They lay close and still for long moments, Gervase’s cheek next to hers, the gossamer softness of sable warming their faces, the slowing tempo of their hearts beating together. Each was reluctant to speak, knowing that words would pierce the physical harmony of their lovemaking.
Finally, his body still covering hers, he lifted his head and shoulders and cupped her cheek, his fingers lying gentle and passionless along her temple. His face was a pale oval above hers, his expression unreadable. When he spoke, his voice was as light and cool as his touch, as if the question was of no great importance to him. “Why do you need to see other men, Diana? For money? If you want more, you have only to ask.”
The anger she’d felt earlier returned as she remembered how he had attempted to use the sweetness of passion to control her in a perversion of what should be most honest and true between them. She tried to master her resentment, reminding herself how different he was from her in his actions and beliefs, but she still felt his actions as a breach of trust.
With too many thoughts conflicting in her mind, she didn’t speak, and after a long pause he asked, “If it isn’t money, is it that I don’t satisfy you?” His tone was still light, but they were so close physically that his body’s tension revealed how much the answer mattered to him.
It is difficult to speak of serious matters when bodies are intertwined; besides, Diana was beginning to feel the chill earth even through her warm cloak. Her light push signaled him to roll away, and he stood, leaving her cold and alone even as he helped her rise.
He brushed the snow from her cloak with quick, impersonal strokes, and when he finished, he captured her hands in his own warm clasp. “You must answer me, Diana.”
“I know,” she said in a voice as soft as shadow. “You asked why I want to be free to see other men and suggested two possible reasons, but neither is the correct one.”
“If it isn’t money and it isn’t lust, what does that leave? Promiscuity for its own sake, because you need the variety, or because you like to have men in your power?”
This time his voice was sharpened to wound. With sudden clarity she saw that they were engaged in a covert struggle, and if she agreed to be his exclusively, he would win. She would be in the neat little niche of mistress, comfortable and convenient, and he would be free to concentrate on important masculine things, not wasting deep thought on a mere woman.
Their relationship might be rooted in sex and money, with other, deeper reasons she was not yet ready to confront, but Diana knew beyond doubt that what she wanted from him was love. If he loved her as she loved him, all other barriers could be surmounted. If she yielded now, they would both be the losers.
She and Gervase each carried dark scars on their souls, scars only love could heal. In the language of the heart she must be the teacher, for she knew something about giving and receiving love, while Gervase could scarcely bring himself to say the word aloud. If they were to have a future together, she must fight him; she must compel him to explore his own heart, and to let her in.
She wanted no other man, had not once considered it since she met Gervase, yet she would not give him the promise he desired. If he was uncertain of her, was forced to question what she meant to him, perhaps he might grow to the point where he would offer her love, and it would set them both free.
Her hands tightened on his and she bent her neck briefly to rest her forehead on his firm shoulder.A courtesan should never fall in love with her protector.What she was going to do would hurt him, and his pain would grieve her as well.
It was also dangerous, for love might be too alien and threatening an emotion for him to accept. Gervase had his pride and his formidable defenses, and he might leave her rather than admit to feelings that would make him vulnerable.
Yet once again instinct whispered that denying him was the right course. If she was a coward now, she would stay forever on the edge of his life. The thought of losing him terrified her, yet only by taking that risk was there a chance that she might truly win the man she loved.
After a moment’s more thought, she knew what to say, words that would be honest, and which might show him the way. Raising her head, she tried to see his clear gray eyes, but the darkness defeated her. “No, not money, not sex, not power or promiscuity.”
Snowflakes fell silent and weightless between them, and her breath moved them in a slow dance. “My deepest wish is for a man who truly loves me, and whom I can love in return.” She thought a moment, then added, “Ideally, I would like marriage, more children, an honorable place in the world.”
His hands around hers were absolutely still. “I can give you none of those things.”
“I am not asking them of you.” She drew in her breath, then continued steadily. “I want nothing that you will not freely give.” Her hands tightened on his. “I love you, but I will not spend the rest of my life in the shadow of yours, waiting for you to weary of me. You desire me, but passion without love will surely fade. As I grow older, every time you come I will wonder if it is the last. I will not live that way.”
When he opened his mouth, she laid a gentle finger on his lips. “You are the most important man in my life, but I see no advantage in promising you the fidelity a wife owes her husband.”
Her cheeks were moist, not with cool melted snowflakes, but with the warmth of tears. It would be so much easier to give him what he asked. In a voice no longer steady, she said, “If you cannot love me, so be it. But I will not make a promise that I do not intend to keep, nor will I give you faithfulness when it might prevent me from finding a man who would truly love me.”
His tone sharp, he said, “In other words, you will give your body to any man you fancy until one becomes so besotted with you that he will offer marriage?”
“That is not what I said.” She shrugged, her gesture lost in the darkness. “Still, men sometimes marry their mistresses. Do you think that no man could want me except as a whore?”
He released her hands then, stepping back. “On the contrary, all men who see you want you, and apparently you are willing to let them all have you.” His deep voice was rough now. “But your strategy is poor. A fool who is mad with longing will be more likely to offer you marriage, so you would be better off refusing him until the ring is on your finger.”
“It is not marriage for its own sake that I want.” She spoke as directly as she knew how. “I am not a complicated woman, Gervase. What I want is simple: love. Unfortunately, while the idea is simple in essence, finding it is not easy.”
“So if I could say the words you want to hear, you would no longer accept other lovers?” She was not sure if it was bitterness or mockery in his voice.
“If you spoke from the heart.” Her words fell into silence, and after a long pause she said gently, “Even now, in the abstract, you can’t say ‘I love you,’ can you?”
His silence was colder now than the night air, and it hung between them for endless moments. Finally she took his arm and they retraced their way back to the manor. Courteous as always, he escorted her to the door of her chamber. Dropping his arm, he stepped back, scrutinizing her face as if she was a complete stranger. His expression was cold and still, as if it had frozen in the winter night. He looked painfully different from the man he had been these last three weeks, and it hurt her to see.
Standing on tiptoe, Diana laid her hands on his shoulders and pressed her lips to his. “Come to bed, love,” she whispered.
When she touched him, there was one slight, involuntary tremor of response, then nothing. He inclined his head briefly, his mouth opening as if to speak. Then he shook his head and walked away. Despairing, she watched his wide retreating shoulders until he turned the corner out of her sight.
