They continued their meal in uncomfortable silence.
Larissa paused as she entered the breakfast room. The tension was palpable. She’d passed Miss DeWarre in the corridor and the woman had spoken to her, but her greeting had been icy. She quickly cataloged Spencer’s appearance. He looked better than he had the night before, but hardly his normally robust self. His cheeks were hollowed and gaunt and the dark circles beneath his eyes were far too pronounced. The clear blue of his eyes was refreshing at least, they were less glassy and he appeared to be more in touch with his immediate surroundings.
“Good morning, Spencer,” she said. “You’re looking well.”
“You’re looking here,” he said. “You need to leave, Larissa. I can’t imagine what Rhys was thinking to let you come here!”
That was rather more to the point than she wanted to him to be. “Perhaps we could discuss this privately?”
“Finella, would you excuse us?”
“I’m eating my breakfast, boy. If you want to whisper secrets into her pretty little ears, you’ll need to do it somewhere else,” the woman said emphatically. For added emphasis, she took a hearty bite of the ham on her plate and chewed with enthusiasm.
Larissa had not yet begun to fill her plate from the dishes on the sideboard so she nodded her quiescence. “Perhaps we should discuss this in your study?”
Spencer rose and ushered her from the room. They crossed the wide expanse of the great hall to into the small drawing room just off there. “I find my study to be a rather dismal place,” he said. “I have spent far too much time sequestered in there of late. But my questionable behavior is not the subject of interest at the moment. What were you thinking to come here?”
Larissa sighed and moved to the window. Snow was just starting to fall outside, the storm that Dorcas had been predicting was finally setting in. “I thought that you needed my help. I read your letter.”
“What letter?”
A guilty flush stole over her cheeks. “The one you sent to Rhys. I told you this yesterday. Do you not recall it?”
He shook his head and looked away, his jaw locked and tense. “No. My memory is sadly unpredictable of late. How did this letter come to be in your possession rather than the person to whom it had been addressed?”
Larissa clasped her hands together and would not meet his gaze. “Rhys was away… he and Emme had gone to town, and when I saw that it was from you—we’d heard nothing from you for months!”
His expression was shuttered, but his words were clipped and his tone clearly conveyed his fury. “That letter was never intended for you!”
“Because you spoke of me in it? It was me, wasn’t it?” She hated the uncertainty in her voice. If Spencer had transferred his affections to another she had no right to protest. It was she who had pushed him away after all. Still, the very thought of it left her hollowed with misery.
“It doesn’t matter who I was speaking of. It matters that you opened a letter that was intended for someone else! Do he and Emme even know that you’re here?”
There was no way the conversation was going to go well for her. Confession was her only avenue. With a deep breath, Larissa let the words out in a rush. “No. I took their carriage and went to a posting inn, where I hired Dorcas as my traveling companion, and then we took a hired carriage to the coast, where we boarded a ship to Oban, and then another hired coach brought us here… well most of the way here. The driver had a moment of panic and deposited us with our bags at the bottom of the hill and we walked the remainder of the distance.”
She was unprepared for the explosion of his temper. Spencer had always been so contained, his emotions tightly leashed. But as the figurines from the table behind him went crashing toward the hearth, she flinched.
“Spencer—.”
“Do not!” he hissed out through clenched teeth. It was clear that he was struggling to regain control of his temper. When, after what seemed an interminable amount of time, he turned back to her and spoke, his mood seemed to be more contained if not exactly calm. “Have you any idea the danger you courted? Do you have any idea what might have happened to you?”
She cocked her head slightly and stared toward the window. “Yes. Better than anyone.”
That gave him pause. He stopped for just a moment and drew in several deep breaths. “What Moreland did to you, as awful as it was, is not the worst thing that can happen… You might have been killed, Larissa. In a dozen different ways and several times over. Ships sink. Carriages crash frequently. Highwaymen abound. Women are abducted from inns and sold to the highest bidding abbess to be abused over and over again. That is the danger you courted in coming here unchaperoned and without even telling anyone where you’d gone!”
“And what of the danger you’re facing?” she demanded angrily. “You wrote rambling, strange things, where you spoke of people plotting against you, and last night, when I arrived, Spencer you couldn’t even comprehend that I was actually present! You were talking to people who weren’t there!”
“This isn’t about me!”
Furious with him, she rose and faced off against him. They were nearly nose to nose as she shouted back at him. “It is! I knew the risks, Spencer, and I faced them gladly, to come here for you. I couldn’t bear it if something happened to you!” Larissa’s hand flew up to cover her mouth, but it was too late. The weight of what she’d said hung there, hovering between them.
Silence stretched between them. Neither spoke for the longest time but neither looked away. Locked in that gaze, the enormity of her admission pressed heavily on the both of them.
“Why?” he asked softly.
“I didn’t mean to say that,” she replied. It was too soon for such an admission and they had far more pressing matters to deal with, primarily whether or not Spencer was actually going insane or if his symptoms had somehow been induced by some other means.
He shook his head, sadly and the moment between them was broken. “It doesn’t matter anyway. As soon as the weather clears I’m sending you home. Whatever has happened to me here, it has made me dangerous, Larissa… and there is no one to whom I’m more dangerous than you.”
“You would never hurt me,” she protested.
“I don’t know that anymore,” he said softly. He wouldn’t look at her, but kept his gaze turned away. “At Briarwood, other than having consumed more brandy than was wise, I still behaved abominably… I frightened you even when in possession of all my faculties.”
She cursed her cowardice and she cursed Moreland for instilling such fear in her. “That isn’t—it wasn’t like that,” she said softly. “I wasn’t frightened of you. I was frightened of myself and of what I was feeling. I shouldn’t have run from you, but I didn’t know what to say or what to do. And I meant to explain that to you, but you left before I could… Please, Spencer. Let me help you here. Let me show you that I’m not a coward.”
Spencer turned then and stared at her for a long moment. To simply drink in the sight of her was a pleasure he’d thought would be denied him forever. With her earnest gaze, softly parted lips and the porcelain perfect skin that had always lured his wayward thoughts, she was everything he’d ever desired in a woman. More than that, and though it cost him dearly to admit it even to himself, she was the woman he loved and had loved for years. Even if she had overcome her past and could consider any sort of relationship with a man, it was too late for him now. Every day was a gamble. He had no way of predicting when the episodes would occur or how long they would last. Most importantly, he had no way of predicting just how violent he might become in the midst of one. Even now, fairly lucid and with reality somewhat solidified for him, his mood was unpredictable and his temper short.
“I’ve never thought you a coward… Ever.” It was true. The first time he’d seen her, battered, bruised, little more than a child at the time, and doing battle with a man twice her size, he’d thought her remarkable. It had been happenstance that led to their meeting, a stop for him
at a posting inn on the way to Briarwood Hall to visit Rhys, one of his only friends. The red-haired hellion had been in a standoff with Lord Moreland while Stydham had looked on.
He knew Moreland, or knew of him. The man’s perverse proclivities had resulted in him being shunned by most of society. It had been obvious what had transpired; with her bruises and torn clothing, there was little doubt that Moreland had compromised her thoroughly. Rather than hiding, or worse, allowing the man to drag her back to London and either marry her or set her up as his mistress, she’d run. “How did you come to be at the Angel and Royal in Grantham that day?”
Larissa smiled somewhat sadly as she stared down at her hands, folded neatly in her lap. “I know things. I’ve always known things that had no reasonable explanation… and I knew that if I could get to the Angel and Royal, I would get to Rhys and Emme. So that was the thought that I held on to when I ran from him. And when I saw you that day, I knew, inexplicably and with utter certainty that you would save me from him.”
He corrected her instantly. “I did not save you. You saved yourself from him… My greatest regret is that I did not know beforehand, that I was unable to prevent what he did to you.” The damage inflicted had cost them both dearly. For years, Larissa had moved like a ghost through society, barely speaking to those outside her immediate circle. Many saw her as aloof and cold. Little did they know that she was merely traumatized and trying desperately to contain her fears. For himself, her past and the limitations it had created for her, had kept him at a distance. If he’d had any hope of her acceptance, he would have offered for her years ago.
Spencer moved to the settee and seated himself. It was futile to think of what could have been and only served to heighten his present misery.
A maid peered in through the door and surveyed the broken porcelain and splintered table with wide eyes. He waved her away. His loss of temper was regrettable, but for the moment at least, things were calm. “You never told your sister the truth… that Moreland had succeeded in stealing your virtue.”
“It wasn’t stolen, Spencer,” she said bitterly. “it was gifted to him by my stepfather in lieu of payment. Legally, he was entitled, though in truth I think the law demands marriage. I’m quite grateful it did not go that far.”
“I should have killed him,” Spencer said.
“Moreland?”
“And Stydham,” he replied. “I should have killed them both. Exiling them to the continent was not nearly enough.”
“You hadn’t heard then?” she asked.
“Heard what?”
She laughed but it was a humorless sound. “They’ve returned. I remained behind at Briarwood while Rhys and Emme went to town to deal with matters. They have no control over Moreland, of course, but may hold some sway over Mr. Stydham. I believe that Rhys means to threaten him with a fate far worse than death if he doesn’t remove himself to either the West Indies or to the colonies.”
He contained his fury but only barely. By mutual agreement between himself, Rhys and Lord Ellersleigh, no one had challenged Moreland. It would have only substantiated his claims and increased the gossip. Instead, Rhys had made certain that any doors offering financial refuge would be closed to Moreland. Unable to get a loan or credit, the man had little choice but to flee to France. Their return indicated that perhaps they’d burned bridges on the continent as well. But, Rhys would handle it. He knew that. No one was more capable. “America. They don’t like being called that anymore,” he said with a smile.
“Naturally. Independence, once attained, should be closely guarded… So your letter served double purpose, Spencer. It brought me here to help you, and it also brought me here so that you might help me. Moreland is trying to force my hand. He’s been spreading vicious gossip about how intimately we were acquainted, of course, the particulars have been skewed to be more favorable to him than actual events were…he’s painting himself as an ardent and devoted lover who is being kept from my side by my interfering relatives.”
Spencer managed, though only barely, to refrain from cursing. “And if his version of the truth is challenged—.”
She continued to stare out the window at the falling snow. When she spoke, it wasn’t sadness that he heard in her voice, but resignation still lightly tinged with anger. “Then what remains of my reputation is just as sullied either way… Either I’m his fickle and inconstant lover or his victim. But society, one way or another, has firmly linked me to him in their minds and in their gossip. If it’s all the same to you, I’ll be quite content to remain at Kinraven for as long as you permit.”
“You may stay here for as long as you wish… but in the interim, you must be careful of me. I am unpredictable at best these days.” It terrified him to think that he might harm her inadvertently. It would destroy him, but the idea of her being alone in England, a ready victim to Moreland’s brand of cruelty was more than he could stand.
She smiled at him, the sweet curve of her lips more tempting than anything he’d ever seen. “We will get to the bottom of this, Spencer. I promise you.”
He believed her, but reaching the bottom was no guarantee of liking what they’d find there. “And if the answer is that I’m utterly mad? What then?”
She squared her shoulders and raised her chin. It was an expression that he’d seen often enough on her older sister when Emme was faced off against Rhys. “It will not be. You’ve never had a moment’s madness in all of your life until coming here. Curses are utter nonsense—.”
“Says the woman who sees the future,” he retorted. “and whose sister speaks to the dead.”
“Curses are a different thing entirely… and are generally nothing more than fairy stories intended to frighten children! No. There is something else afoot and I would lay odds that your cousin has her hand in it.”
That had occurred to him, as well. Katherine was not to be trusted. She was ambitious, but he couldn’t quite fathom how she could manage all that had transpired since his arrival at Kinraven. “She is not the most likable of women, Larissa, but I do not see that she could be solely responsible for this.”
Larissa shook her head and then crossed the room to him, seating herself next to him. She spoke in a low voice, almost a whisper. “I never said she was solely responsible for this. She has allies here in this house, Spencer. She’s lived here the entirety of her life. Your servants are not truly your servants. They’re hers. Loyal to her … do you not see that?”
He hadn’t. In all honesty, it had never occurred to him. He paid them and that was the end of it. Clearly they were not motivated by money or they would not have remained with the previous earl who had apparently squandered his every cent at the gaming tables. “Perhaps there is some merit to your insight in these matters,” he admitted grudgingly. It had cost him dearly to ask for help, even from Rhys. To have it come from her only stung his pride more keenly. “What is the appropriate means to correct this situation?”
“I am not certain… yet,” she amended. “But we’ve been in here far too long and while I imagine that sparking Miss DeWarre’s ire is inevitable, it isn’t an outcome that should be courted.”
She rose and started to move away from him. Perhaps it was his current instability, or perhaps it was simply the desperation sparked by being denied her company for so many months, even if it was by his own design, but he was as reluctant to let her go as he was eager to touch her. Reaching out, Spencer grasped her wrist, halting her progress. She turned to look back at him, her brow cocked in question. “Yes?”
“Tell me that you wanted my kiss… at Briarwood. Just tell me that even if it isn’t true. I couldn’t bear to think that I importuned you so very badly.”
“I did,” she admitted. “I’ve wanted that for far longer than I ought to admit… I wanted more than your kiss.” With that shocking statement lingering in her wake, she turned and exited the room.
Spencer stared after her for the longest time, rocked by her admission. He wanted to know what she mea
nt by that, but he could not, would not ask. Until he was certain that he posed no threat to her, he would not seek that answer.
Behind the tapestry in the drawing room, shielded from prying eyes, Katherine DeWarre listened to the intimate secrets that passed between the star-crossed lovers. Her mouth was drawn into a hard, firm line as she considered the implications. She’d known of course that Miss Walters would be competition. From the moment, Spencer had arrived at Kinraven, she’d recognized that marriage to him, and finally obtaining the title of countess, was the only way to have true power at Kinraven. His madness, at first, had seemed a boon. He would need care and who better to provide it?
Now his upstart miss from England had come to ruin everything. Katherine, watched as Spencer finally rose from the settee and left the room. Extricating herself from the small, hidden alcove, she moved to the writing desk. If she hurried, she’d be able to get a letter off to this Lord Moreland about his little harlot’s whereabouts before the snow made it impossible. With any luck, he’d arrive to claim her just as the weather cleared.
It took only minutes to compose the letter informing Lord Moreland that Miss Larissa Walters, his runaway fiancée, was warming her cold feet at Kinraven. With the letter sanded and sealed, she stepped out into the hallway where Fergus looked at her askance. He stood in front of a large cabinet, matching the silver that was present to the master list of the house’s inventory.
“I’ve found the chink in her armor… and his,” she said softly.
The butler’s only response was a cool nod as he continued his counting of the silver. All but giddy with her victory, Katherine moved past him and allowed her hands to trail lightly over his back. It was a risk to indulge in such a public display of intimacy, but she was feeling victorious.
Lord Moreland and Larissa’s dark, dirty, little secret would be just the trick to send her running back to England. It would also halt the busybody’s interference with her plans. Leaving Fergus to stare after her, Katherine pressed the envelope and a coin into the hands of one of the kitchen lads. “Get that to Oban. It must go out in the post today!”
The Dark Regency Series: Boxed Set Page 56