“As you are mine.” She gazed up at him with a trembling smile. “Is what we just did . . . you know, before we fell asleep . . . always like that?”
“Not for me.” He shifted to lie on his side, facing her. “But then I never felt anything for the women I was . . . er . . . with.”
“I can’t imagine doing something so intimate merely for pleasure.”
“Nor canI . . . now.It certainly pales in comparison to what you and I just shared.”
Her eyes darkened. “But I suppose you were ‘with’ a great many women before we met.”
He winced. “Not as many as you’d think.”
“At the very least I assume one of them was involved with Mr. Malet and that’s why you despise him so.”
“Actually, that’s not why.” He supposed it was time he told her. Otherwise, she would assume all manner of incorrect possibilities. “I despise him—Douglas and I both despise him—because of what he did to a woman even younger than Kitty.”
Her eyes went round. “What was her name?”
“Valeria. She was the orphan of one of the English soldiers and his Portuguese wife. Both Douglas and I missed our families, so we treated her like a little sister. She had no brothers and was a bit of a tomboy, so she would follow us around the camp as a little sister might.”
Idly he twined one of Cass’s curls about his finger. “At fifteen, she turned secretive. We assumed she was growing into a woman and tiring of our company.” His voice hardened. “But that wasn’t it at all.”
“She was following Malet about,” Cass said.
“Precisely. She’d fallen in love with him. And like the scoundrel he was, he took advantage. No one knew of their . . . affair, if that’s what you could call a union between a girl and a man twice her age. Apparently he’d insisted that she keep it quiet, and she did.”
“So how did you learn of it?” Cass asked.
“After he’d had his fun, he discarded her, as was his wont. It broke her heart. She languished away, refusing to eat or drink, refusing to say what was wrong. By the time she finally told us about it, she was on her deathbed, and naught could be done for her. We confronted him, but he laughed at us.Laughed.Said we were just angry that we hadn’t had her first.”
“No wonder you hate him.”
Heywood was glad she understood. “I thought Douglas was going to kill him then and there. But I stopped him, knowing it would ruin Douglas’s life, too. There were better ways to avenge her. So I went to our commanding officer and told him the whole story. With Douglas and me as witnesses—and Malet’s less-than-stellar reputation—the general was more than ready to have Malet cashiered.”
“What a blackguard he is! Now I’m glad you had the good sense to carry me and Kitty off. I shudder to think what might have happened to Kitty if you hadn’t been there.”
“So do I.” He brushed a kiss to her lips. “Besides, I wouldn’t have met you.”
She swallowed hard. “So you don’t mind so much that you gave up a fortune for me?”
“You’re the one who will suffer,” he pointed out. “We’ll have to sell Hawkcrest at a loss, then decide whether you wish to live on my—”
She stopped him with a finger to his lips. “No more.” Oddly enough, she looked guilty. “You’ve been honest with me, and now there’s something I must tell you. I wanted to tell you before, but you wouldn’t let me, and I was enjoying what we were doing, so . . .” She dragged in a heavy breath. “Kitty isn’t the only one with a fortune. I have one, too.”
Heywood narrowed his gaze on her. “What do you mean?”
“I-I have an inheritance that’s nearly equal to Kitty’s. My father left me a large dowry.”
“Douglas never said anything about it,” he pointed out, unable to keep the suspicion from his voice.
“I asked him not to. I asked the same of Kitty and my aunt.”
He rolled onto his back to stare up at the ceiling. He couldn’t believe this! “So why couldn’t you at least say something tomeabout it?”
She laid a hand on his chest. “Because I didn’t want you—didn’t want any man—choosing me for my fortune.”
“Even though you knew it was important to me.” Anger built in him, a nasty drug that poisoned his enjoyment. “Even though you realized that if I didn’t marry a woman with money, I would lose my own inheritance.”
“I would have told you eventually. I just . . . wanted to be sure that you cared forme,not my dowry. I don’t think that’s unreasonable.”
