The Lady Who Loved Him

by Christi Caldwell

  Chloe sank back on the squabs. The metal springs pinged noisily under the pressure added by her weight. “You do,” she answered for him. “You seduced the Countess of Montfort.” A leading patroness, who was a friend to Philippa and had earned a reputation as kind, clever, and tenderhearted, had been one of Leo’s lovers? That realization soured her mouth and knifed at her belly. “You don’t deny it,” she blankly noted. It had been easier to imagine a caricature of a rake than one who had lovers… like Lady Daphne.

  “You’ve already figured it all out, Chloe.” He turned his face away, but not before she caught the glimmer of some emotion, stark and indistinguishable, in his blue eyes. “Why should I bother you with any of the other predictable details?”

  “Is she the innocent you seduced?” Whom did Chloe seek to torture with this questioning? Him? Or herself?

  All the color bled from Leo’s cheeks, leaving him a sickly shade of white. And that was when she knew that it wasn’t a rake’s seduction that had left an indelible memory upon him and the Winterbournes. “You care for her.” Chloe worked her gaze searchingly over his face.

  “I don’t care for her.” He paused, that beat of silence meaningful and significant. “I did.”

  All the air went out of Chloe, exhaled as a breathless, “Oh.” His revelation knocked into her chest and pinned her to her seat. “She is… the one.” The one innocent he’d confessed to having debauched. Only, he’d cared about her… which was not altogether the same thing.

  “I was young,” he murmured. “A pup just beginning to sow my oats, and she was recent to London.”

  He went silent.

  “That is all you intend to say?”

  “There’s nothing else to say. It was a long time ago, Chloe. Let us leave it at that.”

  She would not. She could not. The carriage hit another uneven cobble, knocking her against the wall. Chloe planted her feet and steadied herself. “If you cared about her, why did you not wed her?” she persisted.

  Her husband raked a hand through his hair, tousling those curls into an endearing golden disarray. “We came from different circumstances, but our interests were the same. She enjoyed literature, and I’d recite poetry.” He grimaced. “I was young.”

  The pair had shared a love of literary works, which was a bond greater than mere lust and physical passion. A little niggling of discomfort worked around her breast. “What happened?”

  His mouth hardened. “I was unable to marry. My… family did not approve.” Did she imagine the slight hesitation there? The tensing of his mouth, the muscle that jumped by his eye? “They made it clear that it would not be in the lady’s best interests if we wed. Hers would not be a comfortable life.” Ahh, so that had been the reason. They had been young lovers separated by the expectations placed upon a young heir.

  It was another glimpse he’d offered up about his family, and she despised the lot. She’d wager that the man he’d become would have flipped a finger and his nose to any of those dictates on whom he should or should not wed. As a young man? Well, Chloe knew enough from her own experience what one would do in the name of self-preservation. She reflexively reached for his hand and then forced her palm back to her lap. “And so, you set her free.”

  Leo stared through her. “All our meetings were clandestine, a secret that I had to keep from her. I was warned that she would pay the price of our relationship… I had to end it. She was innocent, tenderhearted, clever—stolen meetings were far less than she deserved.”

  That intimate recounting of the character of his first—and no doubt only—love left a mark upon Chloe’s heart. “Wh-what did you do?” she asked, a pressure weighting her chest as she imagined a young Leo and Lady Daphne stealing away, young lovers with stars in their eyes and happiness in their hearts.

  Leo blinked and looked to Chloe as if he’d forgotten her presence. A spasm contorted his face, a rippling of grief so stark that it sent her pulse skittering. “I asked her to meet me in our host’s library with the intention of severing our connection,” he whispered. “I took her in my arms, telling myself I sought a final embrace. But I was young and lacked the restraint I do now. Everything happened so quickly.”

  Oh, God. She silently begged for him to withhold the details of him making love to another. It was even worse so because this was a woman he’d loved. One who clearly mattered to him still. “You do not have to tell me anything more,” she said quietly, selfish and cowardly in that request.

  “And deny you the true depth of my ugliness?” A coarse laugh shook his frame. “Do you know what I did?” He didn’t pause a beat for an answer. “I took her against the wall like a whore.”

  He hoped to shock her with his crudeness, and yet… “Lord Ackerland’s libraries,” she murmured as understanding set in.

  He gave a curt nod.

  Of course. That was why he recalled the precise room where he’d taken a woman’s innocence… because the act had been significant to him.

  Leo sucked in an uneven breath. “And then in the cruelest of ways, I assured afterward there would never be any warmth or forgiveness left when I walked out of her life.”

  Her heart sped up, and she braced for whatever horribleness that had unfolded that accounted for resentment almost fifteen years later. “What did you do?” she whispered.

  His face hardened, and he stared directly at Chloe. “After we made love,” he said as her heart spasmed, “I told her that I’d never rutted with a cripple. I laughed at her.”

  A gasp burst from Chloe’s lips.

  He grinned. That empty, macabre rendition of mirth left a coldness in the carriage as he turned his stare out the window.

  He’d painted an image so clear of that long-ago day between him and a woman he’d loved. There could be no doubting, by the pain that seeped through the weak veneer of cynicism, that he regretted that day, that he was haunted by it, still.

  Chloe sank back in her seat. “You were trying to protect her.”

  Leo whipped his head back. “Don’t do that,” he rasped.

  “And you hurt yourself as much as you hurt that young woman,” she continued.

  He surged forward, gripping her by the shoulders. “What manner of woman are you that you’d make excuses for that?” he asked hoarsely, giving her a slight shake. “For who I was? For what I did?” His voice rose, echoing around the carriage.

  She winced.

  His body recoiling, Leo released her. He flexed his fingers. “What will it take to make you see I’m a man who doesn’t care about anyone’s well-being or happiness other than my own?”

  Chloe gathered his hands in hers and squeezed. “A man that was truly soulless wouldn’t remember the lady all these years later. And he certainly wouldn’t feel guilt for what he did… and said, Leo.”

  They continued the remainder of the way home in silence, and through it, Chloe sat contemplating her husband and all he’d revealed.

  It was as she’d once said to him… Not all men were born evil, but rather shaped by life. Now, how to make her husband see that and help him return to the carefree young man he’d been of long ago?

  Chapter 23

  It was saying a good deal that Leo was eager to visit White’s… with his deservedly livid brother-in-law for company.

  The man was respectable, staid, and dull as shite, and yet, after yesterday afternoon’s carriage ride with Chloe, Leo preferred Waverly’s torturous company to his wife’s.

  For a second time that week, Leo found himself entering through the distinguished doors of White’s. Removing his cloak, he did a sweep for the other man, determined to advance his efforts as respectable gent.

  And then he found him.

  Leo paused for the minutest stretch of time. Then all his senses went on the alert as he joined his brother-in-law… and the Earl of Waterson.

  Waterson is here.

  All earlier tedium vanished. He’d been handed a meeting with Waterson, with no maneuvering required on Leo’s part. He forc
ed aside thoughts of his troubling fascination with his wife and the dangerous proclivity of sharing his past with her.

  “Tennyson,” Waverly greeted as he and the earl shoved to their feet.

  Respectable and honorable, even when hatred for him likely sang in their veins.

  “Gentlemen,” he returned with an affable grin.

  They settled around the table with an awkward pall descending.

  Meticulous with his stratagem, Leo drummed his fingertips on the arms of his chair in a deliberately grating staccato. With a bored gaze, he glanced about the club. From the corner of his eye, he spied the look shared by Waverly and Waterson.

  “At last,” Leo murmured as a servant appeared with a crystal snifter. Snatching the glass from the young man’s hands, Leo helped himself to the bottle and proceeded to pour a healthy amount of Waverly’s brandy.

  Registering the silence, he glanced up. “Not a problem, I hope.”

  “Not. A. Problem,” his brother-in-law gritted out.

  Waterson buried a grin behind his hand. Interesting. Leo had taken the earl, given his voting record in Parliament, as one incapable of even the slightest humor. Leo kicked back on the legs of his chair and rested his glass upon his belly. “So, what is it respectable gents spend their time talking about? I trust it’s not delectable widows—” If looks could kill, Waverly would have smote Leo to ash as he spoke. “So mayhap wagers and cards?”

  “They…” He’d have to be deaf as a post to fail to hear the slight but distinguishable emphasis on that word. “They speak on horseflesh and politics and one another’s families,” Waverly said pointedly.

  “Haven’t got two coins of late to rub together for a quality thoroughbred,” Leo acknowledged. “I’ve seen your family just yesterday. Our family.” Red splotches suffused his brother-in-law’s cheek. “So, nothing to talk about there. Waterson, you’ve sisters on another London Season, do you not?”

  “Let us not speak about my sisters,” Waterson clipped out.

  Leo sighed. “Very well.” He rolled his glass between his palms. “Politics it is, then. God, how I do love when Parliament is in session.”

  The earl flared his eyebrows. “Indeed? I never took you for the political sort.”

  “The political sort?” Leo chuckled. “Egads, no. Parliament being in session is the reason for the London Season and thus the wicked engagements that keep a gent from going out of his goddamn mind with boredom.”

  His brother-in-law growled. “Tennyson,” Waverly snapped.

  “Oh… uh… yes.” Leo lowered his chair so that all four legs touched the floor. “My apologies. So… Waterson… bravo on your work with the Blasphemy and Seditious Meetings Act.”

  “The Blasphemous and Seditious Libels Act,” the earl corrected, like one schooling a child. “Nor am I capable of claiming credit for that particular legislation. I was the push behind the…” Leo yawned and did another bored search of the club.

  “Training Prevention Act,” Waterson finished impatiently.

  “I was never a parliamentary man,” Leo said, taking a long swallow. “Never fancied myself in a powdered wig and black robes.”

  Waterson’s lip curled derisively.

  “Oh, it’s not just that,” Leo rushed to assure the other man. “It’s all the endless ramblings from stodgy gents—” He stopped and gave his companions a sheepish look. “Uh… no offense intended.”

  His brother-in-law’s brows dipped. “Why would we be offended, Tennyson?”

  “Yes, well… it is just…” He pointed a finger from one gent to the next. “You and… Waterson. Your reputations…” Two pairs of eyes bored into him. Leo coughed into his fist. “I digress. You were saying about your act?”

  “It is not my act,” the earl said impatiently, setting his brandy down. “It is for the people. My portion was written with the purpose of ensuring the Crown maintains the safety and efficacy of military trainings.”

  “What is in it for you?”

  “What is what for me?” the earl echoed dumbly.

  Leo might as well have asked Waterson to snuff out old George himself for all the horror there. “Well, every man, present company not excluded,” he waved at himself, “desires something. Land… money.” He paused as something stirred at the back of his mind. Words spoken by another. “It was business, and common citizens and do-gooders in Parliament need to stop interfering…” Forcing his attention back, he continued his questioning. “What do you care who has arms or when?”

  Waterson sputtered. “How dare you? My work in Parliament is only to benefit the Crown.” The man’s indignation and outrage were no mere ruse.

  Leo filed that important detail away. The question it begged, however, was how far would the other man go to maintain order… in the name of the Crown? He probed. “Well, there’s no surer way to preserve the Crown than to stifle the masses, eh?” He laughed, lifting his glass in toast.

  Stony silence met his show of amusement. Forcing another sigh, Leo lowered his drink.

  “I’m not looking to stifle the masses, but rather maintain prosperity and peace for all.”

  “Very noble. Then you,” he saluted the earl, “are unlike most men who’d build their fortunes on the backs of…” He stumbled. “Others,” he forced himself, his mind swirling. “Some would argue the masses would prefer to say their piece and do as they would without interference from some bewigged gent in Parliament.”

  “That’s why Waterson spoke out in opposition to the Seditious Meetings prevention and the Blasphemous and Seditious Libels,” Waverly defended his friend, “which is something you’d know if you’d bothered to visit the chambers and listen behind closed doors where legislation is worked out.” With that set-down, his brother-in-law neatly handed Leo the most helpful piece of information he’d gathered yet about his suspect.

  It wasn’t Waterson. Leo didn’t require so much as another interview to confirm it. “My apologies,” Leo murmured, bowing his head. “I should not have taken you for a total prig.”

  “Thank—” The earl blinked. Waterson stood. “I’ll leave you gentlemen to your drinks. Waverly.”

  “I trust Chloe and I will see you at our soiree?” Leo ventured when the earl turned to go.

  Too polite to decline, even though loathing spilled from the earl’s eyes, he nodded. “Tennyson,” he said grudgingly, dropping a bow.

  Without a backward glance, he left.

  “I’d say that went well.” Leo quirked his lips in a grin. “My first venture into gentlemanly topics.”

  His brother-in-law dusted a hand over his eyes. “I understand you are trying, for reasons that I don’t understand, to be respectable. I’m not sure why but trust it has something to do with a wager or funds?”

  At that supposition, Leo schooled his features.

  “But, by God, have a care to learn something before you open your mouth and insult a man. Waterson isn’t one of the damned pompous lords you’d lump him in with. He’s one who’s been loyal to me and kind to my wife despite the origins of her birth. When he says he wishes to make England safer and better, he speaks true.” The marquess lowered his voice. “One of Waterson’s sisters was traveling through Manchester at the time of the Peterloo Massacre.” Leo absorbed that revelation. “His interest in maintaining arms and peace stems from that.” The marquess climbed to his feet. “Next time, before you hurl out shameful charges about what drives a man, know something about it first.”

  Waverly quit the table.

  Following the other man’s retreat through the club, Leo leaned back in his chair. On the whole, the day had been a resounding success. He’d not only secured details about Waterson’s efforts behind closed doors in Parliament, but discovered the source of his political pursuits… and his character as a loyal friend saw him.

  He’d secured everything else he needed this night. Leo fought the urge to also quit White’s. The desire to see his wife hit him like a physical hungering. Forcing himself to finish his dr
ink as the world expected, Leo strode lazily through the club.

  After an endless ride through the crowded streets of London, he found himself at home.

  Home. How very peculiar that word was, foreign to his vernacular. It was a state he’d not even known as a child, and yet, somehow, with Chloe under the same roof… in his life, it was more a home than any place he’d been. Ever.

  Whistling The Rakes of Mallow, Leo took the steps two at a time. His cloak whipped about his ankles.

  “Tomlinson, my good man,” he called as the servant pulled the door open. “Where may I find my lovely lady wife?”

  The other man avoided his gaze. “She is not here,” he demurred, scurrying off.

  “Halt.” The servant came to a shuddery stop and reluctantly faced Leo. Warning bells went off, and Leo froze with his fingers at the clasp at his throat. “What is it?” he asked slowly. Unease stirred as the intuition that had yet to fail him reared its head.

  “She isn’t here, my lord,” the butler squeaked.

  “Yes, you’ve said as much,” he said with an admirable calm. “Where is she?”

  Tomlinson gulped audibly and darted his bulging eyes around.

  “Tomlinson?”

  “She is gone for a… visit.”

  “And that merits this nervousness?” Something did not add up. The warning bells became a clamoring symphony of chaos portending trouble. “Where did my wife go?” he demanded a third time, taking a step toward his tight-lipped butler.

  The servant held his palms up. “The… Earl and Countess of Montfort’s, my lord.”

  Leo went motionless, his mind moving infuriatingly slow. “She went to visit the Earl and Countess of Montfort?” he repeated dumbly. “Why in the blazes would she go…” His words trailed off. You were trying to protect her, and you hurt that lady as much as you hurt yourself. “Bloody hell!” And with a curse, he thundered for his horse. He found himself heading for the last place he had any right to be—the Winterbourne residence.

  *

  Chloe sat with a cup of tea balanced on her knee. Her fingers kept the cup steady.