Marrying the American Heiress: A Victorian Historical Romance (Brides of Scandal Book 2)

by Diana Bold

“I’ll leave the telling up to you.” Dylan dropped into the other chair. “This problem might not amount to a hill of beans, anyway. I just thought you might be interested in the latest bit of gossip that’s been floating around.”

  “Gossip?” He selected one of the cigars and shut the box with an impatient snap. “You know I’ve never listened to gossip.”

  “Well, I do,” Dylan replied. “Especially when it concerns you.”

  Michael sighed and cut the end of the cigar, then lit it and brought it to his lips. The rich smoke pooled in his lungs before he released it in an aromatic cloud. “What are they saying?”

  “The general consensus seems to be that you killed the old bastard.” Dylan frowned. “What concerns me most, though, is the genuine anger of a few senior members of Parliament when they found out you weren’t going to be tried. They were bandying about the idea of asking the queen to strip you of the title.”

  “They can’t do that.” Nausea twisted in the pit of Michael’s stomach. “Can they?”

  “I don’t think so.” Dylan pushed out of his chair and began to pace, obviously unable to keep up his casual pose. “But I think the best move would be to try and gain an audience with the queen as soon as possible. She needs to hear your side of the story before anyone can poison her against you.”

  “You’re absolutely right. I’ll have my father-in-law’s solicitors check into the legalities.” He didn’t bother to tell his brother that the loss of his title frightened him far more than the prospect of hanging. After all, his title was the reason Emma had married him.

  What would she do if he no longer had anything to offer her?

  Dylan didn’t try to conceal his concern. “I still feel as though this is my fault. It would have been better for everyone if I’d confronted the earl myself.”

  Michael tossed the cigar into an ashtray and stood. He crossed to his brother’s side and placed a comforting hand on Dylan’s shoulder. The last thing he wanted to do was add to Dylan’s guilt.

  “I don’t think so,” Michael reassured him. “He didn’t show any remorse, and I’m sure your anger would have gotten the best of you. Besides, I needed to do it myself. I don’t know if I ever would believe our mother’s life meant so little to him if I hadn’t heard it from his own lips.”

  “You’re probably right about my temper,” Dylan admitted. “But it isn’t fair that the blame for this should be yours alone. In my opinion, there shouldn’t be any blame. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

  Michael moved to a window and stared at the people on the street below. “I must admit I’m a bit surprised that people are so willing to think the worst of me.”

  Dylan sighed. “You’ve always been so bloody perfect. It’s human nature to rejoice when the mighty fall.”

  “Mighty?” A bitter laugh escaped his lips. “Without my title, without Warren or Sherbourne, I’ll be the most pathetic of men—a parasite who lives off his wife’s money.”

  What would become of him, without his estates to care for? What would he do with the rest of his life?

  “You could never be a parasite,” Dylan assured him. “I know you too well. You’ll find some worthy cause. Hell, who knows? The title has always held you down, limited your choices. This might be a blessing in disguise.”

  For just a moment, Michael allowed himself to ponder his brother’s words. He imagined taking Emma on the wedding trip she’d wanted.

  Unfortunately, he couldn't get past the fact that the trip would be financed with Emma’s money.

  He speared Dylan with a look. “Tell me how you’d have felt if you didn’t have Aldabaran and had to rely solely on Natalia’s dowry. Tell me it wouldn’t have made you feel less of a man.”

  Dylan dropped his gaze. “I suppose you’re right. I don’t think that I would handle it well.”

  “I wouldn’t be able to handle it all,” Michael told him. “So, I suppose I’ll just have to find a way to make sure it never happens.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Emma stared through the darkness at her bedroom ceiling, acutely aware of the empty space between her and her husband.

  Dylan and Natalia had stayed for supper, but Michael had been quiet and withdrawn ever since he and Dylan had disappeared for their celebratory cigar. She was certain that Dylan had imparted yet another piece of bad news, but if so, Michael hadn’t made any effort to share it with her.

  He’d gone about his duties as host until their guests had left, then told her he was tired and retired to bed. When she insisted on accompanying him, he’d seemed rather annoyed, though, of course, he was too well bred to tell her so.

  When she emerged from her dressing room in a sheer burgundy nightgown, he’d feigned sleep.

  She’d slid beneath the covers and tried to snuggle close to him, but he’d pulled away and rolled to the far side of the bed. To her stunned disbelief, he’d turned his back to her and murmured some poor excuse about his sore shoulder.

  Her anger and dismay grew with each passing moment. Now, nearly an hour later, she was tempted to smother him with her pillow.

  How could their marriage survive if Michael continued to retreat into his shell every time something bothered him? She resented the fact that he’d created this gulf between them and she was forced to either let it remain or be the one to cross it.

  She wished she was strong enough to give him a taste of his own medicine. More than anything, she’d like to turn her back as well, pretend she didn’t care about his pain. She wanted to make him admit he needed her, or better yet, that he loved her the way she loved him.

  Unfortunately, she wasn’t that patient. She couldn’t bear to let the silence fester between them for even one more second.

  Sighing, she pressed against the tense and unyielding line of his back and slid her arm around his lean waist. “What’s wrong, Michael? Why are you shutting me out again?”

  He inhaled sharply as her hand came to rest against the warm flat plane of his bare stomach. “I’m sorry. I just didn’t want to bother you with more of my problems.”

  Emma pressed her lips to the back of his neck and rubbed her cheek against his soft golden hair. “I want to share your life. All of it. Not just the good parts.”

  “Lately, the only good part of my life is you.” The sincerity of the soft words thrilled her, but her happiness faded as he pressed his hand over hers and urged her to stroke the rigid length of his arousal. “Make love to me, Emma. I need you so much.”

  She pushed away and scrambled to her knees in the middle of the big bed. “That’s all you want from me, isn’t it?” The truth was suddenly all too clear. “I feel like such a fool, prattling on about trust and love, when all you want is a warm willing body.”

  “Don’t say that.” He pulled her into his arms and held her so tight she could hardly breathe. “That’s not true, Emma. That’s not true.”

  “It is true,” she argued, still struggling. “The only time I feel close to you is when you’re inside me. When you’re not making love to me, I feel like I don’t even know you.”

  “I don’t want it to be like that.” Michael brushed his lips against her temple and ignored her when she tried to push him away. “I just don’t know how else to reach out to you.”

  She stilled, her breath coming in harsh pants, overwhelmed by emotion. “You can start by talking to me. Tell me what is bothering you. Don’t shut me out.”

  “You’re going to make me do this, aren’t you?” He sighed and scooted backward. He leaned against the headboard and anchored her against his chest. “I wanted to take care of it myself, so you wouldn’t have to worry.”

  “You don’t think it worries me when you turn away as though I have the plague?”

  His arms tightened in a reflexive hug. “I worry that if I keep presenting you with one catastrophe after another, you’ll turn away from me. In fact, I’m surprised you’ve stuck with me this far.”

  “I’m stronger than you think. Especially when it comes
to those I love.” This was the second time she’d mentioned loving him tonight, and she’d die if he didn’t reciprocate soon.

  To her intense disappointment, he did nothing of the sort. He released his stranglehold and cupped her cheek with his palm. “Would you feel the same way if I wasn’t the Earl of Warren, or even Viscount Sherbourne?”

  “Of course,” she answered, without hesitation, but she wondered where he was going with this.

  “Well, you may have to prove it.” He let his head fall back against the headboard with a solid thud. “Dylan informed me that the queen may strip me of the title.”

  She tried to see his face in the dark. It would kill him to lose the title. “Is that even possible?”

  “I don’t know.” Despair roughened his voice. “I’ve never heard of such a thing. But then I’ve never known a peer to murder his own father, either.”

  “But you didn’t kill anybody. This is ridiculous.” No wonder he’d been so morose all evening. He defined himself by his title. She couldn’t imagine what he’d do if he lost Sherbourne Hall.

  “Ridiculous or not, there’s a very real possibility it might happen.”

  Without his duties and responsibilities, he would flounder. He would never even consider the fact that this might be his only chance to break free of his father’s shadow and see the world.

  She wished the queen would take it all away, but the thought produced a surge of guilt. Above all else, she wanted Michael to be happy. Even if that meant living in rural England in a drafty old house without running water for the rest of her life.

  “We can’t let this happen.” She tried her best to keep from letting her true feelings show. “Just tell me what you need me to do.”

  He rested his forehead against hers for a long moment, as she cursed the darkness that kept her from reading his expression. She should have lit the bedside lamp.

  “We’ll figure things out in the morning.” He sounded weary to his very soul. “For now, let’s try and get some sleep.”

  * * *

  Michael tossed and turned all night as he contemplated his dwindling options. His entire future hinged on his ability to make the right choices during the next few days. He must get the proper people to see things his way, then compose the perfect defense to present to the queen.

  It wouldn’t be easy, but he refused to give up without a fight. Especially after Emma had made her opinions on the matter clear. She’d professed a willingness to do anything to help him keep his title.

  He didn’t want to disappoint her.

  As much as it hurt to accept that her affection had been contingent on the title all along, in a way, he was relieved. Now that he knew for certain what she wanted from him, it wouldn’t be so difficult to provide it.

  He slipped out of bed just before sunrise and dressed quietly in the half-light. None of the people he needed to see would be up at this hour, but he couldn’t bear to remain home any longer.

  Perhaps he could work out some of his restless energy in a reckless ride through the park. He’d much prefer a sparring match with Julian but had to admit his shoulder wasn’t quite up to the task.

  He finished pulling on his boots as the first rays of sunlight crept through the window and limned his wife’s lovely face in clear pure light. He paused, transfixed by the sight of her.

  She’d be angry when she woke up and found him gone. He’d allowed her to believe he wanted her help, and he knew she wouldn’t let the matter rest. But his pride would not allow him to let her do anything else on his behalf.

  His father-in-law had already managed to clear him of any criminal charges. He couldn’t bear to owe someone else for the privilege of keeping his title, his very birthright.

  He had to do this on his own. Hopefully, Emma would understand, or at least forgive him in time.

  Sighing, he reached out and brushed a lock of silky black hair off her cheek. If only things could be different. He longed for a marriage like the one she so obviously wanted, one where they shared equally in all tasks and her problems became his and vice versa.

  Unfortunately, he’d been the only one with any problems thus far. And he couldn’t accept both her money and her help. Not when he had nothing to offer her in return.

  * * *

  By the time Emma awoke, Michael had already gone out. It was early, not yet 7:30.

  She couldn’t imagine what had sent him rushing off without her, especially after the conversation they’d had last night.

  Didn’t he understand how much she wanted to be a part of this? How eager she was to prove her love for him?

  She was going through the morning mail when the butler, Wadsworth, rapped on the door of her sitting room.

  “Lady Jane Bennett just arrived unannounced, my lady. Shall I tell her you’re not at home?”

  She put down the stack of invitations she’d been going through and gave Wadsworth an annoyed glance. “I am home, Wadsworth. What makes you think I want you to tell my best friend differently?”

  “Very good, my lady. I’ll tell her you’ll be with her shortly.” Wadsworth’s dour face twitched as he obviously tried to contain his own annoyance. In his condescending and solicitous way, he’d made it very clear that she was not his idea of a proper countess.

  She didn’t care. She found the entire farce of social calls and calling cards beyond ridiculous. Thank goodness Jane was here. She needed to talk to someone.

  Rising, she hurried downstairs to meet her friend. As soon as she entered the parlor, she knew something wonderful had happened to Jayne. Her friend’s pale face was rosy with happiness, and she shone with an inner peace Emma doubted she would ever find.

  “Oh, Emma.” Jane embraced her in an exuberant hug. “I’m so glad to see you.”

  Emma returned the hug wholeheartedly and reflected that Jane had changed quite a bit from the prim and proper lady she’d met all those months ago. “I’m glad to see you, too.”

  Emma gestured for Jane to take a seat beside her on the loveseat. “What has you so happy this morning?”

  Jane blushed. “I’d rather not talk about it just yet.”

  A frisson of alarm went through Emma. What if Julian had seduced Jane and had no intention of following through with his offer of marriage? Shaking her head, she banished the pessimistic idea. If any man had ever been smitten with a woman, it was Julian.

  Emma only wished she could be as certain about Michael’s affection for her.

  Leaning forward, Emma squeezed her friend’s hand. “All right, I won’t push. But you have to tell me what’s going on soon.”

  Jane nodded, sobering. “How are things with you, Emma? You’ve been through so much during the last few weeks.”

  “Well, I’ll admit it’s been very stressful. When Michael failed to come to my bed on our wedding night, I thought I’d remain a virgin forever.”

  Jane’s blue eyes widened. “Michael didn’t come to you on your wedding night? Why on earth not?”

  Emma sighed. “I didn’t know what had happened at the time. I’m sure you can imagine the terrible possibilities that ran through my head. But in the end, it turned out that he’d just found out the truth about his mother’s death. He spent the night in the study, trying to drink away the pain.”

  “I’m sure it must’ve been quite a shock to him. To learn that his own father was capable of such a horrible thing.”

  “I think a little part of him died that night.” Emma put her worst fears into words. “He certainly hasn’t been the same since.”

  “Does that mean you still haven’t consummated your marriage?” Jane asked, her blue eyes wide.

  Emma gave a self-conscious laugh. “Michael took care of that matter quite nicely before he went back to London to see his father. I only wish Dylan had kept his secrets to himself just a little bit longer. I would have liked to spend more time with my husband before his entire world fell apart.”

  “But surely Michael’s told you how much he loves you,” Jan
e asserted. “How can you possibly doubt him?”

  “He’s done nothing of the sort. I told him of my love, but he’s never reciprocated. I can’t stop worrying that he only wants me for my dowry.”

  “I refuse to believe that. I’ve seen the way he looks at you. Trust me when I say your husband cares for you more than anything else on earth.”

  “Then why was it so easy for him to walk away from me?” The pain she’d tried so hard to hide exploded in a wail of dismay. “Why couldn’t he trust me enough to tell me the truth?”

  “I don’t know,” Jane whispered. “I can only guess that it’s hard for him to open himself up to anyone.”

  “You’re probably right. I hope you’re right. I just wish there was something I could do to convince him how much I care for him. I’d be willing to do almost anything…” She trailed off as an idea came to her. “Oh, Jane. I think I know just the thing. But I might need your help.”

  “I’ll help any way I can,” Jane agreed, though she sounded wary.

  “Well, I know how devastated Michael is at the thought of losing his title. What if I could save it for him?”

  “How would you do that?” Jane asked.

  “Perhaps I can ask the prince to intervene on his behalf.” Her excitement grew as a plan began to take shape. “I’m sure I could get him to see how much Michael deserves to keep what’s his. How taking Warren away from Michael would only hurt the Crown.”

  Jane shook her head. “I’m not sure that would be such a good idea. The prince is unpredictable. And Michael has never been one of his favorites.”

  “You may be right, but it certainly can’t hurt to try, can it?”

  Jane was silent for a long moment, but then she nodded. “I suppose it couldn’t hurt to try.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Are you quite certain you want to do this?” Michael frowned at Emma as he helped her into Julian’s elaborate coach. “We’re bound to be the center of whispers and gossip. We may even be shunned outright.”