Her father had been the illegitimate son of a marquess? She hadn’t been relying on the generosity of distant relations all this time?
No, instead, if what Torrie had just told her was true, they had been relying onherfunds to provide themselves the lives of comfort they wished, until they had grown tired of her.
“My God, Bess.” He took her in his arms then, holding her tight.
And she could do nothing but cling to him in response, wrapping her own arms around his lean form and falling into his by-now-familiar warmth and strength. It struck her suddenly, how much she trusted him. How much she relied on him.
How much she cared for him.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his lips moving over her hair.
And she realized she was weeping. Fat tears rolling down her cheeks that could not be stopped. Why she cried, she couldn’t say. Surprise? Hurt? Confusion? Or perhaps a blend of all three and more. It would seem she’d been lied to for most of her life by everyone around her. Not even her own mother and father had told her the truth. And when they had died unexpectedly in a carriage accident, she’d been left to the mercy of a world that had taken advantage of her.
“They were lying to me,” she sniffed. “All this time. They made me leave behind my cat, Mince Pie. She was a tortoise shell, her coat all black with small flecks of orange, and she was so sweet and trusting, the only friend I had in the world after my mother and father died, and they said that I came to them with nothing, so they couldn’t possibly afford to feed one more hungry belly.”
Just as swiftly, anger rose as she recalled the way she had been made to labor for Mr. and Mrs. Pettigrew, treated no better than as if she were a maid laboring for the family. The pain of leaving behind Mincey. Those cold, terrible winters. And Lady Andromeda, always wearing fine jewels, a roaring fire in her own chamber to keep her warm, dressed to perfection whilst Elizabeth had her old, worn gowns to mend and wear. She thought of all the times Lady Andromeda had reminded her how grateful she ought to be, for all the generosity which had been bestowed on her.
“I don’t like seeing you weep.” His voice was a low rumble against her ear, his hands moving in comforting motions up and down the small of her back. “My sweet Bess. You’re too kindhearted and trusting, and they took advantage of you. Every last one of them.”
They had, and how silly she felt too, for believing without question. For trusting.
“I was a fool,” she muttered into the perfect fall of his cravat. Very likely, she had marred it with her tears, but she was feeling too distressed to care at the moment.
“No. You were a girl alone in the world, preyed on by the people who were meant to protect you.” There was a sharp edge in his voice she’d never heard before. True fury.
On her behalf.
His outrage melted some of the anger inside her. How fortunate she was to have somehow found herself married to this man—to the man he was now. He had been nothing but honorable, patient, considerate, and caring with her from the first.
“Thank you,” she said, leaning her head back to gaze up at him through watery eyes.
His brow furrowed. “For what?”
“For telling me the truth. For championing me.”
Years ago, when their circumstances had been so dissimilar, he had not. But he had been a different person then. Nothing like the Torrie she had come to know.
“I’ll never stop, Bess. You deserve nothing less.”
She believed him.
And she was beginning to believe in herself, as well.
Impulsively, Elizabeth rolled to her toes, setting her lips to his. He made a low sound of approval, responding instantly, deepening the kiss until it was hungry and carnal.
They were both breathless when he tore his mouth from hers. “If we don’t stop soon, we won’t make it to supper.”
She wouldn’t have minded missing the evening, for thinking about spending a few hours in the presence of Torrie’s friends still made her feel desperately uncertain. However, she had no wish to cause more scandal than they already had with their hasty marriage.
“I suppose we must, in that case,” she agreed with the greatest of reluctance, releasing her hold on him.
Her sinful husband winked. “There’s always the carriage, my dear.”
* * *
The hour was quitelate as their carriage rocked over Mayfair roads, returning them to Torrington House.
“You did splendidly tonight,” Torrie praised, his eyes burning with intensity in the low light of the lamps illuminating the interior.
