Sinful Confessions (11 page)

Julian felt as though he had gone through
ten rounds in the boxing ring after dealing with his mother and persuading her
to rest in her apartments. Sharing a house with his mother could be testing and
he was grateful for the size of the building as well as her busy social life.
He didn’t think the woman would speak to him for several days after the dressing
down he had given her anyway. Whilst he loathed the idea of her prying into his
affairs, he could not very well let her cast aspersions Viola’s way.

He
swiped a hand over his face. He only hoped Viola hadn’t been too humiliated to
be discovered like that. With a grin, he made his way upstairs in search of
her. Viola Thompson was made of stern stuff. If she could survive the vitriol
of the Alderton sisters and those ladies at the castle, she could survive his
mother.

Pausing
outside her door, he drew in a breath. Every fibre of his being vibrated with
anticipation. Last night... Lord Almighty, last night had been the best night
of his life. He had loved Sybil, he knew that, but the emotion had been a young
one—a sort of soft version of love. Sybil had been appropriate, ladylike, the
perfect wife. He had adored her for that. But Viola was the opposite. She cared
little for being appropriate or perfect. She was... Viola.

And
he loved her for it.

He
tapped gently on the door and waited. He shifted on his feet and clasped his
hands behind his back. She was in there, was she not? Julian heard some
shuffling and a clunk. He tapped again.

“Viola?”

Nothing.
Was she harmed? Had she had an accident? His pulse quickened. He tried knocking
once more and gave up. If something had happened to her...

He
pressed open the door and stilled. “What in the devil are you doing?”

She
faced him, her eyes red and accusing. “Packing.”

“Why?”

Viola
scooted past him and dumped her ripped gown into the bag. His heart panged at
the memory of tearing it from her body. He wanted to do the same to the cream
day dress she currently wore. But this scene was all too familiar. He had done
something wrong again, but what? Had his lovemaking been so terrible? Had he
hurt her? She’d seemed so content this morning. He thought for the first time
in their relationship they were finally on the same page.

“I
have to go, Julian. I don’t belong here.”

He
stared at her back. “You cannot leave.”

She
whirled on him. “Why? You didn’t want me here in the first place. You know my
ship sails soon. I see no reason for me to stay.”

What
about me?
he wanted to
ask.
Will you not stay for me?
Had last night meant so little to her?

“I
thought—” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “You didn’t need to leave for
another day.”

Ignoring
him, she gathered up her evening slippers and dumped them on top of the ruined
gown. He latched a hand around her wrist and she pulled away, darting an angry
stare at him. Apparently this time, no offers of showing her around or any
other such feeble apology would work. If only he knew quite what he had done
wrong.

“Viola,
cease. Tell me what is wrong?”

Hands
on her hips, she clamped her lips together and ran her gaze over him. She shook
her head and took an audible breath. “I heard your conversation with your
mother.” She waved a hand. “I know I was foolish to think last night meant
anything to you, but unfortunately I did.”

“My
mother? Why would you listen to a thing she said? You know full well I have
little respect for my mother’s opinion.”

“It
was not what she said. It was what you said. I am
no one
.” She tried to
turn away but he stepped forward and clamped his hands to both of her arms. “Well,
this
no one
is leaving,” she said huskily as she tried to wriggle from
his grip.

“Clearly
you did not hear the rest of my conversation. I could not have my mother
interfering but I also could not let her tear you apart in such a manner. I’m
sorry you had to hear that, but if she knew how I felt...” She stilled and he
drew her close. “I love you, Viola. I meant everything last night. I... Damn, I
wish I had a piece of paper to explain this better. I want you to stay.”

Her
lips slowly parted. The tension left her body and she lifted her gaze to his. “Here?
In England?”

“Yes,
with me.”

“Because
you love me?”

“I
love you.”

A
soft smile graced her lips. “I love you too.”

Julian
let his grip on her soften. Those words, God, they made him feel like the best
man on earth. No money or power or all the grand houses in the world could make
him feel as she did when she uttered those words.

“Unpack
your belongings. Write to your father. Tell him you will see him soon but you
have chosen to stay here. I will provide for you, make sure you are
comfortable. If we put you in the dowager house, you won’t even have to see my
mother...”

“Why
would I be in the dowager house?” Her lashes rose and fell in quick succession.
“Would your mother not move in there once we are married? I don’t understand
everything about English customs but it seems a bit odd to move your wife into—”

“My
wife? No, Viola, I mean to make you my mistress.”

 A
pale wash came over her face. Her eyes rounded in horror. “M-mistress?”

“Yes.
I have no intention of marrying. You know very well why.”

She
tore away from him and stumbled back so that she landed on the bed. He went to
help her up but she brushed aside his hand in quite the aggressive manner.
Julian scowled. Surely she realised he could never marry her? He wouldn’t
forgive himself if anything happened to her. Whether he was truly cursed or
not, he could not risk it—not with the woman he loved more than life itself.

A
hand to her mouth, she shook her head. “I can’t believe you would ask this of
me, not after all I confessed yesterday. You wish to make my ruin complete,
perhaps?”

“Do
not be a fool,” he snapped, feeling the familiar heat rise within him. Why
could she not see he was trying to protect her?

“I’m
a fool for wanting to be more than a mistress?”

“That
is not what I meant. I cannot marry you, Viola. I won’t let you die.”

“I
won’t die—unless that is God’s will. You are not the decider of my fate.”

He
scuffed a hand over his chin and tried to force himself to remain calm. It wasn’t
easy when each breath felt hot and heavy and fire ran through his veins. “If
you loved me at all, you would not ask me to do something that I cannot.”

“And
if you loved me at all, you would take the risk,” she shot back.

Julian
tiptoed on the edge of snapping. He felt as taut as an old violin string—ready
to break at any moment. He would never harm her, ever, but he knew well his
words could wound just as easily. He had to protect her from himself. Before he
said something he regretted, he spun on his heel.

Hand
to the doorknob, he paused and said quietly, “I cannot risk that which is most
precious to me. Forgive me.”

Her
sobs rang in his ears even as he stormed down the hallway to his chambers.

It took her less than an hour to pack. An
hour in which he paced back and forth and tried to decide how to make this
right. He was going to lose her. The only way of keeping Viola would be to tie
her to his bed. There would be no changing her mind.

The
worst of it was, he understood. No woman grew up dreaming of being a mistress.
And certainly not one like Viola who had spent much of her womanhood being
dismissed and pitied. All because some blackguard could not make up his mind
about women and had taken her innocence from her. Julian curled a fist until
his knuckles hurt. If he ever met that man...

He
eyed her trunk waiting on the marbled floor of the hall. His mother had decided
to nap apparently, which meant at least Viola would not have to suffer any more
of her spiteful words on Americans. In all honesty, he preferred American women
if Viola was anything to go by. Her outspoken manner and vivacious ways never failed
to draw a smile from him. She understood how to enjoy life—something he hadn’t
been able to do in a long time.

Footsteps
came from the hallway that led from stairs to the kitchen. Viola entered the
hall, followed by Jenny and Mrs Whittleworth. Julian managed not to roll his
eyes. Apparently his staff didn’t want her leaving either.

Viola
gave him a cool flick of her gaze over him. “Is the carriage ready?”

He
glanced out of the window. “It is.”

“Well
then, I shall bid you farewell.” She dropped into an obscenely low curtsey that
made him want to grab her arms and drag her back to her feet. Instead he dipped
his head in acknowledgement.

“Thank
you for your hospitality.”

Damn
her. Damn her formality. Damn her for leaving him when only hours ago she had been
in his arms. When he had been declaring his love for her just last night. Damn
her for breaking his heart. He didn’t think he’d ever be whole again once she’d
left. For so long now, she’d been a part of his life, even if only in written
form.

“You
are welcome any time.”

On
impulse he took her hand and laid a kiss to her glove. He kept his gaze on her
and saw the slight parting of her lips. Good. He hoped she remembered that when
she was in America, far from him. It was vindictive perhaps—even childish—but
he knew he’d never forget her, and he wanted her to lie awake thinking of him
too.

She
withdrew her hand and went to pick up her bag but one of the footmen got there
before her. Far too soon, she was installed in his coach and her bag was
strapped to the roof. She gave him one last lingering look before the driver
called the command to the horse and flicked the ribbons. The sadness in her
eyes told him everything. It made it impossible for him to hate her and he
really wanted to at present.

I
am sorry
, that look
said.
Sorry things did not work out, sorry you cannot overcome your fear and
give me what I need.

He
was sorry too.

Julian
stood at the door long after Mrs Whittleworth and Jenny had returned inside. He
watched the carriage drive around the bend and approach the line of trees that
would hide her from his sight. Part of him longed to curl up in a ball and cry.
Unfortunately that was not what marquesses did.

A
blur of movement caught his eye in the woods. He peered at it then back at the
carriage. He wasn’t sure when he’d started running out of the house, only that
one moment he’d been standing in the hallway and the next his shoes were crunching
across the gravel. As soon as he’d seen the deer, he had known, deep in his
gut, something awful was going to happen.

He
sprinted after the carriage, his heart coming into his throat as the deer ran
into the path of the horses. Even though he continued moving forward, the
movement of the carriage seemed slow. The horses reared and whinnied. Wood
crunched and the vehicle lurched.

The
footmen jumped clear as it crashed onto its side, sending up dirt, wood splinters
and gravel. But there would be no such salvation for Viola. Sickness churned in
his gut as he raced to the broken vehicle. He glanced around and noted the
driver scrabbling to his feet.

“Check
the horses,” he ordered. If any were badly injured they’d have to be shot. “And
send for the doctor.” God only knew what had happened to Viola. He came around
the side of the carriage and found the door had whipped open. “Viola?” His
voice sounded like a mere echo in his ears.

“I’m
here,” came a weak reply.

He
scrabbled up onto the side of the vehicle and peered in. She lay against the
other side of the carriage. He dropped down into it and brushed aside her hair.
Her skin was cold and she trembled from head to toe. He could see no obvious
injuries but what if she had done some damage internally? Dampness sat in the
corners of his eyes and he swiped a hand across them.

“Let
us get you out of here. Can you stand?”

“I
think...” She pushed herself up and cried out.

“What
is it?” he asked, his pulse pounding so loudly in his ears, he feared he wouldn’t
be able to hear her response.

“My
leg.”

Broken
perhaps. He nodded and scooped her up. One of the footmen had already come to
aid them so he handed her up to him and together they managed to get her up and
out of the overturned carriage. She cried out in pain as they manhandled her
and he wished to God he could have the pain instead.

He
threw down his jacket on the grass and laid her out on it. “Where does it hurt?
Show me.”

She
tapped her left leg and bit her bottom lip. Tears spilled from her eyes. “It
hurts so much, Julian.”

He
gripped her hand and gave it a squeeze while he used his free hand to hitch up
her skirts. Bile rose in his throat when he discovered the blood-stained
remains of her stocking. A large shard of wood at least as thick and as long as
his finger had lodged in her leg.

“Julian?”

He
gave her hand another squeeze and released it. “All is well. Take deep breaths,”
he ordered. He looked at the footman who gave him a grim look. Should he remove
the shard or leave it? Leaving it increased the chances of infection but
removing it meant she’d probably bleed more. And from the looks of her stained
silk stocking, she had already lost enough blood.

“Please,”
she begged. “It hurts so much.”

Making
a snap decision, he began to unbuckle his belt. Then he untucked his shirt and
tore a long shred from it. He pressed up her skirts and motioned to the
footman. “Hold down her leg.” Julian gave her a reassuring look. “This will
hurt, my love, but it will feel better in a moment.” He bound his belt as
tightly as he could above the cut, cinching it until it bit tight into her
skin. Pressing down on her thigh, he began to ease out the splinter.

Viola
loosened a sob that tore at his heart and her leg trembled. “Nearly there...”
He pulled it free and flung it aside. Using the strip of his shirt, he bound
the wound as tightly as he could. “All done.”

He
nodded his thanks to the footman and scooped Viola into his arms. Christ, he
couldn’t lose another woman, not again.