‘What do you actually want to do?’
His words echoed around her head. She might not have known what she wanted, but she knew what she did not.
“I am the only one who would have you. You are mine, Vivian. Not his. You will never be his.” Lord Brixten’s face was blotchy, and spittle flew from his lips.
“I was never yours, Lord Brixten. And I have no wish to be. I cannot believe I ever wasted my time trying to get you to see what you had let slip through your fingers.” She turned away from him and called over her shoulder. “And it is Lady Elington to you, Lord Brixten. You would do well to remember it.”
Ignoring the stares of the crowd around her, Vivian put her shoulders back and strode back to her home. Blood thundered in her ears, her hand stung, and she was sure the fight would be in the papers.
She could not bring herself to care. In fact, she wished she had slapped him harder.
Chapter Eighteen
“The curse is real.” Thomas stared at his shaking hand. “Which means that this illness was only the first step. It will get worse from here.”
He swirled the whisky in his glass, his heart heavy. The realization had hit him as the days passed, his hands still shaking. He had woken that morning with a headache.
It is not fair. I should have had more time.
He could remember his father, barely. How, at first, he had had the occasional bad day with many good ones between, yet over time the bad days had outnumbered the good, until at last there were only bad days and worse days.
He could remember his gaunt face, once handsome but wasted away with illness and strife. Thomas clenched his fist and gritted his teeth, forcing the image from his mind and focusing on the page of the diary in front of him.
“There must be something in here.” He scanned the page, squinting as he tried to decipher his father’s scrawl. “Come on.”
He saw it. His heart sped up, and he leaped from his chair. He held the diary in front of him, ignoring the way his hand shook. “This is it! This is what I have been looking for.”
He could barely contain his excitement. He rubbed his eyes, hardly daring to believe what he was seeing. His heart soared; his stomach leaped.
The scribbles on the page before him swam in and out of focus, but he squinted, willing the words to behave. He had not slept; instead, he threw himself into his research for hours.
And it had finally paid off.
“I have discovered the cause of our affliction. The curse that has doomed my line,”Thomas read aloud.“A cousin killed another, granting our line the title of Marquess. In her grief, the widow cursed him and all his descendants, that they might never live a long and full life. The witch’s name haunts me. I dream of her every night. I wake up screaming. I feel my body begin to whither.”
Thomas cursed. He had read enough of his father’s diaries to know that there would be nothing else of use in the pages. The writing was so spidery he could barely read it, but that did not kill the hope in his chest.
“A cousin… When did our line take over?” Thomas ran back to his desk, flinging the papers off it until he found what he was looking for: his family tree.
He ran a finger along it.Please let her name be there.He found where his line took over. Lord Gareth Heathcliff, who had killed his cousin, Lord Simon Codswallader.
“And who was his wife?”
Thomas found the name, and he slammed his fist on the table. “All I have to do is find her descendant. She will be able to fix this curse, and all will be well.”
“Thomas? Are you all right?” The door to his study burst open, and Vivian appeared, looking wide-eyed. “I heard a bang. Did something happen?”
Thomas took in her worried expression and her pale face, and he shook his head. “I was just excited, that is all.”
“Then you have made some headway on your research?” Vivian took a step toward it, hesitating as she looked at him. “Does this mean you will finally tell me what it is you are working on?”
Thomas opened his mouth, the words already forming, and then he shook his head.I do not want to worry her or get her hopes up.
“Soon, but not yet.”
He saw her face fall, but she did not press him. Instead, she retreated from him, disappearing and reappearing a moment later with a tray of tea and biscuits.
“What is this?” He gestured to the tray, hastily tidying the papers away.
