Though she was exhausted by the emotional outpouring she’d just experienced, she also felt oddly lighter and stronger in the aftermath.
When she finally opened her eyes, it was with a gasp to realize he had lowered himself to one knee beside the bench. One of his arms was braced on the seat alongside her hip and his body was angled possessively toward her. Shielding her but not touching her.
His posture gave him the distinct look of being both supplicant and protector. A knight bowing to his queen. A lover bending to his lover. With a rapid blink, her gaze collided rather forcefully with his dark stare which was shadowed by concern.
No. She couldn’t handle his pity.
He must have sensed her sudden denial as he gave a firm shake of his head and brought his hand to the side of her face. Bowing his head closer to hers, he stared intently into her eyes. “I’m not going anywhere,” he repeated. “And you don’t have to, either. We can be here together. As long as you need.”
Charlotte released a thick and weighted exhale. It caught for a moment in her tight throat before she forced it to leave her.
Holding her gaze, he leaned toward her and pressed a gentle kiss to her lips. It was shocking in that it was not a gesture of passion or desire or possession. It was simply a moment of connection and compassion.
As he pulled back again, she sighed, releasing more of the tension from her body.
He exhaled as well, matching his breath to hers before he spoke. “What did the Eastleighs say to you? And why did they affect you so intensely?”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Taking another steadyingbreath, Charlotte lifted her chin. “The Viscount and Viscountess of Eastleigh are my grandparents.”
Confusion swept through his expression, followed quickly by shock. “I don’t understand.”
A harsh laugh burned her throat. “Because they appeared to hate me? It shouldn’t be such a surprise considering they disowned my mother when she eloped with my father. No doubt they think me a very wretched thing, indeed.”
His scowl was fierce as he shook his head. “Surely—”
“No,” she interrupted sharply. “They didn’t even know she’d died. They had completely eliminated my mother from their lives. The scandal of her marriage to a man they deemed unworthy was too much for them. They had intended something far grander for their only daughter. A duke, in fact. Obscenely rich and aged to make my mother a very young widow,” she scoffed. “My grandparents are not part of a grand legacy, you see. My grandfather’s father had been a merchant before he supported the king in some scheme that earned him his title. I understand it was my grandfather’s singular purpose in life tobuilda legacy. And for that, he needed connections and wealth and power. Something the son of a simple Scottish baron couldnot provide. They never forgave my mother for following her heart instead of complying with their social ambitions. And now they never shall.”
When she finished speaking, a flicker of understanding crossed his disbelieving features.
“You came to London to avenge their treatment of your mother. But how—?” He stopped himself abruptly, lowering his brows and pressing his lips together.
Charlotte glanced away. She did not want to see his disapproval any more than she wanted his pity. “I will destroy what they value most in the world.” Her voice was thick with hatred. “If social prestige is more important to them than their daughter, I will ensure that not a single door is left open to them. They will become pariahs in the society they covet and adore so much.”
A heavy silence followed her poisonous words. When she finally returned her gaze to him, she was struck by the emotional intensity of his stare. Sadness darkened his eyes, but it was the obvious concern in his tense, drawn features that struck her most acutely.
“And will that assuage your grief?” he asked in a low murmur. “Will it heal your pain?”
“Nothingcan do that,” Charlotte returned vehemently. “But I cannot ignore what they did to her. She wrote to them before she died. She begged for their forgiveness,beggedto be their daughter again.” His expression hardened at her words. “They returned her letter unopened and unread. They denied her that peace in her final days,” she sobbed. “Their cruelty must be answered.”
Once again, heavy emotions threatened to choke her. She gasped for a breath that didn’t make it to her lungs. She’d feared it would be like this. That once she allowed the floodgates of griefto open, they would be impossible to close. Instinct urged her to fight against it. But a sob broke free. She quickly smothered it.
“It’s alright to feel this, Charlotte,” he whispered, covering her painfully clenched hands with his, adding his warmth and strength and presence. “You’re allowed to experience the pain of losing her.”
His words, so soft and gentle, broke her. Tears overflowed again, but the sobs weren’t so deep this time. And, as he took her face in his hands and pressed soft, soothing kisses to her lips and cheeks and eyelids, she found herself sighing into him as exhaustion started to seep into her soul.
After a while, he eased back onto the bench and folded her into his arms. He held her in silence as she slowly brought herself back under control. When he spoke again, with his lips against her temple, it was in a low voice of reason and compassion. “Your righteous anger sustained you through your grief. It was something you needed. For a time. But it is also preventing you from moving past your sorrow.”
“I don’t want to move past it,” she whispered furiously. “It is my only remaining connection to her. You couldn’t possibly understand. You cannot fix this.”
“I’d like to try,” he answered darkly.
Charlotte shook her head. “You cannot bring her back.”
His expression was sad. “Neither can revenge.”
Though her heart tightened, she clung to the only thing that had sustained her. “I have a plan. One you do not fit into.”
