Wrapped in Red (Colors of Scandal, #4)

by Sandra Sookoo

  As if I didn’t matter.

  She pressed her lips together into a thin, white line. Finally, the tendons in her neck worked with a hard swallow. “No.” The whispered word sounded pulled out of her.

  “Why?” Cornelius reeled as if he’d been shot. It hurt to breathe. He pressed a hand to his chest, his heart where the epicenter of his pain radiated.

  “You would have come back, married me out of obligation instead of for love.” Amelia shook her head. Her cheeks were wet with tears. “You would have hated me for making you choose between duty and responsibility.” She stifled a sob. “I didn’t want that.”

  “Or you didn’t want me.” Anger rose in a slow tide, burning away all other feelings. “All those things you listed is what an honorable man does.”

  “Damn your honor!” Her voice rose. Her hands moved in an animated fashion as if she didn’t know what to do with them. “I didn’t want you in that way. It smacked too much of a trap, of baiting. I couldn’t stand to see the regret in your eyes when all you wanted was to return to the world of spy games.”

  “We’ll never know what I would have truly thought, now will we?” The words were low and steady, and they roiled with banked fury. “According to your history, you never wanted me in any way at all except to service you between the sheets.”

  “That’s not true! What we had...” The words trailed away; the thought unfinished.

  “I have no idea what the damned truth is right now.” He couldn’t make sense of his words; couldn’t stem the tide even though his mind screamed a warning. His heart hurt along with his head—why did it suddenly throb so intensely? “You married another man, Amelia. You would have let Grant raise my child, take his name and, in essence, erase me from the picture.” Rage heated him, fueled him, circled like a prowling beast, and taunted him.

  Her tears fell in earnest, but he steeled himself against them. “Yes. I would have done that.” Emotions clouded her eyes, but she didn’t expand upon her original statement.

  “You willfully deceived not only me, but also Grant.” He shook his head as the pain squeezed around him. “I never thought you’d be the one to betray me. This cuts me to the quick, this knowing you never loved me.”

  “No, Cornelius, no. I adored you. I loved you, and that was the reason I couldn’t destroy your career with obligation. You wouldn’t have been happy as a domesticated man.”

  “Yet you didn’t let me decide that for myself.” He gasped for breath as he stumbled to a small cart that held crystal decanters of varying sizes. Not bothering to select a glass, he plucked off a stopper and gulped brandy from the container.

  It was folly. He couldn’t hold his liquor in the best of times, but he needed something to stem the shredding of his heart, his trust—his future. Everything shifted beneath him like the sand before the tide.

  “That was never my intention,” she whispered into the pregnant silence, her voice injured and wavering. “I would no sooner betray you than I would the king, but the last thing I wanted to do was put you into a position that would make you hate me.”

  “No?” They would have had a child together. He was cheated out of the joyous knowledge, cut out of her life and the right to mourn that child’s premature passing, to further bond with her over the mutual loss. “You assumed you knew what was best.” It hurt to draw breath, but his aspirations grew more accelerated. His pulse raced. His mind was simultaneously fuzzy and spinning. These were not the signs of too much alcohol.

  “At the time, I thought I did. You were happy.”

  “I would have been happy with you, facing the odds with you.” He fought off the hot tears that sprang into his eyes. His whole world was falling apart like the fires of Rome tearing down the city. “You could have told me, Amelia. It was my right to know.” His voice rose, but he didn’t care. The hurt, the disorientation was too much. “You carried my child. Mine—ours. It was an extension of both of us.”

  “I know.” She was openly crying now, but no way would he comfort her.

  Cornelius went to replace the decanter onto the cart, but his hand shook so badly that he dropped it on the Aubusson carpet with a dull thud. Amber liquid spilled out to puddle in the fibers. “God. I would have adored that child.” Briefly, he closed his eyes, and a couple of tears leaked to his cheeks. “A creation of us.”

  Now he knew why she looked so haunted all the time; it was that deep, personal grief she kept locked inside, the secret she’d shared with no one, except Grant, who went to his damned grave thinking the child was his.

  “Oh, Cornelius.” Amelia brokenly cried. She scrubbed at her cheeks with a hand. “I’m so incredibly sorry.”

  He ignored her distress to focus on his own. After all, she’d had thirteen bloody years to acclimate to it. He’d had all of ten minutes. “At the very least you should have written me when you lost the babe, gained an address from the Home Office without telling them why. Hell, Charles would have known how to find me.” He met her wet gaze. “I would have come home straightaway.”

  “It was too late.” All color drained from her face as she stared at him. “I’d lost the babe and was in mourning.”

  “I would have been too.”

  “I was devastated and married besides.”

  “Whose fault is that?” His lips wouldn’t obey his mind’s command, almost as if a weighted blanket dulled that organ.

  “Yours.” The whispered word ignited his anger into an inferno of angst.

  “I beg your pardon?” He stumbled toward her and the sofa. Why wouldn’t his limbs obey simple orders? He felt disconnected and lethargic all at once, almost as if he’d been dosed with a heavy measure of... laudanum. Oh God. The punch. I’ve been poisoned. No wonder the liquor made him loopy. He worked to make his lips form her name, to warn her. “Mia...”

  “You left me, Cornelius!” Righteous indignation exploded on those words. Obviously, she didn’t recognize the signs of poisoning. No doubt she thought him in his cups. “You left without apology in the middle of the night.” She shook from the force of her rage. Her eyes flashed mossy lightning. “You chose your work, the Crown, over me. Nothing I could have said would have changed that.”

  “To keep you safe. Don’t you understand? If I wasn’t in England, then the threats would follow me.” It was only partially true, but his brain refused to give him a well-thought out argument.

  She snorted. “Like you kept me safe this week? You brought danger to my door.”

  “That’s a different matter.” He thought, but his brain was too fuzzy to puzzle it out. “I needed one word, Mia. Just one word from you and how you felt, for I would have given everything up—for you. But you didn’t trust me.” Again, his chest squeezed, both from the hurt that cut deep and the peril his body was in.

  “I couldn’t.” Amelia sniffed. “I was in the middle of a scandal and terrified at what it would mean for my future. You were the new marquess and didn’t need the black mark against your name.” She moved to the end of the sofa. “So, I let you go. For all of us.”

  His hold on his temper snapped. “You had no right!” He’d been saddled with the title and at the same time had lost the greatest love of his life. Now he’d discovered she’d never cared for him at all. It was a blow to his ego.

  “I had no choice!” Twin spots of color raged in her cheeks. “Consider my position and all it would have entailed had I waited for you to return. I would have been cast out, alone and pregnant, and then what?”

  Yes, he hadn’t had time to consider what she’d gone through, and now his brain wouldn’t work properly. So, he fixated on what he did know. “You gave up on us before we had a chance. I wonder which of those things is the worse crime?”

  They were both shouting, and Cornelius couldn’t breathe properly. Were his lungs shutting down? His world was crashing, tilting, breaking, and she moved farther and farther from his touch.

  He held out a shaking hand to her. “Mia, please help me.”

  �
�What’s wrong?” Immediately, her demeanor changed, alerted as she stared.

  “I’m—”

  “Is there a problem here? I heard arguing.” Charles appeared in the doorway. His face was pale, but his eyes shot shards of anger. Quickly, he glanced about. “Cornelius, what the devil is wrong with you?” He came into the room, his gaze alighting on the dropped decanter. “You look like a dog’s breakfast.”

  “It’s none of your affair,” he managed to gasp. His heart thudded a quick tattoo even as he labored to draw breath. God, would it attack him?

  “I think he requires medical attention. He’s not acting like himself,” Amelia said, concern woven through her voice. She took a step toward him. “We always argue. It means nothing.”

  “No. He’s foxed. And in front of a lady. The man has no shame.” Charles crossed the room. When he joined her, he slid an arm around her shoulders. “Perhaps you should go refresh yourself before you return to the ball. You’ve had traumatic night.”

  “No! Mia, please wait...” His words trailed away. What was it that he needed to say so urgently? His faculties were leaving him.

  “I’ll escort the bounder out and see him off the estate,” Charles told Amelia while Cornelius struggled to maintain his footing.

  “But I honestly think he’s—”

  “Hush.” Charles bussed her cheek. “I’ll take care of this distasteful mess for you.” With a hand on her upper arm, he propelled her to the door. “You have guests waiting.” Then he gave her a tiny push into the corridor.

  Cornelius staggered after them. His head was about to explode. “Amelia, wait.” He drew in a few breaths to keep unconsciousness at bay. “I’m sorry.”

  “Too late, old chap.” Charles took hold of his upper arm, much like he’d done with Amelia, but his hold was like a vice. “Time for you to exit the picture. Amelia needs to move on... as do I.”

  His eyelids drooped, his limbs heavy, his lungs heaving. Now more than ever he knew he’d been drugged, but why? And by whom? “I need... to go after... her.”

  “You need to leave her alone, or I’ll tell her your secret,” Charles said around a growl.

  “But I want...” What? He stumbled to keep pace with his friend and wished he hadn’t left his cane in the ballroom.

  “You’ll sleep it off if you can. There’s no other choice for you. Never again will you be welcomed at Trenton Hall after this.”

  The crisp night air bit into Cornelius and revived him slightly. “No. I have to talk to her. To make her understand, to tell her that I—”

  “Oh, no.” Charles tightened his grip. “I can’t risk having you muck up everything I’ve wanted and planned for.”

  “What does that mean?” Darkness pressed in on the edges of his vision. How much laudanum was in that punch? How much had he’d ingested already? Perhaps if he could make himself retch, he could minimize the damage.

  “Never you mind. I imagine by now you’re well on your way to your just rewards.” Charles yanked him about, marched him over the snow-covered paths on the estate grounds. “Rest assured I’ll take care of Amelia where you’ve failed. I’m certain that, in time, she’ll forget all about you and see her life is better without you.”

  God, the pain in his head would finish him. “Leave her alone...” Then he fell, deep into a dark nothingness, a black vortex that swirled about him and sucked him away, far far away from the Christmas Eve ball and into a pit of silence.

  Chapter Thirteen

  December 25, 1818

  Christmas morning

  Amelia trailed through the corridors. At dawn, she had decided trying to sleep was a hopeless cause, for she’d tossed restlessly after retiring at the close of the ball. She was numb inside, empty, lost even, as if an important part of her was missing. Telling Cornelius her shameful secret had torn him up, and she’d let it happen, hiding behind her anger and grief and fear instead of sharing the truth with him as well.

  Then she couldn’t; there’d been no time, for Charles had taken him away. And she missed him. The marquess had burrowed under her skin; his essence burned through her blood and ignited her craving for him. Beyond that, she’d enjoyed the two days he’d courted her, as if they’d had a future together.

  As if he’d truly cared for her.

  Yet something had been off about him during that argument in the parlor. For all intents and purposes, he had acted like he’d been deep in his cups, but she knew he wasn’t much of a drinker. He’d tried to explain, attempted to tell her what was amiss, yet he had trouble concentrating, appeared disoriented with alarm in his eyes, and their argument had taken precedence.

  For verbally sparring with him was familiar and would eventually lead to other—better—things, but it didn’t turn out the way she’d hoped last night.

  And now he was gone. Without a goodbye. Again.

  “Oomph!” While lost in her thoughts, Amelia had crashed into someone when she’d turned a corner. “I apologize. I was woolgathering.”

  “Are you all right, Auntie?” Rebecca’s hands on her shoulders steadied her. The concern in her niece’s eyes brought tears to hers. “You were restless before you even came out of your bedchamber this morning. I heard the hardwood squeak as you paced.”

  “Yes, I’m quite well.” Amelia moved back a few steps. “Actually, no. I’m not well at all.”

  “Ah.” Rebecca sent her gaze up and down Amelia’s person. “Come with me.” She linked her arm through Amelia’s. “It’s Christmas Day. You need sorting and I’m hungry. I think that is as good an excuse as any to seek out sustenance and tea before the rest of the house awakes.”

  “It’s perhaps too early. The staff has only now reported to their tasks.”

  “Oh, Cook will have something for me. When my mind needs organizing, I oftentimes wander belowstairs and talk with her.” Her laugh sounded a tad forced. “She reminds me of a grandmother, you see, and there are times when I need to talk with someone who isn’t a relative.”

  “How well I understand the sentiment.” Amelia smiled, for she did the same with Mr. Jessup.

  “Good.” Rebecca pulled her through the house to the kitchens.

  Cook indeed clucked over the girl. Then she gave them both tea and freshly baked scones and sat them at a small table next to a frosted-over window. It was the cozy spot she and the housekeeper used to take tea and indulge in a bit of gossip.

  After slathering blackberry jam onto her scone, Rebecca leaned forward and whispered in a conspirator’s voice, “Now, tell me why you are at sixes and sevens and about to become a watering pot. I’ve not seen you in such a state, for you usually keep the typical stiff upper lip and all that.”

  Perhaps I’ve been strong for too long, and now that I can’t stem the tide of emotions, I’m broken. “It’s silly,” she said aloud. Amelia shook her head. She kept her gaze on the beautiful frost pattern on the window that resembled woven fabric.

  “Nothing that upsets us this much is ever silly.”

  She touched a finger to the frost. Of course, the heat of her skin left an imprint and spoiled the design. That is much like what happened with her and Cornelius. They had the potential to be something beautiful together, but once heat and secrets came into play, all was destroyed. “Lord Winchester and I argued last night when I told him something.”

  “I’d wondered what had become of you.” Rebecca said nothing further, merely continued to munch on her scone.

  Amelia nodded. “I asked him to meet me in the back parlor. No longer could I keep the secret. It was eating away at me. Now, he hates me.”

  “Oh, I doubt that.” Rebecca licked the crumbs from her lower lip. “You two are always at odds, but from what I’ve seen, that translates into genuine affection.”

  Dear Lord, how much of her interactions with Cornelius had the girl witnessed? Heat jumped into her cheeks. “I’m not certain about that. He’s upset, and now there’s nothing I can do about it.”

  “Listen, Auntie.” Rebecca wi
ped her mouth on the back of her hand in a very unladylike move that would make patronesses at Almack’s faint dead away. “You’ve taken refuge behind grief for so long you can’t see anything else. It colors everything you do and every relationship you have.” Affection shone in her hazel eyes. “You don’t want to see anything else because you’re afraid.”

  “I... that can’t be true...” Was it? Amelia tapped a fingernail against the rim of her teacup.

  “But it is.” Rebecca nodded. She took another scone from the serving plate. “You are trying to be safe, to guard your heart so you won’t feel hurt or loss again. Life doesn’t work like that.” The girl nibbled on the scone as she regarded Amelia with wide eyes. “Life is for living, not hiding.”

  “I’m not hiding. I am helping Charles...”

  Her niece rolled her eyes. “That is an excuse.” She slathered clotted cream onto her pastry. “Life is for experiencing as much as you can. And during that life, you’re going to be hurt again. Good comes with bad, and the hurt means you have, indeed, lived. Isn’t that better than doing nothing?”

  Amusement prompted Amelia to smile even as the words stabbed through her defenses with all the accuracy of recently sharpened knives. “How do you know? You are all of nineteen, and too young to have collected such wisdom.” The girl had impressed her. Perhaps she could handle a London Season after all.

  “I know you.” Rebecca’s huff of breath ruffled the curls on her forehead. She grinned. “You light up when the marquess is near, and he stands a little straighter when he knows you’re looking. Don’t throw that connection away due to a few heated words and a musty old secret.”

  “Oh, my girl, that secret laid him low. I hurt him terribly, both by telling him so belatedly and by revealing it at all.” She blinked at the tears in her eyes, but those drops fell away. Not even tea could see her back into a good mood. “Besides, it’s too late. The marquess is gone.” She grasped at Rebecca’s hand. “I fear I waited too long and now everything is soured.” There had been no doubt Cornelius was angry last night, but she doubted he’d been in his cups. Something else had been at play, yet had he left the estate? Had he again abandoned her before they’d had a chance to cool down?