“You do not wish me to give you a wedding gift?” he asked gently.
“There is to be no wedding,” she said.
He stopped walking and turned to her. “What are you saying?” he asked. “The scoundrel has not let you down,has he? My God, I will not allow anyone else to do that toyou. I’ll kill him!”
“No,” she said earnestly, laying a hand on his arm. “It was a mutual agreement, Christopher, made just today.We would not suit. I think we have both known it for quitea while, but it is hard to admit one has made a mistakewhen something as formal as a betrothal has taken place.”
He was searching her face in the moonlight. “It seemed to me that you were eminently suited,” he said. “I thoughtyou loved him, Becky.”
“No,” she said, and for some reason, standing there and looking up at him, in surely almost the exact spotwhere they had stood seven years before, all the confusions and uncertainties of the previous weeks washed overher and she was powerless either to look away or to stopthe tears from trickling down her cheeks.
He bent closer and put his hands on her shoulders. “Are you crying, Becky?” he said. “Oh, God, it has upset youafter all. Don’t cry, my love. Somehow everything isgoing to turn out well for you. It must. I don’t knowanyone who deserves happiness more than you do.”
And he put his arms right around her and pulled her against him, cradling her head against his shoulder, rocking her comfortingly, murmuring unintelligible words into her hair.
Rebecca would not let herself break down completely. She leaned against him, relaxed into the strength of hisbody, closed her eyes to feel the comfort of his hand andcheek on her head, and brought herself slowly under control. But she did not want to break away. This momentwas the whole of life. Tomorrow he would be gone.Perhaps in five minutes’ time she would be thinking abouthis desertion again. For the rest of her life she would misshim and love him. But for this moment she was here in hisarms and nothing else mattered. If he were a murderer anda traitor, it would not matter at the moment. Now was allthat was important.
“You can let me go now, Christopher,” she forced herself to say eventually. “I must be tired. I did not meanto cry.” But she made no effort to pull away from him.
He too did not let go of her, but actually tightened his hold and rubbed his cheek across the top of her head. “Ishould not say this,” he said. “I have no right. No right atall. But I have to say it just once as a self-indulgence. Ilove you, Becky Shaw. I have loved you for seven yearsand probably even before that, and I shall go to my graveloving you. It will not be very gratifying to you to knowthat you are loved by someone like me, but maybe sometimes when you are depressed as you have been thisevening and perhaps feel very much alone, you may gainsome fleeting comfort from knowing that there is one manto whom you are the whole world.”
When she had finished taking some deep breaths in a conscious effort to keep control over herself, Rebeccafound that her arms had somehow found their way aroundhis neck. Her face was still buried against the lapels of hiscoat. “I don’t love you,” she said incoherently. “I can’tlove you, Christopher. I can’t forgive you. I can’t loveyou. I can’t, Christopher, I can’t.”
She lifted her face to him and tightened her arms around his neck. “Tell me I am wrong,” she cried. “Tell me that itis possible for me to love you. I can’t. I can’t forgive you.”
“I know,” he said, and his mouth was on hers, botharms bent beneath hers so that he held her head with bothhands.
Rebecca did not fight his kiss or the hot passion that soon had her arching her body against the heat of his,tilting her head, and opening her mouth beneath his. Shecould not love him as she had in the past. She could notforgive him. But for this moment she did not care what herrational feelings might be. Her body knew that it was withthe only man who would ever stir her, and she did not carewhat he was or what he had done. He was Christopher.
He released her mouth finally and gazed down into her eyes. He was not smiling and he was quite untriumphant.
“I can’t ever forgive you, Christopher,” she whispered.
“I know,” he said. “I knew it more than six years ago. I knew it when I made the hardest decision of my life. Iknew not only that I would lose you forever, but also that Iwould be hated and despised forever by the one person Ilove more than life itself. I made the choice. I have to livewith the consequences.”
He bent down and kissed her softly on the lips again. “Some kind angel must have granted me these few encounters with you in the past weeks,” he said. “I will liveon the memories. But I fear I have done you a greatdisservice, Becky, churning up old hurts when I had promised never to come near you again. Come, love, let mewalk you back to the village. We have wandered too faralready. Tomorrow I shall be leaving. I shall not troubleyour peace again.”
He took her hand and drew it under his arm again and they turned back in the direction of the village from whichthe sounds of music and merriment could still be heard.Rebecca felt totally powerless either to slow their progressor to say another word.
They had almost reached the church on their way to the area of the village where the dance was still noisily inprogress. There was no one else at this end of the street.No one visible, that is. But there was the sound of voicesraised in fierce argument coming from somewhere behindthe parsonage. Christopher gripped Rebecca’s arm a littletighter and would have hurried her past. But she stoppedsuddenly.
“Hush!” she said. “Listen.”
He looked down inquiringly at her, but her face was intent.
“That is Harriet,” she said. “One of those voices belongs to Harriet. She must be in trouble.”
Christopher released her arm without another word and raced up the pathway leading to the parsonage and aroundthe side of the house. Rebecca followed close on his heels.
They both came to a stop when they rounded the back corner of the house and saw the scene before them. Mr.Bartlett’s curricle and grays stood ready for travel in thelaneway that ran the length of the village behind most ofthe buildings. Harriet stood beside it, wearing a pelissethat she had not worn all day. Mr. Bartlett stood at thehorses’ heads and in front of him, almost nose to nose withhim, in fact, stood Mr. Carver.
“I shall say it only once more, Mr. Carver,” Harriet was saying shrilly. “You cannot stop us. What we do isabsolutely none of your concern. Stand aside immediately.”
“And I shall tell you only once more, ma’am,” Mr. Carver said, an unaccustomed menace in his voice, “that Ishall deal with you after I have dealt with this scoundrel.”
Mr. Bartlett was looking quite relaxed, almost amused. “I have been very patient, Carver,” he said, “but now Iam afraid it really is time for Miss Shaw and me to leave.We have a sizable distance to travel tonight. I really willhave to consider removing you with my whip if you willnot stand aside of your own volition. Of course, I supposeI should render you senseless and bind and gag you,because doubtless you will run squawking your story asfast as your legs will carry you as soon as we have left, butpursuit may be difficult. There are those crossroads a merethree miles away, and it would be tricky for our pursuersto decide which one we will have taken.” He smiled.
Mr. Carver did not shift his ground by so much as an inch. “You may leave anytime you please, Bartlett,” hesaid, “and good riddance to you. But you ain’t takingMiss Shaw with you. If she wasn’t such an addle-patedfemale, she would know better than to have considered it.Eloping with a penniless good-for-nothing! Chit needs tobe soundly thrashed.”
