She regretted the vile statement even as she forced her tongue around it. Not because of the grief that lanced her heart: that festering, unwavering certainty that she had deserved to lose the precious life she’d been given. No, her remorse was for the pain that contorted James’s features. He looked as if she’d gutted him.
I’m sorry. Forgive me. This is the only way.
Her heart bleeding, she kept her face composed.
“If that is how you feel,” James said, his hands clenched, his voice vibrating with quiet, barely leashed rage, “then there is nothing left to say. Our union was a mistake. I misjudged you. When we met, I believed you to be a different woman than the one who stands before me now.”
She took the blow wordlessly, emotionlessly. Numbness was her shield.
“However, the fact remains that we are bound for life and share a roof over our heads. As a measure of courtesy, I suggest we steer clear of one another until I can come up with a more permanent solution.”
He strode out. Only the slamming of the door, which rattled the fragile panes, betrayed his fury. She took trembling breaths to tamp down her sobs. A wild hope struck her: could she have possibly misread the threat? Grabbing her spectacles from the desk, she donned them and reopened the journal to the page…
The poisonous cutting and words remained, swimming in her vision.
Merciful blooms. What am I going to do?
Chapter Six
Past
James left the stuffy ballroom, wishing he had not accepted Lord and Lady Thurston’s invitation to celebrate the return of their scion, Thaddeus, from the Grand Tour. The affair was loud and packed, and he was in no mood to socialize. Earlier this week, Melanie Orneville, James’s lover of nearly a year, had ended their liaison rather dramatically: she’d flung a book at his head—Macaulay’s substantive volume, The History of England from the Accession of James the Second, no less. While she’d done no physical damage, she’d staged her theatrics at one of the busiest bookshops in London, probably because she knew how much he detested public displays.
His lack of feeling had been one of her many complaints about him.
While James couldn’t claim that Melanie had broken his heart, she had shattered his faith in his ability to choose lovers suited to his temperament. His mistress before her had also bemoaned his insensitivity—“an uncaring clod,” she’d called him for his indifference when other men flirted with her. Contrary to her accusation, he was not incapable of jealousy; he simply hadn’t cared about her dalliances because there had been so many. If she understood him even a little, she would know that he was not one to wear his emotions on his sleeve. His papa was much the same way and shared a long and famously happy marriage with Mama.
Ergo, James was not overly worried. He simply had to find the right sort of female to be his lover…and when the time came, his wife. At thirty, he was beginning to wonder if the inclination to wed would ever feel more like a desire and less like duty. While there was nothing wrong with duty, he liked to think that, as the heir, he would uphold the family tradition of marrying for love.
Perhaps I am too pragmatic to fall in love. To lose myself in another. Perhaps I am too particular to believe that any woman could be my perfect soulmate.
He shook aside the thoughts which, for him, edged uncomfortably close to maudlin territory. He had no reason to feel sorry for himself. He was in his prime, with duty and purpose to occupy him. Rather than brooding over romantic misadventures, he should focus on managing his land and investments and supporting the reformist policies he believed in. However, he couldn’t muster the enthusiasm to defend the repeal of the Corn Laws yet again this evening. It was obvious to him that tariffs designed to enrich wealthy landowners at the expense of the working class had no place in a just society, and he was tired of arguing the point.
As Lord Thurston had boasted about the new greenhouse he’d built for his lady, a noted horticulturist, James decided to take a break from the melee and have a look. The beginning strains of a waltz emptied the corridors, and he walked briskly. Truly, he’d exercised poor judgment in coming to this crush when what he longed for was a glass of whisky, a book, and some blessed peace.
Passing a gallery of gilt-framed portraits, he arrived at the greenhouse. The waft of cool, citrus-scented air was a welcome contrast to the stuffiness of the ballroom. His leather soles slapped quietly against the tile floors, the sound muffled by the lush greenery that flanked the winding path. It was like embarking upon a tropical adventure, with discoveries lurking around every corner. Amused at the fanciful notion, he ventured deeper…
“Unhand me.”
He stilled at the low, female hiss.
“Don’t be coy, sweeting. We are alone. You’ve been making eyes at me ever since I returned home.”
James recognized that drawl. It belonged to Lord Thaddeus, Thurston’s heir. In his early twenties, he already had a reputation for being a rake. He was handsome and rich, oozing the sort of charm that James found insincere but which seemed to attract females like flies to honey. Was the present woman Thaddeus’s latest inamorata? Was she merely playing the part of a coquette?
“Keep your distance. I am warning you.”
“You ladies enjoy your games, don’t you?” The lordling’s voice was indulgent. “A tease before the tickle. Now be a good girl and show me what you’ve been hiding beneath that prim get-up, hmm?”
As James stood there, uncertain if he ought to intervene, a high-pitched scream pierced the dense wall of foliage. It mobilized him, and he sprinted toward the sound. He saw them standing by the windows: Lord Thaddeus, holding his right hand, from which a thin line of blood trickled…and the woman.
She was a pretty, plump blonde. Her unfussy hairstyle and plain dress conveyed her status as slightly above that of a servant, most likely a governess or companion. She had a pair of gold spectacles perched on her nose and looked harmless…except for the ivory-handled penknife she wielded.
“Pardon,” James said.
Both heads swung in his direction.
“Are you all right, miss?” he asked.
