Not Quite a Wife

  “And we all have vivid imaginations!” Sarah exclaimed. “So the next morning you decided to reconcile?”

  “You overrate my honesty,” Laurel said ruefully. “Kirkland was out of his head and had no recollection of what we’d done. I was horrified by my temporary madness, so in the morning I pretended that nothing had happened. We said civil farewells and I thought that was that. Then”—her hand went to her abdomen—“I found I could not pretend that nothing had happened.”

  “So you’re with child!” Julia said. “I wondered. You have the look. That is certainly an excellent reason to put the past behind so you can build a future together.”

  “But I don’t know how to do that!” Laurel looked at the other women pleadingly. “Of course I had to tell Kirkland, but I wanted to quietly raise the child in Bristol. As busy as he is, I couldn’t imagine he’d be very interested, particularly if it’s a girl, but he is interested. He persuaded me that even if we didn’t fully reconcile, we must become friendly again. Enough that our child can move back and forth between our households. That made sense, so I agreed to come to London for occasional visits. I know he wants more, but whenever I think about that . . .” Her voice choked off.

  “You see him breaking a man’s neck,” Cassie said quietly.

  Laurel swallowed hard. “I can’t stop caring, but he is not the man I thought I was marrying. We are too different. We always will be.”

  “You should think less about the death of villains at Kirkland’s hands and more about the vows you took,” Julia said with unexpected tartness. “For better or worse, Laurel. Of course you didn’t know everything about the man you married. No one ever can. Marriage is a leap into the unknown, holding the hand of the person you have pledged yourself to. Remember that he doesn’t know all about you, either. Because you loved, you promised. You must try harder to keep that promise.”

  Laurel jerked back at the uncompromising words. Before she could think of what to reply, Sarah mused, “I wonder why he didn’t come after you when you left. He’s not a man to give up easily.”

  “He never gives up,” Kiri agreed. “Not ever. Yet he let you walk away.”

  Through numb lips, Laurel said haltingly, “Very well, since we’re being honest—I thought he let me go so easily because he didn’t want me. The honeymoon was glorious and he’d talked about holding a grand ball to announce the marriage to everyone in London. But I think that when we arrived here, he realized I was just a provincial girl of no great charm or wit or beauty. After I left, he was free to live as he chose.”

  “You underestimate yourself,” Mariah said with compassion. “He certainly seems to want you now.”

  Laurel shrugged. “Now that he’s older, he must be concerned about getting an heir, and for as long as I live, I’m the only possible source of an heir. He can’t divorce me for adultery since I haven’t lain with another man, so yes, he wishes to reconcile.”

  Cassie shook her head. “You also underestimate Kirkland’s stern Presbyterian conscience. I’d wager half my fortune that he felt profoundly guilty for killing even if his victim was a villain. He might have thought your leaving was the punishment he deserved. Now he’s getting a second chance, and he’s trying to rebuild what was broken. I saw the way he looked at you. There is no question that he wants you as his wife.”

  “The real question is what you’ll do about that.” Julia bit her lip. “I speak from experience about vows. My life was being threatened by my former father-in-law, who thought of me as the murderer of his only son. Even though we scarcely knew each other, Randall offered marriage as the best way to protect me. I was reluctant, and for the first months I had one foot out the door, ready to bolt. It wasn’t until I closed that door and committed myself to the vows I’d made that our marriage became real.”

  Laurel stared at her interlocked fingers, which were white with tension. “You’re right. It is perhaps understandable why I left him. I was very young, and very horrified. But now . . . I am a woman grown, and I have seen how complicated the world is. I . . . I must do better than I have. I will do better. I just . . . have to figure out how.”

  The silence was broken by Sarah. “I don’t know if I should speak up when I’ve been married the shortest time of anyone here,” she said hesitantly. “But it seems to me that physical intimacy strengthens all the other bonds of marriage. The emotional intimacy, the trust, the commitment. Without that physical intimacy, it might be impossible to accept the aspects of Kirkland’s nature that shock you. You said that your head accepts his actions but your emotions won’t. Perhaps you should give your emotions more reason to trust him.”

  “In other words,” Kiri said irrepressibly, “return to your husband’s bed and everything may sort itself out.”

  A wave of heat passed through Laurel. Kirkland might not remember that mad coupling at the infirmary, but she most certainly did. Suspecting her face was scarlet, she said, “I’ll have to have a serious talk with my conscience. Is it right that doing something so pleasurable should dissolve my moral objections to murder?”

  “Don’t think of it that way,” Cassie said seriously. “Yes, you have a visceral abhorrence of violence, but there are different kinds of violence, and Kirkland has restricted himself to the more honorable kind. If you strengthen your bond with him, perhaps you will no longer be ruled by your revulsion.”

  Could rekindling the fierce passion Laurel and Kirkland had shared change her to the point that she could accept her husband’s dark side? Laurel bit her lip. Certainly passion would change the shape of their marriage, and that might be for the better. “I shall have to think about that. You might well be right.”

  “Or she might be wrong.” Mariah had a private smile. “But it is worth thinking about. Mating in all senses of the word does change everything.”

  Laurel surveyed her companions. “I thought that my estranged marriage was an elephant in the room, so I should shove the beast into the middle where it could be acknowledged and dealt with. I think that has happened.”

  “I think that elephant has been sliced into cutlets and grilled over a fire,” Kiri said with a laugh. “Having ridden elephants, I can say that is no small feat you have achieved. I commend your courage, Laurel.”

  “Thank you,” Laurel said shyly. “I’m very glad we’ve—banished the elephant together.” As she looked around the circle of women, she realized they could all become friends—and were well on the way to achieving that.

  The drawing room door opened and the gentlemen ambled in, all of them gravitating toward their wives. Except Kirkland, who entered the room last, his expression contained and impossible to read.

  “Have we interrupted anything hair raising?” Mackenzie asked with a grin. “When I thought of the six of you in one room with a teapot, I found myself alarmed by the possibilities.”

  Kiri caught his hand and drew him to her side. “And well you should be! We have vanquished an elephant. What, pray, did you gentlemen discuss over your port?”

  “Nothing the least bit interesting,” her husband said promptly. “Affairs of state. Very tedious.”

  Wyndham chuckled as he bent to brush a kiss on his wife’s head. “Don’t believe a word he says.”

  Cassie smiled up at him, her face coming alive. “Did you know that Kirkland is an accomplished pianist and a lover of all things musical? I didn’t.”

  “I didn’t, either,” Wyndham said, surprised. Mariah covered a yawn. “I wish to make an early night of it, but it’s been a remarkably fine evening. Thank you, Lord and Lady Kirkland.”

  “I also want to return to my daughter,” Julia said thoughtfully, “but I was hoping that perhaps we might have a brief recital? Laurel also plays the piano, and I suspect she is very good. She says you often played four-handed pieces.”

  Laurel’s gaze shot to Kirkland. After a barely noticeable pause, he said, “Laurel plays superbly, so I don’t see why not. Unless you’re too tired, my dear?”

  “Never to
o tired for music.” She rose with a smile and a mild inner curse aimed at Julia, who was creating a situation to draw Laurel and her husband together. It wasn’t a bad impulse, but too soon! Laurel had so much to think about.

  But Kirkland was smiling and ushering her toward the stairs. “Shall we do something from Vivaldi’s Four Seasons? That was always a favorite of ours.”

  “ ‘Primavera,’ ” she said. “ ‘Spring.’ ” The season of growth and rebirth, and may it symbolize what she was going to attempt.

  “That’s always been my favorite of the concertos,” he said. “A good end to a good evening.”

  The music room had enough seats for all the guests, though there were none to spare. As two footmen lighted lamps, Laurel settled on the piano bench and flexed her hands, then ran her fingers lightly over the keys in the lilting bars of a serenade her nurse had sung to her when she was a child. As always, music calmed her.

  The bench creaked as Kirkland sat down on her left. She felt the warmth of his body teasing her nerves. Don’t think of him as a murderer, but as a brave man who does what is necessary no matter what the cost to himself. The man you vowed to love and cherish, for better or worse.

  Because you loved, you promised. You must try harder to keep that promise.

  Try harder.

  She stilled her hands and glanced over as Kirkland readied himself, his long, elegant fingers stroking out a progression of deep chords. At seventeen, she’d thought him the handsomest man she’d ever met. Years and pain had given him the finely drawn beauty of a medieval saint.

  If he’d married a woman who could have accepted him as he was, there wouldn’t be such pain in his face. He’d be a happier man if he’d never met her.

  And if she’d never met him? She couldn’t imagine what her life would be like. Simpler but narrower. Less rich.

  Try harder.

  When he was settled, he gave a nod and they began, the swift notes dancing from their fingertips. The first movement vibrated with life. When she made swift little soprano improvisations with her right hand, Kirkland grinned and did matching improvisation in the bass notes with his left hand. Unlike when they’d played several days earlier, she didn’t resist the way their rhythms matched.

  Once the side of her left hand grazed his fingers and a shock went through her. He didn’t seem to notice, but she’d taught him to be wary of her. To be separate.

  Try harder.

  She gave herself to the joy and fulfillment of the music. When they ended the concerto, she allowed the notes to fade. Then on impulse she began to sing one of the songs they’d loved to sing together as she softly played the accompaniment.

  Drink to me only with thine eyes,

  And I will pledge with mine.

  After a startled instant, Kirkland joined in on the next lines, his gaze holding hers.

  Or leave a kiss within the cup

  And I’ll not ask for wine.

  At first his rich baritone was rusty, as if he’d not sung for years, but by the next stanza, their voices were blending as if they’d never stopped singing together. She forgot their audience, forgot their long estrangement. All that mattered was James, and the mesmerizing passion that had bound them from the first.

  When they finished the song, she remembered where they were and blushed for the intimacy of what they’d revealed. She glanced at their audience, and saw that Kirkland’s friends were staring as if he’d grown a second head.

  Then the room filled with applause. It sounded like many more than ten people clapping. Someone, Wyndham or Mackenzie, cried, “Encore, encore!”

  When the applause ended, Ashton said, “You’ve been holding out on us, Kirkland! I had no idea you were so musically gifted.”

  Laurel and Kirkland turned toward each other, laughing. “We make beautiful music together!” she exclaimed.

  “Indeed we do,” he said, but she saw that he was withdrawing. Maintaining the distance she’d put between them.

  When they rose from the polished bench, she extended her hand. “My lord?”

  “My lady.” He took her hand and they took their bows. His hand felt right in hers. Strong. Steady.

  And as she looked over their audience, Lady Julia Randall nodded approvingly.

  Their guests left, and Laurel’s energy departed with them. Physically drained but mind whirling, Laurel said to Kirkland, “You were right. Your friends’ wives are an impressive lot, and no eyes were scratched out.”

  “That’s good.” He cocked his head. “But what was that about an elephant?”

  She laughed, then hastily covered a yawn. “I’ll explain another time. For now, I’m exhausted.”

  “I imagine you’ll sleep well now that you’re no longer worried about meeting my friends.”

  “That worry is removed,” she assured him. But as she headed to her bedroom, she doubted she’d sleep easily. She had far too much to think about.

  For too long, Laurel tossed restlessly as she pondered what the Westerfield Wives had said. It was certainly possible that becoming Kirkland’s wife again in all ways would change her so that she could better accept that his lethal abilities were not a crime but a dangerous gift.

  But she might not change enough to be able to deal with his possible violence, and if, God forbid, she saw him kill again, she might shatter. Surely that would be worse for both of them than the present uneasy truce.

  It didn’t help to know that passion was a powerful enough lure to distort her judgment. A woman could delude herself about anything if it meant she could lie with a man like Kirkland. . . .

  With nothing resolved, Laurel finally fell into restless slumber, only to be jerked awake when she heard a low, despairing cry. After she blinked awake, it took her a moment to realize that she was in Kirkland House, and the distressing sound came from the other side of the door that connected to Kirkland’s bedroom.

  She sat bolt upright, listening hard. Another cry, barely audible, but unmistakably despairing. She slid from the bed and darted barefoot to the door. The knob turned easily under her hand and she moved soundlessly into his room. It was dimly illuminated by a lamp turned very low. Kirkland moved restlessly in the bed, his eyes closed. His face and shoulders were bare and sheened with sweat.

  Worried that he was suffering a fever attack, she moved to the side of the bed and laid a hand on his forehead. Though his chest was heaving and he was in distress, he didn’t feel feverish.

  He jerked away from her hand and mumbled something unintelligible. Hoping he wouldn’t use some lethal fighting trick, she shook his shoulder gently to pull him back from whatever dark place held him.

  “James, wake up, you’re having a nightmare,” she said soothingly as she wondered what dark dreams haunted his nights.

  Chapter 29

  “You’re having a nightmare.”

  The warm, familiar voice pulled him from the horror of falling through darkness, anguished and forever alone. Beside him, Laurel was a pale shape standing at the head of his bed, her hand resting on his shoulder.

  “Laurel.” Driven by pure instinct, he rolled over and wrapped his arms around her waist, then dragged her onto the bed with him. “Laurel,” he said again, his voice rasping. “Sorry . . . to have woken you.”

  If he’d been more rational, he would have expected her to pull away, but instead she settled back on his pillows and drew him close, his head on her shoulder and her warm arms cradling him. He closed his eyes, shaking, wondering if this embrace was a cruel, taunting dream. If so, he hoped it never ended.

  “I do enough nursing to be a light sleeper, so I wake easily,” Laurel said, her voice soothing as warm chocolate. Her hands caressed the taut muscles of his back, releasing some of the iron strain. “Do you have nightmares often?”

  “I don’t know because I’m asleep then.” His ragged attempt at lightness was undercut by the fact that he was still shaking. He buried his face between her neck and shoulder, feeling that he’d gone from hell to heaven. Lavend
er and the uniquely Laurel scent that he would recognize anywhere.

  One of her warm, strong hands kneaded the back of his neck. It felt unbelievably wonderful. She murmured, “Do you remember what haunts your sleep?”

  He couldn’t bring himself to describe the endless falling through dark, lonely despair that was the worst of his nightmares. Even thinking about that made him feel too vulnerable. But he was not short of other nightmares. “The mistakes I’ve made. The lives my mistakes have taken.” He swallowed convulsively and tried to slow his breathing. “The knowledge of my appalling effrontery for making the decisions that cause such damage.”

  “It’s never easy to deal in questions of life and death.” Her voice was soft in his ear. “Bad enough for a doctor like Daniel, who struggles against injury and disease, but that’s a relatively straightforward business. It must be far worse to send people into danger. You take on those responsibilities because someone must. At least you have a conscience. If anyone must deal in life and death, I’m glad it’s someone like you.”

  He sighed roughly into the thick braid of her hair. “No doubt you’re right, but it would be a lot easier if I didn’t have a conscience. Or better yet, if I always know what is the right thing to do.”

  “Infallibility is reserved for the Almighty.” She rested her cheek against the top of his head. “You’ve surely made mistakes. Who hasn’t? But you’ve also done things right. You saved Princess Charlotte from kidnapping and the royal family and others from assassination. You rescued your friend Wyndham from imprisonment long after anyone else would have given up on him. You were responsible for bringing Mrs. Simond and her children out of France. Surely those things balance the mistakes.”

  He shrugged. “Most of the work was done by my colleagues. They’re a rare lot, and they deserve the credit.”