Page 62 of The Earl Takes All
Setting her glass aside, he carried his to the window and gazed out. “It’s very important that Allie—Lady Alberta—grow up here,” he said quietly.
She blinked, trying to focus on the words he’d uttered. She’d expected him to elaborate on his earlier comment, needed him to explain himself. He’d made her feel a fool that night in the garden. Was he striving to do the same now?
“That experience was denied to Albert and myself. He would never forgive me if it were denied to her. I’ve moved into the other wing. God knows the residence is spacious enough that we could go years without catching sight of each other. I will, of course, spend as much time as possible at the other estates or in London so you are not burdened by my presence.”
An hour ago, five minutes ago, she would have expected him to say,So I am not burdened byyourpresence.But he claimed to love her.
Reluctantly, she moved closer, stood far enough away that she couldn’t inhale his familiar bergamot scent but near enough that she could see every tiny line that had been carved by the weight of his burdens into his face. “You hardly ever spoke to me.”
He closed his eyes. “Julia—”
“If I walked into the room, you walked out.”
He bowed his head, clenched his jaw.
“You never had a kind word for me. Although to be fair, neither did you have an unkind one. It’s just that they were all rather... dutiful-sounding, as though dragged out of you because they were expected.”
“It was easier that way.” Turning, he pushed back against the edge of the window as though he needed something sharp biting into him. He pressed the flat of one foot to the wall, his knee bent slightly. He was a picture of raw masculinity, and she hated herself for noticing. “It was easier if you looked at me with loathing, because what manner of man would desire a woman whose eyes flashed with disgust whenever she saw him? And when that wasn’t enough, I drank and drank and drank to dull the yearning, to make myself obnoxious so my brother’s wife would not welcome me into their residence, because God forbid Albert ever realized the hunger I felt for the woman he loved, the one he had married.”
That long? He’d carried feelings toward her for that long? How had she not known? How had Albert not guessed? She pressed her back to the casement, needing the support as her knees threatened to give out at the unexpectedness of his revelation. It hardly seemed real. “When did you begin to feel this way?”
He lifted his glass, downed what remained of his scotch, and shifted his gaze back out the window. He squinted. “Oh, it was lurking about for a while. That night in the garden sealed it. I thought, ‘You’re only interested because she’s forbidden. Kiss her, have your taste, and be done with her.’ Instead that blasted kiss only made me want you all the more.”
She squeezed her eyes shut and rasped, “That night in the garden I thought you were Albert.”
“I know. I didn’t realize it until after the kiss, actually convinced myself that you’d been waiting for me. More the fool was I. When you called me Albert, it was like a kick to the gut, but it didn’t lessen the tumult that you created within me.”
Opening her eyes, she discovered him studying her once more, his expression an impassive mask, and yet within the brown depths of his eyes was the want, the need. How had she been so blind before? Because he’d been so incredibly unpleasant that she’d never bothered to look beyond the surface.
“Since you mistook me in the garden, I thought there was a chance that after a four-month separation from Albert you might mistake me again and I could pull off what he asked of me.”
From the moment she had walked into the library, she would have sworn he had been more honest with her than he’d ever been, but part of his story made no sense. Was he merely striving to weasel his way out of what he’d done? Was everything he’d said merely a lie to gain her favor, her forgiveness? How could she trust his words when he’d done something so untrustworthy? She furrowed her brow. “When did Albert ask you to do what you must to ensure I didn’t lose the child?”
He blinked. “Pardon?”
“I assume the story about the manner in which Edward was killed was truly Albert’s, that he died instantly. Is that correct?”
He nodded solemnly.
“Then how did he have a chance to ask anything of you? How can any of this that you’ve done”—she flung her arm out to encompass weeks of deception—“have been at his request?”
He raised his glass, scowled at its lack of content. “One night as we were sitting by the fire, he said that if anything happened to him I was not to let you know until after the babe was born. He feared the news would cause you to miscarry. He had a premonition, I suppose.”
“Once again, I don’t believe you.” It was too farfetched. He was either lying about Albert’s request or lying about how he’d been killed. She thought she might be ill. “He didn’t die straightaway, did he?”
Lowering the glass, his hold on it so tight that his knuckles were turning white, he met and held her gaze. “It’s as I said. He died with the first blow.”
He didn’t flinch, didn’t look away. She wanted to believe that Albert’s death had been quick, that he’d been spared any pain, but it seemed unlikely. “So some night, during a random conversation, he just happened to ask you to pretend to be him if he should die?”
“Two nights before we spotted the baby gorilla.”
The tale of a premonition was preposterous. Yet she wanted it to be true, wanted to believe Albert didn’t suffer. But Edward would know that, wouldn’t he? If he truly cared for her as he claimed, he would want to ease her pain.
She didn’t know what to make of his declaration, his confession. It confused her, made her feel as much the betrayer as the betrayed. She didn’t like all the tumult he was creating within her. “I loved Albert. I love him still.”
“I know. I’m not asking you to love me, Julia. I’m not even asking you to think kindly of me or forgive me for the duplicity. I understand that you’re angry, furious. You have every right to be. I’m merely asking that you not do anything rash that might have an adverse effect on Alberta’s future.”
Damn him, damn his deception. Originally she had wanted to hurt him in some manner, publicly humiliate him, but she did have to take care not to ruin her daughter’s future chances for a good match. “I don’t know that I can stay here,” she admitted, not certain she could trust her feelings, trust him. The wounds of his betrayal still festered. Her grief, her loss of Albert, seemed to suck the very life from her.
