Where Dreams Begin(70)

As Zachary had seen Holly leave the ballroom, her small hand tucked against Ravenhill's arm, it had required all his will to appear collected. He had nearly trembled with the urge to snatch Holly into his arms and carry her away like a barbarian.

For a moment, the rational part of his brain had commanded him to let Holly go without a struggle. She had never been his to lose. Let her make the right decisions for herself, the comfortable decisions. Let her find the peace she deserved.

The hell I will, he had thought savagely. He had followed the pair, intent as a prowling tiger, letting nothing stand in the way of what he wanted. And now he found Holly sitting here alone in the garden, looking dazed and dreamy, and he wanted to shake her until her hair cascaded loose and her teeth rattled.

“What's going on?” he demanded. “You're supposed to be smoothing the way for Lizzie and telling me which girls to dance with, and instead I find you in the garden making calf eyes at Ravenhill.”

“I was not making calf-eyes,” Holly said indignantly, “I was remembering things about George, and…oh, I should return to Elizabeth—”

“Not yet. First I want an explanation of what is going on between you and Ravenhill.”

Her small, pale face wore an expression of consternation. “It's complicated.”

“Use very small words,” he suggested acidly, “and I'll try to follow along.”

“I'd rather discuss it later—”

“Now.” He caught her gloved elbows as she rose from the bench, and glared into her moonlit face.

“There's no need to be upset.” Holly gasped a little at the rough way he handled her.

“I'm not upset, I'm…” Realizing he was holding her too tightly, Zachary let go of her abruptly. “Tell me what you and Ravenhill were talking about, dammit.”

Although his grip couldn't possibly have hurt her, Holly cupped her hands around her elbows and rubbed them gently. “Well, it concerns a promise that I made long before you and I met.”

“Go on,” he muttered as she paused.

“On the day George died, he expressed his fear over what was going to happen to Rose and me. He knew he wasn't leaving us very much to live on, and although his family reassured him that they would take care of us, he was terribly troubled. Nothing I said would comfort him. He kept whispering that Rose needed a father to protect her, and that I…oh, dear…” Shivering at the bleak memory, Holly sat on the bench once more and blinked hard against the rising pressure of tears. Ducking her head, she used the tips of her gloves to blot the rivulets that leaked from her eyes.

Zachary swore and rummaged through the innumerable inside pockets of his coat for a handkerchief. He found his pocket watch, his extra pair of gloves, wads of money, a gold tobacco case and a small pencil, but the handkerchief proved elusive. Holly must have realized what he was searching for, as she suddenly choked on a watery giggle. “I told you to bring a handkerchief,” she said.

“I don't know where I put the damn thing.” He gave her one of his extra gloves. “Here, use this.”

She dabbed at her wet cheeks and nose, then held the object tightly in her hand. Although she hadn't invited him to sit beside her, Zachary straddled the bench and faced her, staring at her down-bent head. “Go on,” he said gruffly. “Tell me what George said.”

Holly sighed deeply. “He was afraid of what would happen to me…that without a husband I would be lonely, that I needed a man's guidance and affection…he was afraid I would make ill-advised decisions, and that others would take advantage of me. And so he asked for Vardon…er, Ravenhill. He trusted Ravenhill more than anyone in the world, and had faith in his judgment and sense of honor. Although Ravenhill might seem a bit cold on the surface, he is a kind man, and very fair and generous—”

“Enough about the wonders of Ravenhill.” Renewed jealousy fomented inside him. “Just tell me what George wanted.”

“He…” Holly took a deep breath and exhaled sharply, as if it were difficult to force the words out. “He asked us to marry each other after he was gone.”

A scalding silenced ensued, while Zachary wondered wildly if he had heard correctly. Holly refused to look at him.

“I didn't want to be thrust upon Ravenhill, as an unwanted obligation,” she finally whispered. “But he assured me that the match was sensible, and much desired on his side. That it would serve to honor George's memory, and at the same time secure a good future for all three of us—me, Rose, and himself.”

“I've never heard of such a damned foolish arrangement,” Zachary growled, rapidly revising his opinion of George Taylor. “Obviously you both recovered your senses and broke off the agreement, and a good thing, too.”

“Well, we haven't exactly broken it off.”

“What?” Unable to stop himself, Zachary grasped her jaw in one hand and forced it upward, revealing her face. Her tears had dried, leaving her cheeks moist and flushed and her eyes glittering. “What do you mean, you haven't broken it off? Don't tell me you have some idiotic notion of actually going through with it.”

“Mr. Bronson—” Holly squirmed away from him uncomfortably, seeming surprised by his reaction to the news. She handed back his wet glove, which he shoved into a pocket. “Let us return to the ball, and we'll discuss this matter at a more appropriate time—”