Debt of Honor (29 page)

At first, he just gaped at her.

And then he laughed.

“You want me to apologize to him and tell him why?” he asked. “Are you insane?”

“Perhaps,” Letitia returned. “If you do not do what you ought, I shall be forced to leave him, because I cannot pretend ignorance when I know the truth.”

His face contorted in incredulity. “You’re threatening me,” he muttered with an undisguised amazement. Then he began to laugh. “Apologize what? Ha! Haven’t I done enough by letting him have the estate back? Bastard, he still got the dowry I promised Darnley. And what did I get in the end? How dare you propose such an insult to my reputation?”

Ire constricted her throat and her heart. “Your reputation?” she choked out. “Shouldn’t
you
have considered your reputation, Father, before depriving Sir George Hanbury of his property?”

“Believe me, I have,” he snapped. “With Welburton gone to the West Indies and soon dead from yellow fever, and Ashton gone to India, there was nothing to fear. Hanbury deserved punishment. He drank himself to death anyway.”

Letitia’s fingers tightened on the armrests.

“
You
are a monster,” she hissed. “You were always mean to Mama and you treated me badly, but such depravity? Did you spare even a moment’s thought to consider John’s shame?”

“Do not mention him!” Her father bounced out of his armchair and glared at her from across his desk. “He had no right to buy a commission against my will and get himself killed, leaving me with what? A whore of a daughter? Why would I ever care about the future effect of that night on him? John was but a baby in the cradle then. And
never
mention that spineless, meek woman I married only for her plantations. It’s enough that I’m reminded of her every time I see you. She couldn’t even give me a second son!”

Tremors of indignation nearly took her breath away. “Perhaps you spent your life blaming the wrong person for your disappointment,” she ground out. “Its author was not Sir George Hanbury but you. Perhaps my husband’s mother recognized your character and, unlike Mama, could decide freely.”

“Get out!” he thundered. “Damned Ashton, he should have stayed in India until he died, instead of returning to London and stirring trouble for me.”

The fact that he seemed more worried about the existence of the testimony Sir Philip and Mr. Welburton had preserved than he was by the enormity of his behavior, though no surprise, stooped her shoulders with a burden too heavy to ever go away.

“Stirring trouble for
you
?” She rose from her chair. “It is always about you and you alone, is it not? Percy’s mother chose your friend, so you took revenge on her family in the most sinister way imaginable. When I fell prey to an unfounded gossip, you threatened me with transportation on your slaver instead of defending me. And when I then agreed to marry as you chose, you took advantage of it and gave what was not yours to give in the first place. You seem to believe you have the right to go to any length in order to accommodate yourself. But let me warn you that Sir Philip Ashton thinks otherwise. I hope he gives you all the trouble you deserve. You made your bed all by yourself, Father. Now sleep in it.”

Chapter Thirty-Five

Her father’s deeds drove the final nail into the coffin of her marriage. There was nothing left but to return to London, purchase the passage and start a new life on another continent.

The only thing Letitia had to do was write Percy. Not to tell him what her father had done, but to confirm his accusations. Hopefully, her letter would be all he needed to back up his divorce petition and have it granted as unobtrusively as obtaining an act of Parliament could be. If she were an adulterous wife who’d run away from her husband, what more did Parliament need in order to agree with said husband that he had been wronged? In her experience of men, nothing.

Whereas before Letitia had considered defending herself, fighting for her child’s right to his father’s name, now she wanted to put every possible weapon into Percy’s hands. He had to keep Wycombe Oaks, and she had to exit his life with as little hassle as possible.

It was not as easy to write a false confession as she had thought it would be when she sat down to do so. Luckily, since the days were already much shorter, Percy’s coachman stopped for the night early enough to give her plenty of time to compose her story. She had long hours until morning ahead of her. Tired as she was, sleep seemed impossible. First, it was necessary to set Percy free.

Letitia read the lines she had just committed to paper, making sure there were no details of any kind to implicate some innocent soul from Bromsholme’s neighborhood. Instead, she had invented an imaginary lover from far away and implied they were fleeing together.

But, so far, every attempt at confession read like some awful sentimental novel no one would give serious consideration. Compulsively, she crumpled the piece of paper and tossed it to the floor, where it joined her previous attempts at fantasy.

It all felt so wrong.

The shame caused by her father’s dishonesty had rocked the entire foundation of her existence that was already off-balance, turned upside down by Percy’s betrayal when she needed him most.

Why had she allowed herself to fall headfirst into a naïve conviction that there was more between them than the lust he had so easily kindled in her? Clearly, there had never been anything more for him. How would Percy hate her now if he only knew that he had been doubly cheated—first when his father lost Wycombe Oaks in that card game, and again when her father used it as bait just to get rid of her.

Write she must, then. Use his suspicions to her advantage. Give him back what was his.

She reached for the quill and stared at the empty sheet of paper in front of her. That old beau springing to life like
deus ex machina
required more embellishment in order to make her fictitious adultery more convincing. But where to begin? Nothing had worked so far.

A knock on the door broke her concentration. Probably the kitchen maid bringing the dinner Josie went to order for them. What had kept Josie downstairs so long?

“Come in,” Letitia called and pushed the sheets of paper aside to make room for a more pleasant task. Her gaze arrested on the floor and the crumpled paper balls. She should pick up those unsuccessful attempts at describing her imaginary trespasses and toss them into the fireplace before someone thought to read them for amusement.

Just as she bent down to scoop up her literary output resting under the table, the door opened.

“Put the tray here,” Letitia said while her fingers were chasing the crumpled paper around her feet. “I—”

The words died in her throat when she registered a pair of booted legs planted on the floor between the table and the door. She sat up straight while her heart thrashed around her chest like a rabbit caught in a snare.

The booted legs, and the rest of the body above them, belonged to Percy.

His presence here, mere feet from the table, caused an avalanche of feelings to cascade through her in unison with the pounding of her blood.

First of all, surprise that he had followed her and was here now.

Elation that he’d found her.

Anger that he had.

Longing to touch him, to simply disappear in his embrace and forget about all her troubles.

Knowledge that this was precisely what she could not do.

Panic that she was not prepared to talk to him.

Raw pain at the memory of his words spoken in the Bromsholme library.

An uninvited surge of love for him, all-encompassing and hungry.

Finally, all those conflicting feelings were eclipsed by another, the strongest one. Fury.

“Leave!” she gritted out. “I shall not let you ruin things for the second time. Leave now!”

The expression on Percy’s face could compete with the mask of tragedy. He did not move. “I cannot,” he rasped softly. “At least, not before you hear me out.”

“I
have
heard you out, remember? Did you forget something? You have said enough to make your case. Now get out!”

He only shook his head. “No. At least let me explain, Lettie.”

It did not escape her notice that he appeared downright haggard. She had never seen him in such…well,
dishabille
was the word that popped into her mind. It had nothing to do with his clothing, and everything to do with the despair so plainly chiseled into his features. In fact, the mask of tragedy was no mask at all.

“There is nothing to explain.” She swallowed tears that came back when most uninvited. “Your time would be better employed on preparing your petition to Parliament.”

“I have no intention to petition Parliament for anything.”

Oh God, she was right. He was going to ruin everything.

“Why are you here?” she demanded.

“Because you are here,” Percy replied, and for the first time, his mouth eased slightly out of its desperate bent. “How are you, Lettie?”

“Very well, I thank you,” she rejoined coolly. “You needn’t have bothered. I am not returning to Bromsholme with you.”

Percy watched her for a moment. “I came to apologize,” he said. “Maybe even to beg your forgiveness. I do not know if you can find it in your heart to forgive me. But I must apologize nonetheless.”

It meant she no longer had the night to write that account of her imaginary affair for the benefit of the House of Commons. And so she had to convince Percy
now
to leave her alone once and forever.

“Do not bother,” she said. “Your guess was correct.”

He flinched, and his mouth returned to that more desperate yet determined line. Then he shook his head. “No. My guess was a rabid thought indeed, as you put it. You did not deserve any of those horrible things I said to you. I…I do not know how to tell you how sorry I am for behaving like a heartless fool.”

Percy sensed with every nerve ending how furious Lettie was. He could hardly blame her. He had failed her at the pivotal moment in her life and exposed her to danger, all for the sake of his misguided self-pity. It had been a pivotal moment in both their lives, but he had forfeited his right to link them together. No, he definitely could not blame her.

The circles under her eyes alarmed him. She looked tired and forlorn. When he entered the room, all he’d wanted was to rush to her, envelop her in his arms, kiss her senseless with relief, tell her he could not live without her, make love to her, hold her close, never let go of her again. Tell her how much he loved her.

He had not been able to move or say a word.

The feeling of drowning that had become so familiar in the past three days swallowed him again. The rest of his life might not be enough time to sufficiently apologize for what he had done.

Lettie seemed to be of the same opinion.

“I had the last few days to think about the reasons that brought our marriage about,” she said now, ignoring his entreaty, “and I cannot but agree how right you were. We ought to end it in divorce.”

Sweat broke down his spine.

“Lettie…” was all he managed to say before panic squeezed his throat closed.

If Lettie heard the note of desperate plea in his voice, she showed no reaction to it. Instead, she raised an upholding hand when he opened his mouth to continue.

“No, do not interrupt. Once you know my reasons, you will, no doubt, agree with me.”

He swallowed hard. He had to convince her somehow to stay with him.

“I am leaving you,” she continued with an almost-perfect ease. Almost, because he detected a slight trembling, and that made something inside him burst with radiant hope. “You were so right about me. I am going to follow the father of my child, and you can start the divorce proceedings immediately.”

That was absurd.
He
was the father of her child. How was he going to convince her that he did not doubt it at all? Perhaps he would never be able to. Perhaps the price for his stupidity could never be paid in full.

He was willing to negotiate their future arrangements in any way that pleased her, but
excluding
even a mention of divorce. Luckily, the divorce would never come to pass without his petition.

His feet at last detached themselves from the floor. Too agitated to stand in one spot, Percy began pacing between the table and the door. He had to make sure Lettie understood divorce was out of the question.

“No.” He shook his head. “Don’t even try to go down that path, Lettie.”

She left her chair and walked over to the window, turning away from him.

Percy stopped pacing and glanced at Lettie’s back. Her shoulders were slumped, and he strongly suspected that in a moment they would be racked by sobs.

And then a thought occurred to him. Percy allowed himself another tiny ray of hope.

“So whom should I sue for damages?” he asked, doing his best to sound bored. He leaned with his shoulder against the doorframe and wished he had a snuffbox, or at least a quizzing glass, to appear entirely in control.

His new tactics worked.

“What?” Lettie turned to him, surprise shaping itself into a frown.

Percy repeated the question. “In situations like this,” he added by way of explanation, while she watched him with confusion written all over her face, “the cuckolded husband usually sues the man involved in criminal conversation with his wife. If their guilt is proven in the court of law, he is awarded damages and divorce can be granted, if he wishes it. So, who is it, Lettie?”

She turned to the window again, he suspected to hide the astonishment at his words rather than admire the village green that was being fast enveloped in the darkness. She put her arms across her middle, hugging herself.

It seemed he’d cornered her quite effortlessly. Her shoulders slumped even more, but instead of satisfaction, Percy felt a dagger twisting its way through his heart. He hated baiting her like this when he really should be groveling at her feet.

Had she any idea how much he loved her, how essential she was to his very existence? Or did she think she had been nothing more than a woman accidentally available to warm his bed?

“Lettie?”

The dagger twisted sharply again when he heard a stifled sob. She tightened her arms around her midriff even more.

“I will not tell you.”

She trembled, and his need to reach out to her and do whatever was in his power to comfort her made the damned doorframe burn his shoulder.

“You will kill him in a duel instead of going to court. You can sue me instead since I cannot fight you.”

Percy hoped she would not turn around now to look at him, because the relief that washed over him was tugging, quite against his will, at the corners of his mouth. He bit his lower lip to kill the involuntary smile that would be as Judas’s kiss to his hope.

“You might consider the other side of the coin,” he replied with as much careless indifference as he could muster. “What if he killed me instead? It is a distinct possibility in every duel, you know, and in such case, you would become a respected widow instead of a ruined divorced woman.”

At this, Lettie whirled around with indignation, glaring at him with a mixture of fear and anger. “Stop funning! How can you!”

“It is very comforting to know,” he said with genuine relief, “that you do not wish me dead. It is just as well, because I do not wish to fight any duels, any more than I wish to divorce you.”

But that only earned him the stiffening of her countenance. So the battle was not over yet.

“Oh, but
I
wish to divorce you,” she said heatedly. “And if you continue in your refusal, I assure you, I can cause a scandal that will see you running with the tail between your legs as fast as you can!”

Given the circumstances that had led to their marriage, he had no doubt she would avail herself of that promise with an outstanding brilliancy. And yet, he did not worry about it one tiny bit.

What he worried about was her insistence on leaving him. He had to change his approach. He’d done nothing so far to convince her to abandon that idea. Nothing to take away the desolate dejection haunting her features whenever she forgot to cover it with haughtiness for his benefit.

“Lettie, please.” He pushed off the doorframe and moved closer to her. “Please let me apologize for my behavior at Bromsholme. I allowed myself to be blinded by past events, instead of seeing things for what they really were. The moment I discovered your absence, my entire world fell to pieces. No one but you can put them back together. And no one but me can put together the pieces of your life. Give me a chance.”

The hauteur on her face melted away, leaving only hurt and fragility.

“You do not trust me,” she said quietly.

Her pain crushed him with another wave of wrenching remorse. “No,” he said hoarsely. “It was
I
whom I did not trust. For two years, until I married you, I managed to convince myself that Sarah had been right about me. And then you became my friend and lover, the center of my life. But the more I loved you, the more my inadequacy haunted me. I began to fear the day you would turn away from me, like Sarah. You are such a beautiful person, Lettie. You deserved better than a husband who could not give you a family. I knew I had to tell you. I was going to do that three days ago in the library, but you wanted to tell me something first. All I could think about at that moment was that it could not be.”