“I will loan you the money, Stephen,” she said. “I was left with more than I could spend in my lifetime.”
“I appreciate your offer, but I cannot take your money,” he said, shaking his head. “No… these are my mistakes. I need to make this right.”
“You do, but it has to come from within you. Don’t be ashamed to ask for help, Stephen. You are strong enough to do this. Lord Darkmoor can only have power over you if you concede it to him.”
“I know that you are right in all of this,” he said, sighing.
“I think, deep down, you know what you must do,” she said softly, squeezing his hand.
He laid his other hand over hers and gently touched the smooth skin, as velvety soft as pressed powder. “What happened to us, Lizzy? I thought you had feelings for me once, long ago. My brother could have spoken to your father.”
“So could you have,” she said in a sad voice.
Ah, so that was it… She was right again. He’d been too volatile, too reactive to do what was right back then. It had been his downfall. Certainly, it had led him down a dark road of drinking, gaming, and wenching.
“You must accept it. The past is behind us,” she said. “I try to find happiness in my present.”
“That is so like the Lizzy I knew,” he said, attempting to smile.
“I do care about you, Stephen. I had real feelings for you before I married Edward. He was a good man, my husband. We had a good life together. It was short, though. Ten years. The war took away so many good men. Even though Edward was an officer, he chose to fight with his men—and he died on thebattlefield. And that is why, as I explained, I cannot sully his memory. He was very good to me,” she said quietly.
“I understand.” He finished his second cup of tea and set the empty cup on the saucer. “As for the issue with Bella, I will make this right. But I cannot take your money. If it’s the last thing I do, I’ll make it right.”
She smiled, and he found himself mesmerized by her warm brown eyes, and the charming sprinkle of freckles scattered across her nose that had remained unchanged in all these years. Her red hair was just as vibrant and thick, and he longed to see it down and flowing across her shoulders. She looked almost the same as she had when she was a sweet young debutante at her first ball.
“Thank you, Lizzy. Just speaking to you has helped me immensely.” He rose and offered his hand to assist her from her chair.
As she stood, he caught her gaze and found himself utterly captivated. The soft glow of candlelight illuminated her features, but it was not merely her beauty that held him spellbound—it was something deeper, something that stirred his very soul.
“May I kiss you?” His voice was low, almost rough with emotion.
She hesitated for the briefest moment before offering a slight nod.
He leaned down, his lips brushing hers in the lightest of touches before he pulled back, his breath unsteady.
“You are exquisite, Lizzy. Not only in form but in spirit,” he murmured. “I have never known another woman like you.”
His fingers lingered against hers. “I will make you a promise,” he said, his voice resolute. “The next time I kiss you, it will be under very different circumstances.”
~*~
Chapter Fourteen
Stephen returned to Bridgewater Manor, his thoughts tangled in his conversation with Lizzy. At least she had not shunned him—a small mercy that warmed him despite the damp chill clinging to his still-wet clothes and hair. The morning was yet young, and rather than risk disturbing his family, he ascended to his bedchamber via the servants’ stairway. More than that, he had no desire to be seen in his current state—his hair thick with sand, his wrinkled garments marred by dirt and blood, and the unmistakable scent of spirits clinging to him like a disreputable fog.
Reaching the upper landing, he swayed slightly, his balance unsteady, and collided with a framed painting—a sunrise over the sea, ironically one of his own youthful works. The impact sent a shudder through the panel behind it, and to his astonishment, a section of the wall shifted, creaking open to reveal a dark, narrow space beyond.
Startled, he stumbled back, steadying himself against the wall. “What in the world?” he murmured. Peering into the hidden passageway, he found it shrouded in darkness, and it was impossible to discern anything beyond the threshold.
He would have to return when sober and armed with a lantern. And perhaps a sturdier constitution.
Absently, he made a mental note to have a handrail installed. If he had nearly taken a tumble, then surely the household staff, burdened with armfuls of linens or trays, might do the same. But for now, fatigue pressed down upon him, the lingering effects of his drinking binge sapping what little strength remained. With some effort, he located the hinge and eased the panel shut, telling himself he would investigate further once he had rested, and his wits were fully restored.
Stephen vaguely recalled his brother once mentioning hidden passageways, but the details eluded him. At the time, consumed by gambling debts and the haze of near-constant inebriation, such things had seemed of little consequence. Now, regret settled heavily upon him. He had taken too much for granted, assuming there would always be time to speak with Miles, explore the passageways together, and mend what had frayed between them.
A sharp pang lanced through his chest. The last time they had spoken, they had parted in anger.
When he reached his suite, he stumbled inside and closed the door. After stripping off his wet clothes, gritty with sand, he crawled into bed, hoping for a few hours of sleep. The cool, crisp sheets soothed the unrest in his mind. Letting out a deep sigh, he closed his eyes, surrendering to exhaustion. Yet echoes of his conversation with Lizzy lingered.
