Chapter Fourteen
Something was bothering Lucas, and it was going to kill her to remain ignorant.
She tugged at her white elbow gloves irritably as she stood without partner yet again along the walls of the Duke of Eastbourne’s extravagant ballroom. Lucas had danced the first dance with her and then fled the premises, as he had done so many times in the past, but never when they had been together. He’d said no more than ten words to her today, and less than that for the past five days.
He was not angry with her, which was her only comfort. She suspected she had very little to do with his black mood at all. It was as if the shadows she had been glimpsing in him had become rolling, overbearing thunderclouds that consumed him.
She wished that he would let her in. Surely nothing could be so bad as to burden him so completely.
But he had been alone for so long. So misunderstood and practically exiled, she doubted he knew just how to manage whatever darkness that was affecting him.
Trust was not easy for him and she knew it.
There would be some difficulty in her gaining, or sustaining, any form of trust of him when he almost continually avoided her.
He had ceased with his poor pretending at avoiding sharing her bed, and now they parted after dinner. Privacy was something he was used to, so she allowed it without any sort of argument.
But the loneliness in the night was deafening.
She shivered in the warm room and gently tucked an errant curl behind her ear. She could not think such things here and now. She was Lady Blackmoor, who must be all grace and poise, who must represent her stoic and reclusive husband well. Everyone was watching her at all times, quite literally everyone, and she would give them nothing at all to comment or speculate on.
It would have gone a lot further if her husband had remained with her, or looked pleased to be anywhere at all, but there was no changing his personality.
And she did not wish to change him.
She loved him, despite the madness of everything and his current distance, and she would wish for nothing more than for him to be the man she knew.
Loving him so freely and then being expected to be virtual strangers was painful beyond belief.
She watched the dancing with a bit of ambivalence now, pretending to smile as if she had intended to stand here without partner. She was a married woman now, after all. Partners would not be as available to her as before, as they would be intent on wooing the young ladies. And when she considered who her husband was and what the reputation of the pair of them had become, it was hardly surprising.
Marianne, she could see, was dancing with her husband, and they were lost in each other, as usual. The sight gave her hope. Kit Gerrard was a very reserved man himself, and he had rarely danced before his marriage. Now he was seen more, smiled more, and danced a great deal more, usually with his wife alone, but there were some exceptions.
Surely Lucas could be so altered with time. Not to change his nature, but to be seen in such joy.
Perhaps when his shadows were vanquished, he would feel free enough to do so.
Or perhaps he would always be as he was.
She winced a little at the thought. She did not want a distant husband, one that avoided her and had become even more reclusive than normal.
She wanted…
Thornacre.
Her heart gave as she recalled those blissful days, the love and energy that had filled every moment, the deepening feelings and blatant flirtation…
That was what she had always imagined a marriage ought to be like. She never expected it for herself, but it had been her dream of one all the same. To have anything else, now that she knew what was possible, was nothing short of cruel.
But how did Lucas feel on the subject? He was no actor, could not pretend at anything. He had felt the same things she had at Thornacre, had been just as eager and willing and light. Despite his reserve and disinclination toward expression, he was a man who felt things very strongly, and he had lost what they’d shared, too.
Was he suffering for it as she was?
Why then the distance?
She shook her head slightly, smiling when Marianne and Kit came towards her.
A slight furrow appeared between Marianne’s delicate brows. “What’s that for?”
“Just thinking,” Gemma said lightly, shaking her head again. “Never a good thing in my situation. Why are you dancing, Marianne? In your condition…”
“It was the last time,” she laughed with a slight roll of her eyes. “I told Kit that at least four times in the dance.”
“One can hardly blame me for my concern,” he muttered, smiling with warmth that was unfamiliar on his features. He looked at Gemma, and held out a hand. “Would you care for a dance, Lady Blackmoor?”
Gemma grinned and placed her hand in his. “I would be delighted.”
To her surprise, Kit chatted amicably throughout the dance, and she was instantly at ease and warming to the dance within moments. Not that she had expected the dance to be unpleasant, for he had always treated her with respect and kindness. But he was not the sort of man who would converse endlessly about nothing, and yet here he was doing so. It was rather endearing, and she was very glad that he was a friend to Lucas, and that his wife was a friend to her.
It was a reminder that she was not alone in this, and there would always be allies.
“Where is your husband?” Kit asked as he escorted her back when the dance was completed.
She shrugged one shoulder. “You would know better than I.”
He frowned a little.
“Do you know…?” she began hesitantly.
“No,” he said, cutting her off. “No, I don’t know what this is. But I hope you will not take it as a reflection upon you or your marriage, Gemma. He cares for you very much.”
She smiled fondly and squeezed his hand. “I know.”
Uncomfortable with emotion and warmth as ever, Kit looked away quickly, but Gemma saw his mouth quirk. “Refreshment?” he asked in a stiff voice that did not fool her.
“Please.”
Though it was hardly the usual thing to do, the Duke and Duchess of Eastbourne used a far corner of their ballroom for lemonade and some light refreshment. They had servants who wandered the place with trays, but the intrepid soul could fend for themselves if they so chose.
Kit escorted her over and she patiently waited, glancing around the room aimlessly, taking note of the wallflowers and unoccupied gentlemen with amusement.
Some things did not change.
“The father was quite the horrid man himself, you know. The late Lord Blackmoor? He was barred from London functions before he married his wife.”
Gemma’s ears perked up and she glanced over at the collection of ladies seated nearby.
“Whom did he marry? I don’t recall.”
“Nobody does. They never appeared together in Society, not even once. No one would have them. Reclusive bunch, that family.”
“Didn’t the late viscount have a bit of a reputation?”
There was a derisive snort from one of them. “A bit? The man was a drunk and a gambler, and it was usually other people’s money he gambled with. He never had half a crown to his own name, and the debts were extreme. The family was hardly in a fine position generations before, but there had never been a Lord Blackmoor so ruinous as he. Every estate was lost saving for the family holdings, which were left in a bad way.”
“Is it true they had to do away with maids in the house because of him?”
“Oh, yes. Him and his son.”
“The current viscount?” someone asked with a gasp.
Gemma went cold at the blatant suggestion.
“No, you goose, his brother! That one gave his father a run for his money with bad behavior. It seemed they were determined to out-scandal the other.”
“Oh, yes, he was a wicked one. He was only permitted in Society briefly until at least ten fathers of young ladies made certain accusations. And then he only lurked in the darkest corners of London, sowing temptation and ruin wherever he went.”
“Surely not.”
“Oh no? Don’t you remember how he died?”
Gemma stiffened and her eyes focused on the pinched looking woman currently fanning herself with a poorly painted fan. She would not dare reveal any truly scandalous information at a gathering such as this.
But then, she had already said so much.
She leaned forward and Gemma had to strain to catch her words.
“He died in the Seven Dials of a laudanum overdose. While intoxicated. In a brothel.”
Shocked gasps echoed around the circle, and several fans moved a great deal faster.
Sensing she had a captive audience, the cruel woman smirked. “Ladies of ill repute draped about the room, in all manner of undress. Two other rakes nearby, only slightly better off. And the rooms had not been paid for.”
The women tittered and Gemma ground her teeth together.
Something brushed her arm and she jerked to see Kit there, looking murderous and cold, his eyes fixed on the women as well.
“I cannot bear it,” she hissed.
“Drink your lemonade,” he replied, taking a sip of his own.
She glanced down at her hand, wondering when the cup had been placed there. She was tempted to toss it aside. “I have no…”
“Do it.”
She glowered and did so.
“Well, the late Lord Blackmoor died in a duel,” one of the other women laughed. “Over a horse, wasn’t it?”
Someone snickered. “Yes, a badly placed bet. Don’t remember all the particulars, but he questioned the breeding of the horse, the honesty of the owner, and claimed he had been duped into placing his entire sum on an ill-bred nag.”
“He was killed in the duel?”
“Run clean through.”
“Dueling is illegal.”
“It was not a matter of legality. A magistrate was there and oversaw it, for heaven’s sake. The matter would have proceeded accordingly, but after the duel, he attacked Sir Preston again, and Sir Preston had no choice but to defend himself. It was no loss to anyone for the viscount to die, and they left the corpse there in the field for his own kind to dispose of however they saw fit.”
“That’s not polite.”
“Politeness has no place with people like that. The whole family is a bad lot, and the mother died in the midst of all of that, wilted away into nothingness because of the behaviors of her family, from the shame, ignored and neglected. Weak little creature, nothing left to live for, and the will to live bled out of her slowly, and then all at once.”
“Kit, I can’t…” Gemma pleaded softly.
“Steady,” he murmured, setting a hand at her elbow.
She shook her head. “Take me away.”
He nodded once and began to do so, far more dignified and composed than Gemma could have done.
“And the current viscount?” some impertinent young woman asked.
Gemma pulled to a halt, jolting Kit beside her.
“He never did anything to stop any of them, did he? He could have done that at any time. But no, he was a passive bystander and let his family destroy itself.”
Gemma snarled and turned to unleash her fury on the group of women only to find Lucas standing in her path.
“Leave it alone,” he whispered, his voice hollow and his eyes vacant.
She shook her head fiercely. “No. I will not let them slander you and your family like this.”
“It’s all true, Gemma,” he bit out, his voice catching as if someone had stolen his breath. “Every word.”
Without waiting for a response, he moved past her and left the room.
She glanced back at Kit, who had also watched Lucas go. His eyes flicked down to Gemma, a question in them.
“Please,” she murmured with a nod.
He dipped his chin once and made his way to follow Lucas out of the room.
Gemma put a hand to her brow and moved to a nearby pillar, leaning against it with a heavy sigh.
“Surely the viscount is more respectable than that,” a quiet woman asked timidly. “I’ve never heard of…”
“The murder?” someone interrupted in a sharp snap. “The current viscount is exactly like the rest, my dear. He is more discreet and mysterious about it, to be sure, and who knows what sort of depravities he is engaged in? He merely learned from the behavior of his father and brother, and the ancestors before them, and has seen the effects of the publicity of such actions. Time will tell, though. All secrets are revealed at some time or another.”
“You really think he is as bad as the rest?”
“Worse, my dear. He will prove to be far worse.”
Gemma straightened up, clenched her hands into fists, and moved out of the safety of her hiding place. She marched over to the circle of women and faced the shrewish one who had spoken so much. The entire group fell silent, watching her.
The woman’s eyes narrowed malevolently. “Lady Blackmoor.”
Gemma had no idea who the woman was, nor did she care. She would not engage in politeness. After all, she was a Blackmoor. And politeness had no place with them.
“You will cease your gross abuse of my husband and his family,” she told the woman, but spoke to the circle as well. Somehow, she kept her tone even and the tremors remained in her chest without spreading to her limbs. “You will behave as the proper ladies you are reputed to be and leave us alone.”
“Oh, will I?” the woman sneered.
Gemma lowered her chin just a touch, her lip curling. “Yes.”
The woman blinked uncertainly, and looked down at her hands in her lap.
“I know your husband, madam,” another woman broke in coldly, and Gemma glanced at her. “And there is far more I could say on the subject.”
“I know my husband, madam,” Gemma snapped. “Perhaps if you knew yours, you would have a worthwhile thought to share with the world. As it is, you know nothing on the subject of any husband, yours or mine, and I will thank you to take your ignorance and…”
“My dance, Lady Blackmoor,” Colin Gerrard suddenly exclaimed jovially, seizing her hand and jauntily pulling her away as if his eagerness could not be contained.
When they were far away, he let his grin fade and he shook his head a little. “Good lord, Gemma,” he chuckled softly. “Did you not listen to anything Marianne said?”
“Marianne would have said worse under the circumstances and you know it,” she muttered, her face flaming.
Colin laughed and winked. “True enough, but you really must learn how to contain it. Channel the rage constructively, use subterfuge, whatever you must. Blatant attacks won’t work here.”
“I should have been a soldier.”
He grinned and tapped her cheek before taking her to the dance floor. “Aye, that would have been a fine fit for you. But this is an entirely different sort of battlefield. And at the moment, looking happy and smiling and dancing is going to help your cause more than dealing with those women.”
It felt false and betraying to smile at the moment, but Colin was right. He knew Society and its navigation like no other, and would it would be wise to heed his counsel.
For now.
She stayed as long as she could bear to, and then a few moments longer, before finding Kit, who informed her that Lucas had left the ball when he had stormed out, but the carriage was still available for her use. She had suspected as much, knowing her husband. He would not be able to stay after hearing such things, especially given the shadows she had glimpsed in his eyes.
It was all true, he had said. But how could that be?
She wondered on that the entire ride home. It could not be. It was too horrible, like the lurid details of a particularly salacious novel that no sensible person ought to enjoy. Surely they were mistaken.
She disembarked from the carriage and hurried into the house, mind awash with the information she had received tonight.
What horrible details to live through, what misfortunes to endure… What was truth and what was not?
No matter what Lucas said, it could not be all truth.
She let the maid help her with her cloak and tugged her gloves off. “Where is he?” she murmured.
The maid looked at her with wide eyes, then folded the cloak over her arms, lowering her gaze. “The gallery, madam.”
Gemma nodded, thanked her, then made her way quietly up the stairs in the darkened house.
The gallery spanned much of the second floor, and there was no light at all within but the moonlight through the windows.
It took Gemma a moment for her eyes to adjust, and then she saw him.
He sat in a chair, but only at the barest edge, his elbows on his knees, head in his hands. He was without coat, cravat, or waistcoat, and there was no hint of the fine man that had been seen in the Eastbourne ballroom hours ago.
His hands slid from his head across his face, then flopped loosely before him, his head dropping. He looked somehow small and diminished thus, his shoulders slumped as if the entire weight of the world rested on him.
The sight of him sent her heart to her throat. This was a man tormented beyond belief, haunted by something far worse than shadows. In that moment, she knew that he had not been mistaken at all. Every word of that horrible conversation had been true. It was inconceivable for him to be so pained if it had been anything less.
These were the horrors he lived with and faced on a regular basis. And when confronted by them, he brought himself here to surround himself with the likeness of the very people who had driven him to this.
She had been so wrong about him, about the darkness that wore on him. He bore a heavy burden, several of them, and the weight was crushing him.
He seemed to shudder a little, and she clamped down on her bottom lip to keep her distress contained.
How he must suffer! He was so proud, so strong and immovable at all times. This was sheer and utter anguish, and witnessing it was too much.
Feeling it could only be infinitely worse.
Slowly, not wishing to startle him, Gemma moved further into the room. He gave no indication that he noticed her in any way, but she was undeterred. She walked carefully over to the chair until she was directly before him.
He did not raise his head; he did not stir in the least. His breathing was unsteady and his shoulders seemed to shake with tremors, but no sound emerged from him.
Tears filled her eyes as she reached out gently and touched his hair. He stilled beneath her hand, but made no move. Encouraged, she began slowly running her fingers through the dark locks. She stepped closer and let both hands wander through his hair, stroking and soothing, his fingers barely brushing the edge of her skirt.
A soft exhale escaped him and he seemed to lean into her touch. She smiled through her tears and continued the strokes, letting him nuzzle as he would.
His hands slid up and rested on her hips, pulling her closer. He pressed his face against her stomach, releasing another harsh breath.
Gemma slid her arms gently around him, cradling his head against her, fingers still running through the dark tresses. Tears began to trickle down her cheeks, and her heart filled with love for this man in her arms. She would hold him for the rest of her life if he would let her. She would have borne his burdens if he would share them.
But this was enough.
After a few long moments, Lucas lifted his head, resting his chin against her and looking up into her face, his expression worn and weary, lost and alone. His eyes were soft and tender, so gentle and open, her heart broke anew for him.
She brushed a hand along his cheek, his jaw, meeting his eyes gently as her other hand cupped the back of his head, toying with the locks there. Gracefully her fingers stroked along his face, lightly scratching the stubble at his jaw and his chin, tracing his ear and cheekbones, memorizing every feature.
His breathing deepened and he slowly rose, his hands still on her, his eyes never wavering. Her hands slid to his neck, one moving to rest on the exposed skin of his chest, where his erratic heartbeat pounded.
Lucas cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing over her cheekbone, making her eyelids flutter in delight. He leaned down and captured her lips gently, slowly taking them again and again, exquisite playing that made her knees shake and her heart race. She pressed the back of his neck, and he responded, taking her deeper, longer, receiving her kisses as earnestly as she was his.
His arms tightened around her, pulling her so close she hardly knew where she ended and he began, and her body thrilled at the familiar pressure. His mouth slid from hers to her cheek, her jaw, down the column of her neck to the barely exposed shoulder. She cradled his head against her as her breath raced, as her heart soared, as she turned to kiss his neck in return.
He worked his way back up, taking her lips once more, hot and tender and wrenching all at once. A hand slid into her hair, tangling within it, and she gasped in delight.
He paused, his lips barely touching hers.
She waited, heart frantic.
Then he scooped her up into his arms, and his mouth was on hers again as he carried her from the room, her arms twining around his neck as her tears renewed. And when he had kissed those away, he kissed her still, carrying her all the while.