“I know he was intolerably cruel and wicked at school. He told me how he regrets his actions. Please, Nick, they’re desperate,” she pleaded. “They’ve been turned away from every other lending institution. If we don’t help them, they’ll be forced to look at other avenues, moneylenders or—”
“I don’t care if they’re thrown out in the street and have to find lodgings in Seven Dials. You’re not helping them.” He pounded the desk so hard the wood creaked in protest. Papers spilled to the floor as if to escape his wrath. “They’ll not receive a shilling.”
Startled, she stepped away from the desk. The hope in her eyes dimmed. She chewed her lip and studied the view through the window. The miserable fog had lasted all day and made it impossible to see the street from his window. He could practically hear her thoughts whirling into arguments as she stared into nothing.
“Howell doesn’t have the money to break his sister’s betrothal.” The mellow honey in her voice was shaded with a hint of steel. “His sister doesn’t wish to marry.”
She was relentless when she wanted something, and he would expect nothing less from his wife than a meticulously, artful debate. Her green eyes sparked with the brilliance of perfectly cut emeralds, and her flushed cheeks enticed him beyond all reason. Any other time, he’d throw his work aside and take her in his arms, soothing her worry. Unfortunately, he couldn’t—no, he wouldn’t—yield, not even to her sweet temptation. This was an argument she would lose.
“Why am I not surprised? He was always an extravagant spendthrift.” Nick arranged the manifests on his desk. He turned his attention elsewhere as his anger was increasing to a steady boil.
“He was careless and even agrees that he was foolish. Instead of saving, he used every available fund to rebuild his stables. He didn’t realize…” Once again, she leaned across the desk and put her hand on his, her warm touch urging him, willing him to look at her. “Miss Howell is engaged to the Earl of Aulton. He’s anxious to wed her.”
“Howell is and always has been a bloody fool,” Nick offered.
Emma shook her head. “Regardless, they need our help. His sister’s situation is similar to Lena’s. At the age of twenty-five, she’s to inherit a substantial fortune. Aulton’s trying to shore up his depleted accounts. What if he kills her like he did Lena? Once he gets Miss Howell’s fortune, who knows what he’ll do.”
He studied her fingers clasping his fist. Small and perfectly shaped, her hands provided endless comfort when he needed it or maddening sensual bliss when he wanted it. But the tremble in her hands was a sight he didn’t want to witness. Nor did he want to see her hurt and desperate. When she entered his study, the stress of Howell’s request had already creased her brow with worry.
Bloody hell. This was preposterous. How could he even consider her request or let his guard down? He’d not capitulate to Howell or her.
“Howell … they didn’t realize Aulton’s reputation until it was too late. Aulton demands that Miss Howell marry him within the month. She doesn’t have much time.”
“Can’t she just tell him she refuses? Let Howell clean up his own mess.” Nick would press her until she ran out of arguments. “Women break engagements all the time.”
Emma exhaled. She shook her head and pressed her fingers over her mouth as if she was trying to keep her steadfastness from escaping. “Miss Howell explained to Aulton she couldn’t go through with the marriage and apologized. He laughed in her face and threatened a breach of promise suit. He said he’d spent a fortune preparing for their wedding.”
“What about Howell’s solicitors? Aren’t they bright enough to come up with a settlement of some sort?” He chanced a glance at Emma’s face before realizing his error. The glimmer in her eyes mirrored her passions, and it was his greatest weakness. He couldn’t look at her again, otherwise, he’d be lost.
“Aulton will allow Miss Howell out of the marriage only if Howell pays his expenses. Aulton claims the amount is ten thousand pounds. However, she must promise not to marry another until he takes a wife. He’s trying to save his reputation.” She rubbed her arms as if the room had suddenly chilled. “He should realize he doesn’t have one to save.”
“I’m sorry, but I won’t help Howell. I’m afraid he’d never pay it back.” Nick stood and scooped one of her hands and raised it to his lips. It allowed him to concentrate on something other than her face. “That’s my final word,” he whispered as he released her hand. “If you’ll excuse me, I have work.”
“No.” The sharpness in that one word forced him to glance up into her face. Her calm demeanor fell apart in front of his eyes. Emma stepped back and raised her chin in challenge. “This is too important. Miss Howell will face the same circumstances as Lena. With the same result. We can’t allow this.”
“I can and I will.” His tight restraint had frayed and weakened. The final thread snapped. In two steps, he’d rounded the desk and stood before her, the space between them no more than a hand’s width. The heat of his anger radiated around them.
“Do you know what will happen to her? What kind of life you’ll sentence her to?” Emboldened, she wove every softly spoken word into an immovable conviction. She didn’t retreat as her gaze pierced his.
Her skirt brushed against his legs, and the weight anchored him. He couldn’t move, but his fury thrashed and twisted inside his chest, bucking and baying to free itself.
“First, it will be a bruise on the arm, perhaps in the shape of a handprint. Next, it’ll be a bruise on her face with the excuse she clumsily ran into a door, then a broken arm from falling in the pantry as she reached for a basket.” Her chest expanded as she drew a frantic breath. “Finally, she’ll trip or fall down the stairs because she misjudged a step. If she’s lucky, she’ll break her neck. If there’s a merciful God, she won’t have borne him any children, saving them from the same fate or worse as they see their mother destroyed in front of them.”
“It’s not my concern.” He kept his voice flat, though he was horrified at the life she described. In protest, his stomach roiled. She was manipulating him into doing her bidding.
“Perhaps not.” She never blinked. She wouldn’t allow his gaze to leave hers, like a battle of wills between two titans. Only she didn’t realize that he’d never capitulate—no matter what.
He drew back just an inch, just enough to escape her intense concentration, which seemed to shimmer in waves, each assault more powerful than the next.
Her tricks were deadly wicked. The sheen in her eyes pierced him deeper than a stiletto. His determination bled freely, and when mixed with her agony made a deadly combination that threatened everything he’d worked for over the years. He fisted his hands in an attempt to retain his hard-fought control.
“Don’t you see? It was my concern. Lena was my concern, and I did nothing.” Her voice weakened, and a sob escaped. She clutched her hand to her heart. “She wrote and shared the horror of her life in those very words, and I did nothing.”
“Emma, you’ll never get the money back.”
“Yes, I will. Miss Howell promised that once she came into her fortune, she’d pay me back with full interest. Even if she doesn’t”—Emma exhaled—“I don’t care. I’d be saving her life.”
It was an act of kindness on her part when she turned her head. One tear, and he would have surrendered. Never in his life did he want—no, need—to offer comfort as he did now. He desperately wanted to take away the anguish that feasted on her conscience.
“Don’t,” he whispered. Like a magnet he was drawn to her. No matter the cost, he had to comfort her. He moved to take her in his arms. “You’re torturing yourself.”
She whirled away and sought refuge by the fireplace. The flickering light of the flames shadowed her face as if kissing away her grief.
“Then help me.” She faced him, and the fire cast a red halo around her. The soft glow of light seemed to blaze from within her. She looked like an angel, and her words were a plea from her soul.
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br /> Her voice called to his heart, the same one he’d so carefully protected for an eternity. The mutinous organ pounded against his ribs trying to break through and reach her.
“If you help Miss Howell, then you help me unlock these chains that have weighed on me since I heard of Lena’s death.” She closed her eyes and tilted her head to the ceiling as if looking for strength. “Please, for me?”
He didn’t answer. Did she have any idea what it would cost him to help the blackguard? It would be akin to self-mutilation. If he gave his soul to the devil, he’d suffer less.
“Do you remember the words you spoke when we married? If you care for me…” The brittle timbre in her voice exposed her vulnerability. “I’m asking you now, if you feel anything for me, please—”
He cleared his throat in a desperate attempt to release the vise that had cinched it closed. Her pain, so pure and understandable, was palatable. But it didn’t diminish the vow he’d made to himself. What kind of a man would he be if he couldn’t abide by his own beliefs and truths?
“Don’t ask that, Emma. I’m sorry, but no. I promised myself years ago, I’d not have anything to do with Howell.” He took a deep breath and released it. He was exhausted, and it was time she accepted his decision. “The answer is no.”
She bent her head. In any other person, it would be a sign of defeat, surrender. She shook her head. Then the vivid green of her eyes caught his, and deep down he knew she wouldn’t relent. He almost gave thanks in relief. This was the creature he’d married, a beautiful, intelligent woman whose strength couldn’t be denied.
“If you don’t learn the power of forgiveness, then how can you expect me to forgive myself? How do you expect me to accept what I didn’t do for Lena? My Lena, who had no family nearby when she needed help. All she had was me.” Emma finally succumbed to the tears and gasped as if it was her last. “All the while she was married to that monster.”
Determined not to concede, he shook his head and increased the distance between them until he sat at his desk. She was close to breaking down not only her defenses, but his. He couldn’t let her change his beliefs. She had the power to strip everything from him, everything he trusted, and then throw it asunder.
“Nick.” The sound of her whisper was a gauntlet extended in challenge. “If you continue the path you’ve chosen, you’ll become like your father—empty and alone.”
“Emma, don’t interfere.” If she thought to use his father to turn his decision, she’d made a strategic error. Just the mention of his name doubled Nick’s resolve.
“Please, for both our sakes?” She balled her hands into fists as she pleaded.
“You’d betray me like this?” As soon as the words escaped, he regretted it. She stumbled a step. Astonishment colored her pale cheeks.
“Betray you?” The bridled anger in her voice didn’t hide her fury as her green eyes clawed him like talons. “All I’m asking for is a loan. How could you compare saving a woman’s life as a betrayal to you?”
Determined not to react, he stared purposely at her.
She pursed her lips into a tight line and exhaled. The gesture hopefully meant she’d seen the error of her thoughts. She studied her hands. “I would never, ever betray you. You’re … my husband. You’re mine.”
The fervent whisper of her words bespoke the truth. He allowed himself to relax. She wasn’t capable of hurting him intentionally or with little regard. He’d accused his own wife of diabolical actions, and it left a sour taste he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to purge from his mouth.
She cleared her throat. “I’ll ask Claire or my mother for assistance then.”
“Absolutely not. I forbid it. You’re my wife and my responsibility.” Running his hand through his hair, he continued. “I take care of you. You’ll not drag your family into this.”
“I don’t want to be your responsibility. I want to be your equal, your partner.”
“I don’t want to argue,” he bit out.
“You have a fortune. I mean so little to you that you’d choose your money over me.” The whispered declaration was as sharp as a slap across his face.
He’d allowed her access to his deepest weakness—the hope she’d love him. He couldn’t tell her what she meant to him because he was a coward to say what was in his heart. Not after the words he’d uttered. If she denounced him as unworthy, he doubted he’d ever recover. So, he responded the only way he knew how, the only thing he’d allow. “If you’ll excuse me?”
“You can make a difference in this woman’s life.” She left her refuge by the fireplace and stood before him. “I saw you do that with Mary Butler when she was so scared for her mother and you offered to take them in.”
She studied him in that inscrutable way she had—the one that could knock a man’s legs out from under him. “The question is whether you have the courage to offer it to others. Don’t let your father and others dictate your actions. You’re a completely different man than them.”
The heat of her gaze burned through him, but he ignored it. It was the best choice for both of them. “This isn’t like Portsmouth and Mary Butler. It’s personal for me like Aulton is personal for you. Howell and my father are lines that will never be crossed.” His lips curled into a sneer. “Don’t push me, Emma. You’ll not like the results.”
“I see the results, Nick, and you leave me no choice.” With an innate grace, she walked away from him.
Her simple act of leaving gouged the foundation of his beliefs. For a brief instant, he felt the rejection, much like he did when his father left him.
“I’ll find another way,” she whispered, but the sound flew across the room like a javelin. She opened the door and gave him a final look, the same disappointment as his father’s reflected in her gaze. Finally, the door softly clicked close.
Like an ancient Celtic warrioress, she’d made an excellent throw. She’d pierced his heart, and his conscience bled with the words.
How could he have let this happen? All his life he’d desperately wanted to hear that he was loved and valued—words that someone claimed him as their own. When Emma had passionately described her love for Lena, everything within him had stilled. The chance for something so rare and so precious with his wife had been before him, and he’d squandered it. In order to keep from changing his mind and running after her, he stared at the neatly arranged papers on his desk. Instead of relief, a familiar numbness enveloped him, one that he hadn’t experienced since that fateful day at Eton.
It was easier this way, so he just … sat at his desk and went back to work.
Later, he entered the library. To pass the time, he poured a small glass of Claire’s family whisky. The spirit’s smoky-peat fragrance matched its taste—bold and fiery. It immediately brought to mind Emma when she’d left his study earlier.
He had to convince her to accept his reasoning. She couldn’t expect him to disregard his own values and principles to help Howell. If only Miss Howell had come to Emma without Howell’s interference, Nick’s decision would be different. However, with that arrogant arse to have asked for the funds, it was out of the question.
Her terse advice to make amends with his father wasn’t even to be considered. Nick would rather find the next ship sailing out of London to nowhere than see Renton again.
“My lord, her ladyship will not be joining you this evening,” Whaley announced as if he were an obnoxious town crier.
“Where is she?” Nick took another sip.
“She’s indisposed.” The valet shed the persona of Somer House’s official proclaimer and addressed Nick directly. “Arial shared our countess is upset over something, but she doesn’t know why.” His surliness returned with a vengeance. “Do you?”
“Have a tray prepared and delivered to my study.” He ignored Whaley’s latest theatrical performance and downed the remaining whisky in hope it would lessen the pain. “I’ll be working the rest of the evening.”
He tried to bury the intense sting at
the news Emma wouldn’t join him. She wanted nothing to do with him, and he’d hurt her enough that she couldn’t stand his company.
Just as his father had declared.
He was a fool to even try for anything more or allow such thoughts. Disgusted with his own weakness, so similar to the one he’d experienced years ago in front of his father, he’d turn to the only comfort he could rely on—his work.
He had to stay true to himself. Let Howell go to hell.
* * *
Light from the midday sun beamed into the windows of Emma’s bank. No matter how much light entered, it didn’t diminish the dreariness that seeped into every inch of her office.
Last night, for the first time of their married life, Emma didn’t sleep with Nick. Their argument had been too raw. She’d seen the futility of her actions. She shuddered a breath and managed to keep her defiant heart from breaking. But she was losing the battle. She’d fallen in love, kicking and screaming the whole way. At first, their easy companionship had been ideal, but she’d let her guard down. How simple to dismiss all her objections to marriage.
Eventually, as it always does, the truth tore down the walls she’d created stone by stone, brick by brick, until she couldn’t ignore it anymore.
She believed she’d carved the perfect marriage for herself, one with a husband who cherished her values and beliefs as much as she did. Never did she think the stark truth of his regard for her would be this blistering. His resolve to view the world in a way that benefited only him was a truth she hadn’t wanted to accept. But now she must since he’d made it abundantly clear—he’d never relinquish his own personal vendetta even if it destroyed her. He’d either disregarded her need for absolution or didn’t care.
From her own family and her interaction with Jonathan, she’d finally accepted what she didn’t want to believe—Lena’s death didn’t justify any retribution. She couldn’t stop asking the same question repeatedly, ad nauseam—if it had been Aulton murdered by his wife, would there have been a different standard of justice? She suspected the answer would ravage her so completely she’d lose herself.
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