Ruined & Redeemed: The Earl's Fallen Wife

by Bree Wolf

  “Then why don’t you tell him? Maybe he could help you.” Nodding encouragingly, Victoria held her gaze. “He loves you, you know?”

  “I know, and I love him, too,” Charlotte whispered, shocked at the words that left her mouth, and yet, feeling strangely euphoric. At least for a moment, before the dark cloud of her past reclaimed its place over her head. “Only there is more,” she admitted, averting her gaze. “Things I could never tell him. Things that would make him hate me.”

  “He would never!” Victoria exclaimed.

  “If you knew what is in my past, you wouldn’t say that.” Charlotte sighed, blinking back the tears that clung to her eyelashes. “There’s no happily-ever-after for us.”

  “Nor for me,” Victoria replied, sadness hanging on her face like early morning dew. “I suppose sometimes Cinderella does not get her prince, does she?”

  Charlotte shook her head. “I guess not.”

  Victoria sighed, then let go of Charlotte’s hands and turned to the door. “Will you come down again?”

  “I will,” Charlotte said. “In a moment.”

  As the door closed behind Victoria, Charlotte almost crumpled into a heap of misery onto the floor. Her knees felt like pudding, completely inadequate to support her weight, and she staggered toward the bed collapsing onto the mattress. Fresh tears spilled down her cheeks, and heart-breaking sobs tore from her throat. Her heart ached with such painful intensity that she felt as though it would surely break in half any second now.

  And yet, it didn’t.

  The pain remained, torturing her in a most acute way as it had then … a long time ago.

  The wound had not healed. The pain had merely been dulled, hidden away until she would be made to feel it again. Would it ever cease?

  Knowing that she couldn’t hide in her room forever, Charlotte pushed herself into a sitting position, then quickly dried her tears. After glancing into the mirror on her vanity, she closed her eyes, then rose and proceeded to hide the remnants of her breakdown. Fortunately, her eyes were not swollen, merely a little red, so she splashed some cold water on her face, savouring its freshness. Then she stepped toward the door, took a deep breath and opened it.

  Silence met her, and she slowly placed one foot in front of the other, hoping to regain her composure before she reached the drawing room. Somehow the staircase didn’t seem to end, and yet, the steps she took only increased the thudding of her heart.

  Upon reaching the ground floor, Charlotte stood up straight, pushed back her shoulders and took another deep breath. Still, she didn’t feel any more prepared than she had upstairs in her room.

  “You look beautiful,” a voice spoke out from behind her, “especially for someone who has been dead these past two years.”

  At the sound of his voice, terror filled Charlotte, and she spun around. “What are you doing here?” she gasped, as her mind took in the empty hall as well as the pleased smile on the baron’s face as he came toward her.

  “Fortunately, my wife experienced a moment of dizziness,” he explained, still advancing on her. “Thereby, giving us the opportunity to renew our acquaintance while your dear husband as well as his mother tend to her.”

  At first, Charlotte had been determined to stand her ground, no matter how loudly her instincts screamed at her to turn and run. However, when the living embodiment of her nightmares stood no more than an arm’s length away from her, her feet retreated as though of their own accord.

  At her sign of fear, a pleased smile curled up his lips. “I see you haven’t forgotten me,” the baron sneered, his eyes travelling over her body, “and I do admit that I often relive our encounter in the library. Few women have ever held such an allure. I admit I was quite surprised when you did not accept my marriage proposal.”

  Farther and farther, Charlotte retreated, eyes wide with horror, until her back came to rest against the wall … and there was nowhere else to go.

  A slow smile spread over the baron’s face, and his hard eyes drilled into hers. “However, your father assured me that it was simply female modesty on your part and that you would realise your good fortune before long.”

  Charlotte swallowed, but her mouth felt dry as though she was dying of thirst. She knew she ought to step away, call someone, or … do something. Her legs though were as heavy as lead, and her voice died in her throat. Paralysed, she stood, staring at the monster before her, a part of her unable to believe that this was truly happening.

  Maybe this was another nightmare.

  Maybe all she had to do was wake up.

  “And then you died,” the baron growled, his voice accusing as though she had intentionally thwarted his plans, “and all I had worked for went up in flames.” With anger marking his face, the baron inhaled deeply, then lifted his hand toward her.

  Shocked, Charlotte sucked in a breath.

  A slow smile curled up Northfield’s lips, and enjoyment danced in his eyes as his fingers gently touched a curled strand dangling from her forehead. “I’d set my sights on you,” he whispered, “and it took me quite some time to find a woman equal to you. However, seeing you now, I admit I am very tempted.” He leaned closer. “Do you ever think of me?”

  Gritting her teeth to keep them from chattering, Charlotte stared over his shoulder, keeping her eyes fixed on a point at the wall, waiting, hoping that he would simply grow tired of this game and leave.

  But he didn’t.

  “The time we spent together was special,” he whispered into her ear, his warm breath brushing over her skin, bringing back details of that night she had thought forgotten, “it would be a shame not to experience it again.”

  At his implication, her heart stopped, and Charlotte’s head snapped back, her eyes meeting his. “What?” she croaked, her voice raw and yet strangely calm.

  Again, a sickening smile drew up the corners of his mouth and his hand fell from her hair and settled on her waist, sliding to her back until she stood pressed against him. “Your husband does not know who you are, does he? Nor does the rest of his family I assume.”

  Trembling, Charlotte could barely form a conscious thought as his touch burned itself into her skin, so familiar, so sickening. More than anything, she wanted to free herself of him, but her arms wouldn’t move. It was as though her body was no longer hers to command.

  This was worse than the night in the library.

  Then she had fought him. She had made her position unmistakably clear although it had done her little good.

  But now, she wouldn’t even have the knowledge that she had fought and lost, that she had done everything within her power to protect herself.

  Was this the final act that would destroy her soul? That would rip everything human from her heart and leave her an empty shell? Never to return to the woman she had once been?

  If she didn’t fight him now, Charlotte knew she would be lost for good. There would be no coming back.

  “Although I admit I was quite displeased with your reaction to my honourable intentions,” the baron continued, “I must say that I consider myself quite fortunate to have found you once again. I suppose some people would call that fate.” Stepping back, he met her eyes, his hand still resting at her side. “I’ll be frank, my dear. I have a wife now. A suitable wife with a large dowry and a social standing that benefits me greatly. A wife who will no doubt give me the heir I want before this year is out.” His eyes dropped from hers and touched her lips. “What I need now is a mistress.”

  His words were like a slap in the face, and Charlotte blinked.

  Did he truly think she would agree to become his mistress? Could he not see how much his presence repulsed her? Or did he simply not care? Was this truly about desire? Or rather about power? Power over another? To have her submit to him and see how it tortured her?

  “No.” It was one word. One short word spoken in a clear, steady voice that Charlotte didn’t recognise as her own.

  “No?” he asked, incredulity evident in his eyes. Fo
r a moment, he stared at her. Then his eyes narrowed, and he glared down into her face. “I will destroy you,” he hissed. “I don’t know what game you’re playing, but do not for a second doubt that I’d hesitate to reveal you as the conniving woman you are.”

  Anger tightened his grip on her, and Charlotte drew in a sharp breath before her teeth ground together in defiance and she met his gaze without flinching. “Do what you must,” she declared, “as will I.” Then she lifted her arms and pushed his off her waist.

  Aghast, he stared at her, a kink in his armour of self-confidence. Then he drew in a deep breath, raised his head and was back in control. “I’ll give you a fortnight to think about my proposal. Then I shall speak to your husband.”

  “What proposal?” came her husband’s carefully controlled voice from her right as he stood in the half-open door to the drawing room. “What is going on here?”

  While the baron quickly regained his composure, Charlotte could barely meet her husband’s eyes as they searched hers, asking for an explanation.

  “Are you all right?” he demanded, coming to stand before her. “What did he say?”

  “I merely expressed my−" the baron began, but was immediately interrupted.

  “I’m speaking to my wife!” her husband snapped, glaring at their guest. “Go and see to your own,” he growled, and Charlotte could see how deeply it pained him to entrust his beloved sister to such a monster.

  As the baron vanished through the door, Charlotte swallowed, then looked up. “How is Victoria?”

  Her husband sighed. “Fine. I suppose considering her condition, light-headedness is nothing unusual, is it?” It was a simple question, and yet, the way his eyes bore into hers, Charlotte knew that he was asking for more than her opinion. He was asking if she knew it to be true from personal experience.

  Taking a deep breath, she held his gaze. “It is.”

  For a moment, his eyes closed, and then he nodded, understanding written over his face. “What did he want?” he demanded, tension marking his features as he stared at the door through which the baron had left. “What did he say to you?”

  Charlotte swallowed. What was she to say? Even if she were to tell him the truth, it would take more than a few words to explain what had happened there.

  As she hesitated, her husband drew in a deep breath. “Did you tell him to go to hell?” he asked, a touch of grim humour in his voice.

  Taken aback, Charlotte stared at him before a fleeting smile drew up the corners of her mouth. “I did.”

  “Good,” her husband said, his eyes glowing brightly as he looked at her. “I’m proud of you.”

  For a long moment, they looked at each other, and Charlotte couldn’t help but feel as though he knew exactly what was going on. He knew what had happened, how she felt and what she needed to hear. And he was here, by her side, holding her hand … even though he still hadn’t touched her.

  And he wouldn’t. Not without her permission.

  As terrified as Charlotte had been moments earlier, right then and there, she couldn’t remember ever having felt this safe. Somehow, without her noticing, her husband had found a way to her heart, and once the time came to leave, it would−as sure as the sun rises in the east−break beyond repair.

  Quite a fitting punishment.

  “Go upstairs and rest,” her husband said, glancing at the door once again. “I shall see our guests to the door.” Again, he met her eyes. “We’ll speak tomorrow.”

  Charlotte nodded, not trusting her voice as she whispered a silent goodbye.

  If she wanted to leave−and she needed to, now more than ever−then it had to be tonight.

  It was her last chance.

  Chapter Thirty-Three – A Secret Revealed

  His mind buzzing with the events of that night, Sebastian was still downstairs, pacing the length of the drawing room when the clock struck midnight. His eyes again travelled to the settee where Victoria had lain not too long ago, her cheeks pale and limbs tired.

  One moment she had been fine, and the next she had started to sway on her feet, her hands reaching out blindly for anything to hold on to.

  Sebastian had caught her then, had gently picked her up and carried her to the settee.

  Always had he caught her no matter how often she had fallen.

  Except for once.

  The one time when it had truly mattered, he had let her fall.

  He would never forgive himself for that, remembering the dull pain that rested in her eyes these days.

  And then there was his wife and the terror he had seen in hers.

  Even if Sebastian hadn’t already had his suspicions after the night he had found her on Westminster Bridge, he could now be certain that the nightmare of her past was none other than Baron Northfield, his sister’s husband.

  Two women. Two lives ruined by one man.

  What was he to do?

  Quiet footsteps drifted to his ears from the hall interrupting his moment of self-torture. Who would be up this late? Sebastian wondered, silently approaching the door.

  As he peeked through the small gap, he was surprised−although he shouldn’t have been−to see his wife, dressed in a warm winter coat with rather a large bag slung over her shoulder, descend the stairs. With her eyes scanning her surroundings, she crossed the front hall and proceeded to the back of the house toward the servants’ entrance, her left hand reaching up to pull the hood of her coat deeper into her face.

  Taking a deep breath, Sebastian followed as quietly as he could.

  So, this was it, he thought. If he hadn’t been up this late, if he had gone to bed, she would have slipped out of his life without a look back.

  Never had Sebastian felt so grateful for a sleepless night!

  As the cold night air hit him, Sebastian wrapped his arms tightly around himself as he followed his wife across the courtyard to the stables. He should have taken the time to bring a coat as well, he thought to himself, shivering as the cold rose goose bumps on his arms and legs.

  When his wife slipped into the stables and was lost from his view for a moment, Sebastian’s heart skipped a beat and fear clawed at his soul.

  He could not lose her! It was a truth he knew like no other. Just the thought of her gone drove him mad.

  Quickening his steps, he reached the stables a mere minute after she had and quietly opened the large door, welcoming the warm air that engulfed him as he stepped inside.

  In the dim light, the stable lay in near silence. The only sounds came from the horses that turned their heads with interest as they examined the nightly intruder in their midst. Watching his steps, Sebastian proceeded down the long corridor at the back of the stable, eyes scanning the shadowy world around him for signs of his wife. Had she already slipped out again?

  She couldn’t have! He reasoned. No one could saddle a horse that fast, and the only reason for her to stop at the stables was to procure herself a faster method of transportation.

  Sebastian frowned. Where did she intend to go?

  “Quiet,” his wife’s whispers reached his ears, and Sebastian stopped, searching. “We shall be off in a moment.”

  No, you shall not! Sebastian thought with vehemence as he came around the stable master’s small office and found his wife standing with her back to him, gently sliding a saddle onto a chestnut brown mare.

  Taking a deep breath, Sebastian stepped forward. “Were you not even going to say goodbye?”

  At the sound of his voice, his wife flinched, then spun around, eyes wide, staring at him as though he was a ghost risen from the ground. “What are you doing here?” she stammered as her gaze wandered around her surroundings.

  Did she think he’d brought reinforcements? Sebastian thought, wondering about all the many things he didn’t know about her … but would love to nonetheless.

  “Were you not even going to say goodbye?” he repeated, aware that his voice held a clear accusation. He could see the pained look in her eyes, and yet, he could not
hide his own at the thought of her leaving.

  Taking a deep breath, she met his gaze. “If I had told you, you wouldn’t have let me go.”

  “Of course, I wouldn’t have.”

  A quick smile drew up the corners of her mouth before they dropped down once more. “Then I made the right choice.” She sighed, “If only you had slept more soundly.”

  “I never even went to bed,” Sebastian said, stepping closer, his eyes holding hers. “After what I witnessed tonight, how can you expect me to sleep?”

  Her eyes dropped from his as his words conjured the memory of earlier that night, and once more he could see the terror that had seized her clearly edged into her face as though it was a part of her, never to leave.

  Again, she drew in a deep breath before looking up. “There’s nothing left to say, and I need to go.”

  As she turned to fasten the saddle, Sebastian felt red hot anger surge through him.

  In two strides, he was beside her and all but ripped the saddle out of her hands, throwing it onto the floor with a loud thud.

  Aghast, his wife stared at him: her eyes wide, her face pale as she stepped back, her back resting against the mare’s soft coat.

  Despite the blood pulsing in his veins, Sebastian could see the touch of fear that rested in her eyes, and it ate at him like nothing ever had. Gritting his teeth, he took a step back. “I have a right to be angry,” he forced out as calmly as he could, “but that does not mean that I will hurt you.” He held her gaze for a long time. “I would never, and I can only hope that at least a part of you can believe that.”

  Her eyes lingered on his face as though reading his expression, trying to gauge the meaning behind his words, his actions, before the tension slowly left her face. She swallowed then and took a step toward him. “The part of me that is truly me,” she whispered, utter honesty ringing in her voice, “trusts you. Truly, it does.” A soft smile touched her lips, and she nodded her head in emphasis. “However, there is this other part of me,” for a moment, her eyes dropped to the ground, “that only knows fear and distrust.” A hint of embarrassment came to her face as she shook her head, helpless. “I have no control over it. It’s like an open wound. It bleeds, and as much as I will it to stop, it simply doesn’t.”