“Hold to it if you want. I will not wear your ring, and you will not live in my house. I will not see you again, Lord Vandeimen. In fact, if you have any honor at all you will stay here and get on with restoring your home!”
It hurt, like blows, like blades raining down on him, but he kept hold of her arm and spoke steadily. “And leave you to return unescorted? I think not. But you’re right, we should leave.”
He let her go then, and stalked out of the house before he gave into temptation to shake her, kiss her, or ravish her.
He suspected she’d succumb to angry ravishment, and that would be the cruelest blow of all.
Chapter Nine
Maria sank down onto the lowest steps, shaking with fury and pain. It was like trying to hack off one of her own limbs, and he was making it harder and harder. Why wouldn’t he simply take the money and go?
The last thing she wanted to do was to follow him, to travel with him back to the village and then on the four-hour journey to London, but what choice did she have? Like so many other wounds, it could be endured and survived. She pulled herself to her feet and gathered strength to walk out to the stables.
When she arrived there the gig was ready and he was sitting with the reins in his hands. She climbed up beside him in silence and they set off.
“Maria—”
“Van, don’t. Please.” She gripped her hands together and realized that she still had his ring clutched in one. It would be a grand gesture to toss it away, but she couldn’t do that. She couldn’t do that any more than she’d been able to cut him free cleanly with cruel words.
He steered around a deep dip in the drive then picked up speed again. “I amputated one of my men’s arms once,” he said, eyes ahead. “It was mostly off anyway, but he was bleeding to death and we were stuck in the remains of a village in the sierra. I tied it, hacked off the remains, and cauterized it with mysaber heated in the cooking fire.” He turned to look at her. “He begged, too, but he’s alive today and home on his family’s farm in Lincolnshire. He married a childhood sweetheart and has a baby now.”
She didn’t know what to say other than to beg again, and she believed what he was saying. He wouldn’t stop because she begged, because he believed that what he was doing was right.
They turned out of the generously open gates onto the country road. “Are you sure about Maurice?” he asked quietly. “About Natalie?”
She could weep for clung-to hopes, but answered flatly. “Yes. He had four other bastards that I know of, currently aged two to ten. I can list their names if you want. He never concealed them from me, and he left provision for them in his will.”
“List their names.”
“What?” She stared at him.
He glanced at her, seeming almost calm, almost as if none of this mattered at all. “You said you could list their names. I asked you to.”
Feeling as if they’d slipped into a land where nothing made sense, she said, “Tommy Grimes, Mary Ann Notts, Alice Jones, and Benjamin Mumford.”
He nodded, but said nothing. The children should have been a winning blow, and yet Maria felt uneasily as if she had put a sharp weapon into his hands. She needed a shield. She would marry Lord Warren. He wouldn’t expect a passionate heart, and marriage would distract her. After all, she’d have the care and guidance of his sons, not much younger than Van.
But she’d never again burn in the fire of her demon’s passion.
Human sacrifice.
Oh yes, he had the right of it there, and was it right to sacrifice Lord Warren in her cause?
When they arrived back at the inn, she hurried up to the privacy of her room, leaving him to arrange for the coach to be ready. As she waited her mind circled that incident he had mentioned, the amputation.
How old had he been then? He’d said sierra, so in Spain. At least two years ago, perhaps longer, and he was only twenty-five now. She could imagine the inner terror, the sweating hands, the threatening vomit. She was also sure of the courage and willpower that had kept his hands steady, had done what had to be done as quickly and deftly as possible.
Love poured through her again, carried on respect and admiration. She wanted him in so many, many ways. But she loved him enough to cut him free and cauterize the wound despite his protests. Then perhaps one day she would be able to speak calmly of his happy life along with a sweetheart and a baby.
Van made the arrangements, and considered four hours in the coach with Maria. He couldn’t. He couldn’t trust himself not to argue, or worse, try to persuade by force or seduction. The demon was writhing inside him, calling for the fight to the death, for all or nothing.
He asked the innkeeper about a horse to hire and found that a Mr. Slade kept three fine horses at the inn and rarely rode them. Slade, apparently, was a wealthy iron founder who’d retired to the village and built the overlarge, stuccoed house that stood out in the village like a tombstone in a garden. Van was surprised Squire Hawkinville had permitted it.
Slade was a convenience for him, however. At the price of a few moments being oozed over by Slade he had the use of a bay gelding for the journey to London. It would cost more later. The iron founder was clearly delighted to put a local lord under an obligation. It was worth the price. He’d pay any price for Maria’s comfort—except to let her go.
By the time they arrived back, the light was going and a misty drizzle completed a miserable day. Maria had spent the journey planning ways to force Van to accept that their arrangement was at an end, but she’d been constantly distracted by the sight of him on horseback.
He rode superbly of course, one with the fine horse, and completely in control. He mostly rode alongside, but occasionally he raced ahead then circled back exhilarated, smiling. Until his eyes met hers and settled again to cool purpose.
