Fire Along the Sky
Page 142

She said, “Go on, then. I'll stay, for a while at least.”
When he was sitting again, she went back to her stool. His face, cast in shadow, was solemn.
“All the way to Montreal and back again I did naught but think of you, and the things I made you do—”
At least this time, they blushed together.
“I made my own decisions.”
He said, “Aye. I said it wrong. What I'm trying to say is this. I want you to wife, but I won't push you. I'm prepared to stay in Paradise for six months. After that I must go back to Montreal, for Luke canna manage longer without me. But I hope you'll be ready to go with me then, as my wife.”
He pushed out an unsteady breath. Then he got up and began to put more wood on the fire.
“Is that all?” she asked, oddly unsteady in voice, her heartbeat thundering in her ears.
Kneeling in front of the hearth, he shook his head. “No quite.”
He went back to his stool and sat. Lily had never seen him so ill at ease; it made her uncomfortable, and she liked it too: Simon Ballentyne at a loss for words.
“Two more things. The first is, I've had one conversation with your father, but I must have another, and today, if you'll permit me. To tell him about my . . . connections.”
“Yes,” Lily said. “That you must. And the second thing?”
He cleared his throat. Then he leaned forward, his arms crossed on his knees, and looked her in the eye.
“If we go on the way we started, we'll make a child. I won't have the matter settled that way either.”
Lily was a little light-headed, but she forced herself to focus on his face. She said, “I see. Well, I have a solution. I'll marry you. Now. As soon as it can be arranged.”
His expression went blank and still and utterly devoid of pleasure or thankfulness or relief; none of the things she hoped to see.
“Such a spontaneous demonstration of joy,” she said. “I'm overwhelmed.”
At least he had the good grace to be annoyed at that, but she cut off his protest.
She said, “I thought you wanted to marry me.”
“I do want to marry you. But not yet.”
Lily was on her feet, vaguely aware that her temper had slipped away from her and was not to be called back, just now. “Not yet? Why not?”
He stood up to meet her. “I've been trying to tell ye, if ye'll hark—”
Lily made an impatient gesture. “My mother will be very pleased to learn how honorable and noble you mean to be, but what I want—in case you care to know—is to be married as soon as possible.”
“Well, I don't,” he said. “And I'll tell ye why, if ye care to listen.”
Lily's fingers and hands jerked with the need to throw something, something hard, at his head.
“I won't have ye marry me to spite your apple-tree man. I won't do it,” he said, his voice rising. “I won't have you like that.”
“You've already had me,” Lily said, poking him so hard with one finger that he took a step backward. “In case you need reminding. You've had me, and now you're refusing to marry me.”
“Damn it, woman, I'm not refusing.”
“You are. You promised to marry me and you bedded me and now you're making excuses, you, you cheat! We had a bargain!”
“Why, ye wee—” He broke off, so outraged that nothing came out of his mouth.
They were both breathing hard. For a moment Lily stood outside herself and saw how they must look, how absolutely nonsensical this must sound to anyone who might be listening.
And there it was, what she had noticed in the back of her mind: a creak on the stair.
“Gabriel! Annie!” she shouted. “I'll box your ears if you don't disappear!”
There was a scramble and then, a moment later, the slam of a door.
“Now,” she said to Simon. “We'll leave Nicholas out of this. I insist.”
“Oh, will we?” Simon said. “And why are ye here at all? Ye badgered me intae bringin ye hame so ye could see him, woman. And ye've seen him, have ye no? And talked to him? That's what aa this is about, admit it.”
Lily tried to turn away, but he caught her by the waist.
“You talked to Wilde, and whatever it was he said, he made you angry. That's why you're in a hurry to marry. To teach him a lesson. To teach everybody a lesson. You'll marry me to spite them all.”
She howled in frustration. “You ass,” she hissed. “If that's what you think of me—”
“Deny it,” Simon said. “Tell me it's no true.”
“I deny it!” she yelled in his face.
“You're lying,” he said dully, and let her go.
She stumbled a little, and then drew herself up, shaking so that she must wind her hands in her skirt to quiet them.
“Listen to me,” Simon said. “I love you now as I loved you when we struck that bargain. More, God help me. But until I can be sure of why you want me, we'll wait.”
“And what if I love you?” She forced her tone down and down, to a whisper. To a plea.
“Do you love me, Lily?”
Oh, the way he looked at her. Hope and love and wanting all wound together in the tilt of his mouth and the set of his jaw, and his mouth, his beautiful mouth. If he would only smile.
She said, “I want to love you. I mean to love you.”