Ruined & Redeemed--The Earl's Fallen Wife (#5 Love's Second Chance Series)

by Bree Wolf

  Charlotte swallowed. He knew! Her mind screamed. How much did he know? Did he know who she was? But how would he have−?

  “How did you come to be in the woods near Farnworth Manor?” he asked, all humour gone from his voice.

  Inhaling deeply, Charlotte felt her tense muscles begin to tremble with the sudden desire to share her story. Her whole story. A part of her felt as though she would burst if she remained silent even a moment longer. And yet, her fears stole her voice, and so she merely shook her head, taking a step back until her back came to rest against the cool pane of the window.

  Disappointment darkened his eyes, and he sighed. “Do you fear me?” he suddenly asked, his eyes narrowing slightly as though the thought had taken him off guard.

  “I fear your questions,” Charlotte heard herself say, feeling a small weight lifted off her shoulders at the truthfulness of her answer.

  “I see.” Nodding, he took a step closer, and Charlotte’s eyes widened. “Do not fear, my lady,” he assured her, the tone in his voice sincere as he held her gaze. “I shall not betray your secret for it will only betray my own.”

  Charlotte frowned. “Yours, my lord?”

  A soft smile came to his face, and his gaze travelled over her lips before meeting her eyes once more. “I shall always honour my promise,” he whispered, leaning closer. “However, this is no longer a marriage of convenience for me.”

  Feeling the intensity of his gaze, Charlotte felt a jolt go through her, sending shivers up and down her body.

  Her husband had to have noticed the effect his words had on her for a gentle smile curled up the corners of his mouth and he lifted his hand to her face. “May I?”

  With her hands clasped together so tightly that her fingernails dug painfully into her skin, Charlotte stared at him as the desire she saw in his eyes took her back to a time she’d rather forget. Panic seized her, and yet, there was a quiet, little voice somewhere in the back of her mind that reminded her that she could trust him.

  Torn, Charlotte was momentarily tempted to grant her permission and find out what the touch of his hand would feel like on her skin. However, the quiet, little voice was instantly drowned out by the overpowering volume of her conditioned fears screaming in her ears.

  Feeling the need to step back, but unable to do so, Charlotte pressed her back even tighter against the window behind her. Then she swallowed, praying that he would not prove false, and shook her head. “You may not.”

  At her words, his hand slowly fell back to his side, and an understanding smile came to his lips. “Did I pass your test?” he asked, gentle humour in his voice.

  “My test?” Charlotte mumbled to herself, realising for the first time that he might understand her better than she had thought.

  “Test me as much as you like, my lady,” he whispered confidently, “but do not forget to test your own heart as well, or one day you might refuse me out of habit alone.” Then he nodded his head at her, turned on his heel and quit the room.

  Staring at the closed door, Charlotte felt her knees grow weak as his words echoed within her mind. With her breath coming in gasps, she sank into the armchair to her side, hoping that he was truly a man of his word for their heart’s desires seemed to be guiding them into very dangerous terrain.

  Chapter Twenty-Five – Lord Tinswell’s Ball

  As he waited in the front parlour while his wife was upstairs putting the finishing touches on her appearance, Sebastian began to pace the length of the room, wondering if he was making a mistake.

  Constantly torn between allowing his wife to set the pace in their relationship to put her at ease and the fear that she would retreat from him altogether should he give her the opportunity to do so, Sebastian had insisted that she accompany him to a ball.

  Any ball.

  At least once.

  From her reaction, he felt certain that she feared to be discovered. By now, he had no doubt that she’d once belonged to upper society and suspected that her refusal to mingle with the ton stemmed from the dreaded notion of having her identity revealed.

  What he wasn’t so clear on−besides the question why she would need to hide her identity in the first place−was whether she feared him to find out or society in general.

  Maybe both.

  Although his wife had tried her best to dissuade him from this idea, she had ultimately relented, choosing Lord Tinswell’s ball for them to attend that weekend.

  Judging from the past few years, it would be a large ball with at least half of society in attendance since Lord Tinswell’s opulent townhouse allowed for a vast crowd. Four years ago, Sebastian had not even glimpsed his childhood friend Leopold Lancaster, Marquess of Elmridge, at said event, only to find out days later that they had indeed both been there.

  Was that why she had chosen Lord Tinswell’s ball? To hide in the crowd?

  As soft footsteps echoed to his ears, Sebastian stepped out into the entrance hall. The moment his eyes fell on his wife as she elegantly descended the large staircase, his heart skipped a beat and he was certain that his mouth stood open for more than a second.

  However, his reaction had nothing to do with the gown she had chosen and everything with the woman who wore it.

  Dressed in a simple colour, plain and inconspicuous, his wife did seem to blend into her surroundings. The way her hair curled around her head, here and there partially hiding her face, seemed to prove his suspicions right. On closer look, Sebastian even noticed that her hair seemed to be of a slightly darker shade than before.

  His wife had truly done everything within her power to alter her appearance.

  And yet, the look in her eyes was one of impending doom, and Sebastian cringed as guilt seeped into his heart.

  Was he making a mistake? He asked himself for the millionth time that night.

  Ignoring his doubts, Sebastian straightened and smiled at his wife. “You look radiant, my lady,” he said, holding out his hand to her.

  “Thank you,” she whispered as her eyes shifted to his offered hand. Then she took a deep breath and slid her own into his.

  Escorting her into the carriage, Sebastian did his best to assure her of a wonderful evening ahead. However, the expression on his wife’s face proved that he was less than successful. If only he knew why she feared discovery! However, without knowing her real identity, his hands were tied.

  When the carriage finally reached Lord Tinswell’s townhouse and they climbed the stairs to the front doors, Sebastian noticed her hand tightening on his arm.

  Again, he was torn. Did her reaction speak rather of fear or trust?

  Shaking his head, Sebastian didn’t dare contemplate an answer as he led his wife through the throng of people, some of which looked at them−particularly his wife−with a curious eye. From his mother, Sebastian knew that his wife was one of the major topics of gossip these days. Apparently, his initial plan of ruining his father was working quite well.

  Too well. Seeing the tortured expression on his wife’s face as she kept her head slightly lowered and turned toward him, away from the people gawking at her, Sebastian had to admit yes, this had indeed been a mistake!

  After escorting his wife toward the large window front, which opened the ballroom to the starry night, Sebastian strode toward the refreshment table. Across the room, he glimpsed the new Lord Elmridge, Leopold’s younger brother, who had inherited the title after Sebastian’s childhood friend had died not two years ago−presumably poisoned. However, nothing had ever been proved.

  “I see you’ve finally brought your wife,” Lord Tinswell slurred from behind him.

  Reluctantly, Sebastian turned around. “Tinswell,” he greeted the man, annoyance clear in his voice. “Already too deep in the cups, I see.”

  Lord Tinswell laughed as though Sebastian had just told the most marvellous joke. “Why would you hide her from society?” he sneered as his eyes travelled across the room and locked onto Sebastian’s wife. “Despite her reputation, she clearly pos
sesses pleasing qualities.”

  As the earl started to laugh, Sebastian felt the desperate desire to punch him in the face. However, that, too, would have drawn unwanted attention, and so he swallowed his pride, ignored Tinswell and strode across the room to save his wife from the gossiping ladies slowly pooling around her.

  With her back almost pressed to the window, his wife stood, head lowered, trying her best to evade the growing circle of ladies asking her all sorts of inappropriate questions.

  When she caught his eye for a split second, Sebastian thought to see immense relief, and he immediately quickened his steps. “Excuse me, my ladies,” he said, breaking through the circle. “I understand your desire to become more acquainted with my lovely wife; however, at present, I am most unwilling to share her.”

  Under a mumble of objections, Sebastian guided his wife to the other side of the ballroom, revelling in the feeling of her holding him close−even if it were for the wrong reasons. “Maybe this wasn’t the best idea,” he admitted, handing her a glass, then taking a sip from his own. “I apologise for allowing my desire to dance with you to interfere with my better judgement.”

  As she swallowed the sip she had taken, her eyes snapped up to look at his face. “Dance?” she croaked, then cleared her throat.

  “Dance,” he confirmed, smiling at her. “Has it never occurred to you that my insistence on attending a ball merely stemmed from the desire to hold you in my arms?”

  Yet again, a sense of panic filled her lovely eyes, and she took a deep breath. “I admit it did not,” she whispered, not quite meeting his gaze. However, for a fleeting moment, the ghost of a smile danced across her face, and Sebastian felt his heart dance in his chest.

  Clearing his throat, he set down his glass and held out his hand to her. “May I have this dance, my lady?” he asked, finding himself beyond nervous as he waited for her answer.

  Lifting her eyes, she studied his face, contradicting emotions playing over her own.

  “Of course, you are free to refuse,” he assured her, sensing her doubts. “After all, you have no reason to believe me an accomplished dancer,” he said, humour in his voice. “Maybe it would be wise to refuse me.”

  Again, the ghost of a smile came to her lips, and a moment later she set down her glass and met his eyes. Then she took a deep breath and accepted his arm. “We shall see,” she replied, then glanced at him, a touch of mischief in her eyes. “At least this way I am safe from those circling vultures.”

  Noticing the hint of humour to her words, Sebastian turned to her, feigned shock widening his eyes. “My lady, are you in all honesty saying that it is not your heart’s desire to stand up with me? Am I merely a means to an end?”

  The smile that came to her lips lingered for a moment longer than the one before, and Sebastian felt a shiver run over him at the fragile connection quietly growing between them. “One does not exclude the other, or does it, my lord?” she replied, and her gaze held his with such unexpected boldness that it knocked the air from Sebastian’s lungs.

  Almost gasping for breath, he forced his shoulders back and took his place across from her as they stood up for a country dance. Then the music began to play, and they glided around the room as though a puppeteer was guiding their movements.

  With very little attention for his surroundings, Sebastian noticed all the small changes in his wife’s posture and expression. When the dance led them apart, their eyes held the connection as though they formed an invisible lifeline without which they would drift apart, never to return. As the steps brought them back together and his hand touched hers, he could feel a slight shiver run down her arm, and she immediately averted her eyes. Never had he noticed his wife react to his presence, his touch with such open and utterly direct pleasure.

  If his eyes weren’t deceiving him, then she was as affected by him as he was by her.

  Maybe attending Lord Tinswell’s ball hadn’t been such an enormous mistake after all!

  Maybe it was merely the beginning of something he had been dreaming about for the past few weeks.

  When the dance ended, Sebastian offered her his arm and then proceeded to lead her off the dance floor. However, as he managed to wrench his eyes from her for a split second, he spotted the circling vultures over her shoulder, already drawing near once more.

  Hesitating for only a moment, Sebastian drew her back onto the dance floor as the first notes of a waltz began to play.

  For a moment, she looked confused, a touch of doubt and apprehension in her eyes that send an icy chill down Sebastian’s back.

  “The vultures have returned,” he whispered, once more offering her his hand, knowing only too well that he welcomed every excuse to touch her. “The choice is yours, my lady, as always.”

  Her eyes shifted from his hand to his face, a quizzical expression on her own, before she glanced over his shoulder and understanding came to her eyes. Taking a deep breath, she turned to him and hesitantly took his offered hand.

  With his pulse hammering in his veins, Sebastian pulled her closer. Gazing down into her face, he found her head lowered once more and cursed the change in situation that had ruined the magical moment they had shared before.

  Sliding his hand to the small of her back, he felt her draw in a sharp breath as her body tensed.

  This was too much too soon, and Sebastian knew it, knew how devastating such forced contact could be for the fragile connection that was only just beginning to bloom.

  Determined, he stepped back. “Maybe you’d rather go for a walk,” he suggested, unable to keep the disappointment he felt from showing in his voice.

  Lifting her head, his wife looked up at him, eyes slightly narrowed, and studied his face.

  For the life of him, Sebastian couldn’t have explained what happened in that moment. However, something she glimpsed in his eyes must have reassured her because a soft smile came to her face, and she took a step toward him. “No, I’d rather dance,” she whispered. “If you don’t mind.”

  Unable to hide the delighted grin that came to his face, Sebastian nodded. “Not at all. Quite on the contrary.” Then he gently pulled her into his arms once more, and although he felt her tense, her eyes held his, and the smile on her face only grew deeper.

  As they began to sweep around the large room, he felt his wife relax. Her strained muscles grew slack, and her breathing evened. “You’re an accomplished dancer.”

  “As are you, my lord,” she replied, a curl to her lips. “After your comment, I half-expected you to step on my feet.”

  Sebastian chuckled, “I promise I shall do my utmost not to injure you.” As she laughed, Sebastian took a deep breath, and the humour in his voice was replaced by sincerity. “I apologise for being so blunt, but I feel compelled to tell you that … that I very much enjoy dancing with you.” He swallowed as her face sobered. “I enjoy holding you in my arms, feeling your body against mine.”

  Although he had expected it, the fear that suddenly returned to her eyes felt like a punch to his stomach. “It frightens you, does it not?”

  Taking a deep breath, his wife nodded, her head lowered slightly, her eyes no longer meeting his.

  “Why?”

  Closing her eyes, she shook her head, then unexpectedly looked up. “It has nothing to do with you, my lord,” she whispered, her eyes pleading with him to believe her. “You’ve proved yourself a gentleman time and time again.”

  Sebastian swallowed, arguing with himself whether to ask the next question. “I gather you once knew a man who did not prove himself a gentleman, did you not?”

  From one second to the next, her body tensed and grew rigid. Her jaw clenched, and she once more closed her eyes as a shiver ran over her.

  Gritting his teeth at the sight of her misery, Sebastian lowered his head to her ear and whispered, “Tell me his name, and I shall call him out.”

  At his words, her head snapped up, and she stared at him as though he’d just slapped her. Then she swallowed, and h
er eyes drifted from his to something past his shoulder.

  Sebastian was just about to say something, press her for details, when she froze.

  As though rooted to the spot, she stood in the middle of the dance floor, staring over his shoulder. Her face had grown pale, and a cold spread through her body that he felt even through the layers of fabric separating them.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, eyes searching her face. As his heart hammered in his chest, he tightened his hold on her, trying to force her out of the paralysis that had befallen her, until an awful thought found its way to the front of his mind. “Is he here?”

  Chapter Twenty-Six – A Victim No Longer

  The moment she saw him, time stopped.

  Staring over her husband’s shoulder, his hands holding her so tightly that a little voice in the back of her mind urged her to object, Charlotte once more found herself drawn back to the past.

  There had been a ball, too, that night.

  And he had been there, just returned from the war, downing one drink after the other to escape the memories that haunted him.

  The memory of Kenneth’s death.

  Then, she hadn’t been able to feel compassion, to pity him for the turmoil he’d lived through. Then, her heart had been numb, unfeeling, unable to see that his pain had been as real as her own.

  Seeking him out, she had spoken to him that night, unwilling to end her misery without knowing how Kenneth had died, without knowing his final moments.

  Only then something had changed.

  Seeing the guilt on his face, a new thought had claimed her heart, filling the wasteland it had become with a new purpose.

  A life for a life.

  That thought had echoed in her mind, urging her on, preventing her from seeing the truth.

  The poison she’d managed to procure for herself, the poison she’d intended to use on herself that night, had somehow found its way into his glass.