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‘Yes. I did want to be grand. Every day I thought of my father and how he would act, or Geoff, and what he would do, and then I did as if they directed me. Mostly. Until you. I could not keep you from my thoughts.’
‘What of the woman you courted?’
‘She has not even missed me this past year nor I her. But, if I married a woman such as her, without my heart involved, it would be the same as your father did when he wed Lady Hawkins. He married the woman who could give him funds and increase his status, but he could not forget the island woman. I am like the man on the other island. The one in Defoe’s book.’
‘Crusoe.’
He shook his head. ‘No. The one who lived to serve him. I can’t be rescued without you, Bellona. I need you every moment of my day.’
‘You do not think me good enough for society.’
‘Bellona, it is not you that is not good enough. It is me. It was fine for me to be in a woman’s bed if the doors remained closed. I felt no guilt at all. But the minute the door opened and others could see me for who I was—then it was different. I didn’t ask for marriage to protect you. You were closer than I to that truth. “Ah, the duke is caught with a woman, but of course His Grace married her. Noble man.”’ His words were a sneer. ‘“Sacrificed himself to protect a woman.”’
‘It is no surprise to me. I told you near the same.’
‘You may have told me, but I didn’t listen.’
She curled into his chest. ‘Put that as another flaw of yours. Along with not listening. But you are very appealing to the eyes...’
‘You could not say, Oh, Rhys, you are perfect just as you are.’ He couldn’t help pushing her.
‘I do not lie.’
He circled his arms around her, putting a soft kiss on her cool lips before moving back. ‘You are here. Why not stay? As my wife?’
Eyes, darker than the darkest stone flickering in the bottom of a pool, looked up at him.
‘How do I know you are different now than you were only a fortnight ago?’
He shook his head, letting her slip from his arms, but taking her hands in his. ‘Perhaps I am not. Perhaps I cannot truly change. But now instead of using the eyes of my father and brother and mother to look at the world, I wish to use your eyes. I wish to see people the way you see them. Even how you see me.’
‘I will think about it.’
‘Take the time you need,’ he said. ‘I am not going anywhere.’
* * *
Quite without asking, she moved into his house with the same amount of fuss a mouse made when taking up residence. She found her own room and changed it as she wished. A chamber with the best light which now smelled of linseed oil and paints. She said she wanted a painting of her homeland and wanted to create it herself. He’d instantly sent for a tutor and she’d not said one word against the man.
No one could see evidence of her anywhere else about the house and he did not think she went out often, but contented herself in the room.
She did not come to him in the night. Not once. So finally he went to her. He could not help himself.
* * *
Rhys looked in her chamber. All her paints were scattered about and the canvas was there, but he could not find her and the hour was late.
He puffed a breath out through his nose, knowing it could not be a good thing for her to be gone. His jaw tightened.
Rhys returned to his bedchamber and summoned his valet.
‘Your Grace?’ the servant asked when he walked in through the doorway.
Rhys realised he’d been standing with his hand still on the pull. ‘Miss Cherroll, is she about?’ He released the rope.
The valet’s long face became even longer. His words were spoken as he breathed out. ‘I believe you are the only resident of the house, Your Grace. Miss Cherroll received a message and had to rush away.’
‘Where did she go?’
‘I believe Lord Hawkins has taken ill and she was called to his bedside. It is not certain if he will recover. If you are to request a carriage, I am to instruct you that her father’s wife does not want attention called to the matter and it has been suggested that you not follow.’
* * *
Bellona stared at the face of her father, noting the bluish tone around his lips. Her oldest sister had already visited him—a quick discreet visit in the night. Their middle sister, Thessa, might never see him alive again because she was at sea. But the ship could dock any moment, or a year hence.
His condition was uncertain. She had asked his wife if she might stay a bit longer and her father’s wife had agreed. They had sat, side by side, watching him breathe.
Lady Hawkins wore a dressing gown and no rings or jewellery of any kind. Her face had little more colour than her husband’s. Her shoulders stooped. ‘This is the end of our years together, I suppose. He is falling more and more away each day.’ She took the cover and tucked it closer at his side. ‘I don’t think he is here any more.’
