The Lady In Question (40 page)

“I will leave for now, but you are my wife, you are my soul and I shall not give you up.”

“You have no choice.”

“Not at the moment, perhaps.” He kept his voice as cool as hers. “I understand you require time to come to grips with all of this, but I warn you, Delia, if it takes the rest of my days, I will win you back.”

He refused to allow the desperation in his heart to show in his voice. “I said I would love you forever.”

“You said any number of things that weren’t true.” A weary note sounded in her voice and she sank down into the chair behind the desk.

“Nothing regarding my feelings about you was a lie.” Anger born of fear welled up within him. He smacked his palms down firmly on the desk and leaned toward her. “And understand this, Lady St. Stephens, I revealed more of myself to you as Gordon than I have ever revealed to anyone. I was more honest with you while pretending to be someone else than I have ever been with anyone.

“I didn’t pretend to be your friend, I
was
your friend, and I have not had many I could call friend in my life. And it was as your friend that I fell in love with you. I will not sacrifice that love because of actions I took to secure your safety. Actions that indeed were part of service to my country. Falling in love with you was not my intention, and once I had, I did everything in my power to keep you from being hurt. I hoped you would never know any of this.”

“Not even about Charles?”

“I neither knew who killed him nor why until tonight. But yes, if I had known I would have kept it from you.”

“And if you had known of his feelings for me? Would you have told me?”

He stared into her eyes. “No.”

“I see.” Her voice was cold and chilled his heart.

“It is not over between us, Delia, it will never be over. And not merely because I love you.” He straightened. “But because you love me. And you know as well as I how difficult love is to find.”

She folded her hands on top of the desk and gazed up at him as if they were discussing a matter of no more importance than the dinner menu. As if she were removed from the conversation. As if she didn’t care. “Get out.”

“For now.”

“Forever.”

An hour later, Tony was the last of the men left in the house. Delia still sat behind the desk in the library where he had left her, unseeing, unmoving.

He stood in the doorway for a long time and watched her. She paid him no heed, whether deliberately or otherwise, he didn’t know. It scarcely mattered, he supposed. Tony had never been seriously involved with a woman before. God knows, he’d never been in love. His heart had never broken before, but it was surely breaking now for her. She was wounded and hurt and in pain, and not all of it, but a great deal, could be laid at his feet. He ached for her and had no idea how to help.

He would make sure she was not alone, but he would give her time. As much as she needed, or maybe only as much as he could bear. In the meantime, he would take up his title. Learn what he needed to know to manage an estate, to be a viscount and a husband, even a member of a family. He tried to memorize every curve of her face, the set of her chin, the tilt of her lips, and knew the effort was unnecessary. He already knew her face as well as he knew his own. She would linger in his mind and his heart until he was with her once again. And if he knew nothing else about his future, he knew that. He would not allow it to be otherwise.

“Farewell, Lady St. Stephens, my lady wife,” he said quietly. “For now.”

He left the house, closing the door firmly behind him, and vowed he would be back. The sharp, hard sound of the front door closing echoed through the house. The empty house. She was completely alone and that was precisely how she wanted it.

Delia sat for a long time, unwilling, unable to move. Frozen, numb…dead. At last she got to her feet and wandered into the parlor. The stench of smoke still hung over the room, but she barely noticed. She found the brandy decanter and her glass and started back toward the library. The charred wall caught her eye and she stopped and stared. The fire had obviously been extinguished before it could do much damage. Still, another few minutes and it would have caught the curtains and the carpet. The whole room would have gone from there, possibly the house. Certainly there was repair needed, but it could have been much worse.

They all could be dead.

She pushed the thought away and returned to the library. In the back of her mind, she noted even in the early morning light everything around her seemed blurred and unreal. Very much like a dream she moved through without conscious effort. It was an exceedingly curious sensation, as if all her senses and emotions had retreated or fled or escaped to a safe, protected spot far away. At the moment she didn’t feel much of anything at all, but she knew she would, and it would be devastating. Brandy would numb the pain. Oh, not for long and not forever, but it seemed like a good idea at the moment. She poured a glass and took a sip. Delia had lost track of the number of brandies she’d had in this room. The long, comfortable evenings. The games of backgammon…

She collapsed back into the chair and ignored the liquor that splashed over the side of her glass and onto her fingers. A scant few hours ago she had been so blissfully happy. The future stretched before her, bright with promise and joy. The grandest adventure of her life.

How had it all gone so horribly wrong? Since the moment she’d met Charles, her life had been a lie. He’d wanted nothing from her but entree into her circle of family. That in itself was difficult to face. The fact that he had married her because he loved her and was ultimately killed because of it was almost too unbearable to consider.

And what of Tony? He had become her friend when she was alone and had no one else to turn to. Was that part of his plan, or some odd quirk of fate? She well knew there were few other women of her acquaintance who would have shared their evenings with an elderly servant. If he had begun his impersonation with the intention of becoming her confidant, it was only luck that allowed him to succeed. There was a modicum of comfort in the thought.

As for the rest of it…she didn’t know what to believe, what to think and had no idea what to do now. Tony was indeed right about one thing: She did need time to sort all this out. Anger and hurt and guilt and pain all warred within her. She was furious with Tony for his deception and angry as well with Charles for his. Delia did indeed feel responsible for Charles’s death and probably always would, to a degree. Still, if he had told her of his feelings, perhaps the outcome would have been different. Charles would be alive and well and she would be his wife. And she never would have known Tony at all. The realization of how much she would regret that brought a fresh wave of guilt. Delia heard the front door open and her heart leapt.

For now.

Traitorous heart. No matter what Tony had vowed on his way out the door, her life with him was over.

“Good Lord!” Cassie’s voice sounded from the hall. She murmured something Delia didn’t hear and then appeared in the library doorway. “It reeks in there, although the damage doesn’t seem too bad.”

Delia sighed. The last thing she wanted at the moment was to explain everything to her sister. Indeed, she wasn’t entirely certain she
could
explain everything. “What are you doing here?”

“Your husband came to the house and demanded I be awakened. It’s obscenely early, you know. He said there had been a fire or something like that and insisted I come over at once.” Cassie pulled off her gloves and walked toward Delia, then paused. Her eyes narrowed. “You look dreadful.”

Her gaze slid to the decanter and back to Delia. “Are you drinking at this hour of the day? What’s wrong?”

“I’ve done it again, Cassie. I’ve made another dreadful mistake in marriage.”

“What on earth do you mean? Why, yesterday you were happier than I’ve ever seen you.”

“Yesterday I didn’t now what I know now.” In spite of Delia’s resolve, tears filled her eyes and a sob sounded in her voice. “My housekeeper killed my husband. I married my butler, and my house is full of spies.”

Cassie stared. “What?”

Delia sniffed back a tear. “It’s a long story.”

Cassie pulled up a chair and settled into it. “Excellent, as I have a great deal of time. I am usually still abed at this hour.”

“And it’s a very odd story.” Delia licked the brandy off her fingers. “Quite complicated.”

“I assumed as much.”

“Really rather fanciful, actually,” Delia said thoughtfully. “I daresay I wouldn’t have believed it at all if it had not —”

“Delia,” Cassie snapped. “Tell me, right now. Every odd, fanciful, complicated detail.”

“Very well.” Delia paused. “But first I think you should probably swear never to reveal any of this to anyone.”

“Why?”

“In the best interests of the crown, I should think,” Delia said loftily. “Besides, I would prefer the rest of the world never know what a true fool I am.”

“I can well understand that. And I promise not to reveal any of your odd, complicated, fanciful story.”

“I wonder if I should make you take a blood oath or something of that sort,” Delia murmured, more to herself than her sister.

“Delia!”

“Sorry.” Delia thought for a moment, drew a deep breath and told Cassie everything, starting with Charles and ending with Mrs. Miller and the fire.

“Good Lord.” Cassie slumped back in her chair and stared at her sister, wide-eyed with disbelief. “I don’t know what to say. It certainly isn’t.-.that is, I never…what I mean…”

Delia pushed the decanter of brandy across the desk at her.

“None for me, thank you. One of us should keep her wits about her.”

“My wits are about me.” Delia stared at her glass. “Tony said brandy promotes rational thinking and even clarity in times of great turmoil. I believe he’s right.”

“I knew that butler of yours was odd.” Cassie shook her head. “There was something about him I didn’t trust.”

Delia heaved a heartfelt sigh. “I trusted him.”

“Yes, I know.” Cassie studied her sister thoughtfully. “I can certainly see why you might be a bit overset.”

Delia snorted. “A bit?”

“So…when will you forgive him?”

“Tony?” Delia lifted her chin. “He’s a lying beast and I shall never, never forgive him.”

“Don’t be absurd.”

“I’m not being the least bit absurd. He lied to me. He used me. He became my friend under false pretenses. How can I ever forgive him?”

“How can you not? You love him. Beyond that” — Cassie’s brows pulled together and Delia could practically see her twin’s mind working — “it seems to me his deception initially was not of his making. And his solution was to marry you, sweep you away to Italy, provide you with the grand adventures and indeed the life you’ve always dreamed of and make you happy for the rest of your days. Would that I should find such a beast.”

“You don’t understand.”

“I understand that two different men, both working for the crown, fell in love with you. And both men married you, such action having nothing whatsoever to do with their work. Poor, poor Delia.”

“But Tony deceived me.”

Cassie scoffed. “Men deceive women all the time. Usually with other women. Given that the only other woman concerned in this was a murderous housekeeper who I gather worked for your current husband but was not, well,
involved
with him beyond that…” She shook her head as if to clear it. “This is terribly confusing, but I am right on that point, aren’t I?”

Delia tapped the decanter pointedly. “Clarity.”

“I think it’s best if one of us remains somewhat less than clear,” Cassie said wryly. “I hate to say this, because I suspect you don’t particularly want to hear it at the moment, but St. Stephens’s crimes don’t seem all that horrible to me.”

“I poured my heart out to him. I talked to him about…him. I asked him for advice and I told him how I felt about him. He took unfair advantage of me.” Delia huffed indignantly. “I told him things I never would have told him had I known who he was. About my life and about my feelings. He knows me as well as you do.”

“So much the better. Once this little matter is cleared up, there should be no more secrets between you.”

“But…but…” Delia glared in disbelief. “What about Charles?” A note of triumph sounded in her voice. “Don’t I owe him something?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Cassie!”

“Come, now, Delia. He did not turn you from his bed and he certainly could have, thus avoiding your marriage and everything that went with it. Then he never told you how he felt; in fact, he apparently treated you like he didn’t care about you at all. And you were fully prepared to be a good wife to him. Indeed, didn’t you tell me you thought love would come in time?”

“I might have said something like that,” Delia admitted.

“You were not responsible for how he’d lived his life before he met you, nor were you responsible in any way for his death.”

“Still…”

“There is no
still
about it.”

“But…but…” Delia sat up straight and squared her shoulders. “Tony broke my heart. How can I possibly forgive him?”

“Nonsense.” Cassie waved away the question. “He might have bruised your pride a bit. I feel rather foolish myself that I did not see the truth. As for your heart” — she leaned forward — “right now, this very moment, what brings you the most pain?”

“Actually, at this very moment, there is not a great deal of pain,” Delia murmured.

“Clarity, Delia,” Cassie snapped. “What makes you feel worse right now? The things that St. Stephens has done or the possibility that you will never be with him again?”

Delia had been so upset, so hurt, she hadn’t truly considered that. What she might be giving up. Or tossing aside. Or losing forever. Her breath caught. “Good heavens, I told him I never wanted to see him again.”