“Josie. I’m so sorry, love. I know it’s inadequate. I failed you, and that’s a regret I’ll take with me to my grave because there’s nothing I can do now to erase what you have suffered. But I’d like to spend the rest of my life trying to bring you happiness. To compensate for what you’ve suffered. Please.”
“You are seeking redemption. But that is a poor reason to get married.”
Now she sounded tired. Defeated. He couldn’t stand it.
“That is not the reason. I want to marry you because I love you. I always have. I already knew, or suspected, what you told me. It hurts me more than I can express, for your sake. But it doesn’t make me love you any less. In fact, the opposite is true. You are not spoiled goods. You are a resilient, courageous, beautiful woman. None of what happened to you was your fault. You were a victim—”
“I was not a victim the entire time.” She enunciated with savage brutality. “I was not raped for twelve years. I would not have survived that.” Now her eyes glowed with anger and defiance. “Eventually, I submitted. Stopped fighting. Accepted. Even pretended to enjoy it to make my life easier. I became an accomplice to my own degradation. I betrayed myself, and I hate myself for it.”
“Josie, no!” He took a step toward her, and she retreated, crossing her arms in front of her. He immediately stopped,shaken that she might perceive him as a threat. Took a deep breath to settle the violent storm raging in his heart, striving for a calmer tone. “Even if you submitted, it was not consensual, for you had no other choice. You did what you needed to do to stay alive, just like a good soldier does. What you are is a survivor.”
She shook her head. “Leave it be. I don’t need your pity or your charity, Your Grace.”
Pity.
Charity.
Your Grace.
Each word was another turn of the knife already lodged in his heart. God, how she must detest him. The resentment she felt was obviously not directed only at her brother. It included him as well. And why not? He had failed her. He was the man who had professed to love her. Who had promised to marry her. He was the one who should have protected her. He should have followed her to the ends of the earth. He deserved her hatred. It was no wonder she didn’t want anything from him. He did not deserve a chance at redemption. But by God, he would protect her. Even if he had to do it from afar.
As she delivered her setdown, she turned to leave, taking Edward’s hand to lead him away. But the child clearly was enjoying his picnic and refused to cut it short. Protesting with a loud squeal, he instead tumbled on the blanket, rolling toward Michael, who caught him reflexively and lifted him in his arms, setting him down and offering a piece of apple as a bribe. Realizing he had gotten his way, the child settled to nibble on the fruit.
Josephine remained standing, poised to flee. Looking at him with wounded eyes. He couldn’t stand it. He reached for her hand, but she snatched it away.
“I’m sorry,” he said again. God, how many times had he apologized? And it still wasn’t enough. It would never beenough. “Stay. You were enjoying the outdoors before I came along to ruin it. I’ll go.”
With that, he turned and left. He obviously had no place in their lives.
CHAPTER 29
Josephinescurriedthroughthehallway that ran down the length of the family wing toward the ducal bedchambers. She spared a glance behind her, making sure she was not observed. It always gave her an uneasy feeling to come into this area of the house.
Not that she expected to encounter Michael here. That’s why she dared intrude into such a private part of the residence. The luxurious suites were not occupied. The dowager had moved out of the ducal bedchambers since her husband’s passing, and Michael had never moved into them.
However, the most magnificent bathing chamber she had ever seen was adjacent to the duke and duchess’s suites. These were the only rooms in the house that had such modern accommodations. And yet, they sat empty. Which made no sense to Josephine. Why build such a bath, and then not use it?
She had always enjoyed decadent baths, and it was the one thing she had missed since returning to England; the pools and baths that graced the women’s quarters in the Pasha’s palace.
Alas, her home did not have modern bathing chambers. Instead, every time she wished to take a bath, servants had to heat and haul several buckets of water up to her bedchamber. She didn’t want to overburden the staff, so she had requested them sparingly. Making do with quick washes that were not satisfying.
But here at Oakleigh Hall, thanks to a clever plumbing system that, according to the duchess, Michael had helped design himself, one could draw hot and cold water at the turn of a tap. Which meant she needn’t feel guilty about overworking the servants, and she could indulge in these baths as much as her heart desired. She had been doing so ever since the duchess had graciously offered her.
She would have to see about having one of these installed at Dunn Towers at some point, because there was nothing as heavenly as sinking into a hot steaming tub. Although Dunn Towers was not really her estate, but Edwards. Would such an addition be considered frivolous? Did she have the right to incur such an expense? So many things were still unclear. She would have to ask Michael. He would know.
However, since that harrowing conversation in the gardens, Michael had retreated. Ostensibly, because he had work to do at the estate. She suspected it was because he at last understood she was in earnest when she refused his suit.
Regardless of the reason, he left the house early in the mornings and didn’t join them for luncheon or tea. Sometimes she didn’t even see him until dinner. He missed him every day. Found herself wanting to talk to him, consult him on a myriad of subjects, or simply bask in his presence. But she reminded herself this was as it should be.
Maybe she had given him a disgust for her. God, she had been crude. Laying out her degradation in front of him, where he could not escape it. She had been hurt and desperate, because he was unwittingly prodding the wound in her soul. Offering the things she most wanted, but knew she could never have. She had reacted out of protective instinct. Shoving him away with all her might.
Now she regretted having said so much. It left her feeling exposed, naked. Tainted. Maybe that’s why she was bathing so much of late?
Slipping into the empty bedchamber of the mistress of the house, Josephine undressed, and, wrapped in a plush velvet robe, she approached the dressing room and the bathing chamber beyond, looking forward to the luxurious treat of sinking into the deep tub of fragrant, steamy water.
However, as she approached the ajar door to the bathing chamber, she heard a splashing sound from inside. Was it a servant cleaning the room? Or perhaps drawing the bath for her? No, she never asked for a servant’s help with her bath, and they never cleaned at this hour.
Before her mind arrived at the other logical conclusion, it was too late. Her eyes had strayed to the crack in the doorway, and her gaze had locked on an image that set fire to her blood while simultaneously freezing her in place. There, in the enormous tub inset within an intricately carved walnut cabinet, illuminated by the multicolored light that passed through the stained glass skylight, was Michael.
