Page 15 of A Kiss Gone Wylde
“Let us have a little experiment,” he suggested. There was no plan, no forethought to what he was about to say. “Come with me.”
“Where to?”
“The garden,” he answered, holding out his hand to her.
She hesitated for just a moment and then placed her hand in his. Payne led her to the same window he had entered from and climbed out, helping her to do the same. It was a cool night, but not overly so. The moon was bright overhead and the skies remarkably clear for London. The last of the seasons’ roses sweetly scented the night air. It was the sort of setting that was perfect for a romantic interlude. But romance wasn’t really in order for them. Theirs was more of a practical arrangement. But that didn’t mean it couldn’t be a pleasurable one.
“Why did you want to come out here?” Benny murmured the question softly, so softly that he had to strain to hear it.
“Because, for whatever reason, being alone with me inside seemed to be making you nervous. I thought bringing us outside into the night air, at least we would be in familiar territory.”
A soft laugh escaped her. “I hadn’t considered it but I suppose you are right. This is rather like our first meeting… which was only last night and yet seems more than a lifetime ago.”
“Momentous decisions have been made in that time,” he said. “And a lifetime of censure has been endured. Most people in our circle, Benny, go their entire lives without ever being touched by scandal. It’s an uncomfortable place to be.”
“You are speaking from an experience beyond today’s.”
The observation had been made softly, but it didn’t lack command for that. He knew she wasn’t simply asking for an explanation but demanding one. Given their circumstances, he supposed she was entitled to it. “I have never been betrothed, but several years ago I had an understanding with a young woman by the name of Anne Bardwell. We were terribly young and fancied ourselves terribly in love… in a way that only the very young can, I suppose. But despite my feelings for her, I also wanted adventure.”
“I can certainly sympathize with that desire. Adventure leads to all sorts of trouble.”
Payne smiled. “Well, it can. But in this regard, it led to the worst sort. I went off on my grand tour with the idea that our betrothal would be announced upon my return. But when I returned, Anne was gone.”
“What does that mean? Gone?”
“She had perished, Benny. In my absence she had been either seduced or taken by force. I cannot say which and she refused to tell anyone what had occurred. But she was left with child.”
“Is that what… is that how she died?” Benny asked softly. “In childbirth?”
Part of him did not want to tell her. The truth was so ugly. And he feared that she would hold him responsible for it as others had. But she deserved to know because people would whisper. People would use this new scandal as an excuse to dredge up old ones. If he did not tell Benny about it, someone else surely would.
“No. She did not die in childbirth. It might have been a mercy if she had… The child was taken from her, given to distant relatives to raise as their own, and Anne simply could not recover from it all. She took her own life. Her family had banished her to a country estate in Cornwall. One that overlooks the sea. In a state of melancholy afterward, she simply walked to the cliff’s edge and didn’t stop.”
“That is dreadful,” Benny agreed. “How she must have suffered to feel so desperate that death seemed her only choice!”
“I had gone to her father upon my return and he refused to even see me. Instead, I was sent a note from him that stated Anne had chosen another and I should never speak to her again. Of course, after her death, the truth began to come out—slowly, piece by piece. And I had to accept that I played a part in it.”
“But you didn’t!” Benny protested loudly. As if realizing that she was about to get them caught, she lowered her voice as she continued, “You did not. Nothing you did contributed to her demise.”
“My absence did. Had I been here, had I married Anne instead of taking off for the continent, she might have had a very different fate.”
“Because only unmarried women are the object of seduction or forced liberties? No married women must ever endure the unwanted advances of a man?”
Payne shook his head. “It isn’t that simple.”
“It is, actually. Women find themselves the victims of such things simply because they are women, their marital status or innocence aside.”
“It may have been Wainwright… That’s why I was at Vauxhall last night. I had been tracking him. I knew that he often met young ladies or married women along the Dark Walk for his trysts. But when I was left with the option of avenging a dead woman or saving a living one—there was only one choice to make.”
8
His decision to save her had cost him the possibility of finding justice for the woman he actually loved. Benny felt a pang in her heart, something deep and dark and perhaps a little selfish. Because she realized that, whatever their marriage might be like, she would never be the wife he wanted. Instead, she would be the wife he’d been stuck with. Trapped. Bound by scandal.
“You loved her very much,” Benny noted.
“I was a boy, Benny. I loved the idea of love, I think. Had we married, my feelings for her would have deepened over time, as hers would have for me, I like to think. But no one at the tender age Anne and I were at that time is ever truly in love. Youth makes one too selfish to love well.”
“You speak about it as if it happened a lifetime ago!”
