Lilliana’s heart skipped, and she caught Polly’s amused gaze in the mirror. “I beg your pardon?”
“I said, you must be carrying,” Polly repeated matter-of-factly, and bustled to the bed to pick up a silk wrapper and drape it carefully along the foot. “Has it not occurred to you? Well, I am your lady’s maid, and if you don’t know, I do,” she said with supreme self-assurance.
Lilliana’s eyes rounded as she quickly calculated the days since her last cycle. Oh God. Oh God! It couldn’t be! Oh God, but it could … what else would explain the sickness, the turbulent up-and-down of her emotions, the constant threat of tears?
Unconsciously, her hand slipped to her abdomen as she stared at herself in the mirror. She was carrying his child. It should have made her ecstatically happy. But the sickness came over her again, and folding her arms across the vanity, she dropped her forehead onto them.
Polly patted her back. “There now, it’s nothing to be afraid of. His lordship will be very pleased,” she said soothingly, and walked to the door. “The sickness will pass soon enough, I warrant. I’ll leave you to your thoughts, milady,” she said blithely, and quit the room.
Polly was wrong about one thing—the sickness would never pass, it was too firmly rooted in her soul. A million thoughts bombarded Lilliana as she tried to fathom the incredible knowledge that she was carrying a child. Everything that had gone between her and Adrian the last few days seemed foolish to her now. Moreover, with the life budding inside her, it seemed terribly sad. She would bring a child into the world who would know nothing but disdain from his father, just as Adrian had been raised.…
She abruptly lifted her head and stared at herself in the mirror. Maybe she couldn’t bridge the gulf between them, but she at least could put the question of his birth to rest once and for all. The painting at Kealing Park had haunted her for days … she had admired it enough times to remember now that Adrian was the spitting image of his grandfather, and therefore could not be anyone’s son but his father’s. And if that were true, then why did his father despise him? Surely he had noticed the resemblance between his father and his son? There had to be another reason for his disdain, and suddenly, knowing the reason was paramount to everything else. If Adrian was truly Lord Kealing’s son, she had to know it, for the sake of the child she carried if nothing else. And she knew one person who might be able to help her.
Mr. Pearle, the solicitor in Kealing who knew everything about everyone.
But how on earth could she possibly go and speak with him? She couldn’t tell Adrian of her suspicions. He would not listen to her, and even if he did, he would not believe it. No, she had to go, and she had to think of a way to do it without letting him know.
After seeing an unusually somber Arthur off to London, Adrian sent for Benedict. He was seated behind the massive desk in his study when Benedict strolled in, his face a wreath of smiles. “Ah, Adrian, you look more confident each time I see you. Glorious day out, you know. You might enjoy a stroll about the gardens. Lilliana and I certainly did.”
Adrian unconsciously gripped the arm of his chair. “Have a seat, will you?” he suggested.
Benedict did as he asked, casually stretching his legs in front of him, one hand shoved into the waist of his trousers. “I should very much like to show Lilliana the gardens at the Park. They are so much grander than here, and I think she would thoroughly enjoy them again—”
“Ben, I think it is time we were honest with each other,” Adrian interrupted.
That startled Benedict, but he quickly recovered. “Of course! What is on your mind?”
“I think it high time you returned to Kealing Park—”
“Oh yes, I do too. Now that I am assured you are wholly recovered—”
“And not come back again.”
Benedict’s eyes rounded; he pushed himself up and peered closely at Adrian. “I beg your pardon?”
“I should have asked you to leave long before now,” Adrian said wearily, “but I confess I did not fully understand what you were attempting to do. I am truly sorry for what has happened, although I rather doubt you will ever believe that,” Adrian continued, noticing that the color was rapidly draining from Benedict’s face. “Marrying her for the reasons I did was a stupid thing to have done. But Lilliana is my wife, Ben, and there is nothing you can do to change it,” he said evenly.
Benedict’s lips began to move, but no words came out. He shook his head as if to clear it, then gaped at Adrian again. “I am quite certain I do not know what you mean. I think surely you have misconstrued—you can’t honestly be thinking clearly if you think I should want to change anything. I am happy for Lilliana. She is a sweet girl, and I am glad that she has married well.”
Adrian nodded thoughtfully. “Then you would have me believe that you never really cared for her? That you don’t, even now?” he asked quietly.
The hint of a flush began to fill Benedict’s cheeks and he chuckled nervously. “Lord, I told you!” he blustered, then laughed as if it was the most absurd suggestion in the world. “I never cared for Lilliana, not like you seem to think! And certainly now all I feel for her is a brotherly concern!”
“A brotherly concern,” Adrian echoed. “I rather think it more than that.”
Benedict blinked—then suddenly surged to his feet and strode to the desk. “If you are jealous, you should speak with your wife!” he spat. “If there is an unnatural affection between us, it is most decidedly hers and not mine!”
The fury that Adrian had been fighting to contain all morning began to leak out of him. Very deliberately he stood, towering over Ben by several inches. “I am quite certain you did not mean to imply that my wife harbors some unnatural affection for you.”
“You can hardly hold me responsible if she now wishes she had married me!” he blustered angrily.
He would throttle him! Adrian moved from the desk; Benedict matched it by taking several steps backward. “Be honest, Ben,” he urged. “Admit what you are doing here.” Benedict responded by pressing his lips firmly together into a thin line. “Let me help you,” he said, and took another step toward him. “You have attempted to drive a wedge between us. You have tried to make me think that there is something between the two of you, and you have done your best to poison her against me in the course of seeking your revenge.” He stopped there and shoved his hands into his pockets, waiting for Benedict to deny it.
But Benedict surprised him. His brown eyes blazing, he scowled hatefully at Adrian. “You betrayed me! God, when I think of how I admired you!” he spat, his face contorting in pain. “I have always admired you, more than anyone I know. But when you took her from me …” His voice trailed off, and he squeezed his eyes shut, fighting for composure. “When you took her from me, I hated you,” he muttered. “I hated you more than I thought was possible to hate another living soul. You are right, Adrian. I came here hoping to find you broken as well as blind. I hoped to find you miserably contemplating the rest of your life in darkness, alone, without comfort. As I can never have her, I would that you live your life in misery,” he said, his voice trembling with emotion. “She hates you, too, you know,” he continued, and sneered. “She regrets this marriage far more than I think you are capable of even comprehending.”
Adrian’s heart constricted painfully; but he shrugged and blandly regarded the brother who had everything that should have belonged to him. He kept his hands in his pockets as he looked at a man who loved Lilliana so much, he would seek to destroy her for the sake of his jealousy. In no small measure he actually pitied Benedict. “I would that you go now, Ben. You are no longer welcome at Longbridge,” he said quietly.
Benedict pivoted sharply on his heel and stalked to the door, where he paused to cast a final, scathing look at Adrian. “You are an unfeeling bastard,” he angrily declared. “I hope that you will one day feel the same pain I felt when you stole her from me! But I fear it is a futile wish of mine—you are incapable of hurt. You are incapable of
love. I pity Lilliana for that, but God, how I pity you,” he ground out, and followed his words with a slam of the study door.
Adrian stood staring blindly at the door, Benedict’s harsh words ringing in his ears. There was a time when he might have agreed with him, but he knew now that he was not incapable of hurt or love. At the moment, he felt them both rather acutely—he just didn’t know how to express them. He damned sure didn’t know what to do with them. He didn’t know how to do anything but push it all down to the farthest recesses of his soul.
And for that, he pitied himself.
Lilliana devised a plan, which unfortunately entailed lying to Polly Dismuke. Banking on Polly’s sentimentality, she told her that she had a surprise for Adrian that she must fetch from Kealing, but that Adrian would suspect what it was if he knew where she was going. She could not divulge the surprise, she coyly explained, not yet. And just as she had suspected, Polly had eagerly accepted her plan, proclaiming a surprise was just the thing his lordship needed to bolster his spirits.
Now all Lilliana had to do was convince Adrian she needed to go and welcome her family home from Bath, and hope he would not remember they weren’t due until next week. She was actually grateful that the Rogues were at Longbridge—Adrian would not question her in their company.
As she went in search of the men she realized she was rather nervous. There really wasn’t a dishonest bone in her body, and she hardly relished the thought of lying to Adrian, regardless of how strained things were between them. But she had no choice, no other alternative that she could see. If there had never been a question of his birthright, if she had never seen the portrait of his grandfather, she would not be doing this. But that question was a fundamental part of who he was, at the core of his very being, and she could not let it lie, especially now that she carried his child. She could not live with herself if she did not at least attempt to uncover the truth.
Walking into the gold salon, her nervousness increased tenfold when she discovered Adrian was alone. Seated in front of the hearth, he was quietly reading a newspaper. “You’ve come down,” he remarked, and folded the paper neatly before looking at her.
“Where are your guests?” she asked timidly.
“They departed early this morning.”
They had left? Hadn’t Lord Arthur said something about seeing the irrigation efforts today? “So soon?” she asked dumbly.
Adrian rose from his chair and turned to face her. His eyes leisurely swept her body before settling on her face. “I think they were rather uncomfortable,” he said bluntly.
Lilliana felt herself color and moved uneasily into the room. “And Benedict?”
A smirk slowly spread across his mouth. “A rather surprising inquiry from your lips, madam. Surely Benedict told you he was leaving?” he drawled, arching a brow.
No, she had quite convinced herself that Benedict would reside at Longbridge forever, and swallowed her surprise. She had spent the morning locked in the orangery, avoiding Benedict and devising her plan. “He did not mention—he has gone to Kealing Park?” she asked, for wont of anything better to say.
Adrian’s smirk deepened. “Yes, he has. No doubt he is eager to paint your sitting room.”
She frowned at that; she had no earthly idea what Benedict had meant last night—she had never said much about that particular sitting room that she could recall, other than she recalled it as being very cozy.
“Don’t look so chagrined, Lilliana. It is not as if he has left the continent.” Adrian chuckled, then looked at her strangely, almost as if he was seeing her for the first time. He motioned to a cluster of chairs. “Won’t you join me?”
Her nerves grew worse as she walked slowly across the plush Aubusson carpet. The two of them had not been alone since the night she had said—She would not think of that now! She settled on the edge of a chair and clasped her hands tightly on her lap. Adrian lackadaisically resumed his seat. She could feel him watching her, and kept her gaze on her lap.
“It looks as if it’s just you and me now,” he said quietly. Lilliana glanced up at that; Adrian was staring at her, his gaze piercing hers. “I gather from your expression you find that rather unappealing,” he said flatly.
She didn’t know how she found it, other than rather unnerving. Everything was so different now, so wholly different from when he had been blind. Her mind was suddenly flooded with the memory of climbing onto his lap and kissing him one night when he had sat in that very chair, proving to him and to herself that he was still a man. Other memories, little moments of happiness they had shared in this room, came back, moments sitting in quiet companionship while she read to him, or watching the firelight flicker in his blank eyes. Had he actually been watching her then? She scarcely knew anymore! It seemed as if an eternity had passed since then, an eternity in which the gulf had widened so impossibly that neither of them knew how to cross it.
Her stomach roiled, and she clutched her hands to her abdomen.
“Unappealing and nauseating, too, apparently,” he said roughly.
“I am not well,” she said softly.
“Does the thought of being with me make you so ill?”
He was annoying her now, pushing her, challenging her to say he sickened her. “It has nothing to do with you,” she said sharply. “I am simply unwell.”
He shrugged. “Perhaps you should take to your bed,” he said indifferently.
His apathy disgusted her! “Perhaps I should,” she bit out.
Adrian flicked a piece of lint from his trouser leg. “Please, don’t let me keep you. I have grown quite accustomed to your frequent absences. If you prefer to be alone, then by all means …”
Her anger surged. The man was a goat—unfeeling, uncaring, and devouring everything in his path! “I hardly prefer it, but as I have not grown accustomed to your apathy, I find I prefer solitude.”
Adrian quirked a brow, smiling thinly. “Apathy? I beg your pardon, but I thought we had established our course. You may do whatever you like, Lilliana, whatever makes you happy. You may even covet my very own brother if you so desire. How more accommodating can I be?”
Something inside her exploded into raw heat. She leapt to her feet, glaring down at him in absolute fury. “Stop it! I do not covet your brother! I don’t particularly care for your brother and I am rather pleased he is gone!”
Adrian lifted the other brow to meet the first. “Is that so?” he drawled. “And I thought your sudden illness was the pang of regret.”
Lilliana rolled her eyes to the ceiling, fighting the sudden urge to cry. Stubborn. Stubborn and hateful and maddening. She whirled away from him, stalking to the hearth. “It is impossible for me to understand you,” she muttered. “It goes against my very nature to be so … callous to everything as you are! I thought you had changed, Adrian! I know you are different now!” She glanced at him over her shoulder. “But you won’t allow it, will you? You won’t allow yourself to feel. You will feel nothing, not caring who you hurt, just as long as you don’t have to feel anything! I truly pity you!” she cried.
Adrian’s mouth tightened into a thin line and he rose from his seat. “What would you have me feel, Lilliana?” he asked slowly. “The dishonor of my birth? The guilt at having killed my very own cousin?” he breathed. “Or perhaps you would prefer that I feel the pain of having married you under false pretense, the agony of being despised by my own father, or your rejection in favor of my spineless brother? Is that what you want? Because I will feel it all if it will make you happy,” he said hoarsely.
His words stunned her into silence. He regarded her through cold hazel eyes, boldly sweeping her face and daring her to argue with him. Unconsciously she stepped backward, bumping into the hearth implements and rattling them loudly.
“What is it, my love? Does it go against your very nature to make a man feel all that?” he mocked her.
Yes, dammit, it did! She had to get out of there—and was suddenly marching for the door. She had to get aw
ay from him and this heartless indifference. Away from the man she had thought so magnificent, the man who harbored more pain than a body had a right to know and would not allow love into that black soul. She could not help him. The fight was too much for her, too deep.
Lilliana reached the door before she remembered what she had come to tell him. Closing her eyes, she drew a deep, steadying breath, then whirled around, intent on getting it over and done with as quickly as possible.
And she saw it.
She saw the ravaging effects of pain in the set of his mouth, the hard glint of his eye. He was watching her walk out, and it had hurt him. He quickly looked away. Lilliana bit her lip, fighting the urge to go to him. And what if she did? He wouldn’t let his guard down.
All at once she felt very ill. “My … my family returns from Bath on the morrow, and I thought to welcome them home,” she said, weakly. “I shall be gone a few days, I expect. Polly is coming with me. And Bertram.”
He nodded and picked up his paper. “Whatever you would like,” he said, and resumed his seat to read. The wall had come up again, but now she knew there was a crack in it. Lilliana’s heart cried out to her once again, urging her to go to him. But she turned and walked out the door, too confused, too afraid to try again. And besides, she had to know the truth. For his sake.
Adrian listened to the sound of the door being quietly closed, and brought a hand to his forehead. The pain was knifing through him, piercing the back of his eyes and shooting like fire down his spine. He dropped the paper and pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes. He was a monster! Too proud to admit she had hurt him, too goddammed proud to get on his knees and beg her to love him again! No wonder she preferred Benedict to him—for all that man’s weaknesses, he was not a monster. At least Benedict could give her the affection she needed. He could not—bloody hell, he could not even bring himself to tell her he thought her beautiful, or utter the words thank you aloud for having seen him through the darkest of days! No matter how he tried, he could see nothing but the disgust in her eyes, feel her complete disdain, and he could not find the words to change it. They just weren’t in him. He was a monster.
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