“I admire your work.” He reached up to caress her cheek.“Truth be told, I admire you.”
His confession stole the breath straight from her lungs.Admiration was not love, but it was something more than nothing at all. Sheskimmed her palms up over his chest, resting her right hand above his thuddingheart. “I never thought to hear those words from you, of all men.”
He winced. “I suppose I’ve earned your cynicism.”
“You have,” she agreed, drawing no quarter. Their ugly pastwould never be completely forgotten.
“Think what you must of me, but know that I speak only truthwhen I say that you have a gift, Maggie. You should write again, for yourselfas much as for others.” His tone was solemn.
She had not thought of writing in a very long time. Whileshe had continued to read poetry and love the works of others, she had trulyfelt that part of her was closed off forever. She was no great poet. “I cannotwrite,” she said simply. “The music isn’t in me any longer.”
He caught her chin between his thumb and forefinger, tippingher head back so that she could not look away from him. “What has stolen themusic from you?”
She didn’t know what to say, and he was so terribly close.Desire unfurled within her like a ripe blossom. “I can’t be certain,” sheforced herself to say, and it was true. “My life has turned out to be quitedifferent from what I fancied it would be when I was a girl. Sometimes we mustgive up the dreams of our youth.”
She heard the sadness in her own voice. Her life had alteredso much since that carefree time when she’d been given to dreams and whimsy.She had been free to write as she wished, live as she wished. And then, herworld had disappeared, replaced with finishing school and French gowns, a tripto England from which there proved no return. Before she’d even known what shewas about, she had been left in a strange land with a new husband who didn’twant her and with precious few friends for support. Poetry had most certainlynot been foremost in her mind. She had done her duty to her father. He hadwanted nothing less than a title for his daughter, and she certainly hadn’twished to disappoint him, not even at the risk of disappointing herself. Noteven at the risk of losing a man she’d cared for very much.
“I hope you will consider writing again,” he said, hisexpression inscrutable as always. “Not every dream needs to be abandoned.”
It was apparent that he was a child of the aristocracy. Oh,to have been born a man with all the power in the world at his pinky finger.Maggie frowned. “I’m too rational to have dreams now.”
Her father had taken her aside before sending her to Englandwith her mother. He had told her that dreams were for men and not for women.She had been devastated by his last words to her before she’d been sent away toEngland and to a marriage that would serve to enhance his New York status whileleaving her utterly miserable. She knew now that her father must have knownwhat he was sending her away to face. And it hurt, for once she had been histreasured child.
As a girl, she had always been incredibly close to him. Theeldest of her siblings, she had been very near to her father. He had takengreat care to show her the intricacies of his business dealings even when shewas quite young. But when she’d turned twelve, her mother had finally birthedthe son he’d been wanting. And almost instantly, or at least as soon as it wasknown that her brother would be a healthy baby, Maggie had been cast aside,replaced. At seventeen, she’d been sent to finishing school. She’d returned andhad fallen in love with Jonathan, the sweet younger son of a New Yorkclergyman. Her father had disapproved immensely, and she had bowed to his will.He’d sent her off to marry a title in a faraway place instead. She’d beenforgotten.
Now, her father didn’t even bother to send her more than theoccasional letter, and even those correspondences were written by hissecretary’s hand. Merely because she hadn’t been born a son, even when it washighly likely that she was every bit as intelligent as James would one dayprove to be. It was all so horridly, dreadfully unfair. She’d forced herselfnot to dwell upon the disappointments her relationship with her father hadproduced, for if she lingered over them, it would hurt her far too much. Butnow, Simon and his surprising concern were deconstructing the walls she’d builtbetween her past and her present.
“Why are you frowning so fiercely, my dear?” Simon’s voiceinterrupted her troubled musings.
“I’m thinking of my father,” she confessed, feeling an oddsense of comfort with her husband now. They had shared their most intimateselves with each other. And they were husband and wife, which united them morecompletely than any other man and woman could possibly be joined. Even if thatbond had never been truly sealed before, since their sudden relationship, shecouldn’t deny their deep connection. Nor did she want to deny it any longer. Hewas awakening her heart and her passion, and perhaps it was dangerous but shedidn’t think she cared.
“What of him?” Her husband’s tone was gentle.
“I was thinking of how my father raised me to have dreams,but only until it was clear that he would have a son. When my brother was born,my father promptly forgot I existed. No more sessions in his study. No moreteaching me arithmetic and philosophy. No more encouraging me to read the greatpoets.”
“It would seem we share a commonality of sorts then,” Simonsaid, surprising her with his revelation in turn, “for my father never evengave a damn that I existed.”
“I wonder if that wouldn’t have been a better fate,” shemurmured, “than having been close to your father and then knowing that hetreasured a sibling more than you for no reason other than his sex. I cannothelp that I’ve been born a woman. I am still every bit as worthy as James.”
“Of course you are, my dear.” Simon gathered her to hischest then, embracing her in his strong arms and seemingly trying to erase thetroubles in her heart.
She leaned into him, soaking in his strength. How odd it wasthat he had the power to bring forth feelings in her that she hadn’t evenrealized she’d been hiding. “A woman is every bit as worthy as a man,” sheinsisted now through her tears, wanting validation. Why, after all, should herbaby brother be touted the heir to her family simply by virtue of his sex?Females could be every bit as intelligent, if not more so than their malecounterparts. That much Maggie knew.
“Don’t cry, darling.” He caught tears she hadn’t evenrealized she’d been crying on the pad of his finger. He was unbearably handsomelooking down at her, the light of the far-off windows illuminating hisaristocratic features. His eyes were what haunted her most, pinning her to thefloor upon which she stood.
“I’m not,” she lied, sniffing and trying to hide herembarrassment. How had they gone from speaking of her old poetry habit to thisdeep, emotional conversation? She didn’t want to linger over wounds that didn’thave a ready bandage. “My father was not particularly kind to me, but that ishardly your affair. I’m sorry, my lord.”
She licked her lips, embarrassed that she had allowedherself to sink so low in the mire of her past. It was hardly his fault thather father had bartered her for his title. For the first time in her life, sherecognized her father’s machinations for what they were. She could be as angryat Simon as she chose, but the truth was that her father had orchestrated itall. He had sold her for a title, and once she was gone, he no longer had aneed for her.
Simon brushed a kiss over her forehead. “I’m sorry, my dear.My father was an utter bastard as well. All he left me was a mountain of debtand no true solution.”
No true solution.Maggie winced, for she knew she’dbeen the solution. Or rather, her father’s willingness to provide him with afat dowry had been. “I suppose we are both the victims of our circumstances.”She’d never looked at the situation from such a perspective, but the more timethey spent together, the more she’d come to see him differently. She felt adeep empathy toward Simon, who was simply a man who’d been set adrift on theocean of life every bit as much as she.
“I suppose we are,” he agreed, his expression as solemn ashis gaze was searching. “Perhaps we ought to begin again, toss away the oldhurts between us. What say you, my dear?”
If he’d surprised her before, he amazed her now with hisunexpected query. The quiet life she’d led since her marriage had given way toone of passion, excitement and renewal. All the possibilities she’d thoughtshe’d abandoned forever suddenly seemed within her reach.
Was beginning again with Simon what she wanted? Was it whathe wanted? Maggie was fool enough to hope. She had a rather persistent feelingthat perhaps they ought to be swimming toward each other instead of oppositeshores. “I would like that very much.”
