Chapter Twenty-five
“For God’s sakes, Jules. Why the infernal rush? If I didn’t know better, I’d think the Bow Street runners were after you. At least stay for luncheon.”
Cam’s voice was light, but he kept a firm grip on the horse’s reins, and Julian could feel his cousin’s penetrating green eyes on his face, assessing him, peeling back his layers.
“Sorry, cuz.” Julian tried to match Cam’s light tone and failed. “My betrothed is waiting for me in London. Remember?”
“Ah, yes. That. But surely this young lady would rather you didn’t collapse from hunger and fatigue on her doorstep. It’s another half day’s ride to London.”
“I’m cavalry. We’re used to long rides.”
“Jules.” Cam’s voice was soft.
Julian stared straight ahead. “I said I’d bring Charlotte to Bellwood, Cam, and I have. I never promised anything beyond that.”
“No, you didn’t,” Cam agreed. “You’ve fulfilled your promise. The one you made to me, that is.”
Julian let out a harsh laugh. “You think I made a promise to Charlotte? I assure you I didn’t. I told her just this morning I’d take her as far as Bellwood, and that’s all.”
And last night you told her you’d never let her go. Hadn’t that been a promise?
“I’m speaking of the promise you made to yourself, Julian. Before you left for Hampshire, you told me you wanted to be a man of your word.”
Julian blew out an irritated breath. “I suppose you’re saying I’m not.”
Cam was never one to mince words. “Yes. That’s what I’m saying.”
“Jesus, Cam.” Hot anger rushed over Julian. “What do you want from me? I kept my promise to you, and I haven’t lied—”
“You have lied. You’re lying right now by charging off to London to marry a woman you don’t love, and leaving behind the one you do.”
Julian jerked on the reins to loosen Cam’s hold. “You’ll have to forgive me for not delivering the happy ending you asked for, cuz, but there’s another story between me and Charlotte—one you don’t know about—and it’s no fairy tale.”
“I’ve never known a true love that was. You love Charlotte—you have since the first moment you laid eyes on her. What else is there?”
Julian couldn’t bear to look into Cam’s knowing green eyes. “What else? Lies, Cam. Betrayals. Distrust. Love doesn’t matter.”
“It’s the only thing that matters, Jules. The rest? That’s what forgiveness is for. Whatever it is, find a way to forgive Charlotte. Not just for her sake, but for yours.”
Forgiveness—so easy, like snapping his fingers. Maybe it had been that easy for Cam and Ellie, but Julian had no forgiveness to offer anymore. This morning, when Charlotte told him the truth about his child, the dark thing with claws and teeth that lived inside him had leapt from his chest. That blackness, that anger and pain—he’d never be able to crawl free of it.
“Maybe I could have forgiven her once, but I can’t now.” Julian took in a deep breath and met his cousin’s eyes. “I’m not the man I used to be, Cam. Something inside me, it’s…broken.”
Cam’s gaze turned fierce. “Bent perhaps, but not broken. Dig down under the rubble, Julian, and you’ll find you’re the same man you’ve always been.”
Julian shook his head. “You see what you want to see, cuz. I’ll be in London for some weeks,” he interrupted when Cam tried to speak. “If you’ve no objection, I’ll stay in Bedford Square. When Miss Hibbert and I have settled the details, I’ll send word.”
Cam hesitated. “I’ve no objection,” he said after a moment, his voice subdued. “Stay in Bedford Square as long as you like.”
Julian nodded his thanks, then kicked his horse into motion before Cam could say another word. Within minutes he was at the end of the drive, Bellwood behind him.
Charlotte behind him.
He rode hard for London. He didn’t look back, as if he were afraid to find she was chasing him. He’d reached the outskirts of the city before he admitted the truth to himself.
She was.
With every mile he put between himself and Bellwood he thought of her. Of her face this morning, the shadows not quite deep enough to hide her despair when she told him about their child. His chest hurt now, thinking of it, of all she’d endured, all she’d lost.
No. Damn it, he wouldn’t think of that.
She’d lied to him—taken something precious from him. He’d begged her; he’d haunted the street outside the Sutherland townhouse night and day just to catch a glimpse of her. He’d sent letter after letter, pleading with her to give him one more chance, but she’d turned her back on him, and all the while she’d known his child was growing in her belly.
But hadn’t she been justified in believing herself the victim of a ruthless rake? He’d been a rogue when they met—not quite a despoiler of virgins, but a rogue nonetheless—and she’d been an innocent. He’d seduced her, and not long afterward she found out he’d lied to her, as well. Was it any wonder she’d turned to Hadley?
The black, ugly thing in his chest gave a few half-hearted twitches of protest at these fevered thoughts, but strangely there was none of the suffocating swell of pain he dreaded. He prodded at it, stabbing harder and deeper to provoke it into a rage, but every time he tried to think of how she’d betrayed him, he could only conjure her face as it had been this morning, her hand as she’d swept his hair back from his brow.
But damn her, what if his child had lived? What if Hadley had lived, what then? If it all had been different, would Hadley be raising his daughter right now?
If, if, if…
Jesus, the insidiousness of that word, the treachery of it. It would drive him mad, imagining what might have been.
Why had she confessed at all? Why not hide the truth from him forever?
Because she wouldn’t live a lie.
Even when it was easier, even when she stood to lose everything, she told the truth and bore the consequences. Her strength, her courage—Jesus, it was a miracle she’d even survived the past year. She could have bled to death when she lost the child, or lived through it only to be worn down by Hadley House, slowly, one day at a time, the regret and guilt scraping away at her until there was nothing left—
She could have died.
Without warning the black thing roared to life inside him, ripping through his chest with such force he doubled over in agony, as if he’d stabbed a blade into a bloody, gaping wound. He tried to twist free of it, gasping with fury and pain, but there was something else, something that held him fast in a relentless grip. Not the ugly black rage so familiar to him, but something softer, gray, blurred at the edges.
Grief.
As soon as he gave it a name it poured through him. He tried to stop it, to fight it, but it was like trying to hold back the ocean with nothing but his bare hands. All he could do was close his eyes and let it take him, let it gush into his chest and drown his heart. Grief for a child who’d never had a chance at life, and for Colin, who’d been cheated of his before he could live it. Julian covered his eyes with a shaking hand and let the grief flood through him until his heart was ready to burst and he was gasping, suffocating.
It would overflow, and he’d drown in it—
But he didn’t. It began to recede, draining away gradually, never disappearing entirely, but enough so a space opened inside him for something else, something tender and green that rose in place of the grief over all he and Charlotte had lost.
Gratitude, for all they hadn’t.
And then at last came the sweetest thing of all, the one thing that made everything else possible. His love for Charlotte.
It’s the only thing that matters, Jules.
Damned if Cam hadn’t been right.
Every muscle in Julian’s body tensed with the need to fly at once back to Bellwood, to take Charlotte in his arms, but this time when he held her, he’d never let her go. When he came to her, it would be without any barriers between them.
Julian gritted his teeth, set his horse’s head in the direction of London, and headed west, away from the woman who held his heart, toward London, and Jane Hibbert.
* * * *
“Captain who?” The elderly lady who answered his knock glared at Julian through the narrow crack in the door.
“Captain Julian West, madam. I beg your pardon for calling so late, but it’s urgent that I see Miss Hibbert at once—”
“My niece doesn’t know any Captain West, and neither do I.” She began to close the door in his face. “I’ll thank you to leave my doorstep at once.”
“Wait. Madam, please. I assure you she does know me, though we’ve not yet been formally introduced. If you’ll only ask her—”
“I certainly will not ask her!” The old lady looked scandalized. “No respectable gentleman calls at this time of night—”
“Aunt?” Light footsteps approached the door and a low, musical voice asked, “What is it?”
“He says his name is Captain West. He claims to know you, dear, but I don’t recall—”
He heard a gasp. “Captain Julian West? Please do let him in, Aunt. He and Colin were in the same regiment. He was Colin’s friend.”
“Colin’s friend?” The door flew open. “Why didn’t he say so at once?”
Julian stepped through the door into the tiny entryway. “Thank you, madam. I know it’s not a proper time to call, and I do beg your pardon.…”
Julian’s voice trailed off into silence when Jane Hibbert came forward and took his hands in hers. “Captain West. How happy I am to meet you at last. This lady is my aunt, Mrs. Wilton.”
Julian managed an awkward bow for Mrs. Wilton, but his chest had gone so tight with emotion he couldn’t say a word. Jane Hibbert had Colin’s light brown hair, his kind blue eyes and the same sweet, guileless smile. Looking at her was like looking through a window into the past, to a time when Colin was still alive. He tried to clear the lump from his throat, but his voice remained hoarse. “Miss Hibbert. Forgive me—”
“There’s nothing to forgive, Captain.” She gave his hand a friendly squeeze. “You look fatigued. Won’t you come sit by the fire? Aunt, you’ll excuse us?”
Mrs. Wilton bustled off and Julian followed Jane down the hall into a small parlor with a warm fire burning merrily in the grate. She smiled, took a seat on a chair near the fire, and gestured for him to take the one across from her. “Well, Captain West. This is an unexpected visit. I think you must have something quite important to say to me.”
Julian looked at her for a moment, sitting there with her hands folded calmly in her lap. She was pretty, her eyes gentle and intelligent, just as her brother’s had been. He knew instinctively a life with Jane Hibbert would be peaceful, that she’d make a perfect wife for any man. She’d make a perfect wife for him, except for one thing.
She wasn’t Charlotte.
“I do wish to speak with you on an urgent matter, yes, but I hardly know where to begin.” In truth, there was no delicate way to say what he must say to Jane Hibbert, so he simply plunged blindly ahead. “After Colin’s death we exchanged letters in which we formed an understanding of sorts between us—”
“Our betrothal, you mean.”
Julian stared at her, amazed. Miss Hibbert, it seemed, did know where to begin. “Our betrothal, yes. I feel …that is, I think…I wish to discuss…”
“You wish to be released from your promise to marry me.”
His mouth dropped open at her frankness.
She smiled. “There’s no need to look so shocked, Captain. We entered into our agreement at a time when both of us had suffered a great loss. One can’t be held to a promise made in distress. Of course we won’t marry—once I’d recovered from the first shock of Colin’s death, I saw that clearly enough. I’ve been expecting your call for weeks, you see.”
Julian’s head was spinning. “But you continued to write to me, while I was in Paris. I thought—”
“Yes. I know it wasn’t proper, but I couldn’t quite make myself…” She paused, and for the first time her composure slipped. “You’re my last connection to Colin, Captain West. I couldn’t bear to sever it by dropping the correspondence. I hope you understand.” Her eyes grew bright. “I miss him terribly.”
Julian only nodded, because he wasn’t quite sure he could speak. For a moment they sat in silence, each of them lost in their memories; then Julian cleared his throat. “Colin worried for you. He didn’t want you and your aunt to be alone, with no protection. If we’re not to marry, you must allow me to—”
“Please don’t worry, Captain. My aunt and I are not unprotected. I’ve, ah…” Her face turned a becoming shade of pink. “I’ve had an offer of marriage from another gentleman—the deacon at our local church. He was a great comfort to me after Colin’s death. He recently received a living from his uncle, making it possible for him to marry.”
Julian’s heart lightened at her revealing blush. “And you’re fond of him?”
Another flood of pink suffused her face. “Oh yes. Very fond,” she said, in a tone that left Julian in no doubt as to her affections. “And you, I think, are also fond of someone?”
A startled laugh escaped him. “How do you know that?”
“You’re here after dark, Captain, calling on a young lady you’ve never met, and—forgive me—but you look as if you’ve spent the entire day in the saddle. You show all the signs of a man addled by fondness.”
Julian shook his head. Clever, just like Colin. “Addled is a good word for it, isn’t it?”
A tiny dimple flashed in her cheek. “Indeed it is.”
They sat in silence for another moment; then he reached into his waistcoat pocket, pulled out Colin’s watch, and held it out to her. The thought of giving it up made his heart sink again, but he couldn’t keep it now. It belonged with Colin’s family. “Before I take my leave, I want to give you this.”
She didn’t move for a moment, but then she reached out a trembling hand. He placed the watch in her palm, resisting the urge to snatch it back.
“Colin’s pocket watch.” She ran one finger over the case. “He had it from birth, you know. My father was so proud of his son that he went out the day Colin was born and purchased matching watches, one for each of them. Colin treasured it.”
Julian drew in a deep, unsteady breath. “I know he did. The key is lost, so I’m afraid you can’t wind it anymore.”
Jane didn’t answer, but rose and walked to a small desk in the corner of the room and removed something from one of the drawers. When she returned, she was holding a tiny gold key. “The key to my father’s watch.”
She inserted the key and turned it, and Julian had the oddest sensation he’d been holding his breath since he first tucked the watch into his waistcoat pocket, and could only exhale now, as if its faint ticking had tripped his lungs back into motion.
Jane took his hand, placed the watch with the key in his palm, and closed his fingers over it. “Colin thought the world of you, Captain West. He would have wanted you to have it.”
Julian stared down at his closed hand. He should refuse to accept it—he should give the watch back to her so she could give it to her own child someday, but he couldn’t make his fingers open. His waistcoat pocket would forever feel empty without it.
He looked up at Jane. “Thank you,” he said, his voice husky. “Thank you.”
* * * *
Bellwood was dark and silent when he arrived, which was not a surprise as it was only a few hours shy of dawn. It was a surprise, however, when he reached the end of the walkway and Cam opened the door.
His cousin leaned against the doorframe and crossed his arms over his chest. “You could have saved yourself a great many hours in the saddle if you’d only listened to me this morning. When will you learn, cuz?”
“Good Lord, Cam. What are you doing up?”
“Oh, I’ve been awake for hours. I knew you’d be back, sooner or later.”
A wry smile touched Julian’s lips. “You’ve been awake for hours, and you still answered the door in that ridiculous banyan?”
Cam raised an eyebrow. “Is that why you’re here? To malign my banyan?”
“As a matter of fact, it’s not.”
“I didn’t think so. Up two flights, right at the stairway, last door at the end of the hallway on the left. I trust you to behave like a perfect gentleman, of course.”
“Of course.” Julian hesitated, then found Cam’s eyes with his own. “Thank you, Cam.”
He was halfway up the stairs when Cam called up to him. “Jules?”
Julian looked over the railing at his cousin standing in the foyer below. “Yes?”
“Welcome home.” Cam didn’t wait for an answer, but turned and shuffled off in the direction of the library, the hem of his banyan flapping around his calves.
Julian’s smile faded as he neared Charlotte’s bedchamber. He didn’t want to frighten her by suddenly appearing in her dark room. Worse, what if she didn’t want him there? There were still so many unanswered questions between them.
But he wouldn’t think on that. He’d let himself into her room quietly, so as not to wake her, and he’d spend the night on the settee. He just wanted to see her, be in the same room with her and breathe the same air—for tonight that would be enough.
But Charlotte wasn’t asleep. She was at a window looking out at the last remaining stars still visible in the sky. His heart leapt at the sight of her standing there in her billowing white night rail. She looked like a star herself.
He closed the door with a quiet click. “Charlotte.”
She whirled around.
Julian leaned back against the door, suddenly uncertain. “Did you know I’d come?”
Her hand fluttered to her throat. “No.”
He took a step toward her. She was trembling. “Did you… Did you want me to? Do you want me here?”
“You know I do.” Her voice was choked. “You already know.”
He did know. With her, he’d always known. He took a deep breath. “I’ll never leave you again. I love you, Charlotte. I never stopped.”
She hid her face in her hands for a moment, and when she looked up, her cheeks were wet with tears. “I love you too, Julian. So much.”
He was across the room in three strides and then she was in his arms, her head against his chest, her shoulders shaking with sobs. He gathered her against him, carried her to the bed, and lay down next to her, and as he stroked her hair and murmured to her, he let his mind wander into a waking dream, one both bitter and sweet, a dream and a wish at once, for something he’d lost before he’d ever had it.
A child, a little girl, with long dark tresses and thickly-lashed dark eyes, an impish grin and a face—oh, a face so beautiful it could break a man’s heart.
Her mother’s face.
He gave his mind and heart up to the pain, such a world of pain for a child he’d never known, a little girl who’d never been his. He lay still for a long while, then eased Charlotte onto her back and slid down the bed so he could rest his cheek against her belly. He stayed there, tracing slow, gentle circles over her abdomen with his palm, and let the sorrow flow through him and dampen the soft skin under his cheek.
After a while a hand touched his head and tender fingers threaded through the locks of his hair. “Catherine Mary,” she whispered. “Or Mary Catherine. I hadn’t yet decided.”
Catherine—her mother’s name, and Mary…
He nodded against her, but he couldn’t speak.
Mary.
His mother’s name.
He turned his head and pressed a tender kiss against her belly. She drew in a deep, slow breath, let it out in a soft sigh, and tugged gently on his hair to draw him up to her, but without a word he crawled to the floor and fell to his knees before her.
He slid his hands up her calves and then higher, until his palms found the inside of her knees, her thighs, and—gentle—he nudged her legs open, not much, just enough for him to slip between and take her hips into his hands and move her down the bed, closer to him, closer to his mouth so he could open his lips over her belly—Skin like silk—then open her gently, taste her—at last—just the lightest touch with his tongue, gentle at first until she whimpered—hush love I’ll take care of you—then a little more, a little faster, his strokes firmer, over and over again where she needed him until she began to arch and twist—no let me, I want to do everything for you—and he held her against the bed, held her thighs open and loved her, loved her until her body went rigid and she broke apart for him with a cry—yes let your body know joy again—and she fell panting back against the bed. He crawled up next to her—just hold her—but she took him in her hand and he was so hard for her—want you so much—and she moved on top of him and then he was inside her, his hands gripping her waist, holding her hips to steady her for his thrusts—so good can’t stop—stroking into her again, again until she gave a low moan and collapsed on top of him, and he held her and shuddered his release into her.
He waited for their breathing to calm, then turned her gently onto her back and shifted on top of her so he could feel her warm, silky skin against every part of his body. He touched his forehead to hers. “Did you see the stars tonight?”
She took his face in her hands, stroked her thumbs softly over his cheeks, and looked into his eyes. “I see them now.”
Epilogue
Hadley House, December 1816
“My goodness, Aurelie. Why did you insist on smoking the wretched thing when you knew it would make you ill? You look quite green.”
Aurelie waved the smoke away from her face and gave Lissie a wan smile. “But it’s a lovely, flattering shade of green, non?”
“No.” Lissie rose from her seat, took the cheroot from Aurelie and tossed it into the fire. “You look like you’re about to disgrace yourself all over Charlotte’s lovely Aubusson carpet.”
Lady Annabel studied Aurelie through a cloud of smoke, then turned her gaze on Charlotte, who was sitting facing the fire, her cheeks flushed, and a soft smile playing about her lips. “Such a satisfied smile you have this evening, Charlotte. You look as though you’re thinking pleasant thoughts.”
“Or wicked ones.” Lissie gave Charlotte a playful nudge with her toe. “For your sake, my dear, I hope they’re wicked, because those are ever so much nicer.”
Charlotte roused herself from her contemplation of the fire, and turned to her friends, her smile widening. “I was thinking how happy I am to have you all here.”
There was a short silence; then all three of her friends began to laugh at once.
“What?” Charlotte frowned at each of them in turn. “Why should you find that so amusing? I was.”
“No, you weren’t!” Lissie gasped out another laugh, then wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her gown. “You were thinking of that handsome husband of yours, and wondering how much longer it would be before you could bid us good night, hurry off to your bedchamber, and pounce on him.”
“Well, mon Dieu, cherie,” Aurelie drawled. “Do you blame her?”
“I don’t blame her a bit. If ever a gentleman was made for pouncing upon, it’s Captain West.” Annabel studied her for a moment. “He was always sinfully handsome, but I fancy he’s even more so since you settled at Hadley House for the winter. Does the country agree with him? He looks much more rested and peaceful than he did when we met him in London.”
He was. They both were. Julian still had occasional nightmares about Colin, and every now and again a painful memory would come upon Charlotte as she wandered the house or grounds of Hadley House, but they had each other now, and they were building new memories together.
“He does look very well.” Lissie grumbled, a little crossly. “I suppose you’ll never come back to London now.”
“Of course we will, Lissie, next season, and I’ll expect you all to be as entertaining as you’ve always been when I arrive.”
“Well, perhaps not quite as entertaining. I don’t suppose your husband will approve of another brothel wager.”
“No, I think my brothel frolics are over.” Charlotte laughed, but after a moment her smile faded. “Speaking of brothel wagers, what’s become of Devon? Julian and I invited him to come stay with you all, but he declined.”
“Devon’s gone off to Cornwall on some mad adventure or other.” Annabel took a last draw on her cheroot, then rose and tossed it into the fire. “Cornwall, of all places. Can you imagine?”
“Poor Devon.” Aurelie shuddered. “It’s quite wild there, non?”
“Devon’s from Cornwall, and it’s not a mad adventure, for goodness’ sakes. He’s gone to close down his ancestral estate. He thought his father shut it down after his brother died, but it seems the old earl never quite got around to it. Devon was furious when he found out.”
“Close it down?” Charlotte frowned. “But… Didn’t he grow up there?”
“He hasn’t been back in several years. It’s out in the wilds, much too far for an easy trip from London, and Devon told me once he despises it there.” Lissie paused. “He didn’t go into details, but I gather his childhood wasn’t a happy one, and there was that business with his brother.…”
“Poor Devon,” Aurelie said again, but her voice was subdued this time, and for a moment no one spoke.
“Perhaps there will be another brothel frolic, after all,” Annabel murmured. “To keep Devon amused.”
“Not for Charlotte. Husbands tend to look with disfavor on brothel frolics.” Lissie shook her head. “Much more amusing to remain a widow, Charlotte.”
Charlotte only smiled. She wouldn’t trade Julian for every wicked entertainment London had to offer, and her friends knew it well.
“My goodness, there’s that wicked smile again. I can see you’ll be useless to us for the rest of the evening, Charlotte. Off you go to your husband, then.” Annabel waved a hand toward the door. “I feel quite sure Captain West will keep you amused for the rest of the evening.”
Lissie snorted. “The rest of the night, you mean.”
“Bonne nuit, Charlotte.” Aurelie blew her a kiss. “You will show us the gardens tomorrow, oui?”
“Yes, of course.” Charlotte kissed each of her friends on the cheek, then made her way upstairs to her apartments. Julian was stretched out on the bed with a book open over his chest, wearing a dark blue banyan.
“My, you look comfortable.” Charlotte closed the door behind her and approached the bed. “Is that a new banyan?”
“It is. A gift from Cam.” Julian grinned at her. “Ridiculous, isn’t it? Take it off me at once, please.”
“But you look so dashing in it.” Her gaze moved over him and her body flushed with heat, as it did every time she looked at Julian. “Very handsome indeed, Captain.”
He let out a low growl, and tugged her onto the bed and into his arms. “What took you so long? I’ve been waiting all night, and I’m…lonely.” He rolled her onto her back and slid his leg between hers.
Charlotte wrapped her legs around his hips, a smile rising to her lips at his helpless groan. “I’ve been trying to come up this past hour. I adore my friends, but…” She slipped her hands into the open neck of his banyan to caress his bare chest.
“You adore me more?” He was pulling the pins from her hair with one hand and tearing at the buttons on her gown with the other. “I know there’s bare skin under here somewhere. Ah, here it is.” He pressed his lips to the hollow of her throat, then dragged his mouth lower, to kiss between her breasts. “Dear God, you smell good, and you taste even better.”
She sank her fingers into his hair and tugged gently to raise his face to hers. “I adore you above all things, Julian. You know I do.”
He nodded, his dark eyes going soft as his gaze moved over her face. “And I adore you. I love you so much, Charlotte.”
“Show me how much.” Charlotte dragged his banyan down his back, then arched up to nip at his bare shoulders and whisper, soft and low in his ear. “Show me, Julian.”
And he did.