“When Longmere came to, he thought he’d created his masterpiece. I was overjoyed that I’d finally given him what he wanted. I thought we would be happy at last.”
The crack in her voice made Cull want to slam his fist into something. That bacon-brained bastard Longmere had hadeverything…and he’d thrown it away for his pride. For his insatiable need for glory.
“Longmere never suspected your hand in the painting?” Cull asked.
She shook her head. “Before we were married, he would say he found my artistic endeavors charming. But after we were married…I had the sense that he didn’t like our shared interest.” She bit her lip. “He would make comments about my ‘dabbling’ and how I was wasting time on a hobby instead of properly attending to my role as a countess. I didn’t want to displease him, so I painted less and less.”
Cull struggled to throttle his anger. He stroked her back, soothing himself as well as her.
“Anyway, Longmere attributed his new success to the Devil’s Bliss,” she said in hollow tones. “Unbeknownst to me, he was taking more and more of it in hopes of replicating what he’d done withPortrait of a Lady Dreaming. He got himself entangled with the villains who’d introduced him to the drug and ended up being a part of their nefarious operations. Eventually, Longmere was murdered by one of his depraved cronies.”
When you make your nest with vipers,Cull thought dourly,chances are you were going to get bit.
“I fail to see how that makes you responsible for Longmere’s death,” he said.
Sniffling, she said, “If I hadn’t tampered with his work, maybe he wouldn’t have taken more of the drug. Maybe he wouldn’t have gotten involved with those villains. Maybe he would still be alive today.”
“That reasoning is shit, and you know it,” Cull said.
Her gaze flared, and he was glad for it. Glad to see that golden fire back in her eyes.
“It is not shit—”
“It’s as daft as a brush. You didn’t kill Longmere—his bastard of a crony did.”
“I hastened him down that dark path,” she said stubbornly.
“He took his own bloody self on that trip. With his arrogance and conceit.”
“I was his wife. I should have known…”
“A countessanda mind reader, are you? Never mind that he was deliberately keeping you in the dark about his nasty habits.”
Pippa pinched her brows. “You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?”
“Doing what?”
“Arguing with me so I won’t feel as guilty.”
“And what, exactly, are you guilty of, Pippa?” he challenged. “What is it that you truly cannot forgive yourself for?”
He saw the answer blaze in her eyes.
“I let him do it,” she said hoarsely. “I let him make me feel small and insignificant. Let him cut me off from the people and things I love best. I let him take away who Iam.” Rivulets ran down her cheeks. “God, I’m such an idiot.”
“Even if you are a bit daft,” he said gently, “I love you.”
She made a sound halfway between a sob and a laugh. He tucked her head against his shoulder, holding her as the poison drained out. He fished out a handkerchief, wiping at her tears.
When the storm passed, he asked, “Better?”
She took his handkerchief and blew her nose. “Yes. But I’ve ruined your nice cravat.”
“It was too tight anyway.”
She let out a watery laugh. “Why do I always end up in tears around you?”
“Must be my charming personality.”
