Page 97 of Avenging the Earl's Lady
His stomach knotted and twisted.His guilt was so much worse than merely getting her brother killed.He’d set a wolf like Dempsey into an innocent girl’s home.“Did Dempsey encourage you to follow him to the inn where he planned to lodge that night?
She looked away and froze.“No.”
“Did Amsden?”
She turned toward him and blinked.“He brought me his clothing.”
“And saw that your father became aware of your absence.”He squeezed her hand.“It wasn’t your fault.”
She studied her hand knotted with his.
“Your brother was older than you, Jane.He found a way to get himself to that mill, and he made the choice to stay.”
She nodded.
“And yet your father lashed out at you.”
“Yes.”She breathed the word out.
“Then he discovered you were carrying Dempsey’s child.”
She swallowed hard.“In the midst of haranguing me yet again, he suffered an apoplexy.”Trembling, she choked in a breath and pain sketched a deep line between her eyes.“He died in his study, in front of me.”
“You can’t blame yourself for that,” he said.
“How can I not?No matter what my brother did to get away that night, I had already been reckless with Reginald.”She squeezed his hand.“So, you see, you must put aside your self-blaming.You may not have always been the invincible Spy Lord, but in this matter, you bear no guilt.”
He swiped a thumb across her cheek, the small movement of his muscles snaking up his arm and making his shoulder throb.She no doubt was aching from her wound also.They would both need to rest soon.
She could not travel across town, not in this state.
“I failed Dempsey that day, and your brother, and you.”And that failure had driven him, had made him harder, colder.“And I’m sorry, Jane.So very sorry.It’s no wonder you wanted revenge against me.”
Instead of softening, her mouth firmed.“Revenge?What are you talking about?That’s your compulsion, not mine, Shaldon.And don’t pity me.Iabhorpity.”
“Pity you?”She was still fighting the inevitable, dear Jane.“There is nothing pitiable about you.”
She shook her head and her laugh sounded forced.
“It’s true.You’re beautiful, and intriguing.”
“What rubbish.I am not beautiful, Shaldon, nor intriguing, except for my secrets, which you wanted to winkle out of me as relentlessly as you do with everyone else.”She squeezed her eyes shut.“And now you know them.My foolishness brought about my brother’s death, my father’s death, and left that young man not much better than a foundling.”
He leaned in and gathered her close, ignoring his pains.“You caused no one’s death, and Penderbrook grew up well cared for, perhaps even a bit spoiled.I am relentless only with enemies, and there I’ve failed far too often.”
“And sought revenge.Oh yes, I know about your efforts against the marquess who plagued Paulette, and Sirena’s villainous cousin, and Graciela’s despicable guardian.You’ve been on a quest for revenge.”
“Not revenge.Justice.”He put a finger under her chin and raised it.Tears glistened but her gaze was clear-eyed.“Be honest, Jane.Is not revenge part of the reason you stole the painting?”
“No.”She bit her lip.“Well perhaps, in the deep recesses of my heart.But Perry told me it was to have been her inheritance, and she didn’t want it, and…” She took in a deep breath.“I needed to help my son.”
By God, he loved her.
“Is this the end, Shaldon?Will the Duque’s loss of a toe at my hands be enough to avenge you?”
He wanted to laugh.The Duque would find being shot by a woman humiliating.
But was it enough?
