The Earl in My Bed

by Stacy Reid

  She hardly knew where to start. Best to get on with it. “There are more in the pocket of my gown.”

  He picked up the gown from the chaise lounge and went into the pockets. Sylvester withdrew the letters, and he shuffled through them. Her husband turned to marble before her eyes. Evidently, he found the one with his sister’s name.

  “So, you had them all along. And to think I believed you were so different from your family.”

  The breath left her lungs, while a sudden ache burned her throat. “I swear on my honor I found those letters a couple hours ago in my mother’s escritoire. I only thought to search for them because of how certain my brother and Redgrave had been that I must be in possession of these letters. I had doubted their very existence until this afternoon,” she said, clasping her hands before her.

  “How convenient,” he drawled with an icy bite.

  Stung, she jerked back from him. “You believe me capable of such dishonesty?”

  A fraught silence lingered, but his eyes spoke the truth. They gleamed with a contempt she had never espied before.

  “Have you read these letters?”

  “I have not,” she said softly. “I…I never knew about Lady Henrietta…Hartington. I am so deeply sorry my father’s despicable actions hurt your family, Sylvester.”

  The fury that leaped into his gaze had her flinching. “What do you think you know of my sister?”

  “I—”

  “Answer me,” he said in a dangerously soft tone.

  The fierce intensity that burned in his eyes had her heart jerking. “I know that my father believed he knew some scandal about your family that had a dreadful impact on her…so much so…that…” Daphne could not repeat the damning truth.

  Sylvester prowled closer, and she retreated until her back was pressed against the closed door.

  “Until she despaired enough to take her life,” he finished.

  “Yes. Oh, Sylvester, I cannot express my sorrow.”

  “Can you imagine the torment my sister must have endured to drive her to such actions? The pain and the shame, all because your father wanted my title for you. Do you know the horror I felt to find her bleeding on the floor from the wounds she made to her wrists and the letter your father sent her, threatening to expose all if I did not declare my intentions immediately?”

  The icy disdain and the agony in his tone made her want to weep. A harsh sob tore from Daphne’s throat and tears streamed down her cheeks. “I did not know,” she whispered, feeling battered, all the love and belief she’d had in her father’s honor shattered. “I was silly enough to hope you had fallen in love with me that day at Kellits Hall and the few outings we had leading up to our marriage.”

  Derision gleamed in his green eyes. “Silly, indeed. I am quite unaware of what love has to do with marriage.”

  That clearly told her even if their marriage had started in a different vein, love and tender sentiments would never have been a factor.

  “I ask you again, what do you know of my sister’s scandal?”

  “Nothing,” she said firmly. “I only know of the consequences, my father’s shame, and my deep regrets.”

  Sylvester touched her cheek, his fingertip ghosting over her tears, his eyes so indifferent it chilled her soul. Awareness of her vulnerability to this man seeped into every crevice of her being. Would there ever be a time his indifference and lack of trust did not pierce deep into her heart?

  “I would never ask you to forgive my father, but I ask, my lord, that you do not hold me accountable for his terrible actions. I never wanted a title—that was his misguided ambitions for his only daughter. I…I…only wanted you and made the error of making my desire known to a flawed father.”

  A fingertip stroked her lower lip, and she swallowed past the tight lump in her throat.

  “Ah, my sister’s pain reduced to a meager explanation of a flawed father.”

  Profoundly disturbed by Sylvester’s intense stare, she glanced away.

  “My question to you, Countess, is how did you know my sister attempted to take her life? You so defiantly claim you had no knowledge of these letters or the information they hold, but you are aware of how they impacted my sister. How?”

  She stiffened. “Sylvester, I—”

  “How?”

  There was such chilling mistrust in the eyes that stared at her, she felt a harsh burn of pain that she had so callously demanded his secrets from Georgiana. A denial trembled in her heart, but she could not bear to speak it. “Before I understood your heart and honor and saw the possibility of what our marriage could be like, I asked the broker for your secrets, so I could have more bargaining power.”

  He recoiled, a slash of pain bracketing his mouth before his expression shuttered. “Just like your father and your brother,” he murmured caustically.

  Daphne flinched, the shame and guilt raking her like talons. She forcibly swallowed the ache in her throat. “You did get a letter from Henry, why did you not inform me of his dastardly actions?”

  His jaw was set in rigid lines. “It did not signify.”

  “My brother acted with such gross indignity and it did not signify?”

  The contempt that flared in her husband’s gaze felt like a whip across her flesh, stinging and searing. “I am no longer the vulnerable boy I was when I bent to your father’s will. I am at a loss how you do not perceive you acted with a similar indignity in demanding the very secrets you knew your father blackmailed me with.”

  The rumble of shame and rage in his voice had her pressing a hand to her mouth. She had never truly considered how impotent and powerless he must have felt. Oh God, how could she have been so blinded. “Sylvester, I—”

  “I had no great expectations of honor from your brother, so his attempts were quite underwhelming. I simply burned the letter I received a few days ago. But you, my countess, I had truly come to believe in the sweetness, the kindness you presented, but your heart is just as black, it seems.”

  She stared at him, unable to sort the jumble of emotions twisting though her so fiercely. “I was desperate, so very desperate when I asked Georgiana for your secrets, Sylvester. We were married for six years and the only thing I knew about your heart was that it was cold and empty, with no regards for me. I hungered for freedom from such an unagreeable marriage, but you were determined to make our marriage into something I could not envision, or have much hope in.”

  “And your desperation would justify uncovering the very secrets which your father had used to blackmail me?” He snarled. “The very ones your brother also claimed he had?”

  A most horrifying realization splintered through her. “Do you believe I am a party to my brother’s blackmail attempts?”

  The last few days, Sylvester had seemed more reserved and watchful and had made no attempt to drive her mindless with his seductive touches and want. She had foolishly thought it was because their bargain was ending.

  Sylvester’s mien shuttered, and she waited for a reply in vain. She would have better luck asking a stone to display emotion, her earl was so frightfully blank. She tried to swallow past the searing pain. “You do believe it,” she whispered. “All these weeks, and you’ve still no notion of my character.”

  Wretchedness enveloped her in its cruel arms. Why did she hurt so much? She hadn’t truly possessed any great expectations of him and their marriage. Except, with all honesty and foolish hopes, she had. God, she was not going to cry over this. He’d already gotten six years’ worth. No more.

  “I could have lied just now, but I cannot, for I only want honesty between us. I could have read the letters and learned your sister’s secrets, but I could not, because I wanted you to tell me when you were ready. In truth, I do not need to know her secrets, for they have already defined too much of our marriage. When Georgiana gave me another letter just now, I tore it to pieces because I know I am falling in love you, and I could not hurt you. If you cannot trust me to behave with integrity and honor…that is not an
agreeable marriage, my lord,” she said hoarsely.

  She moved close enough that the hem of her riding habit brushed against his shoes. This close, Daphne realized he was not at all indifferent. His eyes bespoke anger and betrayal. She raised her face to his and held his eyes fiercely with her own. “Do you believe me, Sylvester, that I had nothing to do with my brother’s demands?”

  Please say yes…

  His face was without expression, without sentiment. And then she knew. Before her stood a man incapable of trusting her. If he could not trust her, he would never lead his heart to loving her. “I do not find the lack of trust and love in our union palatable,” she whispered. Not when I love you so desperately. She could not stay in this marriage and hunger after a man who would never return her sentiments.

  “Nevertheless, we are married, aren’t we, and there will be no divorce.”

  Her breath trembled on her lips. “I beg your pardon?”

  “You heard me, Countess. There will be no separation or divorce.”

  Daphne bit back the cry of hurt that almost broke from her throat. She had suffered years of his indifference and the very notion of even enduring another day, another hour was intolerable, let alone to envision a lifetime. Her heart cracked into two and nothing could ever put it back. It wasn’t a quarrel, infidelity, or some scandal that created a distance between Daphne and her earl. Sylvester had once again retreated to chilling incivility. “You lied to me. This arrangement was only ever in your favor. You would never have granted me a separation after our bargain. Where is your honor?”

  “It is because of my honor that I have not had my way with you, wife. It is because of my honor that I would not grant a divorce that would see both our families ruined. I cannot fall back on my honor or pride when it comes to you. You asked if I love and trust you… I do not understand how to explain what I feel for you, but I know enough to say I’ll not easily walk away from this marriage, as you are wont to do.”

  “I’ll not stay!” she said fiercely, battling the fears tearing though her heart. He had so much power, he could do anything with her if he wished.

  “Then go,” he bit out coldly. “Travel, run, move your belongings to another estate, but there will be no divorce, and you will do your duty to the title, Countess, and I will have my heir.”

  She stared at him in mute shock. “That is not a marriage, and I will not continue to endure this life another moment. If you will not grant me my freedom, then I will secure it myself.” Her voice came out in a raw whisper, tears blurring her vision. She did not want a response, not that he seemed inclined to offer one. Daphne opened the door and hurried away, tears blurring her view. Their past of pain and blackmail would always be between them, and would forever render their marriage into the cold, displeasing union it had always been. This encounter only proved she had to press on with her plan to act with disreputable indecency and be free.

  If only the very idea didn’t make her ache with a pain she hadn’t felt before. If only the sense of loss that tore through her didn’t make her stumble and struggle to breathe. Why had she agreed to the foolish bargain? She’d only led herself to more heartache than she could ever possibly bear.

  And his vow now to never let her go? Well, then…he would simply have to.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The very next afternoon, Sylvester stood frozen as he watched from the windows of his drawing room as his wife’s valises were loaded into the carriage. A peculiar fear lingered in his heart, and after only a day of her chilling insouciance and icy civility, the awareness that he did not want to lose her crept in and had kept him awake last night. His eyes were gritty, and he was badly in need of sleep, but he could not quiet his mind or his doubts. He knew Daphne had pulled from him, retreated behind a wall of emotional detachment he had once locked himself in. He knew where she resided, in that dank, gray world where she allowed nothing in—anger, pain, disappointment, or happiness, joy, and hope. They had sat in the breakfast room together a few hours past, and the lack of sweetness in her eyes made him feel strangely empty and cold. He couldn’t bear to think of it. And yet he could think of nothing else.

  A throat cleared but he did not turn around.

  “My lord?”

  “Yes, Victor.”

  “You told me we would resume within an hour, my lord, it has been an hour.”

  Sylvester was effectively distracted from the arguments he had been preparing for Parliament to argue why slavery itself needed to be abolished in the British Empire, and not just slave trading. He couldn’t afford to be distracted, but all he could think of was his countess and the terrible sense of wrenching loss winding through his soul.

  He had accused her of being as vile as her father and brother when he had seen no evidence of it. Instead of blackmailing him, she had apologized for his sister’s pain with such heartbreak in her eyes. If only he had seen it then and not while he had been unable to sleep, his mind stuck on their quarrel. He felt as if he had lost her affections, her laughter, that honest sweetness and admiration in her eyes when she peered at him.

  “It seems our meeting is over for the rest of the day, Victor.”

  His man struggled to mask his surprise. And Sylvester understood. For so long, nothing else but his duty and honor had mattered. But Daphne’s pain at his lack of belief in her integrity had an unusual impact on him. All he could envision was how soft and wounded she had seemed, and that made him want to do everything in his power to fix what had injured her.

  “And the meeting tonight with Lord Huxley and Wilberforce?”

  “Send my apologies.”

  Victor considered him as if he had never seen him before.

  “The meeting tonight will not be lessened without my presence.”

  His man of affairs cleared his throat. “Forgive my impertinence, but I…ah…I may have also overheard Lady Carrington informing her maid to pack a light trunk and deliver it to Lady Montrose’s townhouse posthaste. It is possible she has left you, my lord,” the man said, looking rather uncomfortable. “Should I put men on Redgrave?”

  “My countess has never been Redgrave’s mistress or anyone’s else,” he said smoothly, correctly interpreting that Victor was worried she was running away with the blackguard.

  Relief glowed in his dark eyes. “I was wondering how he still breathes.”

  Redgrave had been spotted boarding a ship to Ireland and he had closed his townhouse. Sylvester would keep a close watch on where he would travel to next, but his gut told him the viscount would not return to England’s shores. He had too much to lose if he did.

  Victor stuffed the sheaf of papers in his hand into his briefcase. A few short minutes later, he departed the townhouse, leaving Sylvester alone with his tormented thoughts.

  The knowledge that the friendship that had formed between them was no more pained him. That the kisses, the picnicking, and attending balls together were no more. The way her eyes twinkled when she’d humorously imparted some scandalous tidbit, or the way she watched him with such wanton heat would be no more. The possibility of children was gone unless he was to order her to his bed, and he knew he could never do that to Daphne. For the last several weeks, their marriage had been quite amiable, perhaps even more than amiable, for he had felt a happiness that had been foreign. The loss of a state he never realized he had hungered for, for so very long, almost drove him to his knees.

  Their marriage had once again been rendered into the indifferent union it had been for the past six years. Except now Daphne was leaving him and might never return. God’s blood. Sylvester scrubbed a hand over his face. The carriage hadn’t pulled away yet, taking her to God knows where. He could order the staff not to aid her, use his influence to freeze her bank accounts, and limit her prospects within society, but that would make him the worse sort of tyrant. The very thought left a sour taste in his mouth.

  His strategy of moving slow and then eventually seducing his wife to his bed had not been the best one. Perhaps i
f he had been loving her every night, it would have been much harder for her to walk away. He felt restless, and there was a hollowness inside of him he couldn’t explain.

  She had brought warmth, peace, and pleasure to his cold existence. What had he brought her? Unhappiness. Mistrust. You lied to me… Betrayal.

  Her eyes had been shadowed with such pain and uncertainty.

  A crack went through his heart when she appeared on the steps leading toward the carriage. The yellow hat perched atop her head hid her features from his gaze, and she did not look back once as the footman lowered the carriage steps and assisted her into the equipage. Then it pulled away.

  God knows how long he stood at that window, denying himself sleep. The streets were dark when a knock sounded on the door. “What is it?”

  The door opened, and his butler entered, not quite meeting his eyes. “The Marquess of Belmont has come to call, my lord, should I inform him you are unavailable?”

  Sylvester hesitated. He was in no mood for company, but he doubted he would be fit company for weeks to come, perhaps even months. And he had not seen Julian since he returned to England. Sylvester had called upon his townhouse and been informed he was in Paris. Then there had been a few bets placed in White’s that Julian would capture the heart of the mistress he had chased after. Quite unusual his friend would be chasing a woman. It was normally the ladies of society who flung themselves rather shamelessly at the marquess. “I’ll see him here.”

  “Very well, my lord.”

  A short while after, the door was once again opened, and Julian strolled in, appearing decidedly perturbed.

  “Has someone died?” Julian asked, sounding flabbergasted. “I confess I have never seen a more morose butler in my life, and you also seem out of sorts. And why in damnation are you just staring out the window?”

  A tight feeling twisted in Sylvester’s chest. He would look beyond foolish to admit he did not wish to miss his countess’s arrival if she should return, so he made no reply.

  “God’s blood, man, what is it?”