The Heir - Catherine Coulter [130]
“Husband,” he repeated, his voice low and harsh. “Your husband? Come, Elsbeth, it is time that you learned more of the realities of life. It is time you became a woman. You can no longer behave as a child.”
“I don’t know what you mean. What is this? What is in your mind? If there are any problems, I can help you. I am a woman now, you made me into a woman. Did you not teach me what it was to be a grown woman?” Without thinking, she took a step toward him.
He held up his hand. “You are such a romantic child. Just listen to yourself.” He managed a fine sneer and forced his voice to mockery. “All I did, Elsbeth, was take your virginity, caress your girl’s breasts, and provide you with a romantic summer idyll, nothing more.”
Her face paled with shock at his words. “But you said you loved me,” she whispered. She shivered, not from the chill of the air, but from the burgeoning fear deep inside her.
He shrugged, such a Gaelic gesture of indifference, of contempt, she didn’t know. “Of course I told you I loved you. If you were a woman and not a child, you would have known that passionate words of love make an affaire all the more exciting and pleasurable.”
There was such darkness, such emptiness, she couldn’t bear it. No, he couldn’t be saying these things. She wetted her lips. “But you told me you loved me and you meant it, I know it, just as I know you.”
“Of a certainty I love you,” he said coldly, “as my . . . cousin. It would be unnatural were I not to care for you in that way.”
“Then why did you tell me we would elope together? Do you not recall your promises to me?”
He laughed unpleasantly, a sound that made her shrivel, made something die deep inside her. She didn’t move. She didn’t think she could move, no matter what. He shrugged again, dismissing her as anyone even deserving of love, “I said only those things you wished to be told, Elsbeth. A wife will never be a part of my plans. That you chose to believe otherwise must show you that you are naught but a romantic child. Come, my dear, it is time for you to emerge from your sweet cocoon of innocence. Thank me for telling you the truth now. It’s kinder than leaving you to uncertainty. You would never have heard from me again, you know.”
“Was I really such a child to give myself freely to you?”
He hated the tears brimming in her eyes, hated them, but he held firm, his voice as cool as the evening breeze that was making gooseflesh rise on her bare arm. “Yes, you were. Listen to me, you desired substance and reality when there was naught but dreams and phantoms. You must learn to face life, Elsbeth, not cower and weep like a helpless child. You will thank me one day. Hearts do not break—another piece of foolish nonsense. You will forget me, Elsbeth, you will forget me, and grow strong, become a woman. Do you begin to understand?” His eyes softened, yet she did not notice, for her head was bowed. He didn’t need to pull his watch from his pocket to see that it was getting late. He must leave soon. He said now, quickly, “You are English, Elsbeth. Your future belongs in England, wedded to an English gentleman. You have tasted a brief affaire de coeur. It is over now. No, no more crying. Please, Elsbeth—” He lightly cupped her cheek with his palm. “Please, do not remember me with hatred.”
“Yes,” she said, looking at him now, “it is over.” She swallowed her tears. Her back straightened. “Please take me back to Lady Ann.”
After Gervaise left Elsbeth, he gazed about the crowded room, his eyes resting finally upon the earl. He didn’t seem to be aware of anyone else in the room save the young lady he was speaking to. Soon Gervaise would never see him again, never have to feel his damning hatred of him, know that he wanted to kill him. Soon Gervaise would be the winner, the earl the loser, and it would be over and there would be nothing the earl could do about it. Indeed, the earl would never know. Damn, he wished he could know. He would leave