Surrendering to the Baron (A Steamy Regency Romance Book 7)

by Georgette Brown

  “I promise you that all will be well,” he assured.

  “How...?”

  He knew not whether she asked how he knew all would be well or how he knew her name. Either way, there was but one way to allay her fears.

  He removed his mask.

  HER HANDS FLEW TO HER mouth, stifling her scream. He cursed in silence to see the horror upon her features.

  “You see now that there was no reason for your distress,” he said, hoping relief would soon manifest for her.

  Her bosom heaved and her hands trembled as she continued to stare wordlessly at him.

  “And the sin which you thought to have committed never took place.”

  When she made no response, he began to wonder if she had heard him. He bridged the distance between them and reached for her, but she shied away from him.

  “Trudie...”

  To his surprise, she shook her head vigorously, brushed past him and was out the chamber.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Two Months Later ~

  “WILL YOU NEVER FORGIVE him?” Diana asked as the two strolled the small garden behind the home of Mrs. Atwood, a longtime friend of Trudie’s mother and whom she had been staying with for the past two months. After leaving Château Debauchery, Trudie had not returned home.

  “It is Christian to forgive,” Trudie replied as she watched a robin fly from its perch in a birch tree.

  “But I think you have not forgiven Leopold or you would have returned to him. Did you receive the letters of his I forwarded?”

  “I did.”

  “And did you respond to any of them?”

  “No.”

  Diana heaved a sigh.

  “I hope you did not inform him of where I was?” Trudie worried.

  “Of course not. I betrayed your trust once. I could not do it again.”

  Trudie bit her lower lip, feeling sorry for the pain upon her friend’s countenance.

  She had forgiven Diana for concealing the fact that Leopold had once been a frequent guest of Château Follett, but it was true that she had not completely forgiven her husband for his deception. She had come close many times, having spent many sleepless nights oscillating between remorse, guilt, anger, and sorrow. She understood Leopold had come to Château Follett in disguise so that he could observe her faithfulness, or lack thereof. And she had failed him.

  No matter that her paramour had turned out to be her own husband. He had been known to her only as a stranger. And she had succumbed to this ‘stranger.’ Not once, but over and over again. She had spent for her debaucher in ways she had never done with her husband. She was guilty of a terrible sin, and no excuse could exonerate her.

  She had overcome her anguish at Leopold for such acts of depravity that would surely send her to hell because the wanton part of her did find titillation in the wicked acts. Recalling them, she would often find herself aroused and needing to touch the parts of her body his fingers and mouth had kissed. Not only had she discovered, at last, that carnal euphoria she had envied in Diana whenever her friend spoke of it, she had felt relieved that she could find pleasure in her body, that she was not doomed to forever recoil at the thought of congress with her husband. Perhaps, then, she should be thankful that she had been liberated from her prior shackles.

  She had even felt desired. Seeing the lust burn in the eyes of her debaucher, she had felt emboldened, even beautiful. That man had wanted her. He had grown hard for her. And that man was Leopold. The discovery ought to have thrilled her to no end. Because she had never thought it possible.

  It was her own doing. Had she not come to Château Follett in the first place, none of this would have come to pass. She would still be the faithful wife, quietly enduring the fact that Leopold had a mistress whom he desired more than his wife. Did she truly want such an existence? It was clear that at Château Follett, she had pleased him greatly when she had doubted she ever could. At most, Leopold would tolerate her. Was she not, then, improved in some manner as a result of Château Follet?

  But the pain she had felt, when she had thought she could be with child and was tortured by the pain, disappointment, outrage that such a revelation must cause her husband, proved too much still. How could Leopold have allowed her to wallow in such agony when he knew the truth? Did he not believe the sincerity of her pain? Did he not care to lift her misery?

  But he had or he would not have revealed himself.

  Diana sighed. "I feel I am to blame. I have made matters worse between you and Leopold."

  "I was unhappy in my marriage," Trudie replied. "That would only have continued. And I could not make peace with it or I would not have come to Château Follett with you."

  "It is kind of you to say so, but who knows, Leopold might have tired of his mistress and returned to your waiting arms."

  "You must not torment yourself with such thoughts. They shall never bear fruit, or not of a good sort."

  "You have come to accept what had happened then?"

  "I have accepted that I cannot change the past."

  "And what do you intend for the future?"

  It was a question she had no answer for. "What do you? Does your husband still know nothing of Château Follett?"

  "I thought for certain Leopold would tell Charles. He was plenty furious at me for having brought you to Château Follett. But I think he was too grieved over what had transpired betwixt you two that the part I played was a secondary concern for him. How much longer do you intend to make him suffer?"

  "It is not my intention to make him suffer at all."

  "Then why do you not answer his letters?"

  "Because I have not yet read them."

  Diana stopped in her tracks and stared wide-eyed at Trudie. "What? Not a one?"

  Trudie looked up at the clouds in the sky. "I thought the wounds made by Château Follett should heal before I am ready to read his letters."

  "Are they much healed or near to healed?"

  Trudie dropped her gaze to the ground. "Do you know if Leopold has returned to his mistress?"

  "He has not."

  "How can you be certain?"

  "I'm fairly certain. He asks of you almost daily. And when I was at the opera a fortnight ago, I saw her in the box of another gentleman, engaged in heavy flirtation with him."

  Trudie released the breath she had not realized she had been holding. She found comfort in the news, though she believed she would not have reproached Leopold for returning to his mistress, especially after his wife had committed adultery. Perhaps she should not have run away from Château Follett. But she had been consumed too much by her own shame, by confusion, and horror at what she had done and what he had done. She had managed to make it to a posting inn and took the first available post-chaise to a destination she knew not nor cared not. At the end of the day, she found herself in the county where Mrs. Atwood resided. The woman had been much surprised to find Trudie at her door, but the kindly widow could plainly see that something was amiss and welcomed Trudie with much warmth and tenderness. She had made gentle inquiries, but when Trudie offered little explanation, Mrs. Atwood did not pry. Trudie had not intended to stay a two-month. She had trespassed upon Mrs. Atwood's hospitality long enough. But as time lengthened, she found it more and more difficult to return home, to confront her husband.

  "I think you'll find Leopold a changed man," Diana said.

  "In what manner?"

  "I am fairly certain he regrets his actions, his charade."

  "He said as much?"

  "No,” Diana admitted as they resumed walking. "He won't speak to me of it, but I can see it in his eyes. I know that he has been everywhere looking for you. He tried not to worry your family and friends, but it could not be helped if you were to be found."

  "And it is for that reason that I wrote to you."

  "I am grateful—most grateful—that I have not lost your friendship and affection. But if I could forsake a part of it to earn your forgiveness of Leopold, I would."

&
nbsp; Trudie could not help but be touched. "I shall find it in my heart to forgive Leopold. It is only a question of when, but I shall endeavor to make it sooner rather than later."

  That appeared to satisfy Diana, and they finished their stroll with few words between them but full of patient understanding.

  When Diana departed, Trudie was sad to see her friend leave. She saw that Diana had left her parasol behind. Holding the parasol, she decided that she would return it to her friend soon. Diana was in town, where Leopold was as well.

  Trudie went into her chamber and opened the box containing his letters. She had locked them away as if by doing so, she could lock away and forget what had happened at Château Follet. But as much as she could not change the past, she could not forget it. Was she be ready for the flood of emotions that would surely drown her when she read his letters? Would she find his tone furious or contrite? It was possible both would engender from her the same reaction. Perhaps she had not forgiven Leopold because she had not forgiven herself.

  She heard the wheels of a carriage outside. Diana had remembered her parasol. Grabbing it, Trudie hurried downstairs.

  "You have a guest, Madame," the butler informed.

  "Yes, thank you," she replied.

  But stepping into the foyer, she froze. It was not Diana.

  It was Leopold.

  Chapter Eighteen

  LEOPOLD TOOK IN TRUDIE’S trembling lower lip. She had lost weight for her cheeks had not their prior fullness and her arms had thinned. Her gown, with its empire waist, hid her form for the most part, but he hoped her hips, belly, thighs and arse—all the parts he had come to appreciate in their time at Château Follet—had not lost their suppleness.

  Regardless, he found she looked quite lovely.

  “I cannot believe that Diana betrayed me,” Trudie whispered.

  They stood the length of the foyer from one another. Having come on horseback, he was still in his riding clothes and likely smelled of horse, but given the circumstances, he had not the time to change to present himself properly.

  “She did not,” he told her. “I followed her without her knowledge.”

  He wanted to quip that it was gratifying how, in allowing Diana to visit her, Trudie trusted his cousin more than she trusted her husband, but he had no right to such sarcasm.

  Sensing that Trudie, like a cornered mouse, wanted to flee, he said gently, “As I am an uninvited guest here, I will not tarry, but would you grace me with your presence for a walk about the garden?”

  She lowered her eyes in thought and fidgeted with her fingers. He hoped his assurance that he would not stay would mollify her, but he discerned resistance.

  “A brief walk,” he added.

  Looking up, she met his gaze. “A brief walk.”

  She went to retrieve her bonnet and shawl. Upon her return, he would have offered his arm, but he assumed she would not wish to take it. Strolling past him, she headed to the garden. They ambled in silence for several minutes. He looked mostly at her while she looked mostly at the flowers, the sky, and her feet.

  Finally, he said, “I begin to think no apology great enough to merit your forgiveness.”

  She said nothing.

  “But one such could be had,” he continued, “I would give it in any form you wish, as often as you wish.”

  She drew in a long breath as she stared at a bed of flowers. “I too am sorry. But apologies cannot undo the past.”

  He kept his gaze upon her. “No, they cannot. But they can pave the future.”

  “The future,” she echoed with uncertainty.

  When she said nothing further, he said, “Yes. You cannot expect to hide away here for the rest of time. You are still my wife.”

  Her back straightened. He refrained from pointing out that, as her husband, he had the prerogative to dictate where she resided.

  “I will overlook the fact that you have kept your whereabouts secret from me,” he said, “though, as your husband, I have a right to know where you are. But I understand that what happened at Château Follet has caused you no small amount of distress.”

  She whirled around to face him. “No small amount of distress, sir? I wonder how many wives have suffered what I had?”

  “And how many husbands would have banished their wives to a life of poverty for committing adultery?”

  Her chest rose and her eyes widened. “Is that what you wish to do?”

  He stared deep into her eyes. “I did not mean to threaten you.”

  “Certainly I deserve to be banished,” she said, her voice cracking. “If that is what you wish—”

  He grasped her by the arm, more tightly than he intended. “I have no such wish. I will not say that the thought never crossed my mind in my angrier moments, but I could not punish you in such a fashion when I was the first to sin.”

  She stared at his arm upon her. He could not make out what she felt, so he dropped his hold and retreated a step.

  “Your sense of fairness is appreciated,” she acknowledged.

  The lack of emotion in her tone riled him. Fairness be damned.

  “What I wish,” he stated as calmly as he could, “is for us to move toward forgiveness. You have had ample time to consider it.”

  “You wish for me to forgive you for your deception, for the agony you caused me?”

  “Yes, and I will forgive your being unfaithful.”

  “I did not lay with a man not my husband.”

  “No, but you would have if I had not been there.”

  “I would not have!”

  He took a step toward her. “I sought to test you. Do you disavow that you failed?”

  She looked down.

  “You committed adultery in your heart. No court would absolve the intentions you held.”

  “What I did was wrong,” she murmured. “I was wrong to repay your wrong with mine own, and your deception with mine. For that I am sorry.”

  He felt the pressure about his chest decrease. A part of him wanted to reach once more for her, but he did not wish to alarm her.

  She looked up at him. “We ought not have married, you and I. Though it was the strongest wish of our families, we are not suited.”

  Why did she dwell on what could not be changed? he was about to challenge.

  “I would not censure you if you wished to have nothing more to do with me,” she said.

  “Quite the contrary,” he disputed. “I expect you to return with me to London tomorrow.”

  She was taken aback. “I had no intention of leaving. Mrs. Atwood has graciously allowed me to stay for as long as I wish.”

  “With due respect to Mrs. Atwood and her hospitality, I mean to take my wife home.”

  “But I have no wish to return to London!”

  “How much longer did you intend to stay here?”

  “I know not, but I certainly am not prepared to leave on the morrow.”

  “You have stayed here long enough.”

  “That is your opinion, but I differ—”

  “Prolonging your duration here would serve no purpose.”

  “You have no assurance of that. Pray do not lord over me as if we were at Château Follet!”

  With another step, he closed the distance between them. He stared down at her intently, noting her breath had become uneven. “You quite enjoyed my company at Château Follet.”

  She quivered. “You left me little choice!”

  He raised his brows. “Did I force pleasure upon you? Did I force you to spend like a wanton?”

  She attempted to brush by him, but he caught her around the waist. She struggled against him.

  “You could have chosen not to enjoy all that you did,” he told her. The more she writhed to free herself, the more his groin tightened with arousal. “I would hazard that you still enjoy it.”

  She pushed against him. “You wish to revel in my disgrace!”

  “I wish to exalt it.”

  She stopped and stared at him.

  “
You think Château Follet to have been a terrible tragedy to befall our marriage,” he said. “I do not.”

  “Your circumstances there were quite different from mine,” she replied, resuming her struggles.

  He recalled how she had resisted him in the music room. He had prevailed then. He could prevail now. But he could not be the ogre twice, no matter how much he wished to ravish her. He had spent these months cursing himself, vacillating between guilt and anger, and longing for her presence, craving her body, dreaming of how it would feel to sink himself once more into her wet heat.

  “I own I acted abominably,” he said instead. “And I intend to be a better husband than I have been.”

  When he would not release her, her frustration grew. “I think it rather late for such promises!”

  Surprised, he let her go. She stumbled out of reach.

  “What do you mean?” he demanded. He had expected she would not forgive him immediately, but he had not imagined any other outcome than returning to London with her.

  Her brow furrowed in pain, as if her words had cut her as much as they had him. “As I said, we are not suited to each other. I do not think we—I am one who could truly make you happy. We wed out of duty to our families.”

  “Many men and women marry for such a purpose.”

  “And I think it wrong. I place no blame upon you. I accepted your proposal knowing full well that you did not love me. But what happened betwixt us at Château Follet has caused irreparable harm to our chances for a happy marriage.”

  “I disagree—”

  “And I think it unnecessary for either one of us to be saddled with such a fate...”

  He narrowed his eyes. “What are you suggesting?”

  “Given the circumstances, I think a petition for divorce could be easily granted.”

  Blood pounded in his ears. Divorce? Not once had he contemplated divorce.

  “Surely you do not speak of such foolishness in earnest,” he said.

  She grew defensive. “I do! Adultery is easily grounds for divorce.”

  “When committed by the wife, yes.”

  “As you pointed out, I had committed adultery in my heart.”