“Given the argument we saw the other day, it’s fair to say that Crell and his wife do not have the most amiable of relationships. What you saw tonight does give me some doubts,” he said. “I shall make inquiries on the morrow. You should go to bed.”
Meredith shook her head. “I couldn’t possibly sleep,” she confessed. “This has all rather upset me.”
Darius set the opera glasses down on the chair next to the window. “Come with me. I’ll pour you some brandy. That will calm your nerves.”
Darius gently took her hand. A heat blossomed in the touch of their palms that made Meredith’s chest burst with a matching warmth.
He led her across the hall to his own chamber. It was inappropriate for her to be in his rooms alone with him, but no servants were awake now to see what she was doing.
He went to a drink cabinet and opened it, pulling out a pair of glasses. Then he found a decanter of brandy and poured them each a glass.
“Please sit and drink it.” He pointed to a pair of armchairs facing the fireplace which was lit. The soft pop and crackle of the logs was soothing as Meredith eased into the nearest chair, cupping the brandy glass in her hands. Darius sat down in the other chair across from her and they both drank in silence for several minutes. Darius’s face grew solemn until he suddenly spoke.
“I wish I had been there… When Uncle Ben passed.”
“As do I,” she said. “Why did you fall out with him?” She instantly regretted asking such a private question. But to her surprise, he answered her.
“I was trying to warn him about Harry, that his son was not behaving well in London. Ben grew upset with me, telling me that I was being reckless with my own life, which he was not completely wrong about. We quarreled, and after that, we only exchanged the briefest of letters on occasion. I regret it deeply.” Darius’s gaze moved from the fire to her. “He was the last of my family, and I wasn’t even there. I didn’t even know he was ill.”
“He didn’t want anyone to know, Darius,” Meredith said. “He kept telling me and Mrs. Todd that it would be silly to write to anyone. He said would be well again before anyone could arrive.” She swallowed the lump in her throat. “I so desperately wanted to believe that, it blinded me from the truth. It is my fault.”
Darius threw back the rest of his brandy and scowled at her. “Why? Why do you do that?” he asked gruffly.
“Do what?”
He set his empty brandy glass on the little table by his chair. “Take the blame upon yourself? You do it for almost everything.”
“What do you mean? I don’t?—”
“You do, by God, you do.” He stared at her, those penetrating eyes peering deep into her soul. “Why do you believe you caused all these problems?”
“I—” Meredith’s throat tightened. She didn’t want to say it, didn’t want to hear what the voice inside her head said when she tried not to listen.
Darius pointed to the floor in front of him. “Come here.”
She obeyed, moving out of her chair and standing in front of him in nothing but her dressing gown and slippers.
He reached out, grasping her waist, and pulled her onto his lap so that she sat across his powerful thighs. She should have protested sitting so intimately on his lap, but she didn’t. It felt too easy, too natural for her to be right where she was.
“Now, tell me, why you punish yourself so?” he demanded in a quiet but forceful tone.
“Because…” Her voice faltered as her hands pressed against his chest. She could feel his heartbeat through the fabric of his shirt. She stared at his face, his lips, and her entire body seemed to melt again. His thighs tightened beneath her as he stared back at her.
They were so close now, so wonderfully close, and her words would ruin this moment. But he deserved to know the truth.
“Because it is my fault. If my mother never had a child, she and my father would’ve been happy.”
“Is that what your mother told you?” Darius asked, his voice soft his arms wrapped around her, almost cradling her. His body was so wonderfully warm, and his arms were firm and gentle. Safe, she was always safe with him. How could a man she barely know make her feel that way?
“No, but?—”
“Did she ever imply that?”
“No, but?—”
“You assumed,” he guessed. “Your father never would have left his wife. Men rarely do for their mistresses. The scandal of divorce is usually not worth it. What happened between your parents was never for one instant your fault.”
“But Uncle Ben?—”
