Their hands met. Their fingers clasped. And that was all it took. He gave her a small tug and she whirled around and into his arms. She buried her head in his shoulder. “I can’t do this.”
“I know.” He tightened his hold. “I will talk to Clarissa. She needs to know.”
“And will we be able to live with ourselves when she is the topic of every gossip?”
“We will be talked about, as well,” he reminded her.
“Except, we will have each other. And we won’t be able to stay here, Ned. If you think you were branded for having a courtesan for a mother, wait until you feel the burden of having destroyed someone as innocent as Clarissa. Especially in a place like Maidenshop.”
She was right. He dropped his arms and stepped back. “What do we do now?”
Gemma gave him a sad smile. “We don’t meet like this again.”
“No.”
“And no kisses. Because seeing you alone like this, I feel as if my heart is being broken all over again. Ned, we must stay apart.”
“That won’t be easy.”
“It is what you owe your wife . . . and your children when you have them.”
He thought of the baby she’d lost, of her alone.
“Gemma, I love you.”
“And I love you with a passion so fierce it frightens me—but we can’t.” And then, as if to belie her words, she kissed him. One last kiss.
This was madness, a glorious one.
He loved this woman. She was a piece of him that had been missing. However, she was right. He owed Clarissa his loyalty. Honor demanded it.
Ned just wanted to hold Gemma a heartbeat longer—
A soft gasp was all the warning needed.
Gemma heard it, as well. The kiss broke, they turned, and found themselves looking at Clarissa.
Chapter Twenty
Time stopped. Gemma couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. Now she understood why women swooned. Anything to escape this terrible moment, and yet, she was made of better stuff than that.
For her part, Clarissa stood poised as if caught in midstep. Her eyes were wide and round, as if she couldn’t understand what she was seeing, until she did. Her brows came together. The confusion left her expression and just as suddenly as she had arrived, she turned and sprinted off.
Gemma pushed against Ned. “Clarissa.”
He held her firm. “I’ll talk to her.”
She frowned. “She’ll never forgive me.”
“You did nothing wrong. I followed you out here.”
“When you speak to her, what will you tell her, Ned? How can we explain? I don’t want to hurt her.”
“No, that isn’t who we are, is it? We live for others. Come, let me be certain she isn’t inside denouncing us.”
“If she is?”
“Then we brazen it out. If she isn’t, it means she wants the marriage.”
“Ned—”
“Gemma, no more. Either way, each of us is in our own little hell, caught up with honor, expectations, and the choices we’ve made.”
“If she isn’t inside?”
He suddenly looked very tired. “Then I find her, apologize abjectly, and let her decide what she wants.”
“I’m sorry, Ned. I should have stayed home.”
“No, this had to happen. We’ll just see our way through.”
He took her arm by the elbow and guided her toward the front of the building. He went in first and then returned to the doorway and gave a small, discreet sign to Gemma that it was safe for her to go inside. He himself took off into the night in search of his intended.
Clarissa didn’t know where she was heading. She just knew she had to put as much distance between what she’d seen and herself as possible.
She didn’t bother going back into the dance. She didn’t even think about it. She was too stunned by the sight of two people she trusted kissing each other.
He’d been kissing Gemma.
Clarissa had begged him for a kiss. She’d swallowed her pride and asked for any show of emotion from him that could waylay her fears about the marriage. What she’d received was little more than a brotherly peck on the cheek.
And she knew what was going to happen next. They would search her out and then make excuses, the sort of excuses that always made it sound like it was Clarissa’s fault and not their bad behavior. Hadn’t that been the pattern of her life? She was always blamed, no matter what she did. She was also always expected to be well behaved and accommodate others because she was the orphan . . . the burden . . . the village project.
However, her future was at stake now. She was not ready for confessions or questions. She also feared that when that moment came, she might completely break down. Ned was her only chance for freedom. Why else had she patiently tolerated his reluctance to marry her?
She needed time to think. She also couldn’t walk all the way back to Squire Nelson’s house. First, she wasn’t about to return to the hall to let her hosts know she was leaving. She didn’t wish to make an announcement. She also couldn’t just disappear. The worst would be if, when the dance was over, they started looking for her and discovered her gone. She didn’t want to hear the lectures that would come out of that. She’d be chastised for being irresponsible, and she didn’t believe she could stomach that accusation, not tonight.
What she needed was a place where Ned and Gemma couldn’t find her. She didn’t want them to tell her that what she saw hadn’t been the truth. Living with different families over the years, she’d heard that more than once. Don’t believe what your eyes see, Clarissa. Or your ears hear. Only believe what we tell you.
Therefore, the best place to go, the only place, was over by the horses. The coaches, carriages, and even pony carts were lined up in the shelter of some trees. There had to be at least fifty of them, and the sounds of the animals would provide cover if she gave in to a good cry. The area was dark and appeared safe. The local lads hired to watch that all was safe had gathered as far away from the front door of the barn as they could. They were busy telling stories and wouldn’t notice her as she picked her way through the vehicles, searching for a place to hide.
Her intention was to wait here until the dance was over. She knew the Nelsons were so preoccupied with watching their daughters, they would not even notice Clarissa wasn’t in the room until she joined them as they left. And they were not going to leave until it was over, not if the Nelson sisters had their way.
She spied a covered barouche located in the deepest night shade. It would be a perfect spot to wait. Quietly, so as not to alarm the horses, she moved to the door, opened it, and bit back a shriek of surprise when she saw the shadows move and a grumbly voice said, “What are you doing here?”
Clarissa frowned at Lord Marsden, who had spread his long body across the interior of the vehicle. “You gave me a fright. What are you doing here?”
“Drinking.”
Her eyes adjusted to the shadowy darkness. She could see the glint off the flask as he held it up.
“You should be inside dancing,” she said, rather sanctimoniously.
“Thank you for ordering me about, Miss Straitlaced,” he countered.
He’d called her that before. She was not in the mood to ignore it tonight. “I don’t see that having morals is a bad thing.”