He wasn’t about to tell Lucy what had transpired between him and Sarah in Surrey. Besides, if Sarah had ever had a moment of wanting to leave Branford and marry Christian, he’d bloody well put an end to it when he’d refused to tell her he loved her that night.
Damn it.Didhe love her? Did he even know what love was? He couldn’t bring himself to say those words without being absolutely certain. It wouldn’t be fair to her. He couldn’t ask her to cause a scandal that might estrange her from her parents for the rest of her life without being entirely certain. She’d asked him. She’d put him on the spot. And he’d failed. He’d been unable to say it. He didn’t blame her for putting him on the spot. How could he? He was asking a lot of her, to toss over Lord Branford, anger her parents, and cast shame upon her family. Only he’d been convinced he was rescuing her… actually, stupidlybelievedshe’d be grateful to him for offering for her. He’d been a bloody fool. And an utter arse.
To make matters worse, he’d nearly wished that Cade Cavendish had gone and told the household full of people what he’d seen. That, at least, would have forced the issue. Yes, there’d be an undeniable scandal, but in the end, no doubt, Christian would be with Sarah. The fact that he’d even thought about it, let alone wished it, made him an undeniable cad. The truth was, he wasn’t good enough for Sarah. He didn’t deserve her.
She’d told him to be honest. Told him he owed her that much. And it was true. Her tears had ripped him to pieces inside, but he did owe her his honesty.All this time,she’d said,I’ve wondered why you’ve remained a bachelor. Why you couldn’t find a wife. But I finally understand. Youwantto remain unmarried. Youwantto remain aloof, friendly.… And then you act as if you’re surprised that you haven’t found a wife.
Those words clawed at his mind each and every day. He couldn’t forget them, couldn’t banish them, couldn’t keep busy enough to drive them from his thoughts.It’s never been about your clothes or your boots or even your reputation,Sarah had said.
Was Sarah right? Had he wasted her time in Scotland, asking her to help him become a legend? He’d had the pick of the lot after him, Lady Sarah herself. But when it came to telling her the one thing she needed to hear, he’d bloody well ruined everything. He had no one to blame but himself. Perhaps despite all his protestations to the contrary, he didn’t want a wife and family after all. Perhaps he was incapable of love.
Do you want to know the real reason you aren’t married yet, Christian? Look in the mirror,Sarah had said.
And he had. He’d taken a good, long, hard look in the mirror. Stared at himself. Couldn’t look away. What he saw was a lonely bachelor staring back at him. One whose mother had left him when he was a child. She got sick one day and he never saw her again. It was a memory he rarely allowed himself to dwell upon, but he’d stared it down and let it torture him again for seconds, minutes, an hour. He’d taken that good, hard look in the mirror, and then he’d punched the bloody thing, shattering it into a hundred tiny pieces.
In the end, he’d realized why he wanted to be every lady’s friend. Friendships were easy. Love. Love was difficult. Love caused pain.
***
The three weeks before her wedding passed with both an alarming alacrity and an excruciating slowness that Sarah thought would drive her mad in turns. Lucy Hunt’s words echoed through her mind.You must not allow life to happen to you.Blast Lucy for putting a bunch of rebellious notions in her head. The duchess knew full well how the lives of ladies in their positions went. She knew full well what was expected of them. Sarah wanted to do what Lucy thought she should. She wanted to call off the wedding and choose Christian. If only Christian had given her a reason, arealreason… love. But Christian couldn’t have been more clear. She’d asked him if he loved her and he’d said… nothing. He couldn’t bring himself to say the words. Obviously, he didn’t feel them. He’d mentioned passion and friendship, but nothing about love. She couldn’t defy her parents and damage her reputation for anything less than love. It just wasn’t good enough.
It didn’t help matters that Meg was firmly on Lucy’s side. “The duchess is right,” she’d said on more than one occasion.
“About which part?”
“You must decide whether you will marry for love or for duty.”
“I’ve decided,” Sarah had insisted. “I’m marrying for duty. I have a responsibility to.”
Meg had given her a sad look that reminded Sarah a bit too much of Fergus II when he was denied a treat, but in the end her friend had respected her decision and told her she would be there to support her on her wedding day, regardless of the groom’s identity.
But in her more quiet moments, when she wasn’t shopping for the final bits of her trousseau or being wished well by scores of callers and friends, Lucy’s other words haunted Sarah.Christian didn’tsaythat he loves you, which is quite different… he’s never experienced anything like this before. We’ve all had to overcome a bit of stupidity when falling in love.
Was Lucy right? Could she be? Did Christian truly love her but was incapable of telling her because he’d never been in love before? Didn’t recognize the feeling? Or was all of it just wishful thinking on her part? Idiotic, useless wishful thinking?
When she wasn’t plagued by such thoughts, Sarah’s days were spent with her mother making repeated visits to the dressmaker’s for the fittings for the wedding gown. Sarah couldn’t even look at herself in the thing. It was a gorgeous gown, everything she’d ever wanted, with a fitted silver bodice and a long trailing white satin skirt. It had tiny blue and silver beads threaded in swirling patterns along the hem and across the skirt, and she looked absolutely breathtaking in it (or so both the dressmaker and her mother assured her). But every time Sarah tried to look at herself in the mirror, guilt made her look away. She was a fraud.
Her nights were a different matter altogether. They were spent awake in bed, unable to forget about the night in Christian’s bedchamber when he’d made her feel things she couldn’t have imagined.
When she wasn’t thinking about Christian, she was fighting the fear that rose in her chest, the panic that threatened to bring the walls of her room crashing in on her, when she thought about spending the rest of her life with Lord Branford.
Sarah avoided Lucy and Meg the same way she avoided looking at herself in the wedding dress. And then one day she woke up, and it was the day before her wedding.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Brooks’s was the club of choice for Christian’s set. On any given day there, he might encounter Claringdon or Swifdon, Upton or Monroe. Perhaps all four of them. Even Rafe Cavendish and his twin were known to make an appearance once in a while, ever since Rafe had been made a viscount by the prince for his work bringing the former Earl of Swifdon’s murderers to justice.
Christian himself was a member of Brooks’s, but he rarely went to the club. Drinking wasn’t his pastime the way it was for, say, Monroe. He usually preferred the quiet solitude of his study or library to the busyness of the club. But today Upton had talked him into it, and today Christian had reason for going. Sarah was getting married tomorrow. Tomorrow.Tomorrow.From the moment he’d got out of bed today, the word had played like a death knell in his brain over and over again. He’d spent the better part of the morning in his study going over the same row of figures in his ledger. It had been maddening, but his attention wandered again and again with one word in mind. Tomorrow. Tomorrow. Tomorrow.
By the time Upton had stopped by and asked him to accompany him to the club, Christian was more than ready to throw down his quill and leave with his friend. Perhaps a drink was in order today.
The two men had been ensconced in leather chairs in one of Brooks’s salons drinking brandy and talking about politics for no longer than half an hour when Owen Monroe came sauntering up. He was accompanied by Sarah’s brother, Hart.
“Monroe, what are you doing here? Your wedding is in days. Shouldn’t you be preparing or something?” Upton said, offering him a seat.
“I’m as prepared as I expect to be,” Monroe replied, taking a seat and ordering his own brandy from a passing footman.
The wordweddingstabbed at Christian. He curled his lip and took another long draught of his brandy.
