Page 21 of Secrets of the Heart

Cleybourne looked at his friend consideringly. “It’s a risky thing you’re playing at. I hope you know what you’re doing.”

Michael knew Richard was talking about more than the physical danger about which Red Geordie had warned Michael. Richard was worried about the health of Westhampton’s marriage. Michael did not tell him what he thought—that there was little point worrying about a marriage that was long since moribund.

Richard did not linger long after that, obviously eager to return to his bride. Michael stayed for a few more minutes before he gave up his hopes of finding a book to keep him occupied. He had given Rachel ample time by now to dress and get into bed. With any luck, she would probably already be asleep. He might as well get it over with, he told himself, and stop pretending that a book would do him any good. He knew that he would spend the rest of the night thinking about Rachel; anything else would be impossible when he would be spending it so close to her.

He climbed the stairs to her room and slipped inside. Rachel was in bed, eyes closed, her hair spilling like a waterfall across her pillow. Michael simply stood for a moment looking at her. She had left a lamp burning on the dresser for him, its wick turned low so that it cast only a soft glow immediately around it. In the dim light he could see little of his wife; it was his mind that provided the tantalizing images of her nestled between the soft sheets.

He tore his gaze away from her and picked up the lamp, then walked softly across the room into the dressing room beyond. The cot was made up for him, a thin, narrow mattress spread across its utilitarian frame. He had slept on worse in the course of investigations, when he took on one of his disguises; it was Rachel’s nearness that would make it difficult to sleep, not the camp bed. He set the lamp down on a chest and undressed quickly. After blowing out the light, he settled himself on the bed and closed his eyes. Sleep did not come, of course. His head was filled with thoughts of Rachel, each one more enticing than the one before.

With a sigh, he turned over onto one side. It was going to be a long night.

7

Miranda reached up to give her taller sister-in-law a hug. “I do wish you would not go so soon, Rachel. You have scarcely been here any time. Why, Westhampton did not even arrive until yesterday.” She cast an accusing glance over at Michael, who stood waiting by the carriage.

Michael looked a trifle embarassed. “I am sorry, Miranda….” He fumbled for something else to say.

“Yes, I know, he is a harsh taskmaster,” Rachel said lightly, coming to his rescue. She strongly suspected that Michael had insisted on leaving this morning primarily because he did not wish to have to spend another night in the same room with her. That fact caused her a little pang of hurt—was it really so terrible to be around her?—but she, too, preferred not to have to deal with the awkward situation another night.

Rachel went on more seriously. “Spring is an important time of year on the estate farm, you see, and I know that Michael is taking off more time than he would like to escort me to London. I hate to put him out any more.”

“Well, all right, I won’t scold him any further,” Miranda conceded. “However, you must promise me that you will return in time for my lying in.” Miranda’s forehead wrinkled in an unaccustomed frown of anxiety. “I really want you to be with me when the time comes. I—my stepmother will be here, of course, and Lady Ravenscar offered to. But…I would much prefer to have you. Just for support, you know. I am a trifle frightened.”

Rachel’s eyes widened at this astonishing admission from Miranda, but she took her friend’s hand and squeezed it reassuringly, saying, “I promise I will be here. I plan to leave London by the end of July, and that will give me over a month before the happy event is supposed to occur. And if you are worried or wish me here earlier, just write, and I will come sooner than that. There will be dozens of other Seasons, but only one first child for you.”

Miranda smiled back at her. “Thank you. I daren’t tell Dev I feel nervous about it. He fusses over me far too much as it is.”

“Naturally. You need another woman.”

“I need you.”

Tears sprang into Rachel’s eyes at the unexpected, heartfelt compliment. Several years younger than her brother and sister, she had rarely been the one that others depended upon. In general she regarded herself as somewhat “less than,” not as talented as Dev nor as beautiful as Caroline—and fond as she had become of Miranda, she was also rather overwhelmed by the other woman’s confidence and ability.

Rachel hugged Miranda again before she turned to say goodbye to the others. Then Michael helped her up into the carriage and climbed in behind her. As the carriage rolled away from the house, Rachel pushed aside the window curtain for a final look at her family.

“I am sorry to take you away from them early,” Michael told her.

Rachel turned back to him. “Don’t worry. It is perfectly all right. I shall return in a few months, anyway.”

She did not add that it would be something of a relief to get away from the other two couples. She loved her family and was very glad that both Dev and Richard had found rare and wonderful loves. But there were times when the sight of the others so deeply and obviously in love aroused a piercing envy in her heart.

It seemed as though everywhere she turned the past two days, she had been witness to some indication of the love that lay between her friends and their husbands—a glance between Jessica and Richard or a quick smile from Dev to Miranda, a brief touch of Dev’s hand to Miranda’s cheek or Richard, yesterday evening when he had thought no one was looking, lifting his wife’s hand to his lips for an affectionate kiss. They were small things, true, but filled with such depth of feeling that no one could have missed the love that underpinned their marriages.

Rachel wondered what it would be like to feel that way, to have a man look at her the way Richard looked at Jessica—a way that never failed to make Jessica’s eyes sparkle and her cheeks flush with color. It was clear that it was not only the men who delighted in the physical aspects of these two marriages. There were times when Rachel thought that she would give almost anything to feel for even a moment what Jessica and Miranda obviously felt for their husbands—the excitement, the passion, the overwhelming love. It did not make it any easier to bear to know that she herself had recklessly thrown away any chance she had of such a marriage.

She knew she was a terrible person for feeling these things. Even worse, she could not deny that she envied Miranda for her pregnancy, as well. Over the years that she had been married to Michael, she had come to long for a child. The life she lived, the social round of parties and calls, was not enough to fulfill her. She needed more; she wanted children. And with each year that passed, the longing grew worse.

Rachel looked across the carriage at her husband. She wondered if he ever regretted their childless state. Women were more eager for children, she supposed, but if nothing else, Michael must be aware of the need of an heir. Surely he must want a son of his own to succeed him to the title, to receive his fortune.

He would be a wonderful father, she thought. She could see him walking through the garden with the children—two sons and a daughter, as she saw them in her mind’s eye—telling them all about the plants around them, answering their questions and lifting them up so that they could better see the bud on a tree or a hovering butterfly.

“Rachel? Are you all right?”

“What?” She focused on Michael, his words bringing her back from where her mind had wandered. He was watching her with concern, and Rachel realized that there were tears in her eyes.

“Shall I tell the coachman to turn around?” he asked gently. “I should not have insisted on leaving. We can stay a few more days without problem.”

“No. No. Really.” Rachel gave him a smile. “I will be fine now.” She cast about for something to say to change the subject. “Do you suppose we will have a visit from your protector?”