The Rebel by May McGoldrick

herself against
him, wrapping her arms around him. He stood rigidly as she held
him, but she couldn’t stop now. She pressed her face against the
coarse cloth of his jacket. “Six months ago you asked me to become
your wife. You told me that you loved me…that you wanted me at your
side forever. Please Henry, ask me again.”
    “No.”
    “Please just ask me, and I will be
yours.”
    “I was not good enough for you then—” His
fingers grasped her shoulders firmly, and he pushed her back until
he was looking into her face. “—and nothing has changed. I could
never measure up to your expectations for a husband. I am still a
second son—a poor clergyman who is happy to labor here, away from
the pleasures of society. Six months ago, I was the fool to think I
could compete with the advantages you were about to receive in
London. Fancy dresses, receptions and balls awaited you. Wealth and
fame awaited you. ‘I must marry someone with a title,’ you
said.”
    “Please, Henry,” she sobbed. “But you know
that wasn’t for myself. I was doing it all for my parents. After
Jane—after what she had done to disgrace their name—I had to do
something to mend the past.”
    “Jane! Always blaming Jane!” He spat out the
words. “I wish you would put aside this pretence of selflessness,
Clara. Others might believe you and be fooled, but not I.”
    His words jolted her, tearing the air from
her lungs.
    “No,” she gasped. “It’s true. I was doing it
for them—and I thought I could go through it.”
    “And now?” He towered over her.
    “I cannot. Now that Sir Nicholas is here—now
that I see that he may truly offer for me—I cannot go through with
it. I care nothing for this Englishman. I never will. You are the
one who has my heart. You are the only one whom I think of. You are
the one I want to spend my life with.” She reached up with
trembling fingers and touched his lips. “He is too experienced. Too
worldly for someone like me. Everything about him intimidates me.
But you, Henry…my gentle Henry…”
    She stood on her toes and pressed her lips
against his. Softly, tentatively, innocently, she placed small
kisses on his firm chin, his clenched cheek, and again on his lips.
She kissed him with the same innocence that he had kissed her six
months earlier when he’d proposed to her.
    “So what is to happen now?” His hand fisted
roughly in her hair, and she cried out as he pulled her head back
until he was looking into her face. “So what if I yield to your
wishes. I only make a fool out of myself before you again. So what
if you send away this suitor that frightens you with his…with his
manliness. I’ll tell you. Tomorrow, your restless and greedy nature
will again assert itself, and another will appear to take this
one’s place.”
    “No!”
    “Yes! For you know that there are no new
wardrobes of dresses every season for the wife of a country cleric.
There are no journeys aboard. No London parties. No dozen or so
dashing rogues chasing you about the drawing rooms of Bath. You
would be bored to death, Clara. You would curse me for eternity for
leading you into the dull drudgery of a clergyman’s life.”
    She shook her head. “I shall be true to my
promise. I shall never regret our lives together.” Tears continued
to soak her cheeks. “The love we share will be enough. I ask for
nothing more.”
    “And what of your parents? Of the honor that
you presumably wanted to restore to your family name?”
    “I cannot think of any of that now. Not when
there is a chance of losing you forever.”
    “You are so beautiful,” he whispered
bitterly, his gaze scouring every inch of her face. “So perfectly
young and naïve and beautiful.”
    Before Clara could object, Henry’s lips
crushed down on hers. But this was no kiss of innocence, but an
unleashing of repressed desire. His strong fingers delved deeper
into her hair and his mouth devoured her lips, forcing her mouth
open, his tongue surging