The Lady Who Loved Him

by Christi Caldwell

  With a stiff, reluctant turn of his head, he faced her.

  “He was the monster. You never were,” she said, willing him to see.

  He sneered. “You know nothing about monsters, madam.”

  “I know more than you think.” She, however, was unwilling to shift their discussion to her own suffering. Leo would only slam shut the small window he’d opened into his mysterious life. “He’s gone, and you are free of him. You don’t have to hide your true intellect from the world, Leo.” He never had. “And you don’t need to present yourself as a coldhearted rake.”

  He laughed. To her ears, the sound was brittle and forced. “My true intellect, madam?” Leo scoffed. “Present myself as a coldhearted rake? That is rich.” Her husband jerked on the reins, and she registered belatedly that they’d arrived.

  A servant came rushing forward, but Leo held up a staying hand, and the man immediately made himself scarce.

  Leo leaned close, shrinking away all the space between them. He angled his body in a way that cut the world out and conveyed intimacy, a stolen moment between lovers.

  Chloe shivered. The display of warmth was belied by the icy glint in his eyes and the hardness of his lips. It was a coldness she was all too familiar with. She knew how simmering rage so easily became blinding violence. “I want to go inside,” she stated with a calm she desperately hoped to feel.

  “You are free to leave any time… as soon as the terms of our arrangement are met, my lady.”

  Chloe flinched. The casual willingness to set her free shouldn’t cut, and yet, it did.

  “But before you do,” Leo said as he captured her chin in a grip that was both unrelenting and gentle. It was a bewildering contradiction. “Let us be clear. Perhaps you wish to convince yourself that the man you’ve bound yourself to until death do we part is more. Mayhap it will help you slumber more peacefully to see a poor, snot-nosed babe crying for a father’s affection, who learned to conceal his love of poetry, and not a man who took a virgin against a library wall in Lord Ackerland’s precious library in the middle of a bloody ball.”

  Her stomach pitched, and she shrank away from his touch. For having him say it in those plain terms was a confirmation that the allegations made against him were, in fact, sins upon his soul. It ripped a hole somewhere inside Chloe. “Stop it,” she ordered quietly. Was it him she commanded to stop? Or herself? “You are just trying to push me away. You became who he professed you were, but you don’t have to be that person any longer. You—”

  Leo shook his head. “You’ll hear this first. That rake… the one that has your mother weeping and your brother ready to duel me at dawn? That is precisely the man I am. So do not make me out to be more.”

  Leo swung his leg over and leaped down.

  He could have stormed off in the rage that now gripped him and left her to the waiting servant. Instead, her husband reached up and scooped her around the waist like she was the most delicate of treasures and set her down.

  They started for the steps.

  “Leo?” she put forward as the butler swept the doors open.

  Her husband cast her a glance.

  “The lord doth protest too much, methinks.” She lifted her palms. “There is always more… to all of us. It’s just oft times easier to look upon the surface and accept that which is so obviously displayed.”

  His golden brows stitched into a single line.

  “Ahem,” Tomlinson interrupted.

  “What is it?” Leo snapped.

  “Her ladyship has guests. I informed them you were out, and they insisted they would wait.” They? “Until you returned.” Tomlinson presented a silver tray, and Chloe collected the card. “I showed them to the Ivory Parlor.”

  “My sister and sister-in-law,” she said, lifting her head. No doubt, after her flight last evening, they sought to make peace.

  “And this arrived for you, my lord.” Tomlinson handed over a small, folded scrap.

  In his peculiarly speedy manner, Leo glanced at the page, folded it, and tucked it in his pocket faster than it would have taken most men to read a single sentence.

  Leo sketched a bow. “I will leave you to your visit, then.” And just like that, Chloe had been summarily forgotten. He called for his horse.

  He is leaving…

  Questions swirled. And ugly, unwelcome possibilities about the author of that note slipped forward. He’d pushed her away. She’d asked too many questions, and he’d shared too much of his past, and now he’d turned from her.

  “My lady?” Tomlinson ventured.

  “Yes, thank you.” Forcing her legs into motion, she hurried to greet the two ladies who awaited her. Given the gulf that had developed between Chloe and her family since she’d married, she should be grateful at their arrival. And yet, she wanted them gone. Wanted to plant her feet and demand Leo hear her, and more… keep him with her so he couldn’t fill his days and nights with a woman who wanted nothing more from him than a brief diversion from her own miseries and tedium.

  Chloe reached the parlor.

  She found Jane and Philippa, backs to her, at the hearth, examining the same piece that had so riveted Chloe days ago. Had it truly been mere days since she’d wed Leo? Surely a lifetime had passed.

  “Hullo,” she called out from the doorway, drawing the door shut behind her.

  Both women spun to face her.

  “Chloe,” they both exclaimed, perfect ducks in tandem from each step and movement.

  They stood, a strained silence between them. One that had never been there before. It was ultimately Jane who took control. “We came to speak with you. May we sit?”

  “Of course,” she said stiffly. Chloe settled herself on the edge of a King Louis XIV chair directly facing the Edgerton women. If Philippa and Jane had come to lecture and admonish her over her decision, she’d ask them to leave. There was no undoing what had been done. Nor would their misery or anger do anything but hurt.

  “He knows Beethoven,” Philippa blurted.

  Chloe slowly raised her brows. What was she on about?

  “Your husband, Lord Tennyson, that is,” her elder sister went on to clarify. “He knows both of him… and knows him personally.”

  Chloe widened her eyes. Of anything and everything she’d expected Philippa or Jane to say, that had decidedly not been it. “I don’t understand,” she said, trying to make sense of her sister’s revelation.

  Philippa spoke in a rush, gesticulating wildly as she spoke. “He shared with Faith that Mr. Beethoven has lost most of his hearing. That he’s, in fact, been without full use of his ears for a number of years and composed music anyway and…” She stopped abruptly and pressed a hand to her mouth. From over her gloved fingertips, tears welled in her eyes.

  “And this… upsets you?” she asked, confused, desperately attempting to follow along.

  Philippa recoiled. “Of course not.” Reaching across the table, she gathered Chloe’s hands and squeezed. “Chloe, he was reassuring her. About her hearing.”

  Warmth spread throughout Chloe’s chest. Her husband had been threatened and ridiculed by his host, and where had he gone? What had he done? He had joined two little girls, sharing the accomplishments of one who was hard of hearing with a girl whose greatest insecurity was her partial hearing loss. Chloe bit her lip. The man he’d proven himself to be was again inconsistent with the angry figure who’d stormed off.

  One who was even now likely at one of his scandalous clubs.

  From where they sat, Jane and Philippa exchanged a look. Her sister-in-law stood and joined Chloe. “I’ll not make excuses for Gabriel. He was wrong. He is worried about you,” she added. “But that does not give him leave to treat either of you as he’s done.” Calm, rational, and in possession of one of the purest hearts—there was so much to love about her sister-in-law. “Unless we’re given evidence that you are… unhappy, I explained to Gabriel how it is to be.” With each statement, she stuck a finger up. “You’re both to be met with warm
th and kindness when you are in our home. We will provide a united front to Polite Society.”

  Philippa nodded. “We will help you gain access to societal functions, as we can.” Her sister peered at her. “Which is odd, as you’ve never before expressed an interest in societal acceptance. But if that is what you wish?”

  They stared at her, matching questions in their eyes.

  “Yes,” she said hoarsely. Emotion clogged Chloe’s throat. It was not what she or Leo wished, but what they required. And now her family, as devoted as they’d always been, had responded with that usual Edgerton support.

  Jane nodded. “Very well.” Fishing inside a pocket along the front of her gown, she withdrew a small, leather notebook and pencil. “We’ll begin with Philippa’s unveiling at the Ladies of Hope.”

  Philippa nodded. “In two days, there will be a gathering of the benefactors and benefactresses. You and Lord Tennyson will attend.”

  “Mother?”

  Her sister looked away, but not before Chloe caught the flash of regret in her eyes.

  “She returned this morn to Imogen’s side. In time, she will come ’round,” Jane promised. She locked a stare on Chloe. “As long as she is able to see that you were right about Lord Tennyson. That he is worthy of you. That he is loyal and eventually, in time, loving.”

  And while her sister and sister-in-law proceeded to plot, Chloe stared absently off at the peculiar piece atop the mantel.

  She wondered which wicked haunt her husband had gone off to… and why, in a marriage of convenience, should it matter so very much?

  Chapter 19

  Marriage to Chloe was going to be a problem, and not for reasons Leo could have ever foreseen.

  When Leo was around Chloe, he alternated between a maddening hunger to make love to her… and admiring her for being more damned clever than any tutor and Oxford instructor he’d had combined.

  But this cleverness, her innate ability to see everything, was something far more perilous than a simple lust that could be sated with sex and sinning.

  He’d shared parts of his past with her. He’d discussed the late marquess with no one—not even his uncle, who’d finally wrestled Leo away from any further torture at that bastard’s hands—yet, Leo had let Chloe inside, and he’d shown her too much. More than could ever be safe.

  Leo urged his mount on to a faster gait through the fashionable streets of London. Again, she’d called into question what he was.

  The lord doth protest too much, methinks…

  He’d been careless in what he’d revealed, and because of it, Chloe insisted on seeing something in him beyond a callous rake. Nay, it was more than that. She questioned gossips and wondered at his knowledge of literature and his ability to memorize a page at a mere glance. Under his gloves, his palms grew moist. For God help him, until her, he’d forgotten that there were other pleasures to be had outside the carnal ones. There had been just one he’d let close enough to see… back when he was a boy just out of university, romantic and foolish enough to believe he could have a life within the Brethren and a bucolic life with a loyal woman.

  And after the blunder he’d made one night with that woman, Leo had turned his back on the bookish pup he’d been and fully embraced the life he’d been born to.

  Chloe, however, was different than any other woman before her.

  Leo gripped his reins hard. What had he done? He’d been a fool to believe he could perpetuate the lie that was his life so long as Chloe resided under the same roof.

  Guiding Sin down St. James’s Street, Leo brought the loyal horse to a stop.

  After fleeing his wife, her family, his townhouse, and his upheaved life, Leo found himself outside the last place he ever cared to be—White’s.

  In fact, he’d made it a point to avoid the damned establishment altogether since he’d been beaten to a pulp and nearly strangled to death by the irascible Earl of Montfort two years earlier. Montfort had been summarily banned afterward, so there were no worries of another encounter. It had been a deserved thrashing, but one he’d rather avoid a repeat of, nonetheless.

  Yet, respectability called—for his mission, anyway. Leo had been summoned. Leo tossed his reins off to a nearby street urchin, with a coin and promise for more. As he strode up the steps, his attention should be solely focused on his upcoming meeting.

  Instead, Chloe retained a tentaclelike grip on his thoughts.

  A servant admitted Leo and accepted his cloak.

  All eyes within the club swiveled to the front of the establishment, settling on Leo.

  A resounding silence fell, and then the room dissolved into a flurry of whispers.

  Bloody fucking nobs. Leo yawned. Fortunately, he’d grown well accustomed to the tediously predictable response to his presence. Infusing a deliberate laziness into his gait, Leo started for the infrequently visited tables reserved for him. Given his lecherous reputation, the doors of White’s should have long been closed to him… and would have been shut to any other man. The empty-headed sots who sipped their brandies and played their dull games of whist didn’t have the sense to question the oddness of Leo maintaining a membership. Leo reached his table and waved off a servant coming forward to drag out his chair.

  “Leo!” A booming voice broke across the still-buzzing whispers. “My dear boy.”

  On cue.

  Leo hesitated a long while, deliberately stretching out the length of his insolent pause. And then, with feigned reluctance, he faced the owner of that cheerful greeting. Seated at his tables in the far left corner of the club, the Duke of Aubrey was joined by Higgins and Rowley, two of Society’s most respectable, proper gents.

  “Why the hesitation, dear boy?” Uncle William shot a hand into the air and waved him over. “Come, come! Join me.”

  Abandoning his table, Leo cut a path through the club, kicking up frenzied whispers in his wake.

  “Uncle,” he drawled when he reached the trio.

  They went through the false show for their audience’s benefit. Leo, the reluctant, slightly disrespectful nephew; the duke, a benevolent and expecting-to-be-obeyed uncle; and two lords, who remained seated as the nephew joined them, because it would be unpardonably rude to quit a duke’s company.

  In all, it was the perfect ruse and one that had proven exceedingly helpful through the years.

  Hiding in plain sight, as his uncle called it, allowed one more freedom and security than even the darkest corner.

  “I understand congratulations are in order,” Higgins remarked. The graying man gestured over a footman.

  A moment later, a glass was set before Leo. The Delegator poured a snifter full and handed it over.

  “I never thought I’d see the day.” A patent disdain dripped from Rowley’s words as each gentleman held his drink aloft in a formal toast to the end of Leo’s bachelorhood.

  “Ah, but that is the power of love, is it not, Rowley?” Uncle William waggled his eyebrows. “That even the most hardened rake or rogue can be reformed by its power.” The duke smiled at Leo, again lifting his glass in his nephew’s direction. “And when the Hellings fall, we are known to fall hard and fast. Isn’t that right, Leo?”

  How different the requisite reply to his uncle’s assertion would have been just days ago. Now, Leo played a new part: devoted husband to a delectable spitfire. He smiled loosely. “My wife is unlike any other woman,” he said quietly. Except, the layer of truth contained within those words made them spill forward easily. His fingers curled tight around his glass, and he took a long, desperate swallow, letting the spirits blaze a sharp trail down his throat. He’d set his glass down hard and reached for the bottle to add another fingerful when he felt three sets of eyes boring into him.

  Neck heating, he swiftly released the bottle.

  Rowley’s expression set in a smug knowing… when the sod couldn’t see anything with clarity. For Leo himself couldn’t make sense of the murky cloud of his life. Sitting back, he lazily cradled his glass between his fin
gers to keep them steady.

  “From what I hear, you were seen carrying the lady through the streets of London,” Higgins remarked.

  The Delegator or not, his superior could go hang before Leo revealed the abrupt departure and fight that had sent Chloe fleeing her family’s residence. “The lady wished to walk, but I was unwilling to allow her to strain her ankle after a recent fall.”

  “Hmph,” Rowley grunted, tossing back his drink.

  “And I also hear,” Uncle William leaned his elbows on the table, “you were seen reading to the lady earlier today in Hyde Park.”

  There was more than a question there, one that moved beyond this façade they carried out for the benefit of the crowd. Leo shuttered his expression and cursed the duke’s ability to see below anyone’s surface, including Leo’s. A smile ghosted his uncle’s lips, and he winked.

  They maintained the casual dialogue until the other patrons’ attention throughout the club drifted away from them.

  Lord Higgins picked up his glass and raised it to his lips. “We’ve uncovered proof you were… are correct,” he said without preamble.

  Even as every last muscle in his being jumped at the admission, Leo gave a casual roll of his shoulders. “Oh?”

  “As you know, the Home Office was unwilling to use spies in court to bring down all those involved in the Cato Event. Criminal charges were dropped as long as Adams and Monument,” two leading figures in the conspiracy, “supplied evidence to convict the rest of the gang. Which they did in the form of names names. George Edwards was never called to bring forth information on the event.”

  Leo sat up straighter, homing in on that latter admission. “They never interviewed him?”

  “No, they did not,” Uncle William said, his glass carefully held close to his mouth, hiding his lips as he spoke. “One of the Brethren tracked him down and conducted that long-overdue interview. And with some persuasion, he proved… cooperative.”