She hadn’t said that the fire burned on his side only.
Was it willful folly to believe she’d stuck on a lie rather than a hurtful truth? All he knew was that this was Demon Vandeimen’s most crucial battle and he’d fight, fight to the end.
He stood in the silent, slightly musty hall stirring again the dreams that had built here for him this afternoon.
He’d begun to dream of a freshly-painted hall, the plaster cornice repaired in that corner, the parquet floor perfumed and gleaming with wax. Now his mind put flowers in the vase on the table, and potpourri in the china jar. Then laughter trickled from upstairs and children ran down and out, out into the grounds to explore as the triumvirate had, to be Robin Hood in the woods and pirates on the river—
The vision shattered and he sucked in a deep breath.
Yes, his idyll had contained children and it would hurt to let that part of the picture go, but children weren’t as important as Maria. Anyway, they could bring children into their lives as shehad Natalie. Heaven knows, there was no shortage of orphans in the world.
Natalie. Oncle Charles and Tante Louise had gossiped maliciously about Natalie, so that had been no surprise. He hadn’t made that other connection.
He burned with the need to act, to charge wildly into battle, but where was the enemy here?
He went over to the china potpourri pot his mother had loved and lifted the lid to find that it still contained dusky petals, doubtless put there by her own hands. Having been covered for so long, a faint perfume stirred like a ghost of summers past.
Tears stabbed, and he looked up, swallowing, fighting, until the danger passed. There could be summers here again, and children even if they were not of his blood. There could also be Maria.
There had to be.
It wouldn’t be the first time he’d led a forlorn hope.
He heard a sound and turned to see her coming down the stairs, gloved and hatted, composed except for something bruised in her eyes. He would cut off his arm rather than cause her pain, but he could not let her run away without a fight.
He met her at the bottom of the stairs, blocking her way.
He saw her flinch, but she met his eyes. “We should return to London. We can make it before dark.”
“Of course, but let me say something first. We can have children.” He overrode her protest. “We can give a home to orphans as you have to Natalie.”
“You have bastards you need to house, Lord Vandeimen?”
It was harsh as a swung saber, but attack had never daunted him. “Not that I know of. Fight with me, Maria, instead of against me.”
She met his eyes, lily-pale, steel-cold. “We are not on the same side in this.”
“Maria—”
“No!” She sidestepped to walk around him and he grabbed her arm.
She whirled, furious—and afraid.
Instinctively his fingers loosened, but then he tightened them again. “All I want to make clear is that if you are barren it is not an insurmountable obstacle.”
“Your title would die.”
“So, it would die. It’s an upstart Dutch transplant only five generations old. It’s not worthy of human sacrifice.”
Her lips tightened and she suddenly looked older, older than her years. All he wanted was to cherish her and he was bruising her in mind and spirit.
She opened one gloved hand and he saw his ring in it. “I’m sorry, Lord Vandeimen,” she said, looking at some vague point behind him, “I find we would not suit.”
“Dammit, Maria”—he sucked in a breath—“We have a contract and it has nearly two weeks to run.”
Her eyes clashed with his. “I’m ending it now. As soon as we return to town I’ll have your nine thousand pounds transferred to Perry’s.”
“A contract has two parties. I say it will hold until the end.”
