“I honestly cannot say.” He was confused, though the pieces had fallen horribly together. Markham had known he cheated because Markham had been attempting to do the same. “Until tonight, I believed Markham had bet a theater box. Had I known you were the prize…”
“Do not,” she spat, “act as if your ignorance on that point absolves you. You came here determined to win my hand because you’d lost a game. A game!”
Right now, emotions that made Giles wish he had a sword swirled his midst. And if he had a sword, what would he do? Slay the very dragon he’d created? Fall upon the blade, crying out her name?
All he knew was fire—fire on every side.
“What did you wager?” she asked.
The phantom scent of Farring’s pipe smoke teased his nostrils. The taste of port haunted his tongue. His ears rang with the desperate click of cards—all the while feeling the Ace of Spades tucked under his sleeve.
Desperation had sweat through his clothes. He’d expected to lose his home. He hadn’t cared. He would have sacrificed anything to end the howling that never ceased…the howling that now returned with a fury.
If he had a chance to win his hellion back, he would have to make her understand. He would have to reveal the truth.
“I arranged the card game. I…I wagered everything. And then,” he forced the words through his teeth, “I cheated so I would be sure to lose to Markham.”
She squeezed her eyes closed. “What do you mean, everything?”
“Everything.” His breath burned like whisky. “Bromton Castle. My London home. The entire Bromton estate.”
Her eyes flew open. He saw a madman reflected in her gaze—a man he’d despise, if he met him.
The facts aligned themselves with truth, and his justifications fell away. It had always been a terrible plan. He may not possess his father’s blood, but, to the best of his ability, he’d stewarded the estate as he ought. His tenants had been ensured an honest living. And did not his duty to his tenants eclipse all else?
Of course, it did. And yet, he’d become obsessed with his bloodline.
His real fault had been an excessive pride, and the sudden, awful realization that his pride was based on a falsehood.
Because of that pride, he’d placed the livelihood of thousands in doubt.
Because of that pride, he’d wooed, and destroyed, the kindest person he’d ever known.
“Why did you wager your estate?” she asked, as horrified as he felt. “Are you dying?”
“No.” Though, at the moment, he wished he was.
“Debt ridden?” she asked.
“No,” he repeated. “I have debts. Deep debts. But they are not of coin, they are of honor.”
“Honor,” she repeated, with a disbelieving shake of her head. “You will have to explain.”
Physically, he held her, but she had gone. Still, he could not let go. If he touched her, he could almost believe things would resolve. That she would, once again, call him Giles.
“The worst,” he said, “is not my secret to tell.”
She wretched from his grasp. Immediately, he felt the loss. He was alone in the dark, without a familiar sign or symbol.
“If you will not tell me,” she said. “I am certain Rayne will oblige.”
“Rayne doesn’t know,” he said miserably.
“If Rayne doesn’t know, who does?”
“Me,” he swallowed. “My mother. And I suppose—” He rubbed his head. He supposed his father. Who could be an artist. Or a footman. Or God knew what.
I pray for the poor child you intend to wed.
He hoped his mother had prayed hard.
“Katherine,” he said quietly, “I am a bastard.”
“Pardon?”
“Not in the legal sense,” he explained, “but in every sense it matters to a man of honor.”
She took a step backward. Right that she should. Who, knowing the truth, would want to be close to him?
“So, you are not the marquess’s son. I am certain that knowledge would have been devastating, but I still do not understand. Why would you cheat in order to rid yourself of your lands? If you did not feel you could steward the estate, why not offer your lands for sale?”
“Sale?” he asked, astonished. He’d never even considered a sale. Ancient holdings were not simply sold.
Pride, again. Of course, they were.
“I—I thought it imperative the estate remain in the bloodline. Markham has Langley blood. Had he been born into the male line, he would have been next to inherit.”
“So I understand Markham would have been the next in line. And I understand you wished the Bromton lands to be tied to blood. I still don’t understand why you would allow Markham to convince you to court— Oh, Bromton, no!” She went white. “You decided to breed me in service to your pride, didn’t you? Like a filly. Oh, sweet heavens.”
Soon, she’d be forever beyond his reach. He could see it in her eyes.
She clamped one hand over her mouth, while holding her stomach with the other. She stumbled toward the hearth. Grasping the fire screen with both hands, she leaned forward and, with a ghastly, wrenching sound, she cast up her accounts.
He clenched and unclenched his utterly worthless hands. “It was not like that. At least, not after I met you.” He stepped forward. “Let me help you.”
“Stay back.” She grabbed for the poker. “Back!”
He backed away with slow, even steps. His heart cracked as she crumpled to the ground. Desperately, he glanced about the room. On top of the cabinet at his side he spotted a decanter of sherry. With a shaking hand, he poured a measure into a glass. Then, tentatively, he approached her huddled form.
He came to his knees—a plea and a prayer. “For you.” He stretched out his arm, offering her the drink. Her gaze moved from the sherry to his face and then back. Cautiously, she held out her hand. Their fingers brushed as she took the glass. He shivered from neck to toes.
He had come to Southford thinking he would be giving her a gift—a magical hand capable of raising her from infamy and restoring her to the world where she belonged. How wrong he’d been. It was she who’d been the gift. She who had righted wrongs he hadn’t even acknowledged.
Not only is such an alliance cruel, it will destroy you both.
He’d thought his mother’s words a curse. But they hadn’t been a curse, had they? They’d been a warning. A warning he’d failed to heed. Now, when it was too late, he had only one thing he could grant Katherine—her freedom.
The worst thing he could imagine was to let her go.
His throat dried. His muscles screamed in protest. But love, stark and painful, lent him awful courage—the courage to charge straight into the heart of his own destruction.
“I will leave,” he whispered, “if you wish me to leave.”
Something frightening flickered within her eyes. She turned away, staring into the fire for an interminable time, a war playing out beneath her skin. Hope and desperation tangled in his chest—cracks ran along his veins, threatening to break him into pieces.
What was the truth now?
There was only one.
“I love you,” he said.
Her head snapped up. Rage replaced the hollowness in her eyes.
“At which point did that happen? Hmm? When did you progress from seduction to true sentiment?”
When? How could he know? “It happened in small measures, but it happened just the same.”
She tossed back the rest of the sherry all at once, and stared blankly into the empty glass. He removed the empty sherry glass from her hands and drew them into his. He pressed his lips to her knuckles. Cold.
“I love you,” he repeated, broken. “Please give me the chance to prove it to you. I swear I will never lie to you again.”
She blinked at their joined hands as if they belonged to someone else, a dreadful echo of their encounter in the billiards room.
“Words,” she said. “Beautiful words, so te
mpting to trust.” She looked him in the eye. “Tell me the truth. The day I told you I had anticipated my vows, tell me—and remember you’ve just sworn never to lie to me again—would you have shown such understanding if I hadn’t possessed Langley blood, the one thing you needed to assuage your honor?”
God help him.
“No.” He gritted his teeth. “I would have kept my distance.”
She tugged on her hands. “I suspected as much.”
He held fast. “And,” he continued significantly, “I would have been in the wrong. For my foolishness, I would have remained lost in darkness. I would have missed the luminous gem within the mine.”
She glanced to heaven and groaned. “Lies.”
“No!” Didn’t she understand? Couldn’t she see?
He’d changed, damnation.
To show her the truth, he cut through the center of everything he’d once held dear.
“I am,” he continued, “by law and by tradition, the Marquess of Bromton. But even if I’d been legitimate, my life would always have been a lie, but for you. You are the only truth worth fighting for.”
“Stop,” she said. “Just stop.”
“I cannot lose you,” he whispered.
She snatched back her hand. She twisted the betrothal ring around and around her finger, breathing heavy. Then, she met his gaze.
“Have I left?” she asked.
“No.” But her voice was strangely, chillingly flat.
“Have I asked you to leave?”
“No.” They remained together. But at what cost?
“My reputation—and Julia’s future—are still at stake.” She folded her hands in her lap and lifted her chin. “I refuse to free you from your obligation.”
His obligation? Warning bells. Hellhounds. Everything cried out in one, grand cacophony.
“You hate me.”
“Indeed, I do,” she replied with a careless tilt of her head. “However, I’ve been stripped of dignity one too many times.” She narrowed her eyes. Every ounce of the compassion he admired had vanished. “You will marry me tomorrow.”
Shock wrapped a wild vine around his lungs.
“You will marry me,” she lifted her brows, “and you will. Or you will be exposed.”
“Exposed?” he repeated, stunned. “Are you threatening me?”
“I don’t need threats.” She pinned him with a soulless stare. “I have blood.”
He saw the wound, but he had no power to stem the bleeding. He’d cut her to the quick, and she’d bleed until they both drowned. What had she become? What have you made her?
“I will hold up my end of the bargain.” She spoke as if they were discussing something as mundane as a midday meal. “You will be permitted—with notice—into my bed. Until, that is…” Her bravado failed and her lower lip trembled. She stilled it with her teeth. “Until you have your heir.”
“Katherine—”
She held up her hand.
“I cannot bed you,” he said. “Not knowing you hate me.”
“But you would have bed me, knowing I was in complete ignorance of your true intentions.”
He ran his hand through his hair, wincing with self-loathing.
“If conscience permanently tames your cockstand, I am not to blame, am I?” She steadied herself on the mantel and stood. “This was once my favorite room.” She looked down in disgust. “I have you to thank for its ruin.”
“Please forgive me, Kate,” he whispered. “I swear I have changed.”
“How can you ask me to understand, to forgive? You just told me you would not have forgiven me, if you hadn’t needed my blood. And, if it were not for Rayne, would you ever have told me the truth?”
He rose to his knees. “It was not my secret to reveal.”
She folded her arms over her chest. “Protecting your mother, were you?”
Blood filled his cheeks. No. He could not hide his answer from his eyes. Katherine snorted in disgust and then turned away.
He scrambled to his feet. “My mother warned me not to begin a marriage on false pretense.”
Katherine swiveled. “She knew about your plan?”
“Not until after I bought your ring.” His gaze fell to the floor. “Prior to that, I hadn’t spoken to her since…”
“Since?”
“Since the day I barred her from Bromton grounds.”
She gasped. “You let me believe you approved of her marriage.”
“I know,” he admitted miserably.
“But you hated her marriage so much, you banished her.”
He fancied he could smell lavender, hear his mother’s trill of laughter. His back stung with the slap of his father’s cane. She’d abandoned him to cruelty’s care. And she’d abandoned him again, as soon as the marquess’s death allowed her freedom.
“Yes,” he spat. “I banished her. She’s a—”
“You,” Katherine interrupted, “had better think very carefully before you say another word.”
He clamped his mouth closed. His hands hung at his side, unable to capture Katherine any more than he’d been able to stop his mother from leaving.
“It occurs to me, Bromton,” Katherine said with malice, “that an heir is an heir. Tell me, if you had found me repellant, would you have turned your attention to Julia?”
He visibly withdrew. “Julia is…is…I mean, I could never…”
Katherine snorted. “Deceiving me, that was bad. Deceiving yourself, Marquess? That’s abhorrent.”
She was right, no matter how the truth excoriated. “I would have waited until Julia had more experience.”
Katherine’s unshed tears sparkled with loathing.
How could he have thought blood, honor, and integrity were the highest stakes of all? The highest stake was love—only love.
“I love you.” The words seeped out.
“Go to the devil, Bromton,” she replied, turning away.
He did not have to go to the devil. He was already in hell.
Chapter Thirteen
Katherine leaned against a Doric column within her mother’s folly, memorizing her favorite view of Southford. She needed the column’s support. Her knees weakened into jelly just as they had the last time she’d stood in this spot—for entirely different reasons.
In vain, she sought her mother’s calming presence.
What have I done, Mother?
She was married. Married before God, and man, and the village of Southford. Images from the ceremony floated like delicate clouds through her mind. The much-anticipated, magical moment had been wretched, tedious, and wearisome—holding to Markham’s arm, placing her hand in Bromton’s hand, affirming each vow.
She’d glanced at Bromton’s face only once.
Once had been enough to leave her haunted. His skin had been ashen and drawn, his fathomless eyes, dulled with a sleepless daze. She doubted her appearance was any less a shock to him.
Then, before she could come to any conclusion, the ceremony was finished. She’d dipped her quill into a reservoir to sign the register, hesitating for a moment. That moment had been enough to leave a smudge of ink on the parchment.
Then, she’d written through the blotch. The K in Katherine appeared darker than the rest. A small blemish. So small that, years from now, if someone ran their finger down the page of signatures succinctly summarizing the inhabitants of the village of Southford, they might not even notice the mistake.
Or perhaps the mistake would be obvious. Perhaps they would see the blemish and wonder at the nervousness of the bride—the lucky daughter of Southford who’d had the good fortune to marry a marquess.
“Good fortune,” she murmured with a snort.
Though, it was good fortune, was it not? Good, even though the heavy gold band felt more like a manacle. Fortune, even though, figuratively, the path she must forge was swamped with fog.
She was shackled to a lying bastard.
Odd thing was, if Bromton had told her he was a bastard, if he
’d unburdened his secrets, shared his consternation, she may have helped find some solution, at the very least, and, she would have liked him all the more for his honesty.
His title had never been a consequential part of her esteem.
What was done, was done. She would be in the wrong if she did not acknowledge the advantages of her new position—she took a fortifying inhale—and she mustn’t mistake heartbreak for true adversity, no matter how exhausted her limbs and fractured her hope.
She nodded to herself, having found the guidance she believed her mother would have offered. Then, she heard the sounds of a second carriage rumbling to a stop. She didn’t turn as footfalls skipped up the steps at breakneck pace. She did not need to turn. Only one person knew the way well enough to skip.
Julia threaded her arms underneath Katherine’s from behind and then wrapped them around her waist. Although Julia was a few inches shorter, she lifted herself to her toes, so she could rest her chin on Katherine’s shoulder.
Katherine held to her anger—the pulsing thing that whispered to her that she was alone, now. That she could trust no one. Then, she relaxed back into her sister’s arms.
“I’d hoped to find you here,” Julia said. “I refused to believe Markham when he told me you’d left straightaway.”
She’d wanted to leave straightaway. She’d wanted to fly away to the beat of horse’s hooves. But she could not outrun the pain that had been imprinted on her heart. And no matter how furious she was with, well, nearly everyone, she would have regretted not saying goodbye.
“I told Markham I did not wish to stay for the breakfast,” Katherine replied, “not that I was going to leave without a proper farewell.”
“Are you still angry?” Julia asked.
“I suspect I will be angry for quite some time.” She turned in Julia’s arms and touched foreheads with her sister. “However, I am not angry at you. I may have been, though, if you had insisted Lord Rayne stay.”
Julia made a sound that indicated hurt. “I intend to put Lord Rayne entirely out of my head.”
“What changed your mind?’
Julia set her lips in a straight line. “He told me our kiss meant nothing to him.”
Well. Katherine sighed. She had Rayne to thank for that, at least. She squinted at her little sister. “Why, then, are you practically bursting with excitement?”
Scandal in Spades Page 18