The Fall of a Saint. Christine Merrill

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ The duke might appear to be a penitent, but he was still one of the most powerful men in England.

      His modesty was an illusion, meant to put her at ease and win her cooperation. In a moment of carelessness, he had changed the course of her life. Now he thought that, in casually changing it again, he was doing her a service. But her true past would be lost to her: her job, her honour...and her Richard. This duke, handsome and kind as he might seem now, had ruined everything.

      And no matter what she chose, his precious reputation remained untarnished. As he reminded her, even if he deserved punishment for his swinish behaviour, he was the legitimate son of a duke. The law could not touch him. Beside his power, the wishes of a governess who had been born on the wrong side of the blanket were as nothing.

      But at least if she married him, he would not escape the past. She could be a continual reminder of his mistake. It was an appealing idea. And now he was offering her everything.

      It was almost enough.

      But suppose he found reason to change his mind? ‘And what will happen if the child is not a boy?’ she asked.

      ‘It must be,’ he muttered. ‘Daughters in my family are few and far between. Why should it be different for me?’

      Perhaps because he did not deserve such luck. He had done nothing to earn it. ‘Enough of your problems and what you need,’ she said. ‘What if I bear you a daughter? Will you force your way into my room, as you did the last time?’

      He flinched as if she had raised a whip to him and taken a strip of flesh from his back. Was it the reminder of their meeting? Or the possibility that she might carry a girl? Was the female sex completely valueless to him? His past actions certainly made it appear so.

      He composed himself and raised his head to look at her. Then he continued. ‘If you bear me a daughter, my promise would stand. All I ask is that you marry me. I can expect no more of you beyond that. In the event that the child is a girl—’ he paused as though offering a prayer that it would not be ‘—I will explain all to the Regent and beg that he allows the title to pass through my daughter to her son. But I will not demand an act from you that you must certainly find abhorrent.’ He was staring deep into her soul, willing her to give in.

      If trust of strangers had come easy to her, she would have trusted this one. With eyes like that, so clear and blue, was it even possible to lie? And with the trust came the niggling desire to forgive him, to sympathise with him and to forget that she was the one who had been wronged. She could marry him and see that beautiful face each day for the rest of her life, those eyes gazing at her as though he cared.

      Was she really so weak as that? He did not care. It was an illusion. ‘You are banking on a male heir from a daughter who is not even born? That event, at a minimum, might be some twenty years hence. What guarantee do you have that you would be alive to see it? Or that the Regent will agree to any of this?’

      ‘I will live,’ he said. ‘I will live because I must. I will have a son, or a grandson. I will not pass until I see the line established and know that there will be another St Aldric to take up the responsibilities of the holdings and the people who depend upon him.’ With shoulders squared and jaw set in a way that displayed his noble profile, he stared past her as though looking into the future.

      Was the title really so important to him? A man with such an extreme sense of his own importance might do anything to see success, even if it required him to destroy those around him.

      It was a danger for her. But in him, it would be a weakness that might be exploited. ‘You would not touch me,’ she said cautiously, still searching for the trap in the words. ‘And in exchange, you would give me...everything.’

      ‘Anything you desire,’ he said. He was holding his breath, waiting for her answer.

      His friends looked alarmed. Perhaps they could see further than he did and realise the power he was giving her over his life. But Dr Hastings stepped forward and spoke. ‘I can speak for my wife in this, I am certain. What he says is the truth, for though he might be guilty of other things, I have never known St Aldric to lie. If you feel, now or in the future, that he cannot hold to this bargain, we will take you in and I myself will call him out and defend your honour.’

      The man was trying to make amends. And he was right in that it would be easier for the child, and for her as well, if they married.

      But then she thought of Richard. She had loved, once in her life. It was a week that must last for ever, now that he was gone. She had long ago reconciled herself to the fact that there would be no children, no husband, no love for another until she found him again.

      Was she willing to give herself, if not in body, then at least in law, to another man for the sake of convenience? It would render the past meaningless.

      And here was the man who had put her plans for ever out of reach. She had not thought herself particularly spiteful. At least, not until she’d met St Aldric. Now he was giving her unlimited wealth and the power to set friend against friend. For a change, she held all the cards, to play or discard at leisure. Revenge was hers if she wished to take it.

      But did she wish it?

      The duke’s hand still hovered before her and she reached out to clasp it. Had she expected the smell of brimstone when she touched him? A burn? A chill? This was nothing more than flesh and bone. He might be as handsome as Lucifer, but he was a mere mortal. And perhaps he was a fool.

      His palm was warm and dry. As he rose and helped her to her feet, his strength made her feel safer than she’d felt since... She stopped the thought incomplete, for this man had nothing in common with Richard. She must never forget that, though the Duke of St Aldric might seem like a gallant rescuer, he was the cause of her current problems, not the solution. She forced a smile, imagining that she was strong enough to be his equal and not just a governess who had run out of options. ‘Very well, then. I will marry you.’

      And I will make you pay for what you have done.

      Chapter Three

      Was he sorry he’d asked? Not really, Michael reminded himself. If there was even the remotest chance that he might gain a son from it, he was content to be married. The identity of the bride hardly mattered.

      Of course, it had not mattered before. Evelyn had been suitable and he had liked her well enough. But he did not think that what he’d felt for her could be called love. He was not even sure he’d have recognised that feeling, had it come to him.

      He was quite sure, however, that he did not feel that particular emotion for Madeline Cranston. But marriage to her was the right thing to do. He could not choose another woman, knowing that this one existed and he had been the ruin of her.

      He had made his bed with the unmaking of hers.

      Of course, she had not asked for this situation either. She had looked horrified when he’d first suggested the plan. It proved she was not some empty-headed fortune hunter. But she was a lady and in this predicament because of him. He owed her. He must content himself with the fact that she was educated and not unattractive.

      In fact, she was quite fetching when he could admire her unnoticed. She was more delicate than the women he normally favoured. The locks of chestnut hair that were not concealed by her bonnet formed lazy spirals, as though begging to entwine a man’s finger. The brown eyes and gentle smile were just as lovely as he’d have hoped to see from a woman СКАЧАТЬ