by Kelly Boyce
He stood and walked to the window, pulling the curtain away to stare up at the midnight sky. The day had started so differently. It had been hours since he’d held Rebecca pressed against him, surrounded in the security of her love, yet it felt more likes years, as if this morning had been nothing more than a lovely dream.
“If not the watch, then what?”
“We fought about my mother,” he said.
“Mary?” Lady Ellesmere asked and he heard the rustle of her skirts as she turned to look at him. She sounded surprised, which surprised him. Did they not know it was Walkerton who’d fathered him? Doubt crept in.
He shook his head and pressed a palm against the cool glass. “Not Mary.”
Silence reigned and somewhere to his left the crackle and pop of the fire filled the void. He stared at his reflection, watched as it wavered in the lamplight. Paintings of his mother hung on the walls of the Ellesmere estates. He had seen them his entire life, but now he knew, when he gazed upon them next, it would be with different eyes.
“He speaks of Lilith.” Lady Ellesmere whispered the name of her daughter with a reverence filled in equal amounts with pain and love. “It was him, then?” The question hitched in her throat.
His hand dropped away from the window and he clasped them both behind his back. “Yes. You didn’t know?”
“Not for certain. We suspected, but—”
“Then you are my grandparents.” He turned to face them. “And you kept it from me.”
His accusation cut through the air with a harshness born of anger and betrayal. He’d had a right to know. They should have told him.
“You don’t understand.” Lord Ellesmere shook his head but said no more.
“You’re right,” he conceded. “I don’t. I don’t understand how you could have kept such a thing from me. Bastard or not, I had a right to know who my true parents were.”
Lord Ellesmere nodded and lifted his gaze to stare at some far point on the other side of the library. “Likely you are right. But until we learned of the watch and whom it belonged to, we only had half of the story. Less than that, I suspect, as Lilith would not reveal the details to us no matter how much we begged her to do so. I suspect she was too ashamed that she had given him her innocence, been seduced by a man as despicable as Walkerton—”
Lord Ellesmere stopped and looked away, but his words filtered through Marcus’s anger, the truth of them landing with an unsettling sound.
They thought she had done this willingly. That it had been nothing more than a lapse in judgment. Given his own reaction to what Walkerton had done to her, could she have expected anything different from her own father? Lord Ellesmere revered his family, protected them with a fierceness of will that kept them all safe and secure. Had he known the truth, he would have killed Walkerton with his bare hands, then revived the man long enough to kill him a second time. Nothing less than what he deserved. But someone had already beaten him to it.
“She was not seduced,” Marcus said. No matter the hurt it caused them, he would not let them think she had been the one to fall from grace.
“I beg your pardon?”
“The watch had been entrusted to Mary Bowen by your daughter—my mother, along with a journal she kept during the time of her confinement.”
“No!” Lady Ellesmere stood then sat just as quickly as if the shock took her legs out from under her. “I would have known had she kept a journal. I was with her every day.”
“But not every minute of every day.”
Lord Ellesmere reached a hand out to take his wife’s. “What did it say?”
The marquess tensed as if bracing against what, deep inside, he had suspected all along.
“Walkerton didn’t seduce her. He raped her. She said as much in her journal and Walkerton admitted it to me today. That is why we fought.”
Lord Ellesmere stood and strode to the desk on the other side of the hearth. He bent over and gripped the edge with such force Marcus could see the whites of his knuckles even from the distance that separated them. Lady Ellesmere pursed her lips, her shock less pronounced. Had she suspected? The two had shared a closeness evident in Lilith’s tone whenever she wrote of her mother. While Lady Ellesmere may not have known the details of the secrets her daughter kept, she had known they existed nonetheless.
“Why did she not tell us?” Anguish strangled Lord Ellesmere’s and robbed Marcus of his anger. Seeing their pain changed things. They were no longer the people who had kept from him his past, but instead two parents who had done whatever was necessary to protect their daughter, and when they failed to do so in life, they had ensured they did in death, keeping her secrets buried, their suspicions silenced, and her reputation intact.
Could he blame them for that? Had his mother not done the same for him? Would he not do the same thing for his own child?
“She did not want to cause either of you further distress. She considered it her pain to bear, not yours.”
“But I would have—I could have—if I had known—” Agony tore Lord Ellesmere’s voice to shreds and Marcus fisted his hands at his side feeling the same conviction as his mother to protect the two people who had shown nothing but love and good intentions toward her. Toward him. They had risked greatly bringing him into their home as ward. Had anyone put enough of the story together, even suggested the idea of it, their daughter’s reputation would have been ruined beyond redemption. They had risked that to keep him safe, to afford him the life they believed he deserved. To surround him with the love and security only family could give.
“She tried to save us as much as we wanted to save her,” Lady Ellesmere said, letting her own tears flow freely. “My sweet, brave girl.” She turned to him and smiled through her tears. “You are so much like her, you know. You have her goodness. Her heart.”
The only words sweeter than the ones Lady Ellesmere spoke had been the declaration of love from Rebecca’s lips the night before. Perhaps that would be enough to sustain him through this. It would have to be.
“We will not hide the truth any longer,” Lord Ellesmere said, releasing the table and straightening to his full height, shoulders back, ready for battle. “If Lilith can reach beyond death to tell the truth of who you are, we will not deny her choice to claim you.” He crossed the room and placed a firm hand on Marcus’s shoulder. “You are our grandson, every bit as much as Spencer and I am proud to say it.”
But Marcus shook his head before his grandfather finished speaking. “No. Do not. Not publically. It will only bring hardship. That I know is enough.” And it was.
He had never sought public acknowledgement. Never needed it. He had only wanted the truth. Wanted to use it to build a future with Rebecca. Now he had the truth, and the other, well that was not to be. There was little point in having others suffer because of it. “The Bowens raised me for eight years; they instilled in me good values and treated me as their own. They earned the right to be remembered as my parents and I know Lilith felt much ease in knowing Mary would take her place where she could not.”
For a moment, he thought Lord Ellesmere would argue, but in the end he only nodded. “We will leave the decision with you, but know if you change your mind, we will stand by you proudly and without question.”
“Thank you.” Marcus let out a long breath as weariness descended. The toll of the day pushed against him. “I shall turn in now, I think. I expect tomorrow Constable Hurly will have more questions for me.”
His grandmother stood and took his hands, pulling him down to kiss both his cheeks. “Goodnight, sweet boy. Things will look better on the morrow.”
He wished he believed her, but he suspected things were going to get much darker by dawn. Fate was not done with him yet.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Rebecca paced her room, her mind working furiously, reviewing the events of the past twenty-four hours over and over again. Instinct insisted she had missed a piece of the puzzle. Something vital. If only she could find it, their
problems would be solved and everything wrong would become right.
She refused to consider another possibility, because to do so meant accepting defeat. It meant a life without Marcus, and that she simply wouldn’t have.
But no matter how many times she traversed the expanse of her bedchamber, the missing piece remained elusive. At this rate, she’d wear a pathway straight through to the hardwood beneath the carpet and be no further ahead than when she started.
She stopped and let out a long breath. Her head hurt, her heart ached and her body longed to have Marcus next to her where he belonged. Their limbs entwined, their breath mingled, their bodies joined. But he had turned her away.
Foolish man. Did he honestly believe she was better off without him? That she could marry another? For heavens’ sake, not an hour ago, Nicholas had actually come to her room and floated the possibility that she consider Lord Glenmor as a husband instead! Not that there was anything wrong with Benedict Laytham. Truly, he was as handsome as they came and really quite charming. She enjoyed his company immensely, but she did not love him. Not as she did Marcus. And she would marry no other but Marcus.
There had to be a way out of this for them. There simply had to be! But how was she to discover it if no one would talk to her? She’d asked both Nicholas and Huntsleigh what questions the constable had asked of Marcus, but they’d patted her on her head and sent her on her way. As if she didn’t have a right to know. As if it wasn’t her future at stake.
Which left only one other to give her the answers she needed.
She opened the door to her room and peered out into the hall. A few lights still burned. Nicholas had threatened to lock her in her room earlier when she confessed she and Marcus had made love, but Mother refused him such an option, insisting Rebecca was no longer a child and should therefore not be treated as such. Thankfully, Nicholas didn’t argue with Mother. She could prove quite obstinate on certain matters when she put her mind to it.
Rebecca tiptoed on bare feet down the length of the hallway and around to the other side where Nancy indicated Marcus had taken a room. She put her hand on the cool brass handle and took a fortifying breath. He would not be happy to see her. In all likelihood, he would deny her requests for answers in a misguided attempt to protect her. As if she was the one in danger.
It mattered little. She had no intentions of leaving once she stepped foot inside his room. He would have to toss her over his shoulder and march her back to her own bedchamber if he wished to be rid of her and even then, she would simply march right back. Like Mother, she too could be quite obstinate when need be.
She turned the handle and opened the door a crack. Pitch black greeted her. No fire burned in the hearth, no candles lit the room. For a fleeting second she feared he may have returned to Northill and all her stealth had been for naught. But the feeling left almost as soon as it arrived. He was here. She could feel him, somewhere deep in her bones.
She slipped through the opening and closed the door quietly behind her, turning the key in the lock to prevent any further unwelcomed visitors. If Nicholas decided to check on her through the night and found her gone, this would be his first stop. She did not need him barging in where he didn’t belong in some misplaced attempt at salvaging her virtue. There were far more important things at stake.
She stepped farther into the room, stumbling slightly as her toes tangled into something lying on the floor. She threw her arms wide to keep her balance then knelt down to feel about for the offending item. Her hand hit wool. His jacket? She swept an arm wider for any other obstacles and discovered a boot, then a second boot. His trousers were next to them.
Good heavens, every stitch of clothing he had worn riddled the floor between the door and his bed! She smiled at the image of such disorder coming from the very neat and orderly Mr. Bowen, but the smile quickly faded. He’d had a trying day by even the most stringent standards. He must have shucked his clothing and collapsed into bed.
Rebecca stood and untied the sash of her robe and let it fall to the floor amongst Marcus’s things. Her nightdress followed and the cool night air raised gooseflesh on her bare skin.
She stepped carefully until the edge of the bed brushed her thighs then she reached for the blankets and pulled them back. With slow, deliberate movements, she slid beneath the covers and sidled over toward the middle where she found the warmth and solidity of Marcus’s sleeping form. She molded herself to his back, curving her body against his. A thrill went through her when she realized he had not bothered donning a nightshirt for sleeping.
Did he always sleep like this? She smiled. If not, she would heartily suggest it going forward. The sensation of skin on skin proved a most intoxicating mix.
He moved and his breathing changed, though it was another moment after that before wakefulness took hold and pulled him from his exhausted slumber. His body stiffened then relaxed.
“It’s me.” She pressed her lips against his shoulder.
“I know.” He turned over to face her. “You can’t be here.”
She smiled into the darkness and rested a hand against his chest. His heart beat steady beneath her palm and she splayed her fingers to touch as much of him as possible. “And yet here I am.”
“Your brother is ready to kill me. Do you really want to hasten my death by adding fuel to the fire?”
“My brother loves you and, despite all his blustering, is thrilled we are to marry. He will not harm a hair on your head.”
“I cannot marry you. I have told Nick as much and he does not disagree.”
“You can marry me and my brother does not have a say in the matter. You told me you would marry me and I am holding you to that promise.”
“Rebecca—”
She moved her hand to find his lips and stop whatever nonsensical reason he thought to give her as to why they could not marry. “You’re trying to protect me, I know and I love you for it, but it is unnecessary.”
He spoke through her fingers. “You will be ruined if—”
She pressed harder against his mouth. “I will not. And even if I am, what do I care? I could go the rest of my life never stepping foot in society again and be quite happy, but only if I could do so at your side.”
Marcus reached up and pulled her hand away. “Have you always been this stubborn?”
She raised her eyebrows then remembered he could not see her. “Yes. And my stubbornness will continue for as long as your foolishness.”
“Protecting you is not a foolish endeavor. A difficult one, yes, but not foolish.”
She wiggled closer and wrapped her arm around his middle. The muscles in his back shifted and moved wherever she touched, coiled strength that hid beneath his calm exterior. Such wonderful things he hid beneath the surface. She could not wait to discover and explore each and every one of them.
“I love you for protecting me, but you are giving up on us before you even start the fight.”
His hand lifted and buried itself in her hair and he brought his forehead to rest against hers. “A fight I do not want you to be a part of.”
“There is no helping that. This is my fight as much as it is yours and I will not be set aside as if I have no say in the matter. I can help. Did I not get Lord Selward to admit he received in writing Lord Walkerton’s admission you were his son? And did I also not get Lord Walkerton himself to admit the same?”
“At your peril.”
“I was in no peril. Lady Franklyn—”
“The man raped my mother!”
She stilled, Marcus’s harsh admission shocking her silent for a moment. “He did what?” And then, “Have you discovered your mother’s identity?”
He pulled away. A sharp snap sounded and a match flared to life. A few seconds later dim light from the bedside lamp chased shadows across the bed.
When Marcus returned, he slid a hand beneath his pillow and left the other lying in the space between them. He did not touch her, his sudden absence like a cold wind. She longed to
reach for him, but sensed it best she not. Not yet. Her heart pounded.
“My mother is—was—Lady Lilith Kingsley.”
Rebecca shook her head, denying his declaration. It made no sense. “But Lady Lilith died decades ago while traveling. She was but sixteen. Only a young girl.”
“She had not been traveling. Lady Ellesmere took her to Braemore for her confinement. They said they were traveling abroad before her first Season to avoid any hint of scandal.”
“But…” She shook her head. “But then Lord Walkerton—?”
“Raped her.”
The admission hit her like a slap. She had met with the man this morning, so intent on getting the answers they needed that she had refused to listen to instinct that demanded she retreat. What would have happened had Lady Franklyn not stopped them and demanded she stay away from him? Would she have met a similar fate as Lady Lilith?
A chill settled over her. Marcus reached out and drew her close against him. She buried herself in his arms and embraced the security found there.
“Is that why you fought with him?”
He nodded.
“Lady Franklyn said he was a vile and deviant man, but I had no idea his depravity went so deep. Poor Lady Lilith.” Her heart went out to the long dead girl; the woman who had given birth to the man Rebecca loved.
Her head snapped up and knocked Marcus’s chin causing him to grunt.
“That means you are a Kingsley. Lord and Lady Ellesmere’s grandson. Just like Huntsleigh!”
Marcus rubbed the underside of his chin. “No, not like Huntsleigh. I am still borne on the wrong side of the blanket under rather horrid circumstances. I cannot make public the truth. To do so would be to ruin the reputation of a woman who does not deserve it after everything she endured. Everything she did for me. And I will not have Lord and Lady Ellesmere relive the truth of what happened to their daughter every time someone thinks to whisper and gossip about it as if it was nothing but grist for the mill. I will not cause them such pain.”