Page 94 of Scandalous: Family Ties and Spies

“And when I tried tae leave your room? I told ye tae release me. Did ye?” Amalie suddenly inhaled a sharp breath of horror. “Dear God, ye arranged for Lady Mary tae trick me into entering your rooms.”

“What?” Valeran grew rigid at her accusation.

Slumping against the door, he fought to remain standing. Christ almighty, he could see how easy it had been for her to make that leap. Seconds later, anger barreled through him. Straightening upright, he slammed his fist into the wood door with a roar of fury.

“I did not, I repeat, I did not arrange for you to be ruined, Lady Sommerville.”

Another lengthy silence greeted his response. Valeran drew in a deep breath. He was tied to the stake with the fire slowly becoming a bonfire beneath his feet. What harm would one more log do? Dragging in another ragged breath, he released it, intent on infusing every word he spoke with fervent sincerity and honesty.

“If my intention had been to ruin you, do you honestly think I would have insisted you marry me? The reputation I allowed gossips to build for me wouldn’t have been damaged. Ruining you, then refusing to marry you, would have been expected.”

Silence met his words, and Valeran closed his eyes, his heart pounding with fear.

“Think, Amalie. Why would I threaten to tell everyone you’d refused me if you didn’t agree to marry me? I knew that day you were worthy of the title Countess of Sommerville. I was willing to do whatever it took to make you accept my offer. I wanted to marry you, and I’ve never regretted my decision, mouse. Not once.”

“How magnanimous of ye.”

“Goddamnit, Amalie. This has gone on long enough. I know you’re angry. You have every right to be. All I’m asking is that you forgive me.” His words were met with a long silence before he heard her drag in a deep breath.

“Forgive you? For what?” The dead, emotionless words made Valeran’s gut twist into a knot that tugged at him as if he were being drawn and quartered.

“I failed you, Amalie. I’ve never failed at something so miserably in my entire life. I know my efforts to silence Lady Chattfield sounded half-hearted at best. I allowed duty to make me tolerate the woman’s cruel words. I should have defended—protected—you. Even though I had no idea it was you on the other side of the wall that day, I know I was wrong not to defend you. I should have objected the instant Lady Chattfield uttered her first poisonous word, then walked away. It’s what a Rockwood does, we protect our own, and I failed you, Amalie, and you’ll never know how sorry I am for that, mouse.”

Silence was the only answer to his heart-felt apology. Anguish latched onto him like a rabid dog gnawing at his insides. God, why hadn’t he followed his instincts that afternoon? He’d actually debated walking away from Miriam that day. Instead, he’d decided his investigation was more important than objecting to the woman’s vile chatter. He’d tolerated the woman’s cruel words, telling himself it was all in the line of duty. Behind Amalie’s door, he heard his wife draw in a deep breath, and his muscles tensed.

“Ye are nae a Rockwood. Ye will never be a Rockwood.”

Not even a corpse rising from the grave could have created such icy, bone-chilling fear in him, and Valeran recoiled from the door. If she’d wielded a claymore and cleaved him in two, it would have maimed him far less than the hell her words had just thrown him into.

Behind him, the mantle clock in his room chimed the hour. What was he supposed to be doing at ten o’clock? Somewhere in the back of his head, he knew the hour was important. His brain had shut down, and it took him several ragged breaths to remember his appointment with Jamie in the East End.

He would be late, and that would put Jamie in danger. Valeran turned back to press his palms on the door to Amalie’s room as if doing so would allow him to feel her through the wood. God, he wanted to stay until he convinced his wife how sorry he was.

But he couldn’t. He had his orders, and every minute he delayed meeting Jamie, his friend’s life was in danger. By the time he returned home, his wife’s anger would have cooled, then he could make her see reason. Amalie was pragmatic. She would eventually see reason—he hoped. The cold slowly trying to paralyze his body made him shudder. Tonight, he'd damaged his marriage severely, he could only pray the damage wasn’t irrevocable.

§ § §

Amalie slowly sank down on her bed to stare blankly at the door to the corridor between her room and Valeran’s. Had she just awoken from a horrible nightmare? No, she felt too dull, too lifeless to think the last few minutes had been a terrible dream. Shuddering, she buried her face in her hands, trying not to sob. Valeran’s hearing was too good.

The moment he heard her crying, he would find a way to break the door down. If that happened, she wouldn’t have the strength to keep distance between them. How long had he’d known it had been her on the other side of the wall that day in Rules?

Did it matter? Valeran had obviously known for some time, and he’d not told her. Would she have reacted any differently? Nibbling at the tip of her thumb, she shook her head slightly. Probably not. The real question was how many times had he lied to her since then?

He didn’t lie to you, Amalie. He simply didn’t tell you he knew it was you that day. The pragmatic voice in her head chided her. Another voice objected vehemently.

Isn’t the sin of omission nothing more than a lie?

Closing her eyes, Amalie tried to clear her head to consider Valeran’s confession and his effort to apologize. Everything he’d said through the locked door of her bedroom had sounded so sincere. She’d heard the regret in his voice, but he’d been angry too. Had he been angry with himself or with her for not believing him? Then there was the reason he’d given for not ending Lady Chattfield’s vile condemnation of her.

Telling her he worked for the Crown? What was she to make of that? The man was blind. Immediately, she knew that was unfair. Valeran might be blind, but she knew how easily her husband moved around in a world he could barely see. But spying for the Crown? How in God’s name could he be a spy? How could he defend himself if someone attacked him?

It was almost too impossible to believe. Yet several nights in the last couple of weeks, he’d left her sleeping in her bed, and gone out and not returned until early in the morning. He’d mentioned playing cards, but what if he’d been doing exactly what he said? When she put all of it together, she knew it wasn’t completely out of the realm of probability her husband did work for the Crown.

Two voices in her head suddenly became opponents in a vicious war. One fed off her anger, pain, and humiliation, the other voice was pragmatic and vehemently refuted every argument the other voice suggested

He’s lying, Amalie. He isn’t a spy. He’s been lying to you all along, Amalie.

The insidious whisper in her head made her heart plummet. The pragmatic voice dismissed the negative thought.