His eyes met hers again. “I do.”
“No. If you did, I would not be standing here trying to defend myself against something I did not do and will never do. I trust you to be faithful to me when I know every time we go to a ball there must be at least one or two of your old paramours in the room. When I know you were talking with Amanda, your old love, at a ball only a few weeks ago.”
He looked startled. “She is nothing to me, Esme. What you saw was nothing. She approached me, then baited me about you and Eversley when you were dancing with him. You know you are the only woman I love,” he told her gruffly. “The only woman I want in my bed.”
Her heart beat double. “Do you truly love me? You never say.”
Striding forward, he took her in his arms. “Of course I do. If I didn’t, do you think I would have spent half the day and night walking all over London? Dazed and sick to imagine you with another man.”
She reached up and stroked his cheek. “Oh, Gabriel, I feared you might never feel that way for me, that you might never say the words.”
“Well, I’m saying them now. I love you.”
“Then why can you not trust me when you know I love you too?”
He scowled. “Because it’s not that easy. I don’t want to you being with other men, even as friends. It makes me jealous.”
“But you don’t need to be. You’re the only man I want. Can’t you see you have nothing to be jealous about?”
“Are you sure?” He gave her a long look. “You’ve been quiet lately, secretive, as if you’re keeping something from me. If it’s not Eversley, then what is it?”
“Oh, that,” she said surprised by his perception.
His eyes narrowed. “Yes, that. Tell me, Esme. What is it?”
She opened her mouth, then shut it again. For as much as she longed to share her hopeful suspicions with him about her possible pregnancy, she wanted it to be a happy occasion when she shared her news, not one filled with acrimony and discord.
Clearly, telling him now might end their argument, might even heal the breach between them. But only temporarily, only until the next time he decided he didn’t like the way she was behaving around another man.
“It is something I want to share with you, but not right now,” she said.
“Why not now? What is it?”
She shook her head. “No, I’m not telling you, not tonight.”
“Then when?”
“When I think the time is right.”
“And when will that be?”
“I don’t know. You’ll have to wait.”
He lowered his arms and stepped away, his jaw tight again. “So let me rightly understand this. You have a secret, something you’re hiding from me, but you won’t say what?”
She crossed her arms. “That’s right. You’ll just have to trust me.”
“Oh, so that’s it, is it? This is some kind of test? You can keep secrets but I’m just supposed to trust you?”
“Yes, you are. You keep secrets, and don’t claim you don’t. If you didn’t, you would have told me you’re still on speaking terms with Amanda whatever her name is—”
“Nibblehampton.”
“What?”
“Her current surname is Nibblehampton.”
“Good God.”
“Exactly.”
For a second, Esme nearly let the humor of the name overtake her. But then Gabriel continued.
“And I’m not on speaking terms with her,” he said. “She speaks to me and I try to get away.”
“Well, you obviously didn’t try hard enough the last time you communicated.”
“So I’m supposed to pour my heart out to you about everything I’ve ever done and everyone I’ve ever spoken to in my entire blasted life?”
“No, of course not. But you can’t expect me to tell you every last thing either.”
“Why not? I thought you trusted me!” he taunted.
“I do. It’s you who doesn’t trust me!” she yelled back.
Sudden silence fell between them, the clock over the mantelpiece ticking in a steady rhythm.
Only then did she realize she was trembling. She’d never had a fight with him before, not like this one. She wasn’t sure whether to scream at him again or allow herself to give in to tears. Instead, she turned and started for the door.
“Where are you going?” he demanded.
“To bed.” She wrapped a hand around the doorframe and looked back at him. “I think you should sleep in your own room tonight.”
His eyes narrowed dangerously. “Oh, you do, do you?”
“Yes,” she said softly. “And there is another thing.”
“What might that be? Another secret?” he added mockingly.
“In a way. I’ve been thinking about it for a while, but I’m tired of London. I want to go home.”
His face turned pale. “You’re leaving me?”
“No,” she said softly. “I will never leave you, not the way you mean. But I need some time and I think the countryside would do me good.” Would do us both good, she thought, but she didn’t say the words.
His expression grew shuttered. “So you’re going to Braebourne? Planning to complain to your brothers about how badly I treat you?”
She sighed. “You don’t treat me badly, Gabriel, and when I say home, I mean our home. Ten Elms. Come with me. I want you to.”
But once again he had closed himself off from her. “Good night, Esme.”
“Good night.”
Yet even as she said the words, she knew they meant good-bye.
• • •
It took her the next two days to pack and make her excuses for the various engagements she had been scheduled to attend. There were also her dogs and cats to consider, whose needs had to be carefully coordinated for the trip. She also went next door to Lawrence’s town house to explain her abrupt departure to him and ended up sobbing on his shoulder while he offered to go next door and beat sense into her idiot husband.
But once again, she told him no. This was her marriage and these were her difficulties to work out.
Gabriel was barely speaking to her, not even joining her for meals. He was also sleeping in his room, having done as she’d asked, though now she wished she could take it back. She would give anything to sleep inside the circle of his arms again.
But even though she knew that all she needed to do was apologize and tell him about the baby—which she was even more certain was a reality, given that she had missed her menses for the second month in a row—she knew she could not knuckle under. It was a gamble, perhaps a foolish one, but he needed to come to her. He needed to show he trusted her now, or their marriage would forever be one long series of jealousies and fights, with him always thinking the worst of her whenever he had even the slightest doubt about her devotion.
She worried anew that she was doing the wrong thing and almost changed her mind as she was standing in the hallway on the morning of the third day, preparing to depart.
But then she saw him, looking as black and cross as a thundercloud as he watched her give a few last directions to the servants.
The hall cleared and she and Gabriel were alone.
“You’re leaving, then, are you?” he said darkly.
“Yes.” She drew on her gloves, fighting not to let him see how her hands trembled. “I will send you word when we arrive.”
He nodded and didn’t meet her eyes. “Safe travels, then. I’ve told the coachman not to push too hard, no matter how eager you may be to arrive as quickly as possible.”
“Thank you. That was most thoughtful.”
“You are welcome.”
Has it really come to this? The two of us talking as politely as strangers once again.
“Well, you had best be on your way.”
She nodded and he started to turn away.
“Gabriel,” she called.
He looked back, meeting her eyes for the first time in days.
“Come with me. We can delay a bit while you pack a bag. It will be no trouble.”
Emotion raced across his features, an inner war being fought as he struggled to decide.
“Tell me what you’re keeping from me first,” he challenged.
“I will. Once you prove you trust me enough to let me tell you in my own time.”
Their eyes met and clashed again.
Gabriel’s jaw tightened and he looked away. “Good journey.”
Blinking back tears she knew would turn into sobs once she got into the coach, she raised her chin and walked out of the house.
• • •
Gabriel nearly went after her to stop the coach from leaving.
Instead, he forced himself to walk to his study, where he sat, hands squeezed into fists on his thighs. He hurt so badly it felt as if the skin were being peeled from his body.
She wanted to leave? Let her leave.
She wanted to keep secrets from him? Let her keep them.
He’d lived thirty-three years without Esme Byron Landsdowne in his life, and he would live the next thirty-three-plus just fine without her.
Then abruptly he sagged, his muscles going slack, as he hunched over.
Who am I trying to fool?
Live without Esme?
He wouldn’t make it a day.
But she was wrong and she needed to learn that. Trust her? How the bloody hell was he supposed to trust her when she flirted with other men, then ran off for home the minute he called her on it?
Only she didn’t flirt with other men and he knew that. She was friendly, yes, but, then, she was friendly to everyone. She treated the old men with the same kind of polite attention she showered on the young ones, with no particular difference. There was no special regard there, no heated looks and coy smiles. Those she reserved exclusively for him.
As for Eversley, the bastard’s wedding announcement had been in that morning’s edition of the Times, exactly as Esme had said. His supposed rival was engaged with the ring she had apparently helped him pick out.
But if he chased after Esme now, what did that say? After all, a man had his pride.
No, he would not bend. She was the one who should come back to him.
So why did he suddenly feel like he was the one being taught the lesson, not her?
Chapter 28
Gabriel forced himself not to go after her, one day sliding miserably into the next. Six days after she left, he received a brief note from her, advising him of her safe arrival at Ten Elms.
He sat down to write back, but couldn’t, the words either too few or far too many. In the end, he sent her no note at all, balling up his various ink-stained efforts and tossing them into the waste bin for the servants to discard.
As each new day dawned, his temper grew a bit more frayed, his appetite worse, his sleep fragmented and unrefreshing as he tried futilely to find rest in his empty bed.
The house felt empty and unnervingly quiet without the dogs barking and the cats underfoot. Much to his irritation, he found he missed them too, especially Burr and Mozart, who had been in the habit of trailing him into his office and arranging themselves at his feet—or in Mozart’s case, on his desk—while he handled correspondence and various matters of business.
Now it was just him in the room, him in the house.
Except for the servants, of course, who’d taken lately to giving him a wide berth as often as they could manage. He’d even bitten Pike’s head off the other afternoon when the butler had mentioned something about a delivery arriving for her ladyship and ought he to send it to her in the country?
“Hell and damnation, man, do your blasted job and leave me out of it,” he’d raged, as he’d poured himself another draught of the whiskey that was serving as his nuncheon.
Pike had drawn himself up, clearly offended. “Very good, milord. Should I tell Chef to serve dinner this evening, or will you be drinking that as well?”
He’d thrown his glass at Pike, his aim poor, luckily, as the crystal shattered against the wall behind the butler’s head. Pike hadn’t flinched, just gave him a look of pity. “At the risk of being dismissed, might I remind you that her ladyship would want you to eat.”
Gabriel had sighed and nodded, quietly ashamed of his behavior. “Fine, serve dinner.”
Pike had not been dismissed.
Gabriel was sequestered in his study four days later, the draperies drawn against the late-morning light. He’d barely slept all night, his face was unshaven and he was still wearing yesterday’s clothes. Unexpectedly, a knock came at the door.
He scowled blackly, having left strict instructions that he was not to be disturbed. “I told you I am not receiving,” he said harshly as the door opened.
“You didn’t tell me.”
He looked around and watched Lawrence Byron walk into the room.
“What are you doing here?” Gabriel demanded in a sullen voice.
Lawrence moved deeper into the room and sank down into an armchair across from him. “I’ve just come to see if you’re still among the living. No one has caught a glimpse of you in days, and Pike says you’re as surly as a badger who’s been poked with a stick.”
“Pike talks too much.”
Maybe I will sack him, after all. Ever since Esme had come into the house, Pike had turned into a bossy old woman.
Only Esme isn’t here anymore.
The thought slashed through him like a knife.
“Get out, Byron,” he said without temper, too tired to muster much fire.
“Oh, I’m Byron now, am I?” Lawrence settled back into the chair, clearly planning to stay awhile. “And here I thought we were as close as brothers these days. Although I am known to bicker with my brothers far more than I do my friends. You can get away with saying all manner of shabby rubbish to your family that you’d never dare try on your friends for fear of them kicking your arse.”
“I’d like to kick your arse, right out of that chair,” Gabriel grumbled.
Lawrence grinned, then leaned forward, a serious expression replacing his smile. “Look, Gabriel, this has to stop.”
“What has to stop?”
“This.” Lawrence gestured with a hand to the whole of Gabriel. “This fight between you and Esme; it’s hurting you both. You’re so miserable you’re making yourself sick, and she’s not doing well either.”
“What do you mean?” A sudden thought hit him. “Is Esme ill?”
“It’s nothing serious; at least that’s what she assures me. She told me not to worry, but you know how quickly these things can progress. It’s hard not to be concerned. I thought you should know.”
Gabriel’s skin turned cold, his body rigid with anxiety. “Of course I should know. Why hasn’t she written to tell me herself?”
“Well, she said she thinks it will pass with time and she didn’t want to trouble you.”
He leapt to his feet, hands fisted at his sides. “Not trouble me? She’s my wife and I love her. Of course she should trouble me if she’s sick. I’m the first person she ought to have told.”
“My thoughts exactly. You should be with her at Ten Elms. And her birthday is only a few days away, you know. If you leave now, you can be there in time to spend the day with her. I can’t think of any sadder way to pass one’s own birthday than alone and sick in bed.”
“You’re right. Thank you, Lawrence. I won’t forget this.”
“I don’t doubt you will,” Lawrence murmured.
But Gabriel was no longer listening. Shouting for Pike, he strode from the room.
• • •
Lawrence watched Gabriel leave, listened to the servants spring
into action in order to prepare for their master’s hurried departure.
He hoped his gambit worked.
Usually he stayed out of other people’s business, even when family was involved—actually, particularly when family was involved.
But Esme was his baby sister and she was desperately unhappy at the moment. The only way he could see to make her happy again was to get her and Gabriel back together, and if that meant a bit of truth stretching, then so be it. Not that he’d lied, precisely. Esme was feeling tired and nauseous, just not for the reasons Gabriel thought.
Lawrence smiled and prayed that Gabriel was as smart as he thought and didn’t muck this up.
• • •
Esme awakened, morning light streaming through the curtains. Despite her low spirits, she forced herself to get out of bed—or rather her body forced her as she raced for the nearest basin and proceeded to vomit what little remained of last night’s supper. Once the worst was over, she washed her mouth with clean water, then crawled back into bed.
May sixth, she thought. My birthday. And I’ll be spending it alone.
But then she laid a hand on her stomach and amended her statement. She wouldn’t be alone. She had the baby with her.
She’d had the doctor out to visit not long after her arrival at Ten Elms, and he had confirmed her suspicions.
She was definitely with child.
If she’d had any remaining doubt, it would have been put to rest by the bouts of nausea and vomiting she was experiencing. In general, though, the sickness came upon her in the morning, then promptly disappeared to trouble her no more until the following dawn. And except for morning, her appetite remained good, so she wasn’t suffering in that way.
No, her suffering came from another source entirely, one that made her ache with a deep, unremitting pain.
She and Gabriel were estranged, more deeply than at any other time during their marriage. She’d hoped by now he would have come to her, or sent for her, writing to say that he was sorry and could they begin again. But he hadn’t written, not even a note. Though she supposed given everything they had said already, what more was there to discuss?
Happily Bedded Bliss: The Rakes of Cavendish Square Page 31