In Scandal They Wed
Page 32
Aware of what he had done.
As another moment ticked by, his actions sank in all the deeper, and he felt like a wretch. He had never treated a woman so roughly. With so little concern for her comfort. But then, never had he found himself in the grips of such savage need. And he had reveled in it—in her. Which only made him all the more disgusted with himself.
Deep within him, her betrayal still stung. Worse than his father’s betrayals. Worse than when Adara had lied to him and chosen Cullen. The pain went deeper.
Because he loved Evie. Despite everything.
He cursed beneath his breath. For once, he could not gather his usual cloak of reserve.
He lifted a hand, let it hover, drift near her face, over the hair he knew felt like silk against his palm. She watched him, her eyes so stark, hungry, and intent, the purest of blues.
Shaking his head, he dropped his hand.
He pulled away, slid his body from hers.
She sagged against the tree, her hands turning, curling into the bark as if she would fall to the ground otherwise.
Most of her pins had fallen loose, and her hair flowed around her like a cloud of shimmering bronze. She reminded him of some sort of wood nymph, n**ed and feral, as natural to her surroundings as the air itself.
He forced his gaze away, refusing to let the sight affect him. She’d affected him enough. He could let her affect him no more.
He gazed off into the woods, staring blindly where the trees thickened and nothing but murk and shadows dwelled.
“I’m leaving,” he announced, setting his clothes to rights.
“Leaving?” She crouched and snatched up her clothes, pressing them close to her body. “Back to the house—”
“No. Back to Ashton Grange.”
“What about . . .” Her voice faded. Thick emotion flickered over her face. Squatting, she stared.
He shrugged. “We haven’t anything, you and I.”
“Merely marriage,” she shot back, rising.
He grimaced. “Unfortunate, that. But nothing too dire. Plenty of spouses live apart. It was our original plan, was it not?”
“But I don’t want to. Not anymore.” There was no mistaking the tight emotion in her voice.
He ignored it. “Our original agreement still stands. I will see that you are provided for.”
“What of Nicholas? Have you forgotten him?”
“Of course not. He’ll have all he needs.”
She came off the tree then, eyes sparking blue fire. “Except a father.”
Perhaps because it mattered so much to her, because he wanted to hurt her as she’d hurt him, he pushed, zeroed in on that most vulnerable spot. “His father is gone. Face it. Just like you can’t be Linnie, I can’t be Ian.”
“Bastard,” she whispered.
The dislike gleaming in her eyes gratified him in that moment. An easier sight than when she looked at him with her eyes warm and soft, compelling him to forgive her, to forget her betrayal, to believe in the promise he read in her face. To believe in love.
“The boy stays with you for now.”
“For now?”
“He’s a child, still. A babe really. He believes you to be his mother—”
“I am!”
“Eventually, he’ll need a man’s influence.”
“You’ll not take him from me,” she hissed, slipping into her clothes with angry movements, her blue eyes flashing. “Ever.”
He angled his head. “Think you can fight me on this? And win? You’re in no position to make demands.”
“You’re vile.” She shrugged out of his jacket and flung it at him with great force. “How could I have let myself feel anything for you?”
“Indeed. I’m asking myself that same question.” Turning, he strode away, cutting a hard line through the trees. No turning around. No looking back.
It was easier for him to leave that way. And stay away.
Evie remained still for several moments, shaking in the chilled night, but not from cold. Cold fury washed through her as she stared at his retreating back.
How could she have imagined herself in love with such a heartless man? He had narrowed in on her greatest fear, the core reason she had agreed to marry him, and attacked with all the viciousness of a predator.
Was that who Spencer Lockhart really was?
She swallowed against the lump rising in her throat at the notion of losing Nicholas. If this was Spencer’s reaction, she was right to have feared telling him the truth at the very beginning.
With trembling hands, she finished dressing. Tears burned the backs of her eyes. She still felt him in the dull throb between her thighs, a mortifying reminder. Heat licked her cheeks. That had been the height of weakness—surrendering herself to him, letting him seduce her and then walk away after saying such cruel things.
Did her betrayal justify such treatment from him? She shook her head, rubbing her fingers against her suddenly aching temples. She didn’t think so, but she vowed never to become so close that he could hurt her again.
Dressed, she stomped through the woods, imagining countless different ways to stop him should he ever try to take Nicholas from her. She was a fool to have dropped her guard, to have let him in so quickly. Her stride quickened. She skirted the pond, eager to see her son.
A dull pain spread throughout her chest. Amy would have taken Nicholas inside for dinner by now. They were probably wondering why she had not joined them yet. Of course, she wanted to—she had been gone for so long. She only hoped they did not read her misery.
Her cottage loomed near. The whitewashed walls and brown thatched roof suddenly felt dear and familiar.
She inhaled deeply. Lesson learned. She would reclaim the life she’d had before Spencer ever burst into her world. Yes. She’d take that life back. And pretend it was all she ever wanted.
She would pretend it was enough.
Chapter 27
Spencer sipped from his cup and glanced at Mrs. Brooks, lifting his brow. Cold coffee. Again.
She arched a brow back at him in familiar defiance, daring him to complain. He knew better. Pressing his lips into a mutinous line, he sipped a second time.
“Something wrong, my lord?” she asked with decided cheek.
“Slightly . . .” He chose his words carefully, fully aware that his staff had tired of his foul mood over the last fortnight and was in a state of mutiny. A fate worse than cold coffee awaited him if he did not watch his words.
Ever since his return home, he’d been the veritable lion with a sore paw. In the beginning, he had convinced himself it was merely his lingering anger. Fury over Evie’s betrayal. Over being made a fool. However, as days rolled past, he’d realized it might be something more. Something far more serious.
He missed Evie.
Whoever, whatever she was, she had infiltrated his life. In a very short time, he’d become accustomed to her. He had come to crave her, need her as his lungs required air. Logic didn’t apply. Otherwise, he would simply shut down that weak part of himself that still wanted her—even after her betrayal—and go about his life.
“Slightly what?” Mrs. Brooks asked with a challenging glint to her eyes.
“Tepid,” he answered, arriving at a suitable word that wouldn’t put her nose too badly out of joint. Especially considering how greatly he missed her scones. She had not made any of his favorite foods since he’d returned without his bride.
“Is it?” she asked with mock innocence. As though she were not fully aware she had been serving him cold coffee the last several mornings. As well as substandard food at each meal. Nor was he too dense to conclude the reason why.
Not after Mrs. Brooks had declared him a fool for leaving Evie behind in Little Billings. He had said nothing. He tolerated her impertinence. What else could he do? Reveal Evie’s subterfuge to the world so everyone would understand why he’d deserted her?
Mrs. Brooks left the room with a sniff, leaving him alone with his thoughts. Seated behind his desk, he turned in his chair and stared out at the gardens. The weeks had not eased the bitter ache in his chest. Evie’s betrayal still stung. It stuck in his throat to know that the first woman to fill his heart in . . . well, ever . . . had not trusted him enough with the truth of her very identity.
Mrs. Brooks returned then, clearing her throat. “You’ve a caller.”
“Who is it?”
Her nose lifted a notch and her eyes glinted with accusation. “Your father-in-law, Mr. Cosgrove.” The relish in which she uttered his name implied that she thought Evie’s father was here to upbraid him. Unlikely. He recalled her father clearly. The spineless fellow lived in the shadow of his formidable wife. He’d more than likely come to beg for funds now that he’d learned Evie was wed to a viscount. A new relation with deep pockets was a singular opportunity.
“Show him in.”
Moments later, Evie’s weak-chinned father stood before him, hat in hand.
After a moment, Spencer rose to properly greet the man, even if he wasn’t feeling kindly disposed to visitors, especially the related-to-Evie variation. In particular this fool. What kind of man permitted his daughter to sacrifice her good name and engage in fraud? Even to benefit his other daughter.
“I’ll be brief,” Henry Cosgrove began, stepping forward.
Spencer rounded the desk, reluctant to offer his hand, but supposing he would. He was midstride when the smaller man dropped his hat, swung back his arm, and planted his fist in Spencer’s face.
Spencer staggered from the unexpected blow, the desk behind him catching him. Holding one hand over his eye, he glared at his father-in-law. “What the hell was that for?”
“A father is supposed to protect his daughter.” Cosgrove tugged on his jack, his face red and twitchy. “I confess I’ve done a poor job of it over the years, but I figured it’s not too late to start.”
“Your daughter doesn’t need protecting,” Spencer sneered. “She manages quite well on her own.”
Cosgrove nodded grimly. “Yes, well, I’ve given her little choice. She had to do the things she did.”
“We all have choices.”
“And you’re so perfect? You fought with the Light Brigade, for God’s sake! That alone makes you guilty of stupidity, at the very least. Your regiment practically committed suicide.”
Spencer’s hands clenched at his sides. Through gritted teeth, he spat, “Careful, or you’ll be picking your teeth off the floor. You know nothing of what you speak. Clearly. What you did to your daughter reveals your own lack of honor.”
Cosgrove paled. “I admit I’ve made mistakes with my family. Let me say what I’ve come to say, and then I’ll be on my way.” He sucked in a deep breath. “You shouldn’t fault Evie.”
“No? And why is that? Because she’s been so honest and open with me? Because she let me believe she was someone else?”
Cosgrove shrugged and tossed out a hand. “You and the rest of the world. You shouldn’t take it so personally.”
“I’m her husband. I think that makes it a fairly personal matter.”
“She did it for Linnie. For the child.” He winced. “She sacrificed her future to save all of us the shame. I was wrong to encourage her to do it, but Linnie was my daughter.”
“Evie was your daughter, too.”
The older man continued as though Spencer had not uttered the reminder. “Evie had just returned from Barbados, and was quite . . . shaken from the experience. Since she was sacked without letters, she didn’t have too many options.”
“So you threw Evie to the wolves and let her take Linnie’s place?”
For the first time, Spencer began to wonder if he would have even liked Linnie . . . a chit too scared to stand on her own feet, a female who gave away her child and let her sister bear the burden.
“She wanted to do it.”
As another moment ticked by, his actions sank in all the deeper, and he felt like a wretch. He had never treated a woman so roughly. With so little concern for her comfort. But then, never had he found himself in the grips of such savage need. And he had reveled in it—in her. Which only made him all the more disgusted with himself.
Deep within him, her betrayal still stung. Worse than his father’s betrayals. Worse than when Adara had lied to him and chosen Cullen. The pain went deeper.
Because he loved Evie. Despite everything.
He cursed beneath his breath. For once, he could not gather his usual cloak of reserve.
He lifted a hand, let it hover, drift near her face, over the hair he knew felt like silk against his palm. She watched him, her eyes so stark, hungry, and intent, the purest of blues.
Shaking his head, he dropped his hand.
He pulled away, slid his body from hers.
She sagged against the tree, her hands turning, curling into the bark as if she would fall to the ground otherwise.
Most of her pins had fallen loose, and her hair flowed around her like a cloud of shimmering bronze. She reminded him of some sort of wood nymph, n**ed and feral, as natural to her surroundings as the air itself.
He forced his gaze away, refusing to let the sight affect him. She’d affected him enough. He could let her affect him no more.
He gazed off into the woods, staring blindly where the trees thickened and nothing but murk and shadows dwelled.
“I’m leaving,” he announced, setting his clothes to rights.
“Leaving?” She crouched and snatched up her clothes, pressing them close to her body. “Back to the house—”
“No. Back to Ashton Grange.”
“What about . . .” Her voice faded. Thick emotion flickered over her face. Squatting, she stared.
He shrugged. “We haven’t anything, you and I.”
“Merely marriage,” she shot back, rising.
He grimaced. “Unfortunate, that. But nothing too dire. Plenty of spouses live apart. It was our original plan, was it not?”
“But I don’t want to. Not anymore.” There was no mistaking the tight emotion in her voice.
He ignored it. “Our original agreement still stands. I will see that you are provided for.”
“What of Nicholas? Have you forgotten him?”
“Of course not. He’ll have all he needs.”
She came off the tree then, eyes sparking blue fire. “Except a father.”
Perhaps because it mattered so much to her, because he wanted to hurt her as she’d hurt him, he pushed, zeroed in on that most vulnerable spot. “His father is gone. Face it. Just like you can’t be Linnie, I can’t be Ian.”
“Bastard,” she whispered.
The dislike gleaming in her eyes gratified him in that moment. An easier sight than when she looked at him with her eyes warm and soft, compelling him to forgive her, to forget her betrayal, to believe in the promise he read in her face. To believe in love.
“The boy stays with you for now.”
“For now?”
“He’s a child, still. A babe really. He believes you to be his mother—”
“I am!”
“Eventually, he’ll need a man’s influence.”
“You’ll not take him from me,” she hissed, slipping into her clothes with angry movements, her blue eyes flashing. “Ever.”
He angled his head. “Think you can fight me on this? And win? You’re in no position to make demands.”
“You’re vile.” She shrugged out of his jacket and flung it at him with great force. “How could I have let myself feel anything for you?”
“Indeed. I’m asking myself that same question.” Turning, he strode away, cutting a hard line through the trees. No turning around. No looking back.
It was easier for him to leave that way. And stay away.
Evie remained still for several moments, shaking in the chilled night, but not from cold. Cold fury washed through her as she stared at his retreating back.
How could she have imagined herself in love with such a heartless man? He had narrowed in on her greatest fear, the core reason she had agreed to marry him, and attacked with all the viciousness of a predator.
Was that who Spencer Lockhart really was?
She swallowed against the lump rising in her throat at the notion of losing Nicholas. If this was Spencer’s reaction, she was right to have feared telling him the truth at the very beginning.
With trembling hands, she finished dressing. Tears burned the backs of her eyes. She still felt him in the dull throb between her thighs, a mortifying reminder. Heat licked her cheeks. That had been the height of weakness—surrendering herself to him, letting him seduce her and then walk away after saying such cruel things.
Did her betrayal justify such treatment from him? She shook her head, rubbing her fingers against her suddenly aching temples. She didn’t think so, but she vowed never to become so close that he could hurt her again.
Dressed, she stomped through the woods, imagining countless different ways to stop him should he ever try to take Nicholas from her. She was a fool to have dropped her guard, to have let him in so quickly. Her stride quickened. She skirted the pond, eager to see her son.
A dull pain spread throughout her chest. Amy would have taken Nicholas inside for dinner by now. They were probably wondering why she had not joined them yet. Of course, she wanted to—she had been gone for so long. She only hoped they did not read her misery.
Her cottage loomed near. The whitewashed walls and brown thatched roof suddenly felt dear and familiar.
She inhaled deeply. Lesson learned. She would reclaim the life she’d had before Spencer ever burst into her world. Yes. She’d take that life back. And pretend it was all she ever wanted.
She would pretend it was enough.
Chapter 27
Spencer sipped from his cup and glanced at Mrs. Brooks, lifting his brow. Cold coffee. Again.
She arched a brow back at him in familiar defiance, daring him to complain. He knew better. Pressing his lips into a mutinous line, he sipped a second time.
“Something wrong, my lord?” she asked with decided cheek.
“Slightly . . .” He chose his words carefully, fully aware that his staff had tired of his foul mood over the last fortnight and was in a state of mutiny. A fate worse than cold coffee awaited him if he did not watch his words.
Ever since his return home, he’d been the veritable lion with a sore paw. In the beginning, he had convinced himself it was merely his lingering anger. Fury over Evie’s betrayal. Over being made a fool. However, as days rolled past, he’d realized it might be something more. Something far more serious.
He missed Evie.
Whoever, whatever she was, she had infiltrated his life. In a very short time, he’d become accustomed to her. He had come to crave her, need her as his lungs required air. Logic didn’t apply. Otherwise, he would simply shut down that weak part of himself that still wanted her—even after her betrayal—and go about his life.
“Slightly what?” Mrs. Brooks asked with a challenging glint to her eyes.
“Tepid,” he answered, arriving at a suitable word that wouldn’t put her nose too badly out of joint. Especially considering how greatly he missed her scones. She had not made any of his favorite foods since he’d returned without his bride.
“Is it?” she asked with mock innocence. As though she were not fully aware she had been serving him cold coffee the last several mornings. As well as substandard food at each meal. Nor was he too dense to conclude the reason why.
Not after Mrs. Brooks had declared him a fool for leaving Evie behind in Little Billings. He had said nothing. He tolerated her impertinence. What else could he do? Reveal Evie’s subterfuge to the world so everyone would understand why he’d deserted her?
Mrs. Brooks left the room with a sniff, leaving him alone with his thoughts. Seated behind his desk, he turned in his chair and stared out at the gardens. The weeks had not eased the bitter ache in his chest. Evie’s betrayal still stung. It stuck in his throat to know that the first woman to fill his heart in . . . well, ever . . . had not trusted him enough with the truth of her very identity.
Mrs. Brooks returned then, clearing her throat. “You’ve a caller.”
“Who is it?”
Her nose lifted a notch and her eyes glinted with accusation. “Your father-in-law, Mr. Cosgrove.” The relish in which she uttered his name implied that she thought Evie’s father was here to upbraid him. Unlikely. He recalled her father clearly. The spineless fellow lived in the shadow of his formidable wife. He’d more than likely come to beg for funds now that he’d learned Evie was wed to a viscount. A new relation with deep pockets was a singular opportunity.
“Show him in.”
Moments later, Evie’s weak-chinned father stood before him, hat in hand.
After a moment, Spencer rose to properly greet the man, even if he wasn’t feeling kindly disposed to visitors, especially the related-to-Evie variation. In particular this fool. What kind of man permitted his daughter to sacrifice her good name and engage in fraud? Even to benefit his other daughter.
“I’ll be brief,” Henry Cosgrove began, stepping forward.
Spencer rounded the desk, reluctant to offer his hand, but supposing he would. He was midstride when the smaller man dropped his hat, swung back his arm, and planted his fist in Spencer’s face.
Spencer staggered from the unexpected blow, the desk behind him catching him. Holding one hand over his eye, he glared at his father-in-law. “What the hell was that for?”
“A father is supposed to protect his daughter.” Cosgrove tugged on his jack, his face red and twitchy. “I confess I’ve done a poor job of it over the years, but I figured it’s not too late to start.”
“Your daughter doesn’t need protecting,” Spencer sneered. “She manages quite well on her own.”
Cosgrove nodded grimly. “Yes, well, I’ve given her little choice. She had to do the things she did.”
“We all have choices.”
“And you’re so perfect? You fought with the Light Brigade, for God’s sake! That alone makes you guilty of stupidity, at the very least. Your regiment practically committed suicide.”
Spencer’s hands clenched at his sides. Through gritted teeth, he spat, “Careful, or you’ll be picking your teeth off the floor. You know nothing of what you speak. Clearly. What you did to your daughter reveals your own lack of honor.”
Cosgrove paled. “I admit I’ve made mistakes with my family. Let me say what I’ve come to say, and then I’ll be on my way.” He sucked in a deep breath. “You shouldn’t fault Evie.”
“No? And why is that? Because she’s been so honest and open with me? Because she let me believe she was someone else?”
Cosgrove shrugged and tossed out a hand. “You and the rest of the world. You shouldn’t take it so personally.”
“I’m her husband. I think that makes it a fairly personal matter.”
“She did it for Linnie. For the child.” He winced. “She sacrificed her future to save all of us the shame. I was wrong to encourage her to do it, but Linnie was my daughter.”
“Evie was your daughter, too.”
The older man continued as though Spencer had not uttered the reminder. “Evie had just returned from Barbados, and was quite . . . shaken from the experience. Since she was sacked without letters, she didn’t have too many options.”
“So you threw Evie to the wolves and let her take Linnie’s place?”
For the first time, Spencer began to wonder if he would have even liked Linnie . . . a chit too scared to stand on her own feet, a female who gave away her child and let her sister bear the burden.
“She wanted to do it.”
