Page 30 of Obsession: The Unspoken Sin
But with the familiarity afforded him as a brother in everything but blood, the marquess strode across the room and slapped a gloved palm down hard on Denbigh’s desk, sending letters and papers jumping under the force of that movement.
“I have sent letter after letter, and not one of them have you answered,” Exmoor clipped out the way Denbigh’s father had right before he delivered a smack to one of his sons. “You have been inside that den of sin, and I am looking for some word, some information about my sister, and you cannot be bothered to respond to a single note? Instead, you,” Exmoor scraped a derisive glance up and down Denbigh’s disheveled person. “What? Get yourself lost in drink and God knows what else when you were supposed to be—”
“When I was supposed to be doing what?” Denbigh cried, climbing to his feet. “When I was supposed to be spying on her? When I was supposed to be serving in the role of de facto brother because her real one failed her so spectacularly?”
All the blood drained from Exmoor’s cheeks. Denbigh had landed the unkindest cut. And he didn’t feel bloody bad about it one bit.
“Did you know she had a child?” Denbigh asked, his voice a whisper, because even as rage battered at him and hysteria threatened to drive him to madness, Alice was still and would always be his foremost worry, concern, and thought.
Somehow, Exmoor’s skin had even more color to shed, leaving him a sickly, white pallor.
“Did you know?” Denbigh stormed around the desk as he asked the question, gripping his best friend by his lapels, dragging him up on the balls of his feet, and lifting him so they were at eye level. “Did you—?”
“Of course I did,” Exmoor whispered, his eyes ravaged with pain and not their earlier anger. “You know there is no reasoning with Alice—even more so after she tragically lost her sweetheart.”
She’dobviouslytold Exmoor some lie about a good,honorable, sweetheart who’d gone missing.
It hadn’t occurred to bloody Exmoor to find out everything he could about Alice’s lover?
“You sent me to do what you were unable to do,” Denbigh said flatly. “I went there and did your bidding. I did a favor for you. And because of it, I have losteverything.” He released the marquess quickly.Sofast, Exmoor stumbled and struggled to right himself.
Staggering, Exmoor looked at him in abject confusion. “I don’t…What are you—?”
“I love her,” Denbigh bellowed that confession after a lifetime of lies between them. “I have loved your sister since she was but seventeen, Exmoor. She was too young. She was your sister. And I never acknowledged it, even to myself, because I knew it was forbidden and she was off limits.” A sharp,empty bark of laughter exploded from his chest. He slashed a palm angrily between them. “And in doing that, in putting our friendship first, and not my love for her, it cost me her, and very likely it would’ve led to a different fate and future for her.”
All the fight and the last vestige of energy he’d found since being apart from Alice left him with the expediency and swiftness.
Exmoor reeled back on his heels. “What?”
The same way one’s soul departed one’s dying body so too did the life leave Denbigh. His legs went limp, and he sank onto the edge of his desk to keep from sinking onto the floor. Except, in so doing, he came to rest right beside that turquoise ribbon and stack of notes he lovingly caressed and smelled and then saved forever.
Agony sluiced through Denbigh like a rapier being expertly placed by a master tactician. He swiped a tired hand across his face. “I put our friendship before everything else, including Alice, and now that has cost me any chance of a future with her.”
Denbigh distantly registered the other man taking up a makeshift seat beside him on the desk. “I… had no idea.” Exmoor sounded like he had taken a shot to the solar plexus. “Why didn’t youtellme?”
Denbigh let loose a cynical chuckle. “Oh, please. The one time I did broach the subject you made it clear you didn’t approve?” He scoffed. “I was a bloody lad at university and you held my brief actions against me.”
Guilty color filled his friend’s cheeks.
Exmoor hesitated and then shook his head. “I would have come around, Denbigh. I would have, eventually realized you’d behaved only respectably with my sister and would be loyal to her and—”
“Yes, Exmoor. Since we’re playing out pretend experiences that happened, I would’ve gone into the Devil’s Den and freelyadmitted that you’d sent me there to your sister, and avoided all of this.” He flashed his best friend a cold, strange smile “My, how much easier it is when we invent the perfect way we handled or would’ve handled situations.”
Exmoor winced.
And yet the fact remained that only one of them was to blame—and the person to blame was Denbigh. He was the one who’d agreed to do so at Exmoor’s behalf. He could’ve gone and been straightforward with Alice. But he hadn’t. And that was something that would cost him. No, it had cost him his heart, the very air he breathed.
“I take it,” Exmoor haltingly ventured, “Alice gathered the reason for your being there?”
Denbigh nodded once.
“And I take it she responded with her usual spirit and passion.”
Actually, she hadn’t. She’d been reserved. She’d been stricken. She’d been cut open and hurt and betrayed, and he’d been the one responsible this time. Not some notorious, shameless rakehell. Him.Denbigh.
“You attempted to tell her, and she was less than receptive?” It turned out Exmoor did know his sister.
Denbigh released a strained laugh. Half crying into his palms, he scrubbed them over his face and shook his head. “I have tried everything. I’ve written letters. I’ve even visited the Devil’s Den and,” He gestured to a fading bruise at the corner of his eye. “attempted to get inside to see her,” he said and flashed a wry grin. “Unsuccessfully.”
