Edith Layton (22 page)

She saw his expression and felt the back of her neck crawl. This was not her easygoing, amiable husband. She’d always admired his firm jaw, but she’d never seen it clenched in rage. There was nothing of love or admiration in those light eyes now, only cold appraisal. He might have been staring at her through glass.

She longed to blurt out everything. She couldn’t. She’d endanger him by telling him anything. Because of course, he’d want to know what was so important that she had to tell her father in secret, and she was too muddled and weary now to invent as blithely as she might have done if her heart and head hadn’t been assaulted with so many lies and hidden truths.

She hesitated a second too long. She saw it in his eyes.

“I see,” he said. He shook his head as if acknowledging a hit. “It’s somewhat early in our re
lationship for you to stray, my dear. I believe the approved time is after you present me with an heir or two, not a few months after our wedding.”

She shot up to her feet. “I have not strayed,” she cried. “It’s cruel of you to say so. You know better, or at least you should.” She collected herself and said more quietly, “I had a reputation for flirtation, nothing more. You knew about that reputation before we married but you also know I came to you a virgin, so obviously I’d never dallied before. And I’d hope that those few months of marriage we’ve shared would have convinced you that I’d never deceive you…unless you deceived me, of course,” she said haughtily, “because then I’d fully repay you in kind, my dear.”

It was an excellent speech, she thought. But ruined by the tears now spilling down her cheeks.

He moved toward her, and checked. “I apologize,” he said, jerking his head in a semblance of a bow. “So then why won’t you tell me where you went today?”

She took a shuddering breath. She’d believed him to be an ally, a friend as well as a lover. She’d thought he was lost in love for her too, but here he was, believing the worst of her. The profound emptiness she felt made her dizzy. Foolish Lady Annabelle, she thought. There was a reason she’d become a joke, an explanation for why she’d stayed so long on the shelf. And now she’d done it again, only this time disastrously. She’d mis
judged a man again, this one, the most important in the world to her.

It was, all of a sudden, too much. Too much in one day, too much in a lifetime for her.

“You want the truth?” she asked bitterly. “Then beware, because the truth is the worst thing I know. I’ve heard nothing but truths and I’m sick of them! I did go to see my father today, but he wasn’t at home. Poor Mr. Dean wasn’t there when you went looking for me because he was probably coursing through London trying to find Mama to tell her where I’d gone.”

“He did come here later, asking to speak with her,” Miles said slowly.

“Then that’s why she’s upstairs,” Annabelle said. “She doesn’t want to face me.”

She stood as tall as such a small woman could, head high. She was, Miles realized, the old Lady Annabelle again, filled with pride and so beautiful she made a man yearn to touch her. Even though he knew that if he did he’d find his fingers seared. Her appeal was as strong as before, but the attraction was different now; it was as if her sickness had burned away illusion and her inner self had emerged. She was still beautiful, but even more dangerous. Nothing in her appearance looked soft and yielding now. With her slender form, close-cropped hair, and blazing eyes, she looked like a young St. Joan, proclaiming her mission even as they tied her to the stake.

“I went to see my father because I needed to talk to him,” she told him coldly. “I didn’t want to wait for him to come home. I wish I had. Because I lied and discovered his whereabouts. He was with his longtime mistress, and their two children, in the house they’ve shared for fifteen years—and never told me about.”

He winced. He made a fist and struck the top of his desk. “Damme! I thought you knew,” he muttered. “I’d have given my arm to prevent you from finding out that way—as I’m sure he would have too.”

Her eyes opened wide. “You know? Oh Lord!” She laughed wildly. “Am I the only one in London who didn’t?”

Now he did reach out to grip her shoulders. “No,” he said, holding her at arm’s length and looking into her eyes. “I knew because I investigated your family before we married. I wanted you the moment I saw you, but only a fool would plunge into marriage with a stranger with his eyes blinded by desire for her. I investigated your father as thoroughly as he did me. I didn’t judge him half as hard as he did me, though, that I do know.

“Belle,” he said imperatively, “listen to me. Many men of your father’s age and class do as he did, and much worse. At least he found one love and stayed with her. I don’t say it was right, or right that he lied. Still, he didn’t lie to your mama, but to you, and only to save you pain and scandal.”

He was so sympathetic, Annabelle began to relax. Then she thought of why he was so understanding, and her blood seemed to freeze in her veins. She was hurt and angry and frightened all at once. Before she could stop herself, her pride for once forgotten, she gazed into his eyes and spoke urgently.

“Miles. I never asked because I suppose at first I didn’t care. But no more lies, please, not between us. I won’t live through something like this again. What my father did, what you say so many gentleman do—is that what I may expect from you? Because if it is, tell me now. I’ve had enough and should at least like to prepare myself so that I’m
never
shocked and surprised like this again. If it is something you intend,” she hurried on, “I’ll understand. Ours wasn’t a love match either. I don’t say I’d enjoy it, but—Miles, at least tell me now. Is that what you intend too?”

He pulled her close. “Oh, Belle,” he said into her ear, “never, never, never, I promise, never.” He drew back and smiled a peculiar tilted smile at her. “Ours wasn’t a love match, no. But strike me dead if it isn’t one now. At least, it is with me.”

She pulled back, and fixed him with a wide blue stare. “Are you saying you love me?”

He smiled. “I am.” But he wouldn’t say more. He only watched her closely.

She seemed to look inward, considering his words. Then she cast her gaze down. She’d been
brave in her time, boldly facing rooms filled with people she knew were whispering about her, mocking her. But she couldn’t look at him as she finally whispered, “So it is with me too.”

“Are you saying you love me?” he asked.

She nodded.

“You’ll have to do better than that,” he said softly. Then he laughed, low in his throat. “Lord! What a love scene. Like two wary opponents, circling, each afraid to show the other an exposed throat. Belle, I’ll say it loud and clear. If I did not when we married, I do now. I love you: your wit, your charm, your well-informed mind, your bravery as well as your vulnerability, your lovemaking—yes, your body, as well as the soul that lives in it. I found the woman beneath the façade as beautiful as the one who first attracted me. I still have nightmares remembering I almost lost you, but I begin to think that if I had not I’d never have found you.”

“Or I, myself,” she murmured. “If I hadn’t been so sick, I wonder if I’d ever have found you either. And that would have been a tragedy. To marry as we did—oh, we were such fools, Miles.”

“No longer,” he vowed. “Never doubt it again; I do love you, wholly. Now come, can you say the same of me?…Or anything like it?” he added hesitantly when she didn’t answer at once.

She raised tear-filled eyes to his. “I can say it better!” she whispered. She flung her arms
around his neck and dragged his head down. They kissed, long and deep.

She felt the sigh deep in his chest when he finally raised his head. “Thank you,” he said, grasping one of her hands and pressing a kiss in her palm. She closed her fingers over it, as though to keep the sensation close.

When he looked into her eyes again, his own were sober. “And so I must ask again, what is it that you can’t tell me? Never was truth so important, Belle. I think love feeds on it; I know it can starve to death without it. So please, tell me. What was so important that you had to seek out your father wherever he was? You said you wanted no more lies. Let’s not have any between us.”

She swallowed hard. “But if that lie is to protect someone, how terrible can it be?”

“Your father was protecting you. How terrible was that when you discovered it? Exactly,” he said, seeing her stricken expression. “A man, or a woman, can deal with anything if it’s known. It’s shadows we can’t fight.”

“Yes, of course. You’re right,” she said dully.

He led her to the settee by the window and sat beside her. She clasped her trembling hands together and spoke rapidly. “Your mother borrowed a huge sum of money from me before we left Hollyfields. She said it was to cover gambling losses.”

He frowned. “She doesn’t gamble.”

“So I thought.” She nodded. “But she said she
got in over her head playing cards with some local women at the squire’s ball. She was so upset that I agreed. She also begged me not to tell you. I thought it was a little thing to do for her, and I so wanted her to like me. She doesn’t, you know.”

Now he nodded. “Yes, I know, but she doesn’t like women in general, and she wouldn’t like anyone either of her sons married. I love her because she is my mother and so I must honor her, but believe me, I know her too. She’s only comfortable with men, and was never content with merely flirting. She can’t live without their adoration; the lack makes her bitter. My father’s doting on her made it worse. Even her second husband, cad though he was to the rest of the world, seemed to honestly adore her, and so whatever he was, she was content with him.”

“She asked for more money yesterday,” she said quickly. “A great deal more. I refused. Then I learned it wasn’t because of gambling, at least, not hers.” She closed her eyes and blurted before she could think better of it. “It’s for her second husband. She said he isn’t dead. He’s come back and is blackmailing her.”

Miles rose to his feet. “What?” He thought a moment and then laughed. “No. There’s a prime lie. If he came back, there’d be nothing waiting for him but dozens of his victims and creditors, a long term in Newgate, and possibly the hangman’s noose. He was a very bad man and if he didn’t
come to the bad end we heard about, turning up alive again in England would ensure he did.”

“He’s alive, she said. “And what he has to blackmail her with,” Annabelle said in a stony voice, “is the fact that they never married.”

Miles raised his head.

“Your mother told me that. They couldn’t. He was already married, and she knew it.” She fell silent. There was nothing more to say. She watched Miles standing, lost in thought.

Eventually, he looked at her again. “Now that, at least, could be,” he mused. “It makes a kind of sorry sense to me now. If so, it’s bad, but it could be dealt with. And so why didn’t you tell me?”

She hesitated. She knew men. Telling him she was afraid for him would surely make him dash from the room, baying for blood. That was exactly what she didn’t want.

“I see,” he said in a strange voice when she didn’t answer. “It was the scandal, was it?” He let out a long-held breath. “So much for protestations of love,” he murmured almost to himself. “They are easy to say, living with them is more difficult, isn’t it? Well, you needn’t have worried,” he went on briskly. “It wouldn’t brush off on you. You’d be pitied, not scorned. But I forgot, you don’t like pity. That is the reason you married me, isn’t it?”

She rose slowly to her feet to face him, gripping her hands together hard, so she’d have something
to hold. She thought out each word she had to say, because they were vastly important to her now. She had the feeling they’d be the last she’d say to him for a long time. Because even if he didn’t die in a duel with his mother’s scoundrel of a lover, Annabelle doubted she’d ever speak to him again. What was the point? He was right, protestations of love meant nothing, at least it seemed his didn’t. With all she’d done, and no matter how she tried, obviously he’d never trust her.

“You’re right,” she said with a twisted smile. “It was about the scandal. But I wasn’t concerned about myself, because as you say, it had nothing to do with me. I was worried for Camille and her prospects. She’s been so excited and delighted by everything that’s happened to her here in London, I couldn’t bear to see her blighted by a past she had nothing to do with. I know too well what gossip can do. And I worried for Bernard, who gives not a fig for me. Still, it’s sad to think of a young man ruined by scandal before he comes of age. Even more than that, I worried for you.”

Her voice became as cool as Lady Annabelle of old putting down a presumptuous suitor, as she added, “Because your mama told me that Proctor would kill you in the duel you’d surely challenge him to. You’re the better sportsman, she admitted, but he’d doubtless cheat and kill you. That is what ensured my silence.”

He blinked. She saw the realization dawning in
his eyes. She waved a hand to silence him before he could speak.

“The past haunts all of us,” she said bleakly. “You, no less than I. You married a woman for convenience, for your family’s advancement. Maybe you think you changed your opinion since we married. But you haven’t. The merest thing I do and you immediately believe the worst of me. Lady Annabelle’s returning to form, you think, selfish to the bone again. And do you know? You’re right, I haven’t changed. I’m selfish. I tried to spare myself the pain of your death. I can face a world turned against me, and I have done,” she said proudly. “I can deal with deception and lies from those I thought loved me, and I have done. But I didn’t think I could bear your death.”

“And you think you can now?” he asked into the stillness of the room.

They stared at each other for a long moment.

Neither knew who moved first. But then they were in each other’s arms. They kissed until they had no breath left. Only then did they stop to look at each other. Then they kissed again because there were no words to heal the words they’d spoken, only their silent lips.

“Oh, Miles,” she finally wept, “why are we tearing ourselves apart?”