil was a milky, lifeless form of its deep green twin that held a steady gaze on me. A deep, jagged scar jutted at the corner of his eye, where laugh lines should have been.

He sighed quietly and cleared his throat. “It is unpleasant, I give you that. Here, now, let me just put this back on—”

I stopped his hand. “No, it does not affect me as you think. Abbot may have robbed you of your sight in one eye, but he did not touch your soul, and
that
is what will keep me in your bed.” I kissed him fully, long and hard, pouring out the years that I’d waited for him, hoping to free him of any doubt.

“And is it my soul only that you find appealing, Miss Cozette?” Mischief sparkled in his good eye.

“You seem to have recovered from your discomfiture most quickly. Surely, it is a miracle from above.” He pushed me gently to my back and pinned me with his wicked gaze. “On second thought, I doubt your miraculous recovery has anything at all to do with what is above.”

He grinned and captured me between the strength of his muscular arms.

“Indeed, Miss Cozette, heaven waits below.”

“Let it not be said that you suffer from an overinflated ego, sir.” I shifted and found the miracle he spoke of resting firm on my thigh. A delicious shiver crept up my spine. “I do admire your tenacity, Mr. Henley.”

“So you’ll marry me, then?” He kissed me softly. “After all, I am a very well-to-do bloke. Perhaps you’ve heard?”

I silenced him with my hand. “In truth, my love, I am no worse off to pledge my troth to you and live as your partner, confidant and lover for the rest of my days. Would you have me, were these my terms?”

He assessed my face, as he had done so many times.

“Indeed, I have found you again, and with no intention of ever letting you from my sight, I would take you on whatever terms you wish. I want only to see your face each morning when I awake and have it be the last I see before I sleep.”

He drew me into his arms in an embrace that offered more than passion. He offered understanding and acceptance, as well.

“I love you, Cozette. I always have,” he whispered softly against my hair. “But if fate should afford us a child, promise that we will marry. I do not want my child to grow up as we did, without the love of a true family and a heritage to build on.”

I knew that Ernest saw me as an equal in passion and in life. He would see to my care as much as I would his. Besides, knowing the concentrated effort required for securing a heritage, I wrapped my arms around his neck and thought of the delightful days ahead. With such a delicious proposal, how could I refuse? I am in fact the author of my life, as these entries confirm. What new adventures lie just around the bend?

~Lady C.

Hailing from the Midwest, Amanda McIntyre, aka Pamela Johnson, is the multigenre author of several novels, anthologies, novellas and short stories as well as nonfiction titles. Since publishing her first novel in 2001, she has received numerous industry awards, including a special recognition from
Romantic Times BOOKreviews
magazine for her anthology
CRUMBS IN THE KEYBOARD,
the proceeds of which benefited the education and awareness of domestic violence. Pamela lives with her family in Iowa and is currently working on her next erotic novel for Spice Books.

You can visit Amanda at www.AmandaMcIntyre.net.