“Did you tell her all that?”
“I’m not sure although I would wager that I didn’t. Everything was rather out of control after that.” He ran his hand through his hair and tried to recall exactly what was said between Judith and him. The more he’d gone over it in the carriage, the more confused he’d become. “She was very angry and I might have called her irrational.”
“You called her irrational after you’d forgiven her her sins?” Helmsley said with barely concealed amusement.
“Tempers were lost on both sides at that point.”
“I would have liked to have seen that,” Helmsley murmured,
“I assure you it was not a pretty scene. And it went well beyond Judith’s adventures during her widowhood.” Gideon met his friend’s gaze. “You once said you thought there was something wrong regarding Judith’s marriage.” He paused to gather his thoughts. “I believe Judith’s husband was a jealous sort. Unreasonably so, I suspect.”
“I can’t imagine Judith ever giving a husband cause for jealousy,” Helmsley said staunchly. “She’s one of the most honorable people I know. Her word is as important to her as it is to any man.”
“Don’t make that comparison to her.”
Helmsley frowned. “It’s a compliment.”
“She won’t see it as such. As I was saying…” Even now Gideon found it hard to believe, but nothing else made sense. “I think he hurt her.” Judith never spoke of her husband or her marriage and when she did it had the sound of recitation. She was adamant about not marrying again. Regardless of her stated reasons—her in dependence and wealth and all that—it did not ring true. Nor did her insistence that the breaking of her finger had been an accident. In spite of the anger between them at that moment, Judith would have laughed off his charge if he’d been wrong. Instead there’d been a look in her eyes he never wished to see again. Gideon drew a deep breath. “Physically, that is.”
“She’s told you this?”
“Don’t be absurd. She’d never tell me anything of the sort. But I am convinced nonetheless.” Gideon drained the last whisky in his glass, stepped to the decanter, and refilled it. “If he wasn’t already dead I would have to kill him myself.”
“And I would be compelled to assist you.” Helmsley’s jaw tightened. “No man should be allowed to hurt a woman, especially one under his protection.”
Gideon was under no illusions. This sort of thing happened all the time. Women, especially wives, had few rights under the law. Still, he had never come face to face with it, and the very thought made him ill. Perhaps it was because those ancient ideals of gallantry and chivalry and the protection of those weaker than oneself, even in this day and age, still ruled his actions. Or perhaps it was because the lady in question was Judith, but the very idea that her husband, the man she swore loved her, the man she claimed to have loved, could have hurt her twisted his insides in a manner that made him want to retch. He nodded. “No man for whatever reason.”
“And because you wish to protect her.”
“Absolutely.”
Helmsely nodded. “You would never allow anyone to hurt her.”
“No, don’t be absurd.”
“Because you love her.”
“Of course,” Gideon said without thinking. “No. Possibly.” He shook his head. “In truth, I don’t know. How would I know if I loved her? I loved Violet or at least I thought I did at the time. How do I know if this isn’t as dreadful a mistake as Violet was?”
“I suppose,” Helmsley said slowly, “you don’t.”
Gideon glared. “You’re not being much help.”
Helmsley shrugged. “My apologies. Perhaps this will help.” He paused for a long moment. “It seems to me you’re hiding behind your past, behind Violet’s skirts, as it were, to avoid your feelings for Judith.”
“That’s absurd. Ridiculous.” Gideon blew a long breath. “But probably true.” He shook his head. “I don’t want to be in the position ever again of offering my heart to a woman who does not want it. If I am therefore overly cautious”—he shrugged—“it is to be expected.”
“What of Judith’s feelings? Does she love you?”
“She says she doesn’t but”—Gideon shook his head—“I don’t believe her.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t. Because there’s something in the way she says it.” He glanced at his friend. “Because I don’t want to believe it.”
“Whether you want to admit it or not, that in itself says a great deal.” Helmsley thought for a moment. “It strikes me as well that Judith might be using her past, be it her marriage or her adventures or simply your feelings about her past, as an excuse to avoid anything permanent. She’s allowed you to get closer to her than any man before. It may well be that she has the same difficulties accepting her feelings because of her past that you do.”
“Perhaps what she needs, what we both need, is time.”
“I thought you’d been out of town for the last week?”
“More time then.” Gideon blew a long breath and sank back into his chair. “A few days maybe to consider all that we said to one another. To decide what we want. What we do now.”
“And when you have reached this momentous decision, will you go to her?”
“Perhaps she’ll come to me.”
Helmsley choked back a laugh. “I’d like to see that.”
“Regardless, I have never felt so helpless in my life.” Gideon heaved a resigned sigh. “Or so stupid.”
Helmsley chuckled. “Sure signs of love.”
“I wish I knew.”
“You can’t always know, at least in my experience. It would make it entirely too easy, and there is nothing about love that is easy.” Helmsley lifted his glass. “Love, old friend, is very much a leap of faith.”
“And if you are too cautious or too frightened to leap?”
“Then you remain where you are. Trapped.” Helmsley caught Gideon’s gaze. “And alone.”
Judith had no idea how long she stood and stared at the door Gideon had snapped closed behind him. She had no knowledge of the moment she finally sank down into a chair and continued to stare unseeing at the door. She didn’t know at what point her butler had inquired as to whether she would be needing anything else and had then bid her a good night. For a very long time after Gideon’s departure, the passing minutes, the passing hours, had had no meaning. Indeed, she’d felt quite numb, as if she’d stayed too long out of doors in bitter cold. In the back of her mind she was grateful for the void, for the emptiness, for feeling nothing at all, and wondered, or hoped, that perhaps, if she didn’t move, all would be well. She would never have to feel anything again.
And just when she’d thought it was safe to breathe once more, with care and caution, the pain swept in, its intensity catching her unawares, sucking the very air from the room itself. It was somewhat like the pain she’d known when she’d discovered Lucian was unfaithful. And much more like that which had gripped her when he had died. Still, if truth were told, wasn’t that tempered the tiniest bit by relief? Although relief had only brought about more guilt. It was a wicked cycle of pain and relief, guilt and recrimination. And it was entirely her fault, then and now.
Gideon was right, but then she’d always known the truth. She hadn’t put her past behind her. Oh, not her adventures. As pleasant as they’d been, as nice as Jonathon and Harry and Samuel all were, her moments with them were not the least bit important. She hadn’t allowed them to be. Susanna’s observation was accurate as well. Any one of her adventures could have become so much more if she had not ended them before they could evolve into something serious. Something permanent.
Why then had she allowed Gideon to become something special, something precious, something unexpected? It was entirely possible she simply hadn’t been on guard against him. After all, she had known him as an acquaintance for years. Who ever would have imagined that one day you would gaze into a near stranger’s dark eyes, eyes you h
ad never especially noticed, and be swept away by desire and passion and emotions you thought you would never feel again if indeed you had ever felt them before. Le coup de foudre. Gaze into those eyes and without warning see the mate to your very soul even if you didn’t recognize it until later when you knew the sound of his laughter and the touch of his hand and the warmth of his character. And if Gideon was her soul mate, what did that make Lucian? A dreadful mistake?
She had always known that as well, somewhere deep down inside. But it had always been so much easier not to think about it, not to face the truth. If their marriage hadn’t been a mistake, if she had been the wife he should have had, the wife he had needed to save his soul, the wife she should have been, he wouldn’t have taken his own life. If she hadn’t defended herself, if she hadn’t locked him out of her rooms, if she hadn’t threatened to leave him, then perhaps…But what she’d done was part and parcel of who she was. She could no more change that than she could change the past. Lucian’s death was on her hands. There was a price to be paid for that, a penance to be exacted. Not merely that she would not remarry, that she would live her life alone, but now apparently that she would live it with the knowledge that she could not share it with the one man who had captured her soul.
It was past time to end this particular adventure. The very thought tore at her heart, and she longed for the numbness of a few moments ago. It was obvious that Gideon would not let her go easily. She would simply give him no choice. It was part of their agreement, after all. And while he might refuse to abide by her terms, he had agreed that either of them could end it without reproach. Regardless of what he now said, she would hold him to that.
And then she would leave, vanish from his life altogether. She had told Samuel she would not flee, but fleeing with Gideon was a far cry from fleeing without him. Flight now seemed an excellent idea. Far better than to cross paths with Gideon again and again as they surely would if she remained in London. She had no desire to see him as the years went on. To see the woman, young, virginal, perfect, that he would inevitably wed. The children he would have who would surely bear their father’s slightly wicked, altogether wonderful smile. And she had no desire to have him see her through the years. To watch her age and go from lovely to handsome to “she was considered quite a beauty in her youth.” And worse yet, to see the look in his eyes change every time their gazes met in passing. Fade from what ever affection he now felt for her to a vague acknowledgment that perhaps once, long ago, they had known each other. That was a penance too great for even her sins.
But she would go on with her life. And if there was an emptiness in her heart where Gideon had been, if her adventure with him was now the past she could not put behind her, she would nonetheless survive. She had survived the death of her parents, infidelity and rape by her husband, his death at his own hand, and a decade of guilt and blame and hatred from his sister. Why, a mere broken heart paled in comparison.
The pain, however, was another matter entirely.
Chapter 14
“L ady Chester has arrived, my lord,” Wells said in a nondescript manner that belied the fact that he, and every other servant in Gideon’s house hold, had been alerted to the possibility that Lady Chester might indeed pay a call on Lord Warton at any moment.
“Excellent.” Gideon released a breath he had quite possibly held since he’d last seen Judith three days ago. Or more precisely, three days, fifteen hours, and twenty-seven minutes ago, give or take a minute. He had planned to wait one more day before storming over to her house, taking her in his arms, and declaring that he never wanted to spend another day without her. “Show her in.”
Wells nodded and took his leave.
Gideon rose to his feet and started toward the door. He stopped, moved to the front of the desk, and leaned against it in a casual manner. He glanced at the fireplace and wondered if perhaps that might not be a better place to stand. Blast it all. He blew a frustrated breath. This was ridiculous. What was he doing? Certainly he was unusually anxious and even a bit apprehensive but surely that was to be expected. The only reason he had waited any time at all was that he and Helmsley had agreed that Judith needed to make up her own mind about her own life. It was damn hard to be patient and allow her to do so, but Gideon knew there could be no future between them if she didn’t come to terms with her past.
Now, thank God, apparently she had.
“Good day, Lord Warton.” Judith sailed into the room as if she hadn’t a care in the world. It was a good sign.
“Good day, Lady Chester.” He stifled a grin and nodded at Wells, who discreetly stepped out of the library and closed the door quietly behind him. “Judith.” He stepped toward her with every intention of taking her in his arms.
She held out her hand. “Gideon.”
Her hand was not at all what he wanted. Still, he took it and raised it to his lips. “I have missed you more than you can ever know.”
She smiled and pulled her hand away. “How very kind of you to say.”
“Is it?” He narrowed his eyes and studied her. Her lighthearted manner might not be a good sign after all. “We have a great deal to talk about.”
“Then perhaps you should have come to me,” she said pleasantly and moved away from him as if she wished to put distance between them.
“I thought it would be best if you—if we—took a few days to consider all that we had said to one another.”
“Excellent idea. I thought precisely the same thing myself. And now here I am.” She beamed at him. “However, I cannot stay long. I have a number of errands to run but I did wish to speak with you.”
Her tone was polite, cordial, and distinctly impersonal. A heavy weight settled in the pit of his stomach. “Did you?”
“I believe I owe you an apology, my lord.”
“Oh?” He raised a brow. “For what precisely?”
“Any number of things.” She laughed lightly. “You were right, you know. My behavior was somewhat irrational.”
“With good reason,” he said slowly.
“Perhaps. Still.” She shrugged, “I should not have lost my temper. It was inexcusable. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“I lost my temper as well and for that you have my apologies.”
“Accepted.” She cast him a brilliant smile.
“Judith—”
“You were entirely right as well about my…difficulties, as it were, in regard to my past.” Her smile faltered for no more than a fraction of a moment. “I have given it a great deal of consideration in recent days, and it now seems to me that I have been doing little more than marking time in the last decade. Oh, I have walked and breathed and had my little adventures but I haven’t allowed myself to truly live. It’s past time that I did.”
Hope flickered within him, and he stepped toward her. “Judith—”
“Please, Gideon.” She moved away. “Do me the courtesy of allowing me to say what I have come to say. I do need to put the past behind me. And you, well”—she met his gaze firmly—“you are part of that past.”
“What?” Shock coursed through him and he stared in disbelief.
“I need to start my life anew. Surely you can see that.”
“What about us?” he said without thinking.
“Gideon, dear, there really isn’t any us. Oh, we’ve had a lovely time together, truly the grandest of all my adventures, but we knew from the start it was not to be permanent.”
“What if I now wish it to be permanent?”
Her eyes widened. “I do hope you are not speaking of marriage.”
“And if I am?”
“You and I both know what kind of woman you should marry, and we know as well I do not fit the requirements you seek. Besides.” She shook her head. “I’ve told you I have no desire to marry again.”
“That can certainly change.”
“I suppose it can.” She paused as if to consider the possibility, then lifted a shoulder in a casual shrug. “But it hasn’t.
”
“Because of him? Because of your husband?”
She hesitated for a long moment, then drew a deep breath. “Yes.”
“I would never hurt you.”
“I know that. But I might well hurt you and I would not wish for that to happen.” She shook her head. “Some of us are simply not meant for marriage and permanence and—”
“Love?”
“Perhaps. But love has nothing to do with it, really. You and I have both experienced love in the past—”
“What I thought was love. This is entirely different.”
“Yes, of course it is because we are far older and hopefully a bit wiser. And like civilized people we set certain rules—”
“Such as honesty?”
“A certain amount of honesty, yes.” She paused and chose her words with care. “We also agreed that when either one of us decided it was time to go our separate ways we could do so without recrimination and…”
“And?”
“And that time has come.”
He stared in disbelief. “That’s what you came here to say?”
“I considered writing a note but it seemed rather cowardly.”
“I thought you came to…to…”
“To what?”
“Certainly not to tell me you were ending it,” he snapped.
“I am sorry if this comes as a surprise.” Her tone was surprisingly casual, as if her words were of no significance at all. “After the other night I thought surely you would expect this.”
“I expected nothing of the sort. What I expected was that you would have realized—”
“What?”
“That there is more to what we have shared than a mere adventure!” He glared at her.
She stared at him for a long moment, then shook her head. “But there can’t be. One’s fate is preordained. One’s destiny is already determined.”
“That’s ridiculous and you well know it. One shapes one’s own fate by the decisions one makes. The idea that there is no choice in life is nothing more than an excuse for—”
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