The Wilder Wedding. Lyn StoneЧитать онлайн книгу.
If only they could forget she was to die. Like being ordered not to think of elephants, he thought with an inner scoff. He could at least make her forget for a time. That would be something, anyway.
Sean glanced around the modest bedroom of Hotel Lenoir and thought perhaps he should have taken Laura somewhere fancier. Somewhere grand with a suite of rooms. Instead, he had selfishly chosen this place with its antique patina and its shared necessaries down the hall because the memories of his times here gave his soul comfort.
Right now he could use all the comfort to be had. For three school vacations during his adolescence, he had come here with his new friend, Eugene Campion. He and Camp had been the odd men out at Eton their first years there. Camp was the bastard of Baron Nesbitt Lorne, who had the good grace to see his natural son educated. And Sean, a product of the London stews, had a noble grandmother who had finally seen fit to rescue him.
Both benefactors believed they were doing the right thing by their respective charges. But neither Camp nor himself had had the background or a good enough grip on the king’s proper English to make themselves accepted. In the interest of self-defense, they had befriended and protected each other.
Accompanying Camp to his mother’s family in France for a few weeks of summer holiday had given Sean the only semblance of normal family life he had ever experienced. If life in a Parisian hotel could be considered anywhere near the norm, he thought with a wry smile. It ranked far above a brothel or the halls of Eton, Sean knew for certain.
When the boys had gone on to university, Annette Lenoir Campion had married and moved to Florence. Later, he and Camp had enlisted together and served two years in Africa. On returning, Sean had sought employment with Scotland Yard and Camp had gone on to medical school in Italy. Madame and Monsieur Campion, Camp’s aging grandparents, had sold the hotel to a cousin whom Sean had never met.
Now, whenever he or Camp traveled to Paris, whether their visits coincided or not, they always came here. With its fond memories, the old Lenoir had become a sanctuary of sorts. He had never even noticed its genteel shabbiness before today.
Laura returned from the bathing room down the hall looking refreshed and rosy in her prim white robe. He noticed bare, pink toes peeking from beneath the hem.
“Into bed with you,” he ordered with a forced smile. When he had tucked her in like the child she looked, he kissed her brow and turned to leave.
“Where are you going?” she asked before he could escape.
“To scrape off some travel dirt,” he replied, knocking dust off his trousers. “Go to sleep, Laura. We have a big day tomorrow.”
She squirmed impatiently and smoothed the covers over her knees. “I thought you might want to…well, you know.”
“No!” he said, rather too quickly. In view of her confused look, he felt compelled to offer some sort of explanation. “It’s too soon, you see.”
Her eyes widened as though to take in this new bit of information. “Too soon? You mean you can’t…manage?” The gears of her mind were nearly visible as she considered that. “How often can you, then?”
Oh Lord, he had spun a web now. And tangled himself up in it. He thought she would assume he meant it was too soon for her. He could not make love with her again. He would be totally, completely lost in her if he did. She already had half his heart. How was he supposed to guard the rest? He’d have nothing left to go on with.
“Well,” he said, looking everywhere but at her, raking his mind for something, anything, to extricate himself. “Once a month,” he declared, warming to the prevarication. “You understand your woman’s cycle, don’t you? Men have cycles of a sort, as well, you see. It’s not exactly the same for a man, but there must be a bodily change for the…uh…emissions and such to…to work. Yes. One has to wait.” He sucked in a deep breath and bit his lips together over the outrageous lie. “For the next cycle, you see.” He lowered his head and shook it in frustration. “It’s very complicated.”
“You lucky fellow!”
“Lucky?” he asked. His head came up smartly. He caught her slumberous gaze and watched it travel down to the buttons below his belt.
“Mmm-hmm,” she cooed with a knowing smile. “Your cycle seems to have…extended itself.”
Laura bit back a laugh at Sean’s distressed expression. His mind and body were at such odds, he had lost his usual equanimity. He obviously wanted her, but had decided she was not up to lovemaking because of her recent spell of sickness. If he only knew how gloriously energetic she felt right now. Excited.
She watched him with one brow cocked, her eyes traveling from his face to his groin and back again, curious as to how nimbly he would account for that blatant erection of his.
He didn’t disappoint. “Swelling,” he explained. “Too much recent activity, I suspect,” he explained somewhat breathlessly, still frowning down at his errant member.
“Sean?”
His head came up with a guilty jerk. “Yes?”
She gave him a pointed look. “I’m not sixteen anymore. My women friends who are long married have been rather vocal about what’s involved. And, believe it or not, I can read, as well. Now tell me what has prompted this absurd fabrication of yours? Are you teasing me?”
The pained look on his face wiped away all the humor in the situation. He wasn’t making sport of her inexperience at all. “Or is it my illness?”
Laura watched him carefully as he exhaled a protracted sigh. “In a way, it is,” he admitted softly as he trudged to the bed, turned around and sat down heavily beside her.
“You’re disgusted by it? Afraid of it? What?”
“No, no, nothing as simple as that,” he said as he caught up one of her hands and kissed it. He clutched it against his chest where she could feel his heart thumping hard against her wrist. “I’m falling in love with you, Laura.” A long pause ensued while she digested that before he added, “And I don’t want to.”
“I don’t blame you,” she said with a wry laugh. Laura plucked at the edge of the sheet with the fingers of her free hand. “Surely you realize what’s making you think this could be love. We’ve only known each other for three days. All this seems romantic to you, and tragic. You are a very compassionate person, Sean.”
“No, that’s not it. Something sparked the moment I first saw you. Before I knew about—” He stopped a moment, obviously unwilling to put her problem into words. “And then, of course, I do know what it’s like. Love, that is. It can be hell.”
Laura felt a sharp pang of jealousy barely tempered by compassion. She made her voice soft when she asked, “Your wife?”
He nodded.
“How did she die?” Laura had been told by her solicitor of the rumors surrounding the first Mrs. Wilder’s death. She hoped for Sean’s sake they weren’t true, but she thought she should know.
“She fell from a cliff,” he said, staring at the wall as though he could see into the past. “Ondine and I left London and went home to the house in Cornwall, where I attempted to clear the air between us. She wept that night.” He glanced at Laura and then away. “You see, she confessed to an affair with Wade Halloran before we married,” he stated in a flat tone. “Wade and I knew each other from Eton, and his family members were also Mother’s neighbors after she moved to Cornwall. Ondine swore things were over between them. So I forgave her.” Sean sighed and covered his eyes with one hand and shook his head sadly. “Then she told me…other things even more heartbreaking. Still I forgave her, though it wasn’t as easily done that time. She seemed all right when we said good-night.”
“When did she die?” Laura whispered.
“That next morning. Mother’s steward and I searched for her when we realized