"I'm afraid I cannot," Leah said, her voice quiet, almost hoarse, as if rubbed raw from smothered sobs.
Richard's hand tightened on his fork until the long bones running from wrist to knuckles strained against his skin.
So, Rachel thought, he still harbored feelings for the chit. She would have to act fast, before he cast caution to the wind and confessed all to his young bride. Rachel could not let that happen. She greatly feared that Leah might forgive him anything.
"Nonsense," she said, as if instructing a wayward child. "You must attend. It is an engagement ball for Richard's dearest friend and his betrothed. If you do not go, everyone will assume you disapprove of Lady Julia. I know you do not want that to happen. All you need to do is dance once or twice, and then you can leave. That shouldn't be so difficult, should it?"
His jaw as rigid as a chiseled slab of granite, Richard shoved back his chair. He stood and bowed in Leah's general direction. "I shall return in time to escort you to the ball. Now, if you will excuse me, I have business to which I must attend" He turned on his heel and stalked from the room.
Leah stared at her plate.
"You do look a trifle peaked," Rachel murmured, before sipping her tea. "Are you unwell? Should we fetch the doctor?"
"Do not trouble yourself on my account" Leah pressed her linen to her lips, then folded the cloth and placed it on the table, as if she were preparing to leave.
But Rachel wasn't through with her yet. "I cannot help but notice that you look upset. 'Tis a pity. Somehow I thought it was different this time. I thought he truly cared for you. But I can see I was mistaken. It seems St. Austin is incapable of lasting affection, after all." She paused, as if she were reluctant to continue, relishing the pain that closed Leah's eyes and turned her cheeks a ghastly shade of gray. Then she leaned forward and whispered, "He was in love once. Very deeply."
Leah's brows lifted, but she did not reply. She turned her gaze toward the conservatory beyond the door, the towering palms and ornamental trees, silvery green in the morning sunlight.
The silence lengthened until Leah finally blurted out, "What happened?"
Rachel sighed mournfully. "Such a sad story. Worthy of a Shakespearean tragedy. Two star crossed lovers separated by their parents and the circumstances of their birth. She was the daughter of a marquess, you see. Too high for a mere second son. Her parents forced her to wed another. Richard has never recovered. I fear he will never love anyone but her."
Leah placed her hands on the table, then slowly pushed from her chair. Her face went as white as the tablecloth beneath her palms and she swayed on her feet.
For a moment, Rachel thought the girl might faint, but she took a steadying breath. "Please, forgive me," she said, pulling her shoulders back and meeting Rachel's gaze. "I find I am a trifle unwell after all. But never fear, I shall rally."
Rachel smiled into her teacup. She almost pitied the girl.
Chapter Twenty-Four
This was the last ball she would ever attend, Leah decided as she made her way toward the door, intent upon finding the carriage and returning to the house. Her progress slowed as every woman she passed seemed determined to greet her, and every man, to ask her to dance. Where before she was a pariah, tonight she was the reigning toast. Never had she felt more alone.
No doubt she owed her new-found popularity to the great hulking beast walking at her side, the arrogant Duke of St. Austin, daring meager mortals to offer his wife some slanderous look or misguided word. As much as she willed herself to remain unaffected, she breathed the intoxicating scent of his skin, felt the heat of his fingers brushing over her arm as he touched his hand to her elbow. It was all she could do not to fling her arms around his neck and beg him to love her. But she would not degrade herself with such a pathetic display of neediness.
She wished he would leave her alone, join his friends in the gaming parlours, anything but slip his hand from her elbow to her spine, warm fingers splaying wide to guide her past the couples rushing to join the first country dance.
He had not so much as looked at her since they arrived, save for a scathing glance at the neckline of her gown when she'd first removed her cloak. Though modest in comparison to the ladies around her, it was more daring than anything she had worn before. Her tightly laced stay, while making it nearly impossible for her to breathe, pushed her breasts together and thrust them upward. If she had hoped to elicit some response from Richard, she had failed miserably, but she kept her smile on her face and laughed at the witty banter of her companions.
From across the room, she could feel the intensity of Lord Greydon's stare upon her face, the same searching look with which he had graced her when first she had met him in her husband's library, and again as she had made her way through the receiving line to meet his affianced bride. It made her uncomfortable, and Leah couldn't begin to say why. It was not as if it were a predatory gaze meant to seduce her. Rather, it was as if he were trying to solve some mystery, or as if he were trying to see inside her soul. What he hoped to find, Leah could not imagine.
His bride-to-be did not seem to notice. Lady Julia Houghton tilted her head, the candlelight reflecting off the diamond tiara resting atop her chestnut curls, her equally dark eyes gleaming as she smiled at Pierce. Murmured voices around Leah called Lady Julia cold, arrogant, distant. Leah saw a charming young lady of wealth and beauty, innocence besotted with a man destined to hurt her, though she had yet to know it.
Once, Leah had been just as trusting, just as innocent.
Now she was the greatest fool. In love with a man who did not love her, nor could he even bear to sleep in the same room.
At first, Leah had not noticed anything amiss. It was only natural that he would stay by Geoffrey's side until the crisis had passed. But when Geoffrey had started to recover, when the danger was over and life should have returned to normal, Richard had grown more aloof, more distant, avoiding her, avoiding her bed, far from the flesh-and-blood man who haunted her dreams.
Oh, whenever their paths happened to cross, he was all that was polite and civil, as if they were strangers, as if they just met, as if he had not kissed and stroked every inch of her body, his body pulsing with need. Jealousy and suspicion churned through her belly, clouding her thoughts, ensnaring her reason.
What had happened to make him so distant? Why would he not look at her? Speak to her? What had she done?
"Shall we dance?" The husky timbre of his voice curled heat within her belly. His lips were so close to the curve of her neck, she could feel his words vibrate over her skin.
A momentary urge to beg his forgiveness for whatever crime she had committed threatened her composure before pride surfaced and anger surged. She would not belittle herself for anyone.
The first sweet strains of a waltz floated over the deafening babble of voices. She willed herself to remain aloof, indifferent to his touch, but when she placed her gloved hand in his, when he circled his arm around her waist, her heart beat wildly within her breast. The air in the room grew unbearably hot, sucking the breath from her lungs. Or perhaps it was his dark gaze lingering on her lips, his black-as-night curls slanting roguishly over his brow, his bland smile, all that was polite, all that was civil, a sham for the gossiping crowd.
She sought to distance herself from the devastating effects of his touch. "So kind of you to ask me to dance, but you needn't have troubled yourself on my account"
"Do I detect a hint of sarcasm in your voice, my love?"
My love. A meaningless endearment that, uttered in his seductively deep voice, brought a tingling ache to the back of her throat. "Not at all. It is simply that I have more dance partners than there are dances-"
His fingers tightened on her hand. "You play a dangerous game if you strive to make me jealous."
"I would not dream of it," Leah said, staring over his shoulder at the blur of faces along the walls, at the torches and Grecian statuary placed strategically about the glittering room. Anywhere but at
the man pulling her altogether too close to his person. His scent invading her senses. The threat of tears stinging her eyes. "After all, jealousy is nothing more than the fear of losing the one you love to another. As all you feel for me is supreme indifference, what have you to fear?"
"If you tempt my wrath, madam, be prepared to reap the consequences"
I do not take your meaning. Of what are you accusing me?"
"If you have offered your favors to one of those foolish fribbles panting over your breasts, you will soon regret it."
Polite civility dropped its mask, replaced by a crudeness that shocked her. She tried to pull her hand from his grasp, but he tightened his grip.
"You may find this hard to believe," she said, forcing a smile. "But there are some women who do not live in the gutter. Now, release me. I have no desire to finish this farce"
"Ah, but I desire you to "" He swept his leering gaze over the swells of her breasts. His eyes darkened, his lips tightened. By the time he returned his gaze to her eyes, his jaw had hardened, as if he were chewing on rocks. "You shall smile at me and bat your lashes and throw back your head as you laugh so that I may feast upon the sight of your creamy flesh, your pink-tinged nipples beneath your transparent dress, just as all the other randy bucks have enjoyed the sight all evening. You have left them fairly foaming at the mouth and itching to wrap their hands around your breasts . . ."
She glared him into silence. She wished she had spurs on her delicate slippers. She would dig them into his shins. She wished she had a dueling pistol. She would put a bullet through his black heart. She wished the dance would end and he would release her. What had she done to deserve such ill treatment?
Such vicious words and vile accusations?
Nothing! She had done nothing, except offer him her love, more fool she. Well, that was over. He didn't want her love, had never wanted her love. He had said that most emphatically right from the start. She was finished playing the fool. She would not, could not, compete with the demons from his past.
If he did not want her love, it was his loss, not hers.
Then why did she feel so desolate? So empty and alone?
They finished the dance in silence. When the music ended, she yanked her hand from his grasp and left him standing in the middle of the dance floor. She saw Alexander standing with her new-found friends. She fixed her smile in place and hoped he wouldn't see past her facade.
She half-expected Rachel to step into her path and offer more unsolicited, yet excruciatingly painful information about Richard's past, or some other insult whispered through a smile.
Tonight Rachel seemed content to watch from across the room as Leah's life fell apart. As much as she told herself she didn't care, questions plagued her. Who was the woman Richard had loved? Was she in this room at this moment?
Did she love Richard still? Having provided her husband with the requisite heir, was she now gracing his bed?
She felt half-wild, as if her heart were ripped from her chest, leaving an aching empty shell, but no one around her seemed to notice that her laugh was a sob in disguise.
She willed the muscles of her face to form a smile.
All thoughts of leaving thrust aside, Leah linked her arm through Alexander's. "I believe you have promised this dance to me, Mr. Prescott"
It was terribly forward of her, an act worthy of Lady Margaret Montague, but she did not care. She would not allow Richard to see how much he had hurt her. She would salvage her pride. Tonight she would dance with Alexander and Lord Derrington and any other lord or mister who asked.
Tonight she would have fun. Even if it killed her.
The room was dark, the fire burning low in the grate.
Shadows swirled around him as Richard stood at the door connecting his room with Leah's, his forehead propped against the smooth oak panel, his neck covered in sweat. His head throbbed, as did his heart. It should be getting easier, but, God help him, it was getting harder with each passing day.
"She is not there," his brother's voice rumbled through the darkness.
Richard stifled a curse. He swung his gaze toward the shadows, where Geoffrey sat in a chair near the windows, bathed in ghostly yellow moonlight. "Why are you here? Should you not be abed?"
"You are a fool," Geoffrey said, his features showing no signs of pain or discomfort. His banyan of crimson brocade hung loose about his shoulders, covering his wound. "You know that, do you not?"
Richard grunted. "You are not the first to remark it."
Geoffrey made a sound of disgust. "I know what you are doing. I see you trying to drive her away. I see the fear in your eyes. And the love, too. You are a fool."
"I am a bigger fool for standing here listening to you"
Richard strode across the room, stooped on his heels to peer into his brother's eyes. "How do you feel?"
Geoffrey shrugged, his gaze drifting over to the windows. "I have felt better, but I have never felt worse"
"I'm proud of you," Richard said, his eyes hot, his throat a dry, burning ache. "I know you have the strength to beat this thing."
Geoffrey shuddered. "Good God, I hope you're right. It has to get easier because it could not possibly get any harder."
"I do not know what I would have done had you succeeded in planting that bullet in your brain." Richard pushed to his feet, prowled around the room. He lit the candles on the tables, briefly thought of stoking the fire, but the room was warm, the air thick and heavy. He rubbed his hands over his face, as if he could banish the haunting image. "Were it not for Leah, I would have been too late, and you would be dead."
Geoffrey stared at his hands, clasped on his lap to still their shaking. "I will never forgive myself for scaring either of you like that. Poor Leah. She deserves better, after all she's been through. Not to mention your boorish moods"
Richard dragged his hands down his face. Leah. Just the mention of her name sent a stabbing ache through his chest.
With savage determination, he yanked his thoughts away from Leah and back to Geoffrey. "What about the gaming?"
"That madness is gone," Geoffrey said, leaning his head on the back of his chair. "Or perhaps I haven't noticed it because I still crave the drink too much. But I do not mean to put it to the test. I will never put you through that again. I only hope, someday, I will be able to repay you for all you've suffered."
"Forget it," Richard said, then shook his head. "No-never forget it. But learn from it, Geoffrey. And never doubt me again. Come to me when you are in need."
Geoffrey surged from his chair. "What of your needs? What of your madness? I know what drives you and I know what haunts you, but you may be destroying your only real chance at happiness in this lifetime. Tell her everything, Richard. She loves you. She will understand"
Richard laughed bitterly, but said nothing.
"You blind, stupid idiot. Do you know what I think? I think you are punishing yourself by driving her away. Do you think this is what Eric would have for you? That he blamed you-"
"Of course he blamed me," Richard exploded. Arms flung wide, he stalked to the other side of the room. "He found me in bed with his wife. I assure you, it is a moment I am never likely to forget. The pain. The betrayal on his face-"
"He hated her," Geoffrey said, following on Richard's heels, refusing him a moment's peace, badgering him with relentless intensity. "Richard, you have convinced yourself that he was in love with her, but that is not true. I lived there. I know. He hated her, and she him. He was never good enough for her because he was not YOU.
"Eric came to me before he died," Richard said quietly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Did you know that?"
"What did he say?"
Richard shook his head as he strolled to the windows. A heavy mist hung over the gardens, shimmering eerily in the silver light of the pre-dawn sky. The betrayals of his past, the agony of his future, collided in one brief flash before his eyes.
"I already knew Alison was mine," he finally said, pulling th
e words past the knot in his throat. "Rachel could not wait to share that news. In vivid detail, she described her intimate relations, or rather, her lack of relations, with Eric. As if she thought it would make a difference, as if I would ever take her back"
"Richard-"
He held up his hand. "Please, do not try to excuse my behavior. Eric already did that. It was the last time I saw him alive, the first time I had seen him since that awful night." He stripped off his neck cloth, tossed it onto the bed.
Leaning one hand on the mantel, he stared at the coals, mere embers in the hearth. His skin grew as cold as the dirt covering Eric's grave. Perhaps he should stoke the fire, after all. "He said that he knew Alison was mine. That he would protect her. That if I needed his forgiveness, it was mine, but he placed no blame on my actions."
Richard glanced over his shoulder. "Do you not see? He loved me so much he would forgive the unforgivable just to save my worthless hide. Should I shame his memory by declaring him a cuckold before the world? Even worse, that the man who put the horns on him was his own brother? Should I expose Alison to gossip and ridicule for the rest of her life? Do you honestly expect me to do these things simply to save my own soul?"
His right hand cradling his wound, Geoffrey slumped on the edge of the bed. "Can you not simply accept his words? That he knew the villainy of which Rachel was capable? That she betrayed you both? That he did not blame you?"
"I blame myself. I should never have gone back there"
But then Alison would not exist and Richard would not trade her life, even to regain his honor.
It was a vicious circle with no way out.
"Suffering Christ, Richard, it was your home"
"Never mind. I do not wish to discuss this."
"How can I make you understand-"
"Enough, I said." Richard could not discuss it. Not with his heart aching so badly, he thought he might weep like a babe.
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