River Of Fire (29 page)

As Hermione gasped, Rebecca turned and guided her companion into the crowd. A dozen steps brought them to the end of the ballroom and a pair of open double doors that led into a corridor. She led Kenneth through the doors. He went without resistance, his expression numb.

Half a dozen dimly lit alcoves opened off the passage, each furnished with chairs and lamps so guests could converse in relative peace. Most were occupied, but the last was blessedly empty. She led him inside and pressed him into a chair.

Remaining standing, she rested her hand on his shoulders as she studied his face. His tanned skin was stretched taut over the underlying bones, and the scar was dead white. Quietly she said, "You and she were lovers."

His eyes closed and he drew a long, shuddering breath. "What… what happened had nothing to do with love. My father married Hermione when I was in my last year at Harrow. When I returned to Sutterton, I did my best to be civil even though I suspected that under her facade of proper young wife beat a heart of pure brass. Yet while I couldn't like her, I… I was attracted to her. She had a sexual aura no man could ignore."

Rebecca nodded. She had seen that sexuality in Hermione and could easily imagine how disturbing it must have been for a vigorous, impressionable young man.

He drew another deep breath. "Over the summer, things went well enough. Though Hermione must have realized that I disapproved of her, there was no open friction. My father was starting to neglect the estate, but I was able to take care of what needed to be done. Then I learned that he was going to mortgage Sutterton to buy a London house. I was badly worried, but decided that rather than start a row, I would tell him I didn't want to go to Cambridge. Instead, I would stay in Bedfordshire and act as his steward.

"I thought he would be glad—he'd spent years training me to manage the estate. But he guessed that I'd made the offer because I disapproved of his plans. He became enraged by my impertinence, and we had a blazing great row—the worst ever. After he slammed out of the house, I decided that for the first time in my life, I was going to get roaring drunk. I grabbed a bottle of brandy and went up to my room. About the time I emptied it, Hermione came in, crying and saying how distressed she was to have caused trouble between my father and me."

His voice broke off. When the silence had gone on long enough, Rebecca said in a matter-of fact voice, "She fell weeping into your arms and nature took its course."

"There's nothing natural about bedding your father's wife." His mouth twisted. "I did it from an unholy combination of anger and lust and drink, coupled with a desire to prove to myself that Hermione was as vile as I suspected. Yet in doing so, I behaved with equal vileness."

His eyes opened, pain clouding the smoky depths. "After that, I couldn't possibly stay at Sutterton. I said good-bye to my sister, Beth, took what little money I had, and left. Two days later, I enlisted. Partly because it was a practical way to support myself, but more as a kind of self-punishment for what I had done. God knows, I'd never had any desire to be a soldier."

"You shouldn't have been so hard on yourself." Rebecca's hands tightened on his shoulders. "Hermione did it deliberately, you know. She knew you would be crippled by guilt. The bitch probably hoped you'd hang or shoot yourself, but leaving was good enough. With you gone, there was no one to oppose her wishes."

"Good God," Kenneth said, startled. "You think she was that cold-blooded?"

"I'm sure of it—she reeked of smug triumph."

"And well she should," he said bitterly. "Because of my weakness, she was left unchecked to rip the heart out of Sutterton. In the process she destroyed the livelihoods of dozens of people and deprived my sister of the life she should have had. If I had controlled my anger and lust, I would have been able to stay. I had some influence with my father. I could have prevented the worst excesses."

"Don't count on it" Rebecca said slowly. "I think Hermione would go to any lengths to get her own way. If you had resisted her that time, she would have tried other methods to get rid of you. Perhaps she would have arranged a little scene where your father would find the two of you together, her with ripped clothing and screaming rape."

"Christ," Kenneth said, shaken. "I hadn't thought of that, but it sounds horribly plausible."

"Because of that woman, you spent a dozen years in hell, fighting and killing when that was the last thing on earth you should have chosen." Rebecca slid her arms around his neck and pressed her cheek to his, aching. "Oh, my dear."

"Rebecca. God, Rebecca." He pulled her down into his lap and crushed her in his embrace, his breathing harsh. "I'm sorry for falling to pieces. Most of the time, I've been able to bury what happened in some dark corner of my mind, but seeing her unexpectedly… it brought the whole hellish business back."

"She knew you were honorable, and she used that against you." Rebecca buried her face against his neck, feeling the hard rhythm of his pulse. It was sheer madness to sit in his lap when they were visible to anyone who might walk down the corridor and glance their way. Yet she could not bring herself to move.

He held her for the space of a dozen heartbeats. Then he turned his head and captured her mouth in a kiss that she guessed was fueled more by a need to drown his haunted memories than by passion. Yet passion followed in an instant, quick and hot She kissed him back, hungry for the taste of his mouth, the melting surrender and fierce pleasure she had known with him before.

It was all there, and more. Sensual heat, living fire. His hand slid to her hip and crushed the amber silk as he drew her hard against him. Beneath her the muscles of his thighs tensed, subtle and erotic, as she twisted in his lap to bring herself closer. When they were pressed breast to breast, she slipped her arms under his coat, cursing the fabric that separated them.

Then a female voice behind her gasped, "Shameless! Utterly
shameless
."

Rebecca froze and Kenneth muttered a curse under his breath. She pivoted in his lap to see that a whole group of people were staring into the alcove. Sickly she realized that the dance music had stopped and guests were coming down the corridor to the supper room. The cry had come from an aging dowager who stood with her hand pressed to her mouth in disgust. Flanking her were the Duke and Duchess of Candover, Michael and Catherine Kenyon, and a dozen other guests, all of them riveted by the scandalous sight of Rebecca sitting on Kenneth's lap.

Rebecca began to shake. After a mere three hours of respectability, she had ruined herself again, this time forever. Worse, people like Catherine and Michael who had offered their support in spite of her past were going to feel that she had betrayed their trust. She wished the floor would open and swallow her.

Then Lavinia pushed to the front of the group. "Well, my little lovebirds, you won't be able to keep your betrothal private any longer," she said with indulgent humor. "Sir Anthony will be glad to finally send out the notices."

Kenneth caught Rebecca in his arms and got to his feet, then smoothly set her beside him, wrapping his left arm around her waist for support. "Please forgive us," he said disarmingly. "Ever since Rebecca agreed to be my wife, I've been behaving like a mooncalf. I still have trouble believing my good luck." He smiled dotingly into her eyes. Under his breath, he whispered, "Play along, Ginger, and we'll survive this skirmish."

Jarred out of her paralysis, she tilted her head and gave him a slightly shaky smile. "It is I who am the lucky one."

Catherine stepped forward, Michael just behind her. As Michael shook Kenneth's hand, Catherine exclaimed, "How wonderful! Mind you, I suspected an engagement the first time I saw you together." She kissed Rebecca's cheek. "You're the only woman I know who is good enough for Kenneth."

An instant later the duke and duchess were offering their best wishes, quickly followed by others, even the dowager who had been so outraged. A little hysterically, Rebecca realized that Lavinia's quick thinking had transformed them from outrageous sinners into a charmingly romantic betrothed couple. Her reputation had been saved—but dear God, at what price?

Though the next hour passed with ghastly slowness, Kenneth managed to keep up the facade of proud newly engaged man. Rebecca stayed close, smiling shyly and accepting good wishes. But he didn't like the brittle expression in her eyes. They must talk before she shattered.

Luckily they had already arranged to leave right after supper, but Michael and Catherine's presence in the carriage prevented private conversation. He suspected that his old friends guessed that no betrothal had existed. However, with exquisite tact, they asked no questions.

He breathed a sigh of relief when they were finally set down at Seaton House. Rebecca held on to his arm as they climbed the steps and he unlocked the front door. She even waved good-bye to the Kenyons, but the instant they entered the dimly lit foyer she jerked away. Under her glowing auburn hair, her face was white.

Wanting to ease the distress in her eyes, he said, "We got out of that rather lightly. All we have to do is maintain the pretense of a betrothal for several months, then quietly let it be known that we decided we wouldn't suit."

"So in addition to my previous reputation as a slut, I will now be known as a jilt." She yanked off her cloak and hurled it onto a chair. "Wonderful."

"Ending the engagement will cause only a mild ripple compared to the scandal that would have erupted if Lavinia hadn't thought so quickly." He sighed as he removed his hat and set it on the hall table. "I'm sorry, Rebecca. I swear that you won't have to marry me because of a stupid accident."

"Was it an accident, Captain?" She peeled off her kid gloves and said in a voice that trembled, "You have access to most of my father's papers. Did you learn that my mother's death made me a considerable heiress? I imagine there is enough to save your precious estate, with some left over to start your own private art collection."

"Christ, do you think I engineered that wretched scene to trap you into marriage?" he asked incredulously.

She stared at him with bleak eyes. "No, I suppose not. Still, I've wondered why you were so vehement about not wanting to marry for money. You seemed to be protesting too much about what is clearly the logical choice for a man in your situation."

He turned away, feeling as drained as if he'd spent the evening pounded by an artillery barrage. And now he was going to have to reveal a wretched truth to explain his aversion to fortune hunting.

"I was raised to assume that wealth and rank and privilege would be mine by right," he said painfully. "Through a combination of bad luck and bad judgment, most of those assumptions were beaten out of me. While other young gentlemen raced horses and chased opera dancers, I learned that the world grants no rights beyond the chance to struggle for survival."

His mouth twisted. "In the army I was flogged, wore rags, and damned near starved to death. I was forced to face every flaw and weakness in myself, and to learn the harsh lesson that men born to whores and raised in the gutter could be stronger, braver, and more honorable than I."

Still not looking at her, he removed his cloak and folded it meticulously. "Now I've inherited the rank I once assumed was my natural due, but there's a very real possibility that I'll spend the rest of my life living hand to mouth, only a single step from disaster. Much of the fault is my own. But even though survival meant surrendering pride and hope and most of my youth, the one thing I refuse to yield is the belief that if I ever marry, I have a right to choose a woman I care about."

He thought he would suffocate in the ensuing silence. Then Rebecca said in a barely audible voice, "You're very eloquent. I'm sorry for saying what I did—getting caught was as much my fault as yours. More, probably, because I had less excuse for losing my head. But…" She drew a ragged breath. "Everything was going so well. Then it ended in an instant. I… I should have stayed in my attic and never allowed myself to be lured out." She turned and climbed the stairs, her back rigid.

He sank into an uncomfortable gilded chair and buried his face in his hands. She was right; they both should have stayed home. He had wanted to improve her life, and instead had caused greater damage. How many times did he have to learn the lesson that good intentions could produce terrible outcomes?

He could hardly blame her for her suspicions. She already knew that he was being less than fully honest; he'd told her so himself. From there it was an easy jump to believing he was a fortune hunter, especially when he had been so insane as to kiss her in what was virtually a public place.

Of course, he had been a little insane at the time.
Damn
Hermione. Though he'd known that eventually he would run into her, he had not been prepared for it to happen on his first venture into London society. He should have guessed that she would not respect the rules of mourning.

As much as he had always disliked his stepmother, he had still underestimated her viciousness. The best proof that she had deliberately seduced him was her brazen willingness to let Rebecca know about the incident. Bloody hell, had she told his father? The thought nauseated him.

Rebecca, bless her, had handled the revelation very well. Instead of running away in disgust, she had offered comfort and understanding. Thank God for her lucid, unconventional mind.

But now, because of his criminal carelessness, the two of them were officially betrothed. The hell of it was that, under other circumstances, he might well have asked her to marry him. He had never found such mental rapport with another woman, nor such intense desire. It would be very easy to fall in love with her. Instead, he was honor-bound to end the betrothal as soon as possible. He was in no position to marry. Even if he managed to resolve the mystery of Helen Seaton's death without Rebecca learning of his duplicity, a serious proposal would revive her suspicions that he wanted her for her money.