anymore. All I ask is that you tell me why you’ve agreed to marry a man who is
nearly three times your age.”
What could I say that sounded logical and reasonable? That it was done all the
time and what was his problem? No, that would make him froth at the mouth. He
was still staring down at me, still holding my chin against his palm. I had to
say something that would make sense to him. Instead, what came out of my mouth
was “The earl isn’t that old.”
He cursed, let my chin go, and resumed his pacing. At the far end of the library,
he called out, “You can’t be marrying him for social position, and certainly not
for money. For God’s sake, you’re rich and you are the granddaughter of a duke.
You can look as high as you wish for a husband, and that includes a man who
still has his own teeth, has his feet planted firmly in this century and not in
the last, a modicum of energy, some muscle, and a flat belly.” He paused for a
moment and took a deep breath. “Oh, the devil. Listen, Andy, I know it has been
difficult without Grandfather. And I wasn’t here to help you. But I had
responsibilities, and you told me you understood. Ah, curse me. That doesn’t
really say much of anything, does it? Look, I’m sorry I chose to remain in Paris
rather than come back to London to be with you. I’m sorry. You’re not marrying
this man because you’re punishing me, are you?”
Men, I thought, did they honestly believe that everything revolved around them?
That all of a person’s decisions and actions had to, perforce, put them in the
very center?
I felt tears sting my eyes. Grandfather had always been in the center of things,
and I had never minded, never even thought about it. Dear God, how I missed him.
The memories sometimes overwhelmed me. They did now, and I just couldn’t stem
them. I knuckled away the ridiculous tears. Grandfather had disapproved of tears,
actually hated them. I think now it was because my grandmother had cried very
seldom, and when she did, it always brought him to his knees. If they were
arguing, she could cry without saying a word, and he’d curse in a whisper, fold
up, and unconditionally surrender.
“I’m sorry, love,” Peter said, coming down on his knees next to my chair. “I’m
so sorry.” And he pulled me into his arms.
I laid my head on his shoulder. There weren’t any more tears, but the feel of
him, the strong beat of his heart against my chest, the smell of him?musk and
lemon?it was all so very familiar, so beloved, it all filled my memories with
belonging, with acceptance, with unconditional love.
“Come, tell me about it,” he said as he lightly stroked his big hands over my
back.
I stayed where I was, leaning into my cousin’s shoulder. I didn’t want to tell
him anything. I just wanted to stay where I was, and have him be silent. Just
hold me, I wanted to tell him. Don’t demand anything of me.
Of course he did. “Tell me, Andy. Tell me.”
Chapter Three
There was no hope for it. I said at last, my voice dry now because the tears had
faded into the old pain, “When Grandfather died, I had no one to help me. Miss
Crislock is a distant cousin, and she has been with me forever, but she always
viewed Grandfather with a mixture of fear and anxiety. She had no wonderful
memories of him like I did, just autocratic ones. I would say something to her
about when he did this or that, and she would just stare at me and say, ‘now,
now, my dear child.’ I suppose I just stopped talking since there was no one
else.”
His big hands continued rubbing my back. “You could have written to me. You
could have told me to get my selfish hind end home.”
“No, it was impossible. I did try to write to you, several times, but the words
just wouldn’t come. I felt stupid and helpless. And very alone. Then I met this