Page 80 of The Viscount's Promise
“I trust, Lord Morley,” she said in her soft voice, “you are here to make things right?”
“I am,” Malcolm answered without hesitation.
A look of understanding passed between them. Willbridge glanced at them both in turn, mounting disbelief twisting his features. “To hell he will!” he roared.
Imogen turned her patient gaze to her husband. “If he’s come here to undo the damage that has been done, I believe it wise to hear him out.”
“I don’t want to hear a damn thing to come out of his mouth,” he snarled.
Imogen didn’t so much as flinch at the outrage pouring off of Willbridge. Despite the despair clawing at him, Malcolm was impressed at her unflinching poise.
“It isn’t for either of us to decide that,” she said softly.
“You think I’ll put this on Emily’s shoulders?”
“She is not made of porcelain, Caleb,” Imogen said. “She’s stronger than you suppose. And besides, she’s a grown woman. It’s her future happiness on the line. She must make this decision on her own.”
“She’s been hurt enough,” Willbridge countered hotly. “I won’t give her any undue pain by forcing her into company with this bastard.”
“You will not be forcing her into anything. You will be giving her a choice.”
Malcolm, having stood by silently during this volley of words, finally had enough. He stepped forward, holding up a hand. “Do I have any say in this?” he asked, his voice tight.
Willbridge turned on him. “No,” he snapped. “This isn’t about you.”
“This has everything to do with me,” Malcolm said quietly. “Emily is my life. Please, Willbridge.” When his friend made to turn dismissively from him, he swallowed hard and whispered, the words broken, “I love her.”
Imogen’s sharply indrawn breath was the only sound in the heavy quiet of the room. Malcolm heard it as if from a distance. His entire being was focused on his friend. If he could still call him friend after all was said and done. His chest ached at the thought. But, though it pained him, it was faint compared to the all-encompassing panic he’d experienced before.
That was because of Emily, he knew. She had healed that in him.
Willbridge stared back at him, his eyes wide and stunned, before looking down at his wife. She gazed back at him, her own eyes shining, a small, encouraging smile on her face. “I will let her decide,” he finally said, his voice gruff.
Malcolm’s heart leapt in his chest, hope rising up in him like a floodwater. It must have showed on his face, for his friend frowned again.
“Tomorrow,” Willbridge stated firmly. “You can come back tomorrow and not a moment sooner. We’ve just got her settled in her room, and I will not disturb her now.”
Malcolm bit back the argument that leapt to his lips. He finally knew the future he wanted, realized the truth in his heart. He wanted that future, with Emily beside him, to start as soon as possible.
But it would not help his case one bit to fight Willbridge’s decree. As much as it would pain him to do so, he would leave this house, with Emily only a floor above him. And use the time between now and morning to dream and plan that brightening future.
Morning could not come soon enough.
“Thank you, Willbridge,” he said with feeling.
His friend flushed slightly, straightening his spine and nodding briskly.
Malcolm turned to Imogen. He took up her hand, pressing it between his own warmly. But the words he wanted to say to her wouldn’t come. How could he explain what was in his heart, how much it meant to him that she had come to his defense, that she was giving him a chance that he never would have had, nor deserved. “Thank you,” was all he could manage.
The words were woefully inadequate. But Imogen seemed to hear the deeper meaning in them. She smiled, a true smile, and Malcolm could see in that moment what had bewitched his friend.
“Until morning, my lord,” she said softly.
Ignoring the pull in his gut to sprint to the upper floors and seek Emily out, Malcolm walked with purposeful steps to the front door and to his carriage. Tomorrow, he told himself. He would return tomorrow and see if Emily could find it in her heart to forgive him.
Barking quick directions to the waiting groom, he vaulted up into the coach, slamming the door behind him. Even before he settled into his seat, he felt the other presence within. As the subtle scents of vanilla and roses assailed his senses, he realized with a thudding heart that he would not have to wait till morning for Emily’s decision over his fate, after all.
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