Page 45 of Her Impeccable Scoundrel
The warm hand enfolding hers sent a cascade of shock waves. She hadn’t meant to be weak, had planned to be cool—cool, calm, composed. But the warmth, the promise of comfort…
It would surely be a false promise, a façade of caring. There was no enduring comfort to be had in Lord Chilcombe’s arms—any Lord Chilcombe. Not Archie’s, not Graeme’s. Certainly not in any of either man’s friends. Perhaps not in the arms of any gentleman.
Now, her cheek pressed to the cool wool of his coat, her body betraying her, she held her breath, trying to still her heart and quiet the nerves rattling through her.
He wanted to know why the good people of the village had spurned her. She could tell him that part, the least of the sins.
Anger stirred in her. Yes, of course, Lord Chilcombe. She could reveal this, her deepest humiliation, her profoundest grief, so that Graeme would be so appalled he would stay the bloody hell away from her.
Fat lot of good it was doing her to sink into the comfort he offered. She untangled herself and pushed away.
“Archie didn’t send her away. I took her away.”
Frowning, he lifted her chin and searched her face. “For her safety?”
She pressed her lips together. It was a question, but one that he thought he knew the answer to.
“And your son?” he asked.
This was another part of the old wound to rip open. “My Georgie had died a year earlier.” She closed her eyes and swallowed moisture. When she opened them, she found him watching her.
“Please, Blythe. Please tell me.”
Despite his stoic look, one he must have perfected in the years of his diplomatic career, his voice was gentle. That tone in his voice—the kindness—had her emotions reeling. And his hands still cradled her elbows.
Why?, she wanted to ask. Though in truth, she couldn’t bear to hear sympathetic lies. Her neighbors had shared the truth in whispers and didn’t believe it. Why should he be any different?
“I will keep your secrets,” he said.
“Secrets? The facts are private, not exactly secret.” Not that she’d ever wished to have her personal tragedies bandied about among the neighbors. “I will tell you the truth, and like the good Mrs. Jarrow who surely has heard the truth whispered in her ear, you may choose not to believe it as well.”
“Give me the chance, Blythe.”
He handed her a handkerchief, and she quietly cursed before wiping her eyes and gathering herself. There were things she wouldn’t ever tell him.
He stood waiting, watching, all his attention focused on her. It was a heady thing to have someone wanting to listen to her.
She would begin at the beginning. “I wanted to marry Archie,” she said. “I thought I was in love with him. You know his story: raised as a good Christian by pious grandparents who kept hold of the leading strings until they could no longer do so. He took up residence in Risley Manor and everyone believed him to be upright and good. And then he found me alone in the garden. Like most of the girls in attendance the night of that party, I was starry-eyed about the handsome, rich, eligible earl. That he picked me out to follow into the garden…. I had no idea it had to do with me being an orphan with no dowry and a guardian who was not influential. I was overwhelmed. And a willing participant. And when someone saw us and raised the alarm…”
She leveled a long look at him.
He nodded. “Me.”
“Yes. My guardian insisted we marry. Archie had not expected that. Imagine the blow when I discovered that the handsome young earl who’d whispered endearments,” and put his hand down her bodice, “had to be shamed into marrying me.”
The wave of humiliation and anger was almost as fresh as the day she’d first experienced it.
“I decided to make the best of it. I hoped that my determination to love would… I did my duty as countess, here and in our few stays in town. I tried to… to make a comfortable home, to be a good wife. Archie was satisfied when his son was born. Not so satisfied with my slow recovery from childbirth, and quite dissatisfied at my reaction when I discovered my new husband had been…” Anger flared in her. “Swiving the maids.”
“More than one.” He bit his lower lip. “Of course.”
“He spent a great deal of time in London and was more discreet there, careful to choose liaisons with…”
She squeezed her eyes closed again. Archie had been much more discreet, at least during those early years of their marriage.
“At some point he became friends with Lord Vernon while in town, and spent more time at Risley Manor when Diddenton bought Wickworth Hall and Lord Vernon was in residence there. Georgie was six, and learning to ride on his pony when Archie decided to take him up on his horse for a lark. A drunken lark. At the first jump, Georgie flew off and d-died.”
An arm came around her shoulder and she turned away from the comfort he offered.
