Page 17 of Secrets of the Heart

“I, ah, I wish you had told me, Miss Aincourt.”

“I’m sorry.” Rachel’s eyes flew to his, and her hands curled into themselves in her lap. “I did not mean for that to happen. When I accepted you, I intended to marry you. I was not—” She paused, the breath suddenly running out of her so that she had to make an inelegant little gulp. “I was not even going to see him again.”

“Still, it would have been…easier if I had known.”

“I know,” Rachel agreed miserably. “I am sorry.”

“It—well, it hasn’t turned out well. Not as I had hoped. Or you, I’m sure.”

“No.” Her voice was barely a whisper.

“Miss Aincourt…I want you to know…” Michael paused, then abruptly rose to his feet and began to pace. “I am making a hash of this. What I want to know is, is your father compelling you to say yes to me? I have no desire to force you to marry me. Or for you to feel obliged to do so. We can make an announcement—you may cry off, if you wish.”

Rachel looked up at him, tears swimming in her eyes. He was offering her a way out, not a perfect one, but a far better one than her elopement. If she cried off, everyone would assume that he had done something to cause her to; he was offering to bear the blame for her.

“No,” she responded in a choked voice. “I do not want to break it off. Father was right. Even An—Mr. Birkshaw admitted it. He needs to marry well. I know there is no—Anyway, I am a more responsible person, I hope, than I have appeared to be so far. I know that I have given you little reason to trust me, but I promise you that I will never do anything like that again.” She paused, then added uncertainly, “Unless, that is, you have changed your mind and would prefer to break it off?”

“I have not changed my mind.” Michael glanced at her, then away. It occurred to Rachel that he could not bear to look at her for longer than a few seconds, and the knowledge made her heart swell even more with guilt and sorrow.

“Marrying would be the best thing for us to do,” Westhampton went on, his voice distant and calm. “I know that it is hard for you. It—is not easy for me, either. But it will prevent any gossip, and you have said that you cannot marry, um, as you wish.”

Rachel nodded, clasping her hands in her lap and gazing steadfastly down at them. “Yes. It would be best.”

“Knowing how you feel…that is, given the situation…naturally I would not expect, a, um…It would not be a true marriage, of course. I would not press you. We would not share a bedroom.”

Startled, Rachel glanced up at him. Was he saying that those things her mother had talked about would not happen? Surprise shot through her, followed by relief. Then she realized, with another pang of guilt and even hurt, that Westhampton was saying this because he no longer wanted her. She had killed his love by her disgraceful actions. She wondered if he despised her now, if he was disgusted by her.

She told herself that of course he must be. She had hurt and humiliated him, yet he felt obliged to marry her in order to save his family’s good name from a scandal that she had created. How could he feel anything but dislike for her? It was simply that he was too much a gentleman to tell her so.

“I see,” she responded inadequately.

“I hope that you will not find the burden of marriage too onerous,” Michael went on in the same stiff voice. “However, I have one…stipulation, I suppose I should say. My family’s reputation is important to me, and I will not—I cannot—allow it to be besmirched.”

Red stained Rachel’s cheeks, and she said in a low voice, “Please, my lord, I am so sorry. I promise you, I would not do anything to hurt your name or reputation. I realize that I have acted in such a way as to make you think that I am…irresponsible, even dissolute. But, please, believe me, it was an aberration.”

“I do believe so. I know that you are a woman of honor. But, painful as it is for both of us, I must have your assurance that you will not see Mr. Birkshaw again.”

Rachel’s head flew up, her face horrified. “No! I would not. Lord Westhampton, I will do nothing to harm your good name. I would not break our wedding vows. I swear it to you.”

His face was unreadable, his jaw clenched tightly. “I believe you. But not even the faintest appearance of impropriety can—”

“Of course not.” She rose, her fists clenched in determination. “I promise you—on whatever you like—that I will not see Mr. Birkshaw again. I will not talk to him or write to him. I know how kind you have been to me, how easily you could have left me to the contumely of the world. I would never repay you that way. I will never dishonor you. Or myself.”

“Thank you.” The smile Michael gave her was more a twisting of his lips than any genuine smile. He took a step backward. “Well, then. Until tomorrow.”

That had been the tone of their marriage ever since—formal, slightly awkward and distant. It had been a relief, of course, not to be expected to take her place in Michael’s bed. Her heart was broken, and she could not imagine how horrible it would have been to have had to pretend to be in love with her new husband, to let him have his way with her when the thought of even kissing someone besides Anthony turned her to ice inside. She had been grateful to Michael and remained so, but she could not help but feel sometimes as though she had missed out on the most important aspect of life. She had no children. She was not, in any real sense, a wife. Their marriage was such a sham that even the thought of spending the night in the same room with Michael was embarassing to them both.

Rachel glanced back at the room she had just left and wished, not for the first time, that she had not been so foolish that night seven years ago.

6

For at least the tenth time that evening, Rachel glanced over at the graceful ormolu clock that adorned the mantel of the music room. It seemed as though its hands had sped up for the last few minutes, racing toward the time when everyone would decide to leave the room and retire. Her stomach had been a knot of nerves all through the evening, dreading the moment, and she had barely been able to enjoy the conversation with her family or the songs that Veronica and Gabriela had played for them. Indeed, she had felt only half there, the rest of her mind occupied with what she would do when she and Michael climbed the stairs to their room.

She thought about the maid helping her to undress with Michael right there in the room with them, and she blushed at the idea. It would be completely humiliating, of course, and yet…something odd stirred low in her abdomen at the thought. She could not help but wonder how Michael would react to the sight. Would he watch? Would he turn away, polite and disinterested? Indeed, did he ever think about the strangeness of their private life?

Rachel was no longer quite the naive girl she had once been. She had never had any actual experience of the marital act, of course, but over the years she had heard a good bit from other married women who had assumed that she shared in their knowledge of men and the marriage bed. Like her mother’s speech, their conversation was usually couched in euphemisms that hindered learning, but she thought she had come to have, more or less, a basic understanding of what went on.

Apparently men were more interested in the act than their wives, she had decided from the comments of her friends and acquaintances, so much so that they often broke their marriage vows by having affairs and mistresses—sometimes, amazingly, to the relief of their spouses. However, she had also gleaned that there were a fair number of other women who enjoyed the attentions of their husbands. And in the past few months, she had been witness to the fact that Miranda and Jessica seemed to take as great a delight in passion as did Dev and Richard. She found her mind turning to the matter more and more often lately, wondering what her reaction would be to lovemaking, whether she would revel in the pleasure—as Miranda obviously did, given the way her mouth curled up and her eyes took on a certain gleam when she alluded to the act that had gotten her with child—or would, like her mother, view it with cool disdain and resignation.