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The satisfaction that shone in his eyes was at odds with the tenseness in his movements. She’d never seen him quite so edgy. “William?”
“Let me provide for you properly,” he blurted while never missing a step. “In the style and comfort you deserve.”
His words staggered her and she found she had to clutch the side of her makeup table to steady herself. “Are you asking for my hand?” she asked, but she feared she already knew the answer.
He stopped pacing, turned to look at her with a frown marring his brow. “Marriage? You thought I came to offer marriage?”
His voice held genuine shock, as though the notion had never crossed his mind. She had to fight a wave of hysteria as she stared at him.
“You said you loved me,” she said at last, touching the hidden locket with her fingertip.
He rushed to her, knelt at her feet and clasped her hands in his again. “I do love you, Bella.” His breathing came in hard, shallow spurts. “It is why I offer my protection. It is the greatest gift I have to give.”
He was no longer the suave viscount, but a man too desperate to have his way to remember his rank. The thought brought her no comfort, no hope. Only anguish.
She pressed her lips together to keep from sobbing and closed her eyes. Her heart pounded in her ears. “You think that little of me, of us, that you would make me your mistress?”
He squeezed her hands gently. “Look at me,” he coaxed with his low, soothing baritone back in place.
She didn’t think she had the courage, yet she forced open her eyes. The sincerity in his returning gaze gave her hope.
She held her breath.
“You deserve better than marriage, my love. I would never relegate you to the role of wife. It’s nothing more than a gilded cage.”
She lowered her eyes and said nothing, knowing no response was necessary. Very carefully, very slowly, she pulled her hands from his and straightened. He stood, as well.
“As an opera singer, I am not good enough to become your wife.” She tilted her head to stare at him. “Is that what you are saying, William?”
“I love you too much to imprison you.” He rose to his full height and continued. “As my mistress, you would have certain freedoms my wife could never have. I would give you a notice of carte blanche. You will never again incur a debt and will live a life of complete luxury.”
The haughty tone of his words conflicted with the desperation she saw in his gaze. He looked so young, staring at her with those startling blue eyes. So sincere. As though he’d just offered her the most precious gift in the world.
“Yet, you don’t love me enough to marry me.”
He clasped his hands behind his back and drew in a long breath. “I already have a wife.”
Bella gasped and her hand clutched at her throat. Her fingers brushed the locket which now weighed heavy around her neck. Chills swept across her skin, followed by scorching heat. Unable to speak, she stumbled backward until her spine hit the door leading to freedom. She dropped her gaze to her toes. From the hallway, a beam of light shone like a beacon under the door. She wanted to run from the ramifications she could not yet face, but that would make her a coward. Thus, she found the courage to demand further explanation. “You’ve pursued me all these months, while already married?”
“What I am offering is far more than marriage.” He stood tall, head erect. His stance was full of aristocratic pride but his gaze held a silent plea. “Think of it, Bella, you will be the celebrated mistress of a viscount in his own right.”
How could he think he offered her something of value, when it meant the desecration of his wedding vows? These long months of pursuit she’d held him at arm’s length, had remained pure, all the while assuming he respected her as very few men respected women in her profession.
She’d been woefully mistaken. He hadn’t been courting a wife. He’d been seducing a mistress.
She had just enough pride left to be furious at him. “I would like you to leave now.”
Rage and anguish, guilt and love tangled in his gaze. “Bella, no, don’t make a hasty decision. I love you.”
His eyes begged her to believe him, and to her shame, she wanted to do just that. Hadn’t she felt his admiration, respect and love grow deeper these past weeks? Was this how Bathsheba had felt when King David had pursued her? Was David’s love so real and desperate, his arguments so convincing that Bathsheba willingly walked into sin with him?
Bella had never felt pity for the woman who committed such a brazen act of adultery. Until now. Heaven help her, Bella still loved William.
But the emotion shamed her.
Perhaps if she found the strength to walk away she could redeem them both. “I cannot accept your offer, William.”
“I will not lose you, Bella. You are my greatest desire, I will die without you. I know I can make you happy. You will never want for anything.”
Desire? Want? Was that how he defined love? She kept her head lowered to hide the spark of anger. At him. At herself for feeling such sorrow over her loss.
Marriage was sacred. Therefore, what God has joined together, let no man put asunder.
“I will not turn into an adulterer this night.”
But she knew, in her heart, the deed was already done. Hadn’t Jesus said that the thought alone made her accountable for the sin?
Apparently unaware of her turmoil, William turned his back to her, idly fiddled with the wax on a candle.
“I have pursued you these two months, have I not, with the benefit of nothing more than your smiles?” He sent her a shrewd glance over his shoulder, shifted to face her. “I honored your purity when I could have had any number of mistresses by now. I want you, Bella. The way a man wants a woman.”
With each word he spoke, her disgrace grew. The room was suddenly hot, so hot she feared she would faint.
Dry eyes were her only defense. “I cannot become your mistress. I will not.”
A range of emotions crossed his face again, more subtle and harder to read. The eyes that locked with hers were sharp and measuring. She knew he was calculating how best to win her. A wager he’d already lost. Bella would not harm an innocent woman.
At that thought, her mind was suddenly clearer. So clear it hurt. The churning in her stomach was humiliation, she knew. But she would survive.
Unfortunately, shame was a bitter taste on her tongue, one she feared would never go away. It helped to remind herself that she was not the victim here. Lord Crawley’s wife bore that burden alone.
“Bella,” he pleaded.
Their stares locked, held. He was so handsome. And she loved him so much. Even now. Still. Self-directed anger and misery bubbled up, but Bella forced it back with a hard swallow. She had to come up with a plan to get him to leave before she agreed to do something she already knew she’d regret. It was her only hope of salvation. “I need time.”
A flicker of hope pulled his lips into a soft smile. “I understand.” He drew her hand to his lips. “But make your decision quickly. I have been patient long enough.”
It was a caddish remark, but Bella saw genuine emotion in the flash of anxiety that wavered in his eyes. In that moment, Bella realized he loved her. Truly loved her.
Yet, he would never understand her. His upbringing had taught him duty and possession and broken vows. Hers had taught her the sacredness of marriage and loyalty and obedience to Christ, her Lord and Savior.
With that last thought, her humiliation burned deeper.
She knew what she had to do now.
It was only years of training that enabled her to look him in the eyes without breaking into tears, knowing this was the end. “Allow me one day to consider.”
He dropped her hand. A smile hinting at his confidence slithered across his lips. “I will return before noon tomorrow.”
She nodded. “Tomorrow, then.”
A knot twisted in her stomach as she watched him walk out the door. There would be no additional meeting. Her only chance was escape. And she knew just the place to run, a place where William would never dare to follow.
A small victory, to be sure, but hardly an honorable one.
She could only hope with distance and time, absolution would come.
Chapter One
One month later, Denver, Colorado
He couldn’t let her leave. Not without a fight. The spasm of panic shocked him, even as it pounded angry and insistent through his blood. For a moment—just one—Dr. Shane Bartlett had to fight the horrible urge to give in and beg, but he knew any display of emotion would be his doom.
For the sake of his patients, he had to ignore the choking sense of dread rising inside him and continue.
Jaw tight, Shane dragged a hand through his hair. If he was to win her over, persuasion had to be doled out in degrees of charm and skill.
Putting aside his frustration, Shane forced his heartbeat to slow to the same rhythmic cadence as the tick-tick-tick coming from the clock on the mantel behind him.
“Please, Miss Marley,” he said, curving a pleasant smile along the edges of his mouth. “I only ask that you hold off making a final decision until you hear me out.”
Her gaze remained direct and unwavering. But instead of responding right away, she clamped her lips shut and scrunched her forehead into a web of hard, vertical lines.
Shane felt his chest heave. Trying to gauge how best to present his argument, he dropped a glance over the woman in one quick swoop. Dressed in a drab gray dress and equally uninspired shoes, her bland brown hair looked as if it might have corroded onto her head. Her starched collar matched her rigid spine. In fact, she sat so straight and so far back in her chair, Shane was amazed the pattern from the upholstery hadn’t tattooed itself to her dress.
When he raised his gaze to meet hers, the cold eyes and pursed lips reminded him of the women he’d encountered throughout his childhood on the streets of New York City.
His instinct was to dismiss her at once. But he owed it to everyone involved to put his own feelings aside and conduct this interview with polite professionalism.
Taking another moment to control his emotions, Shane lowered his chin and scanned the references he held in his hand. He couldn’t deny Miss Marley had the nursing experience he needed in an assistant. Her background was without blemish, her training impeccable. But did she have the temperament required for the unique position he offered?
There was one way to find out.
“The Charity House orphans are—”
“Orphans?” Her eyes went narrow and frosty, while her lips curled with pitch-perfect disgust. “You use that term loosely, Dr. Bartlett.”
A muscle shifted in his jaw and Shane felt his smile slip.
Let the children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the Kingdom of God belongs to such as these…
At the reminder of Jesus’s words, Shane had to fight back a wave of resentment at the woman’s sanctimonious attitude.
“Perhaps they are not orphans in the literal sense,” he acknowledged with a grim twist of his lips. “However, they are children who—”
She snorted. She actually snorted at him. The sound was harsh enough to stop him in midsentence.
“These children.” He paused to emphasize his point, but then a dull drumming pounded in his ears and the pattern on the rug at his feet bled into a kaleidoscope of chaotic colors. Shane shook his head and began again. “These children…deserve decent medical care like everyone else.”
She pierced him with a sharp look and spoke as though she hadn’t heard his words. “This is a house for harlots’ mistakes.” She lifted her nose and looked pointedly around her. “Is it not, Dr. Bartlett?”
Before responding, Shane followed her gaze as it moved beyond the Persian rugs, past the expensive furniture, and straight to the crystal vases filled with fresh-cut flowers. The attention to detail was impossible to miss. Charity House was like no other orphanage in the territory, incomparable in its elegance and style.
And yet, Shane wondered if he’d made a mistake in choosing the mansion’s front parlor as the place to conduct his interviews today.
He’d hoped that by showing the candidates the interior of the orphanage they would realize Charity House and its occupants had class and substance. Apparently, instead of unleashing this nursing candidate’s compassion, he’d opened her judgment.
Whispered reminders of his own childhood crept forward in his mind. Shane clenched his jaw, refusing to allow this woman to see his growing anger until he had the poisonous emotion under control.
He forced his shoulders to relax.
“Whatever you might think of these children, remember they did not choose their parents,” he said, surprised to hear his calm tone when so many ugly emotions churned just under the surface. “As I said before, they deserve equal and fair medical treatment.”
He pierced her with a hard look, daring her to argue.
She blinked. Blinked again. Swallowed. Then slowly nodded. “I will concede your point, doctor. However, the children’s situation notwithstanding, I am entitled to know about your other patients. What of the mothers still alive, the ones working in the brothels on Market Street?”
Shane held her stare. “I treat them, as well. And anyone else in need. I turn none away.”
A sound of outrage slipped from her lips. “Innocent children are one thing, but their mothers are quite another. You did not say in your advertisement that you care for…for…sinners.”
Her words were like a solid punch to his gut. How often had he heard similar accusations thrown at his own mother, all because she had chosen to be a wealthy man’s mistress?
Memories lurking below the surface bubbled forth, taunting him. Shane’s breath turned cold in his lungs under the assault.
Yes, his mother had been a sinner, but she had paid dearly for her mistakes. She’d died in shame, and there had been nothing Shane could do to stop the tragedy.
He’d been too young, too inexperienced, too—
Another unladylike sniff yanked him back to the present.
“You have nothing else to say to me, doctor?” she asked. “What is your defense for misleading me into thinking this was an ordinary nursing position?” The chill of her tone sat heavy in the room between them.
Shane fought to keep his resentment and anger from taking control of his reason. What had he been thinking, to allow this interview to continue so long?
He could never subject the Charity House children, their mothers, or any of his patients for that matter, to this woman and her…judgment.
He owed it to the memory of his own mother to find a compassionate nurse to assist him in his practice. Was guilt driving him to care for the disenfranchised? Guilt over failing the one woman who had sacrificed her life for him. Or was it true conviction that pushed him to care for the unwanted?
He wasn’t sure anymore. Nor was he convinced his motives mattered. His patients, and their care, had to come first.
With his mind made up, Shane rose from his chair and waited until the woman did the same. “Thank you for your time, Miss Marley. I am no longer in need of your services.”
He did not offer her his hand.
“You are dismissing me?” The woman had the nerve to look mutinous, as though she was being unfairly sent away. “But you need my assistance. You said so yourself at the beginning of this interview.”
With each breath he took, his patience wore thinner. “I think it is best we part ways at this juncture.”
