To be fair, those things were perhaps not quite the same as her omissions. His were relatively minor. And really, he had only hired Harry Greer because Caroline herself was not precisely forthcoming with details about her past. Her lies? Well, hers were a bit different, and despite everything, she should have revealed the truth.
Now, she and Marcus were to be married. She would have the protection of his name. They would share a life together. She should have spoken up. It was only right. He might have been angry at first, but in time, he would likely have understood that she had not been given a choice.
Except that she hadn't spoken, not a single word, and now she might have just condemned herself to a life apart from the only man she had ever loved. The truth was, Caroline did not know how to love - at least not really. Oh, she knew her father had loved her, but he, too had not told her the truth of things. She hadn't known, for instance, that her mother had indulged with a string of lovers after Caroline had been born, certain she would never give birth to the requisite Redwing heir. It was on a carriage ride home from one of those very assignations that Lady Frances Turner had fallen getting out of the coach and punctured her hand on an errant nail. The wound had become infected and she had died a few weeks later.
For much of her childhood, Caroline believed her mother had died of a fever brought on by early childbirth with a male child - the much-longed-for Redwing heir. It was only after she found her mother's diary that Caroline had discovered the truth. No one had ever thought that she deserved to know the truth. The lie was easier to live with she realized now, but that didn't necessarily make it right. That was not love. It was control. And it was all she had ever known.
Her Uncle Lewis had been no better. He was a lying scoundrel from the beginning, lying not just to her but to others including local lawmen, peers of the realm, creditors and just about every living person under the sun. In turn, he had forced Caroline to lie as well. Her cousin Norbert? He lied so that no one would know how truly awful his father had been, how he had been beaten so often and usually so savagely that once he had almost died at his father's hands.
That beating had been the catalyst for Caroline's introduction to both Dr. Hastings and Gibson Blackwell. Those men were upright and honest. They did not lie, at least not as her family did. They had, in many ways, reminded her of Marcus. Perhaps that was why she adored them so much, why she had confessed to them as much as she had about her situation with her uncle. She had told them the truth. Why could she not do so with Marcus?
Because she loved Marcus, she decided. With Marcus, that singular emotion was the difference, the only one that counted, really. She did not love Gibson or Dr. Hastings. She cared for them certainly, especially Gibson who had remained behind in Northumbria to care for Norbert when Dr. Hastings had been determined to return Caroline to her rightful place in London society. But it was not the same.
Caroline had loved Marcus enough to defend him from certain death. She had never told him that either, again a failure on her part, afraid that he would not accept her gift for what it was. It was a gift of love, her way of offering him words that she did not trust herself enough to speak aloud.
Then Caroline realized that she had never told Marcus that she loved him. She had never trusted either of them enough to say the words, fearful that he might fling them back at her, unwanted. Afraid that he might put her aside, inform her that he was in love with Lady X. Even after they had shared a bed and their bodies, she had not told him. That morning, just as today, fear had paralyzed her. Fear of everything. Fear of trust.
Well, no longer. With new resolve Caroline dried her eyes, determined to set things right.
Marcus had loved her for longer than he could remember. She had loved him before she knew what love truly was. She had to believe that a few short days had not completely destroyed that love. She needed to trust that it still existed between them. Damaged certainly, but not irretrievably broken. She had to trust that if she told him the truth, he would forgive her. Maybe not today, but in time.
If nothing else, she owed him the truth. And her trust. Nothing less would do.
Chapter Fourteen
As evening fell, Marcus wanted nothing more than to beat someone or something senseless, his mood as foul as it had ever been. All because of Caroline - damn her miserable, beautiful hide. Sadly, that was his perpetual state these days. Angry. Black. Distrustful.
He wanted to hate her; he truly did. Except that he could not. Caroline had been his friend and confidante when he had known no other. She had been his friend, his playmate, and, for one perfect night, his lover. No, he could not hate her. He loved her too much. However he was still furious with her. He also did not see that changing any time soon.
Marcus had no idea how long he brooded in the warm comfort of his library, but when the sound of a throat clearing started him, he looked up, surprised to discover that not only had it grown very nearly dark, but his friend Nicholas was standing in the doorway, slouched against the frame and looking, as usual, rather bored.
"Good of you to finally notice me, old friend." There was a laconic tone in the duke's words but Marcus had the impression that he was not truly as bored or as disinterested as he pretended.
"I am to assume Towson let you in." Marcus rose and went to the sideboard, pouring three healthy fingers of scotch into two glasses. He handed one to Nicholas before leaning back against his desk in a very good imitation of his friend's pose. However no one could match the notorious Duke of Candlewood for sheer displays of ennui.
Nicholas raised his glass in a toast and drank deeply. "You would assume correctly. At first I thought you might be in your father's study, going over the estate accounts or something equally as boring in what I knew would be a vain attempt to calm yourself. Then I remembered the source of your irritation and knew I'd find you here instead." With glass still in hand he gestured to the dark, wood paneled room around them that did not have a single hint of anything feminine to soften the almost Gothic lines, having changed very little since Marcus' grandfather had redone the room years ago. "You always did prefer this room over all others."
He had. This room was where Marcus had noticed for the first time that Caroline was a woman as she had railed at him one sunny summer day years ago, just before they were about to depart for the country. It had been about pianoforte lessons or some other feminine art that he had no real interest in hearing about. Yet as Caroline had worked herself into a fine temper over what she saw as her father's high-handedness, she had been outlined in the golden, late-afternoon sun, her hair like a sunset bursting with color, her willowy body showing just the right amount of curve he liked. And Marcus had fallen in lust.
It had not been love. Marcus was not so foolish as to call it love, either. After all, he was young, still in school, and not yet ready to seek a wife. But someday, he had told himself at that moment, someday he would have this magical creature for his own. When he was ready and on his terms. Now he was about to make that very wish come true. He only wished he was a bit more excited about the prospect.
"Was there something in particular you wanted, Nick?" Marcus could not keep the note of irritation from his voice. He wanted to be alone, to wallow in his misery over Caroline and his ruined body. If he was whole, then perhaps she would not have lied to him. Or perhaps she still would have. As he did not have a bloody clue what she was hiding, he could not be certain. And that made him even angrier.
The duke pushed himself away from the door, draining his glass and then moving back to the sideboard to get another. "I had come to see if you were interested in visiting the club this evening. It has been quite some time since you graced its hallowed halls. Or if not there, there is a new gaming hell, Lycosura, that is all the rage at the moment. It is presided over by a lovely young thing, Desponia, or so I am told." The expression on his face indicated that Candlewood was extremely familiar with the hell and its proprietress, probably more than he should have been. On either count.
"I though we were past Greeks and onto Egyptians. It was my understanding that the north of Africa is now quite the thing," Marcus said with a frown. "A place to worship mysteries? Really?"
"You already do. Worship a mystery that is," Candlewood tossed back easily, as if he had planned this turn in the conversation all along. He probably had.
Marcus' glass froze on the way to his lips. "I do not. I do not love Caroline. I never have and I never will. She is a diversion. Nothing more. And now I am forced to wed the silly chit, much to my chagrin." Then he glared at the duke, almost daring the other man to contradict him.
For a moment, he did not. Then Candlewood began to laugh, a low, rusty sound that grew into a full fledged chuckle, which then morphed into a true laugh, one that Marcus could not remember hearing before.
"Oh, that is a good one. Best joke I've heard in years." Candlewood wiped his eyes as tears of what Marcus could only assume was amusement streamed from them. "Don't love her? My God man! You've been besotted with the chit since we were all but out of leading strings! I have never known a time that you did not pant after her like a rabid dog ready to mate."
"How dare you!" Marcus temper flared but it was no match for the duke's.
Candlewood straightened, all earlier traces of humor gone. "How dare I what? Tell the truth? A truth that you refuse to see?" He shook his head and stalked further into the room. "It is time for this charade to end, Marcus. You have a chit who adores you and always has, ripe and ready for the taking. To make it worse, you adore her! So do not give me that sob story about not loving her, and do not dishonor her so. She has endued more in her life than many of our set ever will. Do not fault her for the choices she has made when there was no one, not even you, about to save her."
"What would you even know about it?" Marcus roared, the earlier anger, the pain and humiliation rushing back in the span of a breath. He wanted to smash his glass against the wall but somehow managed to hold himself in check.
"A good deal more than you would think." Candlewood reigned in his temper as well. "I know you hired Greer to investigate Caroline's time in Northumbria. You had questions about the so-called Mystery of the Ton. Do you truly think you were the first?"
"Well...no. Not exactly." In truth, Marcus had not given it much thought. He assumed that, given Caroline's unmarried status no one had bothered to learn the truth of her time away, or that they all simply accepted the story she spun about going into seclusion after the death of her father.
Crossing his arms over his chest, Candlewood leveled him with a glare. "You were not. The day that Dr. Hastings pulled your bleeding body from your chambers, do you remember what you asked of me? Begged really?"
"To watch over Caroline." He didn't remember much about that day, including how Hastings and not another quack physician had come to be in his chambers. But he did remember that.
"And I kept my promise." Nicholas' voice was soft, almost deadly now. "I am the Bloody Duke of Candlewood, remember? The man who lets no request go unfulfilled." Marcus knew his friend was referring to Nicholas' long-rumored reputation for fighting duels. "So I did as you asked. I hired a man from Bow Street. Not Greer, but another. His predecessor, actually. And what I learned..." He trailed off and looked out the window, visions clearly dancing before his eyes, ones that Marcus could not even begin to fathom.
"She did not have an easy time of it, our Caroline." Candlewood's voice was soft and full of something that Marcus might have called pride. "She bore up well, better than another of her gender might, I imagine. And when she returned?" Nicholas turned back to Marcus once more, his eyes dark and glittering with anger. "She did what was necessary."
That did not help make the situation any clearer, at least in Marcus' mind. "Well what did she do exactly? Other than start a gossip column?"
"Those are her secrets." Nicholas drained his drink and placed his glass back on the sideboard. "They are not mine to tell. But you would do well to ask her, especially if you plan to still wed her." He glared at Marcus, his thoughts on the matter abundantly clear. "And given that I have not heard rumor otherwise, I am going to assume the two of you are still betrothed."
"We are." Marcus did not like the idea very much at the moment, but he would not go back on his word. He had made a promise and he would adhere to it. Even if it killed him.
"Then ask her." Nicholas shook his head. "Much as it pains you, for I know you loathe listening above all things, let her speak. It will only be then that you can protect her. For there are many people out there who know her secrets. Not amongst our set, but in the lower classes. And they would destroy her if given the chance."
"She lied to me." Despite it all, Marcus could still not get past that one very basic fact.
Candlewood shrugged as if that fact did not matter. "She did. But she had her reasons."
"And what of men like McTavish who would blackmail her, or me for that matter? For I know what he was about last night."
The duke waved a hand dismissively. "Do not worry about McTavish. Enwright and I have seen to it that he will not bother her - or you - again. The man made the very grave mistake of crossing our erstwhile Devil Duke once too often. Had he but left well enough alone and heeded Enwright's warning to disappear after the man tried to sell his beloved Lucy to the same house of ill repute? Well, then perhaps his punishment would not have been so dire. Then again, once Enwright learned of the man's other sins, perhaps the outcome was even less of a punishment than he deserved."
"Do I even want to know where the man is?" Marcus could think of a number of punishments he would have liked to inflict upon the man, but he suspected that whatever Enwright had done, it was more likely than not a suitable end for the man.
Candlewood yawned, as if the conversation bored him once more, and Marcus quickly realized the other man was wrapping himself in his familiar cloak of indifference once more. "Last night we took the man to the docks and sold him to a press gang." There was no trace of regret in the duke's voice. "He is, at this very moment, bound for America, I believe. According to Enwright's sources, there are plenty of work opportunities for a man with his lack of skill. Should he even survive the voyage, that is."
Marcus knew he should be shocked at McTavish's fate, but he was not. Once upon a time, when he had been a whole man, he would have done the same. Or worse. He had been every bit as cunning and ferocious as his friends. It was why they were friends after all. "You are correct. That fate was too good for him."
For some reason, that made Candlewood smile. "Ah, I knew there was a bit of the old Marcus left inside of you." Then he quickly sobered. "That man, the man you used to be, would have heard Caroline out. He would have listened to the woman he loved and then made a decision based on facts. For as much of a libertine as you once were, there was always that singular trace of good in you. It made you better than any of the rest of us."
"I am not that man any longer." Of that, Marcus was certain.
"A pity, then." Candlewood turned to walk out the door, but stopped, his hand resting on the doorjamb. Given the way his knuckles whitened as he gripped the frame, Marcus knew his friend was still extremely angry. "I am not the only one among us who knows of her past, but rest assured that those who do know are loyal to her and will not speak of it. She has our protection, at the very least, even if she will never have yours."
Then he issued what Marcus knew was his parting shot. "And if you cannot keep your promise, my friend, and marry the girl with some degree of haste so no harm befalls her, know this. There are others among our friends who will." Then he smiled, that same darkly charming, yet somehow sinister smile that had chilled the souls of numerous men over the years. "Perhaps even me."
Then Candlewood was gone, leaving Marcus alone in his library, the dying embers of the fire casting shards of light in a soft glow around the room. For the longest time he sat and stared into the still-glowing hearth, his mind considering all that had just occurred. Around him, shadows danced
as the night deepened, but he did not see them. All he saw was Caroline.
Whatever her sins, Candlewood, as well as several other influential people apparently, knew of them. And whatever those sins were, they had forgiven her for her misdeeds. How much did those others know? All or some? That was not a question that even Nicholas could answer, at least to Marcus' way of thinking. The only one who had all of the answers was Caroline.
And she had tried to tell him something, perhaps even the truth. Before Marcus had taken her for the first time, she had tried to speak. He remembered that so very clearly. But he had refused to hear her out, his heart secretly fearing that whatever she told him would change things between them. He had not wanted that. He had only wanted her.
Marcus was ashamed to admit it but he had wanted nothing more than to continue to live in ignorant bliss. If he could pretend that Caroline was still the same girl she had been seven years ago, that she held no secrets, then he could pretend the same was true of him. That he was still the same dashing young rake that had cut a wide path through ton, claiming the hearts and beds of both the innocent and not-so-innocent alike.
Except that Marcus was not that man any longer. He was battered. Broken. But perhaps not so much as he often allowed himself to think. He did, after all, retain some degree of sight in his left eye and his right leg was not so poorly off that he would need the cane forever. At least not according to Dr. Hastings. No, there were men home from the war who were in much more physical distress than he. He was simply feeling sorry for himself.
It was time to stop. It was time to start acting like a man. That would start, he decided, by seeking out Caroline and, if not quite apologizing, for he wasn't a molly after all, then at least giving her the opportunity to present her side of things.
A Viscount of Mystery Page 21