“I will never have romantic feelings for any woman.”
Again, there was a pause, and again, I felt the weight of my own ignorance. He began once more after a surreptitious glance around the room. “Because I have those feelings for men.”
“Oh.” The word felt inadequate, but it was the only one that came. I did not fully understand the implications of what he told me, but I knew it was significant. Perhaps illegal as well. As the words began to arrange themselves in my mind, a great many things slipped into place. All this time, I had known why my father wished to marry me to Xander, but I had never understood why he cared to wed me. He was all eagerness to arrange a match but disinterested in becoming acquainted. How ignorant I was.
“Do you understand my meaning?”
“Yes, I believe so. Forgive me, but is that not… illegal?”
“The feelings are not. The expression of those feelings, however, would end in a hanging, yes. I’m relying on your discretion.”
“Of course,” I assured him readily.
As I took in the blatant relief on his face, my heart suddenly broke for him. I had fallen in love with Michael without trying, without my permission, against my judgment. While a future with him was uncertain at present, the possibility existed. Though an imprudent match, there was no law against it. But Xander… to know with absolute certainty that he could never have such a thing without risking his life, it was too much to contemplate.
“So, you see. I cannot afford the stain of two failed courtships. It would draw too much scrutiny. I must marry and produce an heir. There is no other option. You are a kind woman, Juliet, and you will be a good mother to any children. Everything that is within my power to give, it will be yours. Anything to make your situation tenable. After we produce an heir, you can take a lover. Any children would be recognized as mine, given all the appropriate distinctions. You can keep an entirely separate house. Anything you want. But I cannot release you. It would ruin me.”
The desperation in his tone and countenance was unbearable, full of heart-aching agony. I could not abide hurting this man who had been nothing but kind to me. Months ago, when I first agreed to wed him, the arrangement he proposed now would have been perfectly acceptable to me. Now though, the thought of a marriage based on mutual respect but not love was agony, too.
“You will not release me then?”
“I’m sorry. I cannot. But please, consider everything I have said. Would it truly be so terrible being married to a man who respects and admires you?”
I nodded absentmindedly. We were at an impasse, and I needed time to consider my next course.
“I should be going then. I had thought to leave here a compromised woman by way of a broken engagement. Had I known you would refuse to release me I would have made the pretense of a chaperone.”
He winced at that before taking my hand in his for the first time. There was none of the pleasant warmth and flutters, none of the giddy rush I felt the moment my fingers brushed Michael’s. That realization solidified my decision in a way that nothing else could.
“May I call on you?”
“I have left my father’s home. I’m staying with my friend Kate, Viscountess Grayson, at Grayson House. But I believe I require some time to make sense of all this.”
“Very well. You will send a note when you’ve considered it further?”
“Yes,” my response was curt, and I desperately needed to escape this house. With its maddening black-and-white floors and walls and ceilings and furnishings, I felt as though I had lost the ability to see colors.
He escorted me out of the drawing room to the door in a perfunctory fashion. Once outside, I was momentarily blinded by all the blue of the sky and the green of the elm tree in front of their home. Kate’s carriage still awaited me, and a footman handed me in before setting off. I left the house every bit as engaged as when I had entered.
Twenty-Six
WAYLAND’S, LONDON - JUNE 22, 1814
JULIET
In the threedays after my visit to Hasket House, I had come no closer to a solution than when I first left. As a lady, I could jilt Xander without the legal repercussions a man would face under similar circumstances. Two failed courtships, though, would draw unwanted attention to any young man. Especially a duke, as handsome and charming as he was wealthy. The gossipmongers would circle like sharks scenting blood, searching for the ruinous wound.
Could I do that to any person? At best, his line would end with him. At worst—I could hardly think the worst. For the hundredth time, I cursed the laws and rules that created this situation. My heart ached for Xander. He asked too much of me, though. He asked for the rest of my life. Now that I had experienced the first flutterings of love in all its rapturous, heart-breaking beauty, a marriage without it would be unbearable. I knew I must end the engagement, that was certain, but the “how” eluded me.
The one constant in my tumultuous thoughts was a desperate desire for Michael’s mere presence. And now, in an increasingly blatant attempt to ruin myself, I was outside Michael’s club. I had chosen mid-morning for my visit. My father frequently returned home at that time, so I hoped the club would be slightly less crowded. Unfortunately, I had not considered that a gaming-hell might keep different hours than a tea shop, and the entrance was locked. I stood, staring stupidly at the door for much longer than I cared to admit before deciding a knock was the only option.
It was less than a minute before the door opened to reveal a strangely familiar man. He was tall and stout, with a bald head. I was absolutely certain I had never been introduced to him but equally certain I had seen him somewhere before. My suspicion was confirmed when he bowed politely and addressed me by name, urging me inside and closing the door behind us. I was not certain what I expected, but it was not this. Rich mahogany furnishings, luxurious sage fabrics, elegant gaming tables filled the enormous room with a glass domed ceiling. The place was bright and airy in the sun of the skylight, not the dark, musty tobacco scent of my father’s study.
I was distracted from my perusal by the addition of another gentleman who was also suspiciously familiar to me. This one was portly, with a curly mop of red hair and freckles. When he, too, addressed me by name, recollection dawned suddenly. Months before, I saw them both outside of Dalton Place. Frequently. Michael must have had the house watched.
I was equal parts irritation and amusement at that realization when I replied, “Do you gentlemen often lurk outside a lady’s home prior to an introduction?”
Simultaneously they realized their critical error, the first coughing uncomfortably and the latter turning an alarming shade of red. They were spared further scolding by another calling my name from behind.
