Where Dreams Begin(87)

The dream changed then, and she found herself lying on a thick patch of green grass, while something…someone…blocked her view of the sky and clouds overhead. “Who is it…who is it…?” she begged to know, but the only reply was a soft, low laugh that curled around her like smoke. She felt a man's hands on her, gently lifting her skirts, sliding up her stiff legs, while a hot, delicious mouth pressed over hers. Moaning, she relaxed beneath him, and her sun-dazzled gaze cleared enough to reveal a pair of wicked black eyes staring into hers. “Zachary,” she gasped, her legs and arms and body opening to receive him, and she twisted in pleasure as she felt his weight lower over her. “Oh, Zachary, yes, don't stop—”

He smiled and covered her br**sts with his hands and kissed her, and she groaned in excitement. “Zachary—”

Suddenly Holly jerked awake, startled from sleep by the sound of her own voice. Breathing fast, she stared dizzily at her surroundings. She was alone in bed, pillows heaped around her, sheets tangled around her knees and ankles. Sickening disappointment swept over her as the last wisps of the dream faded away. She clutched a pillow to her midriff and lay on her side, shaking and burning. Where was Zachary at this very moment? Was he sleeping and dreaming in his solitary bed, or was he sating his desires in the arms of another woman? Poisonous jealousy engulfed her. She pressed her hands to either side of her head, trying to block the images that crowded her mind. Some other woman might be holding his powerful body against hers, tangling her fingers in his thick dark hair, feeling him shudder as he took his pleasure within her.

“It doesn't matter now, I've made my choice,” Holly whispered to herself agitatedly. “And he said not to come back. It's over…it's over.”

True to his word, Ravenhill did come to court Holly, calling nearly every day. He accompanied her on rides through the park, picnics with the Taylors, and water parties with close friends. Thanks to the Taylors' determined protection, these gatherings were fairly uneventful, and Holly was sheltered from blatant snubs. One had to give her late husband's family a great deal of credit for loyalty. They closed ranks around her and defended her zealously, in spite of their own disapproval of her past actions. They did approve of her keeping company with Ravenhill, however. Having known of George's last wishes for Holly and Ravenhill to marry, the family did its best to ensure that there were no impediments to the match.

“When you and Ravenhill are wed,” William, the head of the family, told Holly matter-of-factly, “it will put to rest a large measure of the speculation concerning you and Bronson. I should do my best to hurry the procedure along, if I were you.”

“I understand, William,” Holly replied, though her insides had boiled in rebellion at the unwanted advice. “And I thank you for sharing your wisdom. However, it is not altogether certain that Ravenhill and I will marry.”

“What?” William's blue eyes narrowed in a forbidding scowl. “Is he showing reluctance to come up to scratch? I'll have a talk with him and sort things out. Don't fret, m'dear, he'll march to the altar with you if I have to prod him at gunpoint.”

“No, no,” Holly said hastily, her mouth quivering in sudden amusement. “There's no need, William. Ravenhill is showing no sign of reluctance. I am the reluctant one, and he is allowing me the time I require to make the decision.”

“What decision is there? What possible reason do you have for dragging your feet?” William stared at her impatiently. “Let me assure you, if not for this family, you would be a pariah by now. You're treading on the edge of ruin. Marry Ravenhill, for God's sake, and preserve what little social standing you have left.”

Holly contemplated him thoughtfully, her heart softening as she saw the resemblance he bore to George, though his once-thick blond hair was thinning on top and his blue eyes were stern rather than merry. Taking him by surprise, Holly approached him and kissed his cheek affectionately. “You've been very kind to me, my lord. You will have my everlasting gratitude for harboring such a disreputable character as myself.”

“You're not disreputable,” he grumbled, “you're merely misguided. You need a man, Holland. Like most women, you require the good judgment and common sense that a husband provides. And Ravenhill's a steady sort. Oh, I know about his wild ways in Europe, but every fellow has to sow his oats at one time or another, and that's all in the past.”

Holly smiled suddenly. “Why is it that my association with Mr. Bronson is called scandalous, and Ravenhill's even worse behavior is merely labeled as ‘sowing oats’?”

“This is no time to discuss semantics,” William said with an exasperated sigh. “The fact is, Holland, that you need a husband if you're to remain in good society. And Ravenhill is an appropriate and willing candidate. Moreover, he's the candidate that my dear brother George recommended, and if George thought that well of him, then so do I.”

Reflecting on the conversation later, Holly admitted herself that William made sense. Life as Ravenhill's wife would prove far more pleasant than life as a scandaltainted widow. Her feelings for Vardon were clear. She liked and trusted him, and they had an affinity that had been born of long acquaintance with each other. Their companionable relationship was being cemented daily by long walks and lazy afternoons, and suppers at which they jested and confided and smiled at each other over the rims of sparkling crystal wine glasses. But Holly waited in vain for some inner signal that would let her know it was time…time to banish Zachary Bronson from her mind and heart and proceed with George's wishes.