Page 61 of Becoming Lady Dalton
More coughing. The carriage blankets would need to be burned. If she could prevent the spread of Sam’s infection to another living soul, she would—no matter what it cost. Lives mattered more than fabric, no matter how sumptuous.
“I have honored my husband,” Viola said when he fell silent. “In every way, since the day we were wed.”
“You’re a stronger woman than I am a man,” Sam replied weakly. Viola’s breath hitched with sadness. Her sacrifice had not earned her fidelity. Though she’d known the truth, it still stung to hear his confession aloud. The wound burned with cleansing fire. It burned away her illusions.
“I haven’t been perfect. I let him kiss me.”
“Is that all?”
“No.” She inhaled. “Once, I let him touch me. But nothing more, Sam. I went further than I wanted, but in the end, I stopped. I have not, and never will be, an adulteress.”
“I never deserved you, Viola. But I’m damned glad I had you as my wife.” The emotion in Sam’s ragged voice brought tears to her eyes. Viola blinked them away.
“It’s all right, Sam.” She squeezed his hand. “It’s all right.”
“No, Viola. It isn’t.” Coughing. There was nothing to do but wait. “I release you from your vows. Do you hear me, woman?”
“I hear you, Sam.”
“You won’t take my word for it, will you.”
“No, Sam.”
“I’ll put a bridle on your face and sell you to the man, if that’s what it takes.” Coughing. Viola gathered her thoughts in the moment it took to pass.
“You’ll do no such thing. I vowed until death do us part, and I mean to keep that promise. For Matthew’s sake, if no one else’s. Now, be still and sleep. Our son has the right of it.” She glanced fondly at the dark head of her son who had fallen asleep at her side.
Lulled by the motion of the horse-drawn sled, the ordeal of her experience, and the peacefulness of freedom, Viola closed her eyes and slept.
On Christmas,after the gifts had been exchanged and the children put to bed, the earl and his countess had trays of mulled wine brought out on silver platters. Viola held hers with both hands and sipped the warm, spicy sweetness. Warmth spread through her and chased away any lingering chill from the ride or her brief stay at Old Bailey.
Beside her, Piers carefully placed one arm about her shoulders and gradually tucked her close to his body. After a moment, Viola relaxed into him with a contented sigh, even as her heart clenched wistfully.
“I cannot give you what you want from me, Piers. Not for Christmas. Not at any time,” Viola murmured. Across the room, Harper and Edward gazed at one another with the kind of besotted happiness she could only dream of.
“What is it you believe I want, Mrs. Cartwright?” he asked, idly stroking her shoulder with his thumb.
“Marriage.” She swallowed around the hard knot in her throat. “An heir.”
The motion of his rough thumb against her paused. After a beat, he resumed the soothing rhythm. A thrum of desire reverberated through her body.
“I don’t wish to be a mother again. I can love you without wanting a child. I do love you, Piers. Which is why I cannot bear to hurt you or let you down.”
Piers took her chin with his free hand and regarded her with a fond look that made butterflies take flight in her chest. This was the way Edward looked at Harper.
“Viola, love. I do want marriage. I do want an heir. I will wait as long as you need.”
“There is no waiting, Piers. I don’t want a child now. I won’t want marriage, ever. I have had those things, and they are not happy memories.”
“Viola.”
He kissed her softly. Lingering. Viola let herself fall into wanting him, exploring the possibility of giving Piers what he needed. Not as an aristocrat, but as a man. Heat flooded her, and Viola deepened the kiss.
“We are being inappropriate,” she whispered, breaking off. A scant inch of breath between their faces meant she inhaled his unique masculine scent. It affected her as headily as an aphrodisiac.
She wanted him.
“Viola.” Piers spoke her name as a plea. “I would give you happier memories.”
