The Cross of Love by Barbara Cartland Page B

love a woman. You are mine, and I am yours. That is how it has to be. It was meant. It's our destiny. I couldn't fight it if I wanted to. But I don't. I want to love you and rejoice in you all the days of my life. And if you don't feel the same I have nothing to live for."
    "But I do," she cried. "I do. Oh John - my love - "
    "Kiss me," he said again, and this time it was a command.
    She obeyed it gladly. The future might contain a bitter parting, but in this moment she would enjoy her love to the full. The bliss of being chosen by the one her own heart had chosen was too sweet to be denied.
    "Tell me again that you love me," he said. "Let me hear you say it."
    "I love you, I love you," she murmured. "I didn't think love could happen this fast - I never knew - "
    "It can happen in a moment," he said fervently. "I loved you the first day. Didn't you feel then that our hearts instinctively understood each other?"
    "Oh yes, yes. I felt that too, even though we were strangers."
    "We were never strangers," he told her tenderly. "We have known each other for ever, and we shall be each other's until the last moment of our lives."
    "Until the last moment of our lives," she agreed solemnly.
    She didn't voice her fears for their future. Besides, it was true. Even though life might separate them, she would always belong to him. After this, there could be no other man.
    "How could I marry any woman but you?" he asked lovingly.
    "John - "
    She was saved from having to answer by the sound of the doorbell, echoing up from below.
    "If that's Wyngate - " he said in a tight voice.
    "No, John, please. You must pretend to know nothing, for my sake."
    "We'll see," was all he would agree to.
    Together they went downstairs to open the front door.
    But the man standing there wasn't Wyngate. Neither of them had seen him before. He was tall and thin, dressed in clerical black, with a severe face and stern eyes.
    "Miss Colwell?" he asked at once.
    "Yes."
    He spoke ponderously. "I am the Reverend Steven Daykers. I imagine you have been expecting me."
    It would have been impolite to say otherwise, so Rena murmured something about being honoured to meet him. She hastened to introduce the Earl, but instead of being pleased the Reverend Daykers fixed him with a frosty stare, and gave him the briefest of greetings.
    "Miss Colwell, a word with you alone." It was a command.
    John looked at her, frowning. Maintaining an air of calm dignity Rena said, "If I may have a few moments from my duties, sir?"
    He caught the cue she had tossed him. "Very well Miss Colwell, I suggest you use the drawing room. But please try not to be too long."
    "What I have to say to Miss Colwell will not take a moment," the pastor said with a touch of grimness.
    Rena led him to the drawing room and politely offered him tea. He waved the suggestion aside.
    "I have not come for trifles, but for your salvation. You visited my house the other evening - "
    "I wasn't aware that it was your house, since the letter informing me did not arrive until the following morning. As soon as I learned the situation I packed my things and departed."
    "There was, I believe, some altercation between you and my sister concerning certain property - "
    "They wanted to eat my chicken for supper. Since she belongs to me I would not permit that."
    "You referred to my house as a den of thieves!"
    "They were trying to deprive me of my property," Rena said firmly. "I don't have very much. I insist on my right to protect what I have."
    Unexpectedly he nodded.
    "Precisely so. I understand that you are not well endowed with this world's goods, and therefore you may have felt yourself impelled into this - ah - disgraceful situation."
    "I beg your pardon!"
    "It is well known, Miss Colwell, that you, an unmarried woman, share this house with the Earl, an unmarried man, with no respectable female companion."
    "I am his lordship's housekeeper," Rena said, her eyes sparkling with anger. "A servant. Servants do not have