“All right, then. She thought you’d sent her to Bath because she was too much trouble and you didn’t want her.”
He sucked in a sharp breath, as if someone had punched him. “She didn’t think that! She can’t think that.”
“It is probably illogical, but I am afraid that she does,” said Rosamund. “I tried to reassure her, but I scarcely knew her then, and I am afraid it did little good.”
“My God, what a mess,” said Griffin in a hollow voice, staring up at the blue silk canopy above them.
“But that is not what I wanted to ask,” said Rosamund. “Jacqueline told me she agrees with you that she must not marry Mr. Maddox.”
His body relaxed a little. “I’m glad the girl has some sense, then.”
“But why?” said Rosamund. “He is eligible in every way. He even lives close to Pendon Place, for goodness’ sake. We would not even have to part with her.”
He turned his head at that. “You would miss her if she went?”
“Oh, yes! Jacqueline is dear to me, Griffin. It is why I cannot bear to see her unhappy. And I don’t think she
will
be happy unless she marries Mr. Maddox. Why can they not be together?”
“DeVere won’t allow it.”
“Oh, my dear Griffin, do but say the word, and I shall take care of deVere. The Duke of Montford has been running rings around the fellow for years. I daresay he could come up with a scheme to secure deVere’s consent in the time it would take most people to add two and two together. Surely that cannot be the sole objection. And if it were, surely Jacqueline would not so wholeheartedly agree with it.”
“Leave it be, Rosamund,” said Griffin. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat up. Looking back at her, he said, “Just trust me.”
“Trust you?” She sat up, too, clutching the sheet to her breasts in a really rather absurd attempt to cover herself. “Why should I trust you when you have absolutely
no
faith in me?”
His mouth was set in a grim line. “I cannot tell you, because it is not my secret to tell and knowing it could be dangerous. But the reason is a damned good one. Even Jacks thinks so. If you don’t trust
me
, then at least respect her judgment!”
“Good enough to trump love, Griffin?” said Rosamund softly. “But how can that be? Surely nothing is more important or more powerful than love.”
“Is that right?” Griffin yanked on his trousers and buttoned them. Then he reached for his shirt. “Did you put love before your duty when you married me?”
Oh, God.
She’d walked straight into that trap, hadn’t she?
“No,” she said quietly. “I did not.”
He looked at her then, and the stark pain on his features wrung her heart.
In that moment, she felt defiant and reckless and entirely without hope. But she would say it to him so that he would know. How it might change things between them she couldn’t guess, but it was past time for her to be honest with him and remove all these doubts that seemed to fester inside him.
In a stronger voice, she continued. “I did not put duty above love, because in this case, they were one and the same.” She met his gaze, hoping against hope that he would see all he needed to know right there in her eyes. “I love you, Griffin. I always have.”
* * *
The magnitude and power of Rosamund’s words hit him with such stunning force that he couldn’t get his mind to take them in. They seemed to have bypassed his brain and driven straight through his heart.
But the feeling was less like the prick of Cupid’s arrow and more like the plunge of a knife.
No one had ever told him they loved him before.
He didn’t know how that could be, but it was. Surely his mother had loved him, but she’d never actually said it that he could recall. It was only now that he discovered how starved of love he had been since her death.
And it was cruel, so damnably cruel, that the first person ever to say those words to him should be so deluded. She was fooling herself, and she was killing him.
He stared at Rosamund, who sat up in bed, still clutching the sheet to her breast. She gazed up at him, clearly willing him to respond. As if it were a simple thing to comprehend, this love of hers for him.
“I don’t know what to say.” And he didn’t, because she clearly believed what she’d said, even if he knew her love was the product of wishful thinking. She wanted, quite desperately, to love the man who was her husband. That just happened to be him.
If deVere and Montford’s scheming had produced a different candidate, she would be saying those words to that fellow now, he was sure.
Rosamund tried desperately not to look crestfallen, but he knew she was. What woman wouldn’t be? Or what man, for that matter? If he’d been so reckless and foolish as to express the depth of his feelings for her … He dragged his hands down the side of his face.
In a shaking voice, she said, “You don’t have to say anything, Griffin. You simply have to believe it’s true.”
A tear spilled over and rolled down her cheek. He wanted to go to her, to hold her in his arms and kiss her tears away. But his own pain was so great that if he didn’t leave, he might say something to hurt her even more.
There was nothing he could do. No genuine sentiment he could utter that would make her feel better. He could not even give her the satisfaction of believing in
her
love, much less tell her he loved her in return.
He could lie. Perhaps he would, when he could force the words beyond the lump of pain that obstructed his throat. He could say he believed her.
But he could not tell her he loved her, even as a kindly lie to stop her tears.
He could not say it back, because in
his
case, it would be true.
* * *
They dined with the family at Montford House that night. Rosamund did her best to appear in good spirits, but by the time the ladies left the gentlemen to their drinking and smoking, she was all but worn out with the effort.
Her worst fears had been confirmed that morning. Griffin didn’t return her love. She wished she hadn’t given in to the impulse to make that declaration herself. Now she knew his sentiments beyond doubt, when before she’d been at liberty to dream of a happy ending for them both. Against all common sense, she’d hoped Griffin’s tenderness in the bedchamber signaled the depth of his feelings for her. How
could
a man be so considerate and passionate with a woman he didn’t love? She didn’t know. All she could do was hope his feelings for her would change.
She wished that tonight, of all nights, she hadn’t agreed to dine with her uncomfortably perceptive family. A small measure of relief came when she could finally escape with the ladies to the drawing room. She trusted Cecily and Jacqueline would not quiz her in front of Tibby.
But before she could even lay her hands on a cup of tea, Xavier appeared and asked to speak with her.
“Is anything amiss?” she inquired as he ushered her to the library. Instead of taking Montford’s seat behind the desk, her brother led her to a cozy grouping of chairs by the fireside.
Ah, so this was to be a
subtle
interrogation.
Her head began to ache.
Xavier crossed to the sideboard and plucked the stopper from a crystal decanter. Unusually, he chose two glasses and sloshed a finger of brandy in each.
“You look like you could use this,” he said, handing it to her. “Or would you prefer me to ring for sherry?”
Rosamund took a small sip, choking as the liquor caught her throat. “My goodness, how can you drink that stuff?”
Then the burn turned to a pleasant warmth, and the tendons in her neck relaxed just a touch.
Xavier merely smiled and watched as she sipped again.
He asked her about Pendon Place and Cornwall and their journey back to London. Rosamund answered each question with a wary vigilance. He was lulling her into a false sense of security. At any moment, he would pounce.
Then it came. “Your wedding was very sudden,” he observed. “I would have made the journey down to Cornwall for it, but I understand why you did not want to wait.”
She wrinkled her brow. What was he getting at?
“The impatience of two people in love,” he murmured on a note of explanation.
“Sarcasm doesn’t become you, Xavier,” said Rosamund lightly.
“On the contrary. It becomes me very well,” he returned. “But that was not sarcasm, Rosamund. I saw the pair of you gazing at each other like moonlings this evening. A decided whiff of tragedy in the air, too. Something wrong in paradise?”
She forced a laugh. “My goodness, brother, you go too fast for me. One minute, you accuse me of cuckolding my husband before we are even married, and the next, you scent a lovers’ quarrel between us!” Her voice had risen to an embarrassing pitch at the end of that speech.
Xavier stood and crossed to the couch where she sat and dropped his hand on her shoulder. “Tell your big brother all about it.”
In other circumstances, she wouldn’t have dreamed of confiding in her cold, unfeeling brother. But she was so very heartsick, and his usually clipped, cool voice was gentle and warm with understanding.
“Oh, Xavier!” she said on a sob. “I don’t know what to do!”
He sat beside her and put an arm about her shoulders and let her weep the long, involved tale into his coat. The comfort that gesture gave her was immense.
“If only I’d never met that rotten Lauderdale,” she said, wiping her eyes. “Oh, I am a mess.”
“Never mind that.” Xavier frowned. “Did Lauderdale offer you insult?”
“Oh, no!” She said it with every ounce of conviction she could muster. The captain would be a dead man twice over if Xavier found out about that dreadful proposition.
“Hmm.” Xavier sat back, steepling his fingers together in a pose that reminded her of the duke.
Too late, Rosamund realized the error of confiding in Xavier. He always wanted to fix things for her. But she sensed this was a problem she had to solve alone.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have burdened you with my troubles. Please do not interfere, Xavier,” she said. “I am sure that in these matters it is only worse when third parties get involved. I should not have told you at all.”
He wasn’t listening to her. “I shall contrive something. The Devil of it is that I must go out of town tomorrow for a week or so. I have a commitment I cannot break.”
“With the added advantage that you will miss Mama’s rout party next week,” said Rosamund.
“That, too.” Xavier frowned. “I wanted to speak with you about Lauderdale. Our mother has invited him to the party.”
She gasped. “But he is on the Continent by now.”
“That he is not. I heard he sold his commission and has returned to London. For what purpose, I wonder?” He sipped his drink, eyeing her. Did he still suspect her of harboring tender feelings toward the captain?
On top of her troubles with Griffin, this seemed too much. “Oh, no! What on earth shall I do?”
“You must go, of course. If you stay away, you will cause people to talk, not least of all, Nerissa. But you must take Griffin with you and show the world—and Lauderdale—what a devoted couple you are.”
“Good God, why did Lauderdale come back?” She would be conceited to believe it had anything to do with her. But, oh, confound Nerissa for her malicious meddling! That her mother made mischief she did not doubt. Did she think throwing the captain in Rosamund’s path would be enough for Rosamund to fall into his arms?
“Mama seems to delight in making me uncomfortable.” She smiled painfully. “I wish I did not have to go, but you’re right. I must. If only to prevent her spreading lies about the reason for my absence.”
“Our mother is a bitch of the first order,” said Xavier grimly. “She is eaten up with jealousy of you.”
Rosamund gasped, and he smiled rather evilly down at her. “That surprises you? Do but employ your intelligence a little, my dear. She has seen you as a rival for men’s affections since the day you were born. What she never understood was that if she’d possessed one ounce of your sweet temperament, she would be able to keep the men she seduces. As it is, they use her body without emotion or sentiment. Once their desire for that commodity is sated, they leave her.”
“Or she drives them away with her tantrums. It is a sad existence.” Rosamund hesitated. “Was that how it was with our father?”
Xavier sighed. “Strangely, I think he loved her, or he wouldn’t have stayed with her as long as he did.” He was silent for a moment. “Our father doted on you.”
Then why did he send us away?
She rested her head on her brother’s shoulder. “He is fading from my memory, Xavier. All I seem to remember are the fights between them.”
“He was not a demonstrative man. He did not show his affection in the way a little girl would understand,” Xavier conceded. “But I was rather older, and I understood him. Better, I think, than our mother did. He adored you.” He kissed her on the temple. “And so do I.”
A quiet joy flooded her heart. Xavier was not a demonstrative man, either, but she knew he loved her. Perhaps only her. Suddenly that struck her as a terribly lonely existence.