Chapter 18

Eighteen

S econds later, she was curled on her side in the bed and he was behind her, both of them still breathing heavily, their bodies dewed with perspiration.

When she found the wherewithal to speak, she said, "You called me sweetheart ."

A silence stretched for several seconds. Then he said, "You are sweet. The sweetest person I know. And you are also my heart."

The blissful lethargy that had overtaken her after her release vanished in a sharp flare of feeling. It wasn't pain, but some cousin to it she had never felt before. She turned and faced him. She put her hand on his jaw and stared into his gray eyes. She had held herself back for so long, and she couldn't anymore.

"You are my heart, too. You've always been my heart."

He swallowed, his Adam's apple moving up and down. "I didn't know I had a heart until you."

"Yes, you did. But that's all right. I don't mind sharing."

Suddenly, the former Mrs. Hartwells couldn't hurt her now she knew the truth of her husband's desire for her. She had Oliver in her bed, and those other women couldn't take him away.

"Sharing?" His hands gripped her waist, and he pulled her to him with a roughness that thrilled her. "There's no sharing. You're mine. I'm yours."

She laughed. "I meant with Violet and Emily."

His face went still. And grim. "I should tell you about Violet and Emily."

"You don't have to." She ran a hand down his long flank. "Not if you don't want to."

"You deserve to know. What have you heard about my wives?"

He was so serious. Even for him. She felt a little frightened. "Nothing. Just what you've told me."

A few months ago, when he had shared a secret hurt from his past—losing his chance to roam the world and be an explorer—he had not looked at her. But now he gazed directly into her eyes, and even before he spoke, she saw his suffering.

"I met Violet at your parents' town house, at one of their dinner parties. I thought I was in love with her. But it was a foolish infatuation, nothing more. I didn't understand her. I didn't know her. I thought she was delightfully mercurial when she was actually dangerously volatile. And when I went to her father to ask for her hand, I didn't know she had no real interest in me or my courtship. She had only been using me as a pawn in a flirtation with another man."

"Oh, no."

"Her father forced her to accept my suit because of my land and money. Maybe because of my connection to your family. Only after we were married did I discover she loathed me."

"I'm sure she didn't, Oliver."

"Yes, she did." He looked away from Henrietta, but only for a second. "She told me so."

"Well, she was deranged, then."

Oliver put his hand against her face gently and ran his thumb over her lower lip. "Yes, she was. I know you didn't mean it in the literal sense, sweetheart, but she was. She was disturbed, deeply. And very unhappy. We lived separate lives in this house, for years. We had not— She didn't like me and she didn't like coupling with me. We barely spoke and when we did, it was mostly?.?.?.?well, she was cruel."

Anger sparked in Henrietta's heart. No one should have ever been cruel to Oliver. But she bit her tongue. She must let him talk. At long last, her husband was letting her in. She had asked to know his thoughts, and now he was telling her.

"One night, she came into my room while I was sleeping. I woke up with a knife to my throat."

Henrietta fumbled for Oliver's hands and gripped them tightly.

"I got away from her and the knife, but I didn't get the knife away from her. She used it to cut her own throat in front of me."

She could stay silent no longer. "She meant to hurt you. Oh, Oliver."

"I was not a good husband to her. It was my fault. I ignored her. I ignored her unhappiness."

What an agonizing burden her husband had carried. She was desperate to tell him how wrong he was, what a good husband he was to her , but she mustn't interrupt him, even though he was all wrong in his thinking.

"And then, years later, I wed Emily. Even now, I don't know how I had the strength to do so. She lived in the village and when her brother died and there was no other family, I married her to keep her out of the workhouse. I shouldn't have. I should have found another way. She reminded me so much of myself, very serious and quiet, and I was so full of self-hatred at that time. And I don't think she cared for me. She only felt a sense of obligation.

"And with her?.?.?.?Violet had not allowed me in her bed in years. I knew Emily's health was poor. I should have guessed she should not carry a child. But I went into her bed despite that. Because she let me. And I killed her."

Henrietta couldn't keep quiet. "You did not. Listen to me, Oliver Hartwell. You did not kill her. Women die in childbirth all the time."

He winced. "Don't say that."

"It's true."

"But I have been?.?.?.?I have been counting on the fact you're so strong that you?.?.?.?you won't die. I could not bear it. Nathaniel could not bear it. You mustn't die."

"We will do all we can to prevent it, won't we? But it's a risk I'm taking, gladly. I want a baby. I'm sure Emily wanted a baby."

"She did."

Henrietta got up on an elbow. "See? You married her and saved her from the workhouse which would have certainly killed her. You gave her a pregnancy she wanted. It's not your fault she didn't live to see and raise and love Nathaniel. And Violet? It sounds like she was so unhappy and in so much pain. I feel sorry for her. But I feel much more sorry for you because you have had to live with that horror."

No wonder Oliver had told her he would not impose on her. She finally understood why he had said such a thing.

She whispered, "You lived through some terrible times. But you're here with me now. With a woman who wants you very much. And wants your happiness."

"Yes." He covered his face with his hands. "Was I wrong to tell you?"

"No. No, no, no. I want you to share everything with me. Your sorrows and your joys."

He rubbed his eyelids with his fingertips and then took his hands away and gazed at her, blinking. "I can't help but be happy, married to you. You make me happy. I never thought I could be. And I never thought you could want me this way."

"I want to ask?.?.?.?it's silly, but?.?.?.?all this time?.?.?.?you wanted me?"

His angular face softened. "I wanted you ever since I saw you in the middle of your Season, in London. You were so beautiful and so hopeful and so alive. Everything I wasn't. And I hated myself for wanting you."

"Oh, Oliver."

"I've often wondered if I kissed you not just because I desired you more than any other woman in the world, but because I wanted to keep you for myself."

"I was already yours, foolish man. I used to wait for you, you know, to come out of my father's study."

He laughed.

Everything about tonight was a miracle. Her husband was in bed with her, laughing .

"Really? I always thought your mother had sent you in her place to make sure your father and I didn't stagger into anything after we had emptied the decanter."

"No, I just wanted to see you. And then I learned to make custard for you when I was sixteen."

"You learned for me?"

"Yes. But I didn't know you couldn't send custard from Bexton to Crossthwaite."

"No. You had to come to Crossthwaite and make it here."

"Yes." She sat up. "And now I'm a bit put out with myself. We wasted two years, Oliver."

He pulled her back down into the circle of his arms. "Don't be upset. Don't. I'm sorry you thought your husband didn't desire you, but it wasn't time wasted. When we married, I wasn't whole. Even if I had selfishly taken advantage of you, I would have been no kind of proper husband to you."

She nestled against him, wanting to get as close as possible to this glorious man who was finally hers in every way. "You needed time?"

He kissed her forehead. "I needed you. To show me the way. To teach me how to be a father to my son. To teach me how to appreciate life. And how to appreciate you."

"Two years, though."

"I promise you I went as quickly as I could. I had a lifetime of disappointment to unlearn. And the only reason I did it at all is because you're such a brilliant teacher. My bright, steady, unflinching star in the darkness."

She tilted her head and looked up at him. "And maybe, finally, because I asked you for a baby?"

"Yes. I had vowed to give you anything you asked for. I hadn't dared to dream you would ask for me."

"All right. I won't be upset I had to wait two years. It's my own fault for not asking sooner—" He tried to break in, but she spoke over him. "But you have to make me a promise."

"Anything."

"You'll compensate me now with lashings and lashings of baby-making."

"How much is lashings ?"

"Every night?"

"Not the mornings, too?"

He was teasing her. Teasing from Oliver Hartwell was as intimate as having him inside her.

"The mornings, too. I'm very desirous of my husband, you see, and I need to be satisfied."

"Or?"

"Or nothing. I'm your wife, no matter what."

"I will do my best. But don't forget, you married an old man."

"I married an older man. Who has already given me my first son, the dearest boy in the whole world. Who has cared for me with a great deal of tenderness. But now?.?.?."

"Now?"

"Now, I'm ready for passion."

"I can't still care for you tenderly, Mrs. Hartwell?"

She reached up and stroked the lock over his forehead and wound it around her finger before tugging on it. "I will insist on it, Mr. Hartwell."