Rhoda stepped out of Emily’s chamber and closed the door. She pressed her back against the heavy oak and closed her eyes.
It was unbelievable, really.
Emily had asserted most adamantly that Lord Blakely was willing to marry her! He would elope with her—as a twisted form of revenge against his father.
What had her life fallen to?
Marcus Roberts, the Earl of Blakely, wished to marry her for the soul purpose of punishing somebody.
Sweat broke out on her forehead, and her heartbeats sounded loudly in her own head. After counting to ten, she lifted one hand to her chest. There wasn’t enough air in here. Dragging in shallow breaths, all she could hear was the pounding of her heart.
I’ve become a punishment.
When she opened her eyes, the hallway appeared as an endless corridor.
On legs much weaker than they’d been only moments before, she forced herself to walk toward the staircase. She needed to be outside.
Who had she become?
Locating the banister, she carefully made her way down the stairs and outside.
The air chilled her bare skin, but it was not so cold that she needed a wrap. Where could she go? She needed somewhere to hide. She needed to hide from herself, from the past that would haunt her forever.
“Are you running away, Miss Mossant?”
How did he do that?
Rhoda jerked her head around to see Lord Carlisle leaning against one of the brick walls that divided the terrace.
But then he pushed himself away from it and approached her. “I was only joking. Are you unwell?”
Where had her voice gone? She sensed something horrible chasing her. Gripped in inexplicable terror, her mouth refused to form any words and then the lawn, the walls, the trees were spinning out of control.
She shook her head in confusion.
In the next instant, strong arms tightened around her, pressing the side of her face against the wool of his jacket. “Shh… It’s all right. Take deep breaths.” His voice soothed, as did the motions of his hand stroking her hair and back.
She rested against his strength, eventually absorbing his warmth but still unable to make her voice work. She wanted to apologize, to step away from him but her body refused to obey.
After what could have been hours or mere seconds, he finally steered her toward a conveniently placed lawn chair.
Sitting unaided, now, she should feel better, not leaning against him, clinging to him. Instead, she acutely bemoaned the loss of his touch.
He’d located another chair for himself.
“I remember the first time my mother brought me to Eden’s Court. Surely, I felt it must belong to the king himself.”
Rhoda’s heart slowed a little at his words. Even though they seemed to come from far away, they summoned her back to the present.
“I was all of eleven years old. The duchess invited us for the summer. My mother was ecstatic! And how could I complain? There were even other boys my age.”
“Harold? St. John?” Ah, her voice worked once again.
“And Dev.”
“How exactly are you related to them?” She’d never really asked him about himself. The sound of her heartbeats no longer echoed as loudly. The air she breathed in actually filled her lungs now.
He seemed to make himself more comfortable before answering. “My mother is a distant cousin to the dowager, very distant.”
“So, you inherited your title through your father?”
“Ah, yes.” But he didn’t say anything more on that. Suddenly, curiosity prodded her.
“How long ago did your father die?” She was being nosey now. Would he mind?
“My father went to war shortly after he and my mother married.” The steady tone of his voice showed no irritation at her questions. “He didn’t make it back. I never knew him.”
“Your mother never remarried?”
He took a deep breath. “I think she wanted to. I think she would have… at first. But my father failed to provide for her, and she fell on hard times. She lacked… protection. She’s never told me, but I’ve since deduced that her family opposed their marriage. And she was too proud to return to them upon his death. We lived in a small village not far from Bath. The men who wooed my mother never followed through with any sort of respectable offer.”
Rhoda swallowed hard as the reality of his childhood dawned upon her. “You were poor?”
He nodded. “We were.”
“But I’ve met your mother, on a few occasions. She’s a beautiful woman. She mingles in the ton.” Her statement was a question.
“I’m not sure who wrote who first, but the duchess and my mother began corresponding at some point. My mother told me we were only coming to Eden’s Court for a short visit.” He smiled ruefully. “We never really left. I was sent off to attend school along with the heirs to a dukedom. The duchess never made us feel as though we were an imposition. She insisted we were family. Family took care of one another.”
“So… you were close to all of them.” He’d been close to the family that had been decimated by tragedy last year. She remembered how he’d nearly jumped off the cliff after Lord Harold’s fall. He’d persisted more adamantly than St. John that they bring in rescue efforts.
He nodded. “Not so much the duke, himself. But to Harold and Dev.” He met her eyes candidly. “And yes, to St. John.”
The honesty of his gaze caused her to look away and, staring across the lawn, she spoke without thinking. “I thought that I loved him. I thought that he loved me.” What was it about this man that invited her confessions?
He didn’t respond to her declaration, just sat calmly as a gentle breeze swirled across the terrace. When she shivered, he rose, removed his jacket, and dropped it on her shoulders. She huddled in his leftover warmth and watched him take his seat again.
“I did it.” She spoke the words aloud. “I lay with him.” A small portion of the weight she’d been carrying lifted from her chest. “I assumed he’d visit my father shortly after, but he didn’t. In fact, I saw less of him afterward. He ceased singling me out.” She swallowed the sob that threatened to follow her admission. She’d not said the words aloud to anyone.
She’d been so hopeful. So damnably proud.
She’d imagined how pleased her father would be. She’d thought it might change things for their family, for her father…
St. John’s touch had felt like love, like a promise.
She’d tried to forget, but the memory remained as vivid as ever. He’d collected her from her parents’ home, and they’d ridden the short distance on his high flyer. “He invited me to visit Prescott House.” She laughed at herself. “I felt so honored. He wouldn’t bring me to his home if his intentions weren’t honorable! Would he? Of course not! I ignored every piece of advice I’d ever been given. Even so, I should have suspected something when no one else was about. It was a few days after Sophia and Harold’s wedding, just before we were to leave for Priory Point.” God, she’d been so excited. “I was such a fool!”
Lord Carlisle still hadn’t spoken.
“He wanted to give me a tour, he said. He showed me the gallery, the gardens, and then, of course, the tour would not be complete unless I saw his chamber.”
“But you trusted him.” These were the first words he’d spoken since she began her confession.
“Yes.” A sudden lump formed in her throat. She had. She’d trusted him. He’d treated her as though she were special. As though he cared for her.
“At some point, I stopped thinking of him as a marquess, and I began to see him as the man, St. John. Lucas. Was all of it a ruse? I was so easily deceived.”
Lord Carlisle leaned forward, that thinking position of his that was becoming all too familiar. He loosely clasped his hands together, staring at the ground. “I don’t think St. John would have feigned affection. Not that I’m defending him, mind you. You must understand, he was always set apart from the rest of us. Duty to his legacy came first. We went to school, and he had a tutor. We played games while he sat at his father’s feet.” His voice broke.
“And it was all for nothing.” Miss Mossant spoke the words he couldn’t quite bring himself to say aloud.
“All the training, the grooming, destroyed in the blink of an eye against the side of a rocky cliff.” Justin cleared his throat. “What I’m trying to say, what I’m doing a poor job of saying, is that I don’t believe St. John did not love you. I simply believe there were limits to what he could give.”
“You don’t seem shocked.” She stared at him, her gaze cool and collected once again. She’d scared him earlier. Her face had turned white as a sheet and she’d nearly fainted dead away. She seemed better now. He only wished she didn’t find it necessary to rebuild all her defenses.
He shrugged. “Let he without sin cast the first stone.”
She laughed at that. He hated when she did that. He ought to leave Eden’s Court tomorrow. Purge this woman from his blood. He had responsibilities at Carlisle House.
“I’m sorry.” She’d stopped laughing, and some warmth entered her expression. “You don’t deserve my acid tongue.” At the mention of her tongue, he couldn’t help but recall how she’d used it earlier that night. She avoided meeting his eyes. Perhaps she, too, was remembering.
He wouldn’t leave yet. He had to see this through.
He clenched his fists and took a deep breath. “I wish to court you.” He was not a person to play games. He would be up front about his intentions.
“No!” she nearly shouted as she sprang out of her chair. “No! No… You mustn’t say that.” Her eyes had grown wide, and a flush tinged her cheeks now.
He didn’t appreciate the sting of rejection he felt at her adamant response. Damn his eyes, but this woman tied him up in knots. “Are you repulsed by me, then? Is that it?” He knew she was not.
Her eyes remained wide as she shook her head adamantly. “You don’t understand. You don’t know anything!” She held his jacket out for him to take.
But he knew she had some other secret. She loathed herself right now. And by God, he wanted to fix all of it and bring her into his bed. Into his life.
She attempted to turn away, but he caught her arm. “I’ll escort you to your chamber.” He’d not have her wandering the halls alone at this time of night. She ought to be safe here, but…
He opened the door and followed her inside.
“I’m to marry Blakely.” The words hit him from out of the darkness.
Had he heard correctly? “Blakely?”
Lord Blakely had shown her no favor since they’d arrived. He’d seemed inordinately distracted, as a matter of fact. Was she now lying to him? Was this an attempt on her part to repel his attention?
She held her head high, answering his question with a barely imperceptible nod.
Needing to retreat, to rethink his course of actions, Justin escorted her upstairs, deep in thought. He avoided watching the line of her back as she walked in front of him. He would not allow his gaze to linger on the sensual curve of her spine and derriere.
“This is my chamber, here.” She halted. She probably regretted telling him the truth about St. John.
“I’ve not heard anything about an engagement.” Disappointment warred with anger at himself for not moving more quickly. “Has there been an announcement yet?”
She fiddled with the door handle and bit her lip. After all of thirty seconds, she finally said, “It’s complicated.”
She opened the door and slipped inside.
Well, then.