“I did.” His stomach turned at the admission. “I thought she already knew and had simply kept silent to protect me. At the time, I only thought how my father had betrayedme. How he’d betrayed his only son. How dare he father other children? I assumed she knew, I assumed she’d accepted it.”
Bethany turned, lifting one knee onto the cushion, resting it almost in his lap. She was now clasping his hand with both of hers. Chase held on tightly as though holding her like this could anchor him through what he had to tell her.
“She didn’t take the news well,” Bethany guessed.
Chase stared down at their hands but in his mind, he saw his mother’s face, almost as clearly as if it had been only yesterday.
“Surprisingly enough, she seemed to handle the news better than most would have expected. She took it well—too well, in fact. I told her that I had met them and that I wanted to have a relationship with them. I told her I felt it my duty to provide for their needs. She assured me that she was fine with all of that.”
Perfectly fine, she’d said.
He ought to have realized she was not. Without so much as blinking, she’d gone on to tell him her modiste was arriving any minute to take measurements for her mourning wardrobe. “She asked me whether I’d prefer chicken or beef for the main course that evening.” He’d told her beef.
Chase pinched between his eyes. “Irrelevant details. I’ve noticed. It is how she copes.”
But there was more.
“I awoke early the next day to go riding…” Nausea threatened at the memory. “I don’t know why I went in there. A feeling of dread… I still don’t understand it. But I knew something was wrong the moment I stepped inside. It was too quiet. And the smell… laudanum and vomit.” Ever since, he had hated that room. “I wanted to believe it was an accident. The doctor had suggested the tonic would help her endure her grief. She’d consumed the entire bottle. I thought she was dead. I shook her and… nothing.” He’d shouted for help while staring down at her face; slackened and pale, so pale it was almost the same color as the sheets.
He remembered thinking that if he looked away, her soul would never return.
By now Bethany’s hands gripped his in something of a vice, and he couldn’tnotlook at her any longer. “She made a choking sound and I begged her to come back to me.” He’d never forget the hopelessness in her eyes when she’d done just that. “’Let me die,’ she said over and over. ‘Let me die.’”
He blinked away the burning sensation at the back of his eyes even as he watched sympathetic tears stream down Bethany’s cheeks. “My dream, Bethany, is to never see that look in her eyes again.”
At that moment, he realized a window in the room was open. Outdoor sounds drifted inside; birds, the rustling of leaves in a nearby tree. He glanced around Bethany’s chosen chamber, anxious that he might break down completely. “This room is calming.”
It wasn’t the room that was calming, though. It was this woman’s presence. Her strength and gentle comfort.
He inhaled a deep breath and then added, “I’m sure you can imagine my fears.”
Chapter 26
The Power of Giving
Bethany had never before felt so much pain from another human being. Not even from her own brother in the moments she knew he was blaming himself for their father’s death.
She searched her mind for something to say, anything to bring comfort, but realized words would only fall short.
She’d beenso angrywith him today. He’d hurt her—again. How was it she loved him at least twice as much now?
She closed her eyes and absorbed all of it.
This… this was what had been trapped inside his heart. A man so filled with love and honor that the secrets of the past were tearing him up inside.
How many people knew of the troubles he’d been hiding? He’d humbled her. She was honored that of all the people in the world, he would share this burden with her. Without consciously thinking to do so, she slid off the small settee and knelt on the floor before him, pressing her lips to the backs of his hands.
No person should ever have to cope with something like that alone. He’d lost his father, then he’d realized his father wasn’t the man he’d thought he was, and then he’d nearly lost his mother. His father had betrayed him while living and then his mother had betrayed him by not wanting to live.
At a young age, he had become the protector, the caregiver.
She tilted her head back to stare up at him. His eyes shone with unshed tears and his jaw clenched as though fighting for control.
How often did he do that? Swallow his sorrow and fears. When did he allow himself to relinquish them?
But she knew the answer already. He channeled these feelings into his passion for the sensual. His cigars. Drinking.
Sex.
