Page 41 of The Marquess' Wicked Wager
“I know, Blue. I know.”
“You don’t know a thing,” she wailed. She groaned and let her hands fall to her sides. With a quiver of her lip, she all but came undone. What poured from her next made the heavens grumble. Thunder. “I did not leave you because I loathed you, Albert. I left you because…” She hesitated, her voice thick with emotion. “I pulled away because I like you too much, really.”
Albert started. She couldn’t mean what she was saying. She was sleep-deprived. She was cold and dirty. She was mad. Anything made more sense than hernotdetesting him.
“Of course, now you choose to be quiet.” She laughed, but it came out like a sob. She shrugged, “It’s true,” and then she reached for his hand. He was powerless to pull it back though he wanted to. Her touch was more than he deserved. “That is why we must put an end to this. It will serve neither of us for me to compromise myself any more than I have. I can’t stand living a lie when I wish more than anything that it were true. I cannot play at an affection I hold for you already.”
“Edna—”
“Don’t say a thing,” she muttered and got to her feet.
As she did, the skies roared again, and Albert felt the first drop of rain on his nose. It urged him to act. He shot up, seized her face in his hands, and he kissed her. Her mouth was cold, wet, soft. It didn’t shake off his confusion as he thought it might. It brought back the feeling of weightlessness from before. They stood there, floating beneath the rainfall.
A hand fell from her cheek to her waist, and he pressed her body against his as though he could hold hersoclose, he would never lose her again. He pulled away and drew back in, locking her lips with his own to hold back sense, to hold backtime. Her warmth, her little panting sighs, her creamy, peach-like skin, the softness of her golden hair, the taste of her—he hoarded it like piles of treasure in his mind.
But the words that came next, he did not want to remember.
“Goodbye, Albert,” she murmured breathlessly against his mouth.
And then, like the sun, she was gone.
ChapterSeventeen
The fire crackled in the hearth of the Bloomsday house parlor. The day was unusually cold as all days had been since Edna’s return from the country. London had practically frosted over in a week; its company had been just as unforgiving. She glanced around the room, hoping the sight of her family might inspire some sort of activity in her. There was only so much sulking a girl could do–or so she hoped.
Lord Miles, who had insisted she call himJonathansince his betrothal to Violet, was mulling over the latestLondon Gazetteby the pianoforte. Her father, with his ruddy cheeks and mustache, had fallen asleep in the armchair by the inglenook. Lastly, there was Violet, humming to herself as she compared strands of ribbon at the rounded tea table by the door. She had scarcely left Edna’s side since Norfolk, all talk of betrothal between her goddaughter and the Marquess having come to term. The news had been met with mixed emotion though nothing about her father’s reaction had been mixed, to say the least. Thankfully, he had yet to mention the Duke of Craster, the idea being too unseemly even for a man of his caliber. If nothing else, Albert’s plan had worked.
Edna let out a little sigh, and it caught the attention of her godmother. She cleared her throat and gestured for Edna to join her. Settling in the seat opposite Violet’s, placing her teacup down, she felt her body sag. With a scolding furrow of her brow, Violet slid a magenta ribbon across the mahogany tabletop
“Do you think this is quitetoobright for a woman’s second wedding? For the decor, I mean to say?” Violet grinned and slid the other fabric over, this one a baby blue color. “Is this quite too,” she leaned in close, “virginal?”
Edna choked on her tea. “They are both adequately fine.” Violet seemed in no way satisfied, so she tried again. “The blue, godmother. The pink is simply dreadful.”
Violet reached a hand over and stroked Edna’s cheek. “Thank you, darling.” She withdrew, looking over the rest of the matter on the table: swatches of muslin for her gown, all manner of blooms, a small sheet of parchment with drops of fragrance. “Not that it matters what I choose. Everything shall be draped in grey beneath a lowland sky!”
Edna nodded soberly. Jonathan had insisted they host the wedding as far North as one might go in decent society at his estate in Eldenwich. It was an hour’s ride from the border, a little further from Carlisle. The notion didn’t exactly inspire Edna with glee. It was too close to comfort to the ancestral home of the Clarks in the land of Craster’s making.
“Do we…” she began but trailed off, needing some more discreet way of asking the question that pressed on her mind. “I am only wondering–”
“The Marquess of Remington shall not be in attendance.” Violet peered up from the ribbons, her gaze colored with mischief. “Or so the story goes…”
Jonathan coughed. “Albie is busy with his work. He shall be venturing down to Dorset to talk trade on Monday before we leave.” He didn’t raise his eyes from his paper, but Edna swore she saw him blush. Deceit–she knew it well. “Shame, really.”
Violet shook her head. “Jonathan assures me, all is fine with the man.” She paused, adding a little more quietly, “Not that he deserves your worrying, my darling, after how he puppeteered you.”
Edna didn’t know whether to feel relieved or scorned. Heshouldbe fine, after all. Their betrothal had been one of artifice. Only, it felt a little unfair that she should be mourning their time together, and he was unaffected. He had probably secured a new plaything by now, she reckoned, perhaps a woman with whom he might genuinely fall in love. The thought made her tea taste like bile. No, it wasbile, building at the back of her throat. She swallowed hard.
“Well, better a heartbreak than a life of misery as the Duchess ofCrass,” Violet said beneath her breath.
Before she could say anything equally incensing, the butler appeared by the door. He stood straight in his livery, the picture of discipline if not for his potbelly, and declared, “The Honorable Lady Janine has arrived, My Lords, My Ladies.”
Violet and Edna shared a grimace. “Did you know she was calling?” Edna asked, but her godmother merely shrugged.
Janine flounced into the room, a marvel of scarlet in a matching coat and visiting gown, preceded by her strong eau of patchouli. Her dark hair sparkled in the light from the fire, coiled in perfect ringlets around her face. Anyone would have thought she was attending a soiree…if not a soiree, then a tryst.
With a final, grumbling snore, Edna’s father woke from his nap. He shot upright, knocking the book from his chest to the floor. “A visitor?” he asked, and his grogginess eased a giggle from Violet.
“Lady Janine is here,” Violet explained dismissively. “Though I doubt she is here foryou, lest you chance at taking after your friends.” She walked over to her niece and seized her in an embrace, taking charge of the greetings until all the room had settled again.
