Guilty Series

by Laura Lee Guhrke

The other woman unfastened the buttons down the back of her dress, handed her the jar of soap and a wet cloth, then patted her shoulder. Compassion shone in her green eyes, so much compassion that Lucia wanted to start weeping all over again. She looked down at the floor.

  “I’ll leave you to your bath,” Grace said, “but first there are some things you must know.” She paused, then said, “Lucia, did he hurt you?”

  She could not look up. Her hand tightened around the small jar in her grasp. “Yes.”

  “Please believe me when I tell you that it only hurts the first time. The discomfort will pass, and it will never hurt like that again.”

  That was a bit reassuring. She nodded, her head bent.

  “There is something else you need to know,” Grace went on. “This news will spread everywhere. Sarah and her friends will be delighted to tell everyone they meet. You must be prepared for that. Ian will marry you. He will take care of you. But both of you will pay a high price for this. Your father will want Ian’s head, and one of you will have to convert to the other’s religion.”

  “I will.” Lucia knew that was the least she could do under the circumstances. Religion had never mattered much to her anyway. “I will convert.”

  “That blunts the damage to Ian somewhat, although I suspect the Prime Minister will terminate his ambassadorship. No doubt, the king will concur.”

  She jerked her head up, staring at Grace in horror. “Ian will lose his position?”

  “Almost certainly.”

  “Oh, no,” she moaned, feeling sick. “No, no, no. What have I done?”

  “Listen to me, Lucia.” Grace grasped her arms and gave her a little shake. “This is not all your fault. He is a man of thirty-five, and he knew what he was doing. He must accept responsibility.”

  “You don’t understand.” She shook off the other woman’s grasp. “I have to see him.”

  “Of course. I will tell him you wish to speak with him. I hope he hasn’t left already.”

  “Left?”

  “He is going to London today as planned. When Prince Cesare arrives, he will meet with him and obtain consent to marry you. If you want to see him before he goes, I had best go find him.” Grace started for the door. She paused before opening it. “Lucia, don’t be afraid. Ian will do right by you. He will do the honorable thing.”

  Grace departed and Lucia stepped into the steaming water of the slipper bath. “I know he will marry me,” she whispered to the closed door in abject misery. “That’s why I did it.”

  “There’s a most astonishing rumor going around this morning.”

  Ian’s hands stilled in the act of smoothing down his cravat. He glanced from his own reflection to that of his brother, who stood framed by the doorway of his bedchamber. There was a look of disbelief on Dylan’s face that demanded explanations, but Ian did not want to explain. He had spent the past few hours striving not to think, fighting not to feel, working to bury his emotions deep down until he felt nothing. It was the only way he knew to make what he had done bearable. Yet, when he returned his attention to his own reflection, the sight of his face almost demolished his carefully cultivated state of numbness, for everything he’d thought himself to be was gone, and he no longer recognized the man in the mirror.

  “I heard this rumor from Tremore himself when we rode this morning,” Dylan went on. “You’re not going to believe it.”

  Ian turned to Harper, who stood beside him. “Leave us.”

  The valet gave a quiet nod and started for the door. Dylan waited until Harper had departed and the door was closed before he spoke again. “Lady Sarah started it, of course. That woman is the most vicious creature alive. I can’t believe Tremore once thought of marrying her. She would say anything.”

  “Yes, she would,” Ian agreed. He took a deep breath and met his brother’s eyes. “Sometimes she even tells the truth.”

  “What?” Dylan gave a half laugh. “You mean—” He broke off and shook his head in denial and disbelief. “Sarah has been telling anyone who would listen that after the ball she and her cousin found you with Miss Valenti.” He said it slowly, as if he thought perhaps Ian didn’t understand just what rumor was circulating amid Tremore’s guests. “She’s been saying they saw the two of you in the conservatory. You were in a partial state of undress, she said.”

  Ian looked past his brother at the black evening suit and white linen on the bed. “Yes.”

  “Miss Valenti’s dress was torn,” Dylan said.

  Ian closed his eyes, remembering the exact moment when he’d torn it. He could still hear the fabric ripping. The memory of that sound could arouse him even now, even as it shamed him. He felt his numbness slip, and he fought hard to regain it. “Yes, I know.”

  “It must be a mistake. I know you. Sarah must be lying. Or she misunderstood what she saw.”

  Ian opened his eyes and returned his gaze to his brother’s. He said nothing.

  Dylan stared at his face. “It’s true,” he murmured, seeing past the careful diplomatic mask. “Ye gods, it’s true. My brother caught in a compromising situation with a young lady. The planets are standing still.”

  “Lady Sarah saw the end of that compromising situation, not the beginning,” he found himself saying, and it baffled him that he, the most taci-turn and discreet of men, was feeling the need to make some sort of confession. Even more baffling, he was making that confession to his notorious younger brother, of all people. “The…” He swallowed hard, galled to say it out loud. “The damage had already been irreparably done.”

  “You mean you…that you and she…you did it?” Dylan, the shit, actually began to grin. “Well, well, well,” he murmured. “How are the mighty fallen.”

  “I am in no mood for your wit,” Ian snapped, almost at the end of his tether. “By God, if you say one more sardonic word, I will make what I did to you when you were thirteen seem like a little girl’s game of patty-cake.”

  Dylan held up his hand in a gesture of truce, and any hint of his amusement vanished. “Sorry, sorry. It’s just that you have to understand how astonished I am. You never do anything wrong. You never make mistakes. You are always so damn perfect. You always were. I find the fact that you are human an extraordinary revelation.”

  You are human after all.

  Lucia’s words echoed through his mind. “Of course I’m human.” Wishing he wasn’t, he rubbed a hand over his face in irritation. “God, why does everyone think I’m not?”

  “Well, I’ve always been inclined to doubt it. When we were boys, our tutors always made comparisons, and I always came out on the losing end of those, let me tell you. Your assignments never had errors. Your handwriting was like copperplate. You knew the answer to every question. It was nauseating. By the time I was seven, I knew I could never live up to you, so I didn’t try. But, oh, how I resented you.”

  Ian’s anger evaporated. “This is ironic,” he said. “All the while you were resenting me, I resented you. When we were growing up, you could do anything you wanted. I vow, Dylan, if it was wicked, or naughty, or forbidden, or just plain stupid, you did it and always got by with it. I always got caught. I always got punished. That, little brother, was nauseating.”

  “You were our father’s favorite.”

  “You were our mother’s.”

  “Because of music. Mother and I could share that. You and Father had the estate, I suppose. As for my getting away with things…” He paused, then said, “Ian, there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you for years. Maybe now is the time.” He sat on the edge of Ian’s bed.

  Curious, Ian also sat down, taking the chair by the fireplace. He could tell from Dylan’s voice that this wasn’t one of his jokes, and he was glad of the diversion from his own situation. “Tell me what?”

  “My ears ring. It almost drove me mad.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  His reaction made Dylan shake his head in amazement. “God, Ian, does nothing rattle you?”

  He gav
e his brother a wry look. “You mean besides Lucia Valenti?”

  Dylan laughed at that. “My brother has a sense of humor. And in these circumstances, too. How extraordinary.” His laughter faded, and he said, “Remember that riding accident years ago when I hit my head on a rock? You were in India or Egypt or some other remote place.”

  “I remember. I was in St. Petersburg.” He frowned, trying to understand. “So, because you hit your head, your ears ring? Doctors cannot cure it?”

  “No. I have this noise in my head all the time. It’s an unwavering whine, like a tuning fork not quite on pitch. I can’t sleep sometimes. I get headaches. I used to take opium and smoke hashish to blunt it, but it never went away. For five years, I couldn’t compose. I kept publishing old pieces. Things I had already written. I thought I’d never write music again. It was hell.”

  He knew what music meant to Dylan. It was his lifeblood. It was everything. “I see.”

  “I almost killed myself. I put a pistol under my chin and cocked the hammer.”

  Ian sat up straight in his chair. “God, Dylan!”

  “Rattled you at last, I see. But it’s the truth.”

  “What stopped you?”

  “Grace.” He smiled, his face lighting up as it always did when he mentioned his wife. “She saved my life. Literally and figuratively. When I first saw her, I heard music, and I was so surprised because I hadn’t heard music in years. I thought she was my muse. I lowered the gun, and she took it out of my hand, telling me I had no business killing myself.” He paused. “I think I fell in love with her the moment I saw her. Heaven knows, I needed her. I still do. I need her every single day.”

  Ian was beginning to know all about need. “So, you can no longer compose because of this noise?”

  “I have learned to work around it. Isabel helps me. She has so much talent, Ian, more talent than I, really. Music comes so easily to her, as it used to do for me. Composing will never be easy for me again, but at least I am once again able to do it.”

  “I’m glad, and I’m glad you told me about this, that you finally felt you could.” He leaned back in his chair. “Well, this explains a lot. You’ve always been wild, God knows, but your behavior became so erratic, I knew something was very wrong. I just didn’t know what it was. Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

  “I don’t know. I suppose—” He paused, frowning. “I suppose I thought you wouldn’t understand. You are such a disciplined person, I feared you would tell me to just get over it and stop feeling sorry for myself. Which is, of course, what I was doing, but I dreaded hearing it, especially from you.”

  “I would not have said that.” His brother’s dis-believing look impelled him to add, “I might have thought it, but I would not have said it. I am the diplomat, after all. The man of tact and discretion who always says and does the right thing.” He laughed, but there was no humor in it.

  Dylan leaned forward, forearms on his knees. “What’s going to happen now? You’ll have to marry the girl, obviously.”

  “Obviously.”

  “Will you lose your position over this?”

  Ian pressed two fingers to his forehead. He did not want to believe everything he’d worked for was now in ruins, but he could not deny the truth. “Of course. The Prime Minister doesn’t take kindly to scandals. This is the Age of Reform, you know.”

  “I’m sorry, Ian. I know your work means as much to you as mine does to me, and I know what it’s like to lose it.”

  Ian lowered his hand and stood up. “I have no one to blame but myself,” he said, his dishonor a bitter taste in his mouth. “Knowing Prince Cesare, I shall be fortunate if he does not send the carbinieri after me and have me shot.”

  Grace arranged for Ian to come to her that afternoon in a little-used writing room that overlooked the front of the house. As she waited, Lucia stood by the windows, watching guests climb into their carriages and depart. Thankfully, most of them had chosen to leave that afternoon, rather than linger another day in the stifling awkwardness of the situation.

  Lucia watched them go, sipping the Madeira Grace had given her for her nerves. It wasn’t helping much in that regard, but when Ian entered the room, she took one glance at his face and downed all the sweet liquor in a gulp. For what she had to say, she needed all the fortification she could get.

  “We’ll be married in three weeks,” he said before she could speak. His words were brusque, his face unreadable. “Grace tells me you are willing to become Anglican, which simplifies matters. After I have talked with your father, banns will be posted. We’ll have the wedding in the ducal chapel here at Tremore.”

  Though there was no tenderness in his voice, relief flooded through her at his words, such enormous relief that it made her weak in the knees. Even though she already knew his sense of honor, and even though Grace had told her his intent, she was so glad to hear him say it. “Thank you.”

  “I’m leaving for London today. You’re staying here.”

  “Yes. Grace told me.”

  “Your father arrives in two days, and I have to tell him what happened. For your sake and, I must confess, for mine, I would prefer to avoid it.” His face twisted, his composure faltered a little. “I have faced many difficult meetings in my life, but truth be told, I do not know how to look a man in the eye and tell him I violated his daughter.”

  “Don’t!” she cried. “Do not berate yourself this way!”

  “Why not?” The diplomat returned, grave, cool, and distant. “It is no less than I deserve. But,” he went on before she could make another protest, “Prince Cesare’s requirements for the man you marry make me a wholly unsuitable candidate. And your departure from the Catholic faith will enrage him. Unless he is told the exact circumstances, he will never give his consent.”

  “Yes,” she said with a hint of irony she knew he did not understand. “I know.”

  “Good.” He turned to leave. “My carriage is waiting.”

  “Don’t go yet, please,” she said, her words stopping him. “Before you leave, there is something I must tell you. Something you must know about…about what happened between us.”

  “I think I have a pretty clear recollection of what happened between us, thank you.”

  “Ian, this is very difficult for me to say. Please do not make it more so.”

  His face grew taut. “What do you want to tell me?”

  She clasped her hands, drew them to her mouth, and prayed for composure. This was the hardest thing she’d ever had to do because she knew he would hate her for it, but she had to tell him. She lowered her hands, lifted her head, and looked at him. “I had to make a choice,” she said simply. “And I made it. That’s why this happened.”

  “What do you mean? You didn’t have the choice. I took the choice away from you.”

  “No, Ian. You did not.”

  “Lucia, don’t you understand, even now, what I did? I could not stop.” He exhaled a sharp breath. “God help me, I could not stop myself.”

  “I understand perfectly.” Her voice shook, and she forced herself to steady it. “As I said, I made my choice. I chose you. I said the things I said in the conservatory because I knew what would happen. I knew you wanted me, and I knew I could—” She stopped and swallowed hard. “I knew I could break you, Ian. So I did.”

  He stared at her, comprehension dawning in his face. “You wanted me to do it? In heaven’s name, why?”

  “So that you would marry me. I knew—” She paused, fighting not to shrink from the condemnation hardening his face. At least now he would blame her fully, and not condemn himself. “I knew you would insist upon marrying me, and that when my father learned what you did, he would have no choice but to give his consent. So you see, I chose you.”

  The silence was terrible. It seemed endless.

  When he spoke, his voice was low, calm and deadly. “You pushed me on purpose, hoping I would…” A muscle worked in his jaw. “You intended this outcome?”

  “Yes.”


  “I don’t suppose it occurred to you to consult me on the matter beforehand and find out what my wishes might have been about marrying you?”

  “No.” She watched his eyes take on the frost of arctic lakes. They were so cold, she shivered inside. “I was afraid you would refuse. Even though the ruby told me you might have…have some regard for me, I know you do not want to marry. And even if you…” She faltered, and tried again. “Even if you cared enough for me to agree, I knew my father would never consent because you are not Catholic, and because you have no title. So I pushed you over the edge, I impelled you to do what you did. Now my father has to accept you as my choice because I am ruined and I might be carrying a child. Your…your child.”

  “You manipulated me.”

  The quiet accusation was like the lash of a whip, but she did not flinch. “Yes.”

  “I will lose my ambassadorship.”

  “I did not know that would happen.” She began to shake, the emotions of the day threatening to overwhelm her. “I am so sorry.”

  His eyes narrowed. “And Lady Sarah and Lord Blair? I suppose they were there to bear witness?”

  She stared at him as the implication of his question hit her. “Ma insomma!” she breathed. “You think I…that I had them come…you think I arranged for them to see us?”

  Emotionless gray eyes assessed her. “Did you?”

  She pressed her shaking hand to her mouth, dismayed. That he would think such a thing had not occurred to her, but she could hardly blame him for it. “No,” she answered, knowing even as she said it that he did not believe her. Why should he? The tears that had been threatening all day to fall began spilling down her cheeks, and she wished she possessed even a fraction of his sang-froid.

  His lips pressed into a tight line. He turned away, reaching for his hat. “My duty is clear. You’re getting me for a bridegroom, which is what you wanted.” He slapped the hat against his palm. “But then, you always get what you want in the end, don’t you?”

  The bitter tinge of his voice was unmistakable. He turned away and walked out of the room, closing the door behind him. Lucia ran to the window and watched through a blurry haze as he got into his carriage.