It was funny how in the midst of a near tragedy a person saw the world and oneself with a startling clarity. When one’s life flashed before one’s eyes, one didn’t have the time for mistruths or wonderings or useless self-assurances that life was one way or another.
As Chloe and Leo’s carriage had careened over, breaking apart in a violent explosion of wood and glass, she’d seen not the past and everything she feared… but everything she wanted: a family… but one with Leo as her husband and babes of their own.
And as the conveyance had crashed to a stop, Chloe’s world had continued on in a dizzying spin of mayhem.
For there could be no altering or recovering from what she’d discovered—she loved her husband.
She loved that he’d not so much as blinked at the prospect of ceding control of Chloe’s future and funds, but accepted it as though it was her due. She loved him for fencing with her nieces and reciting verses of Mrs. Mary Darby Robinson… and blast, for simply knowing who Mrs. Mary Darby Robinson, in fact, was.
And she admired him as a man of restraint. Oh, the world saw a careless, thoughtless rake. But Chloe had witnessed in him a gentleman who’d not come to blows, not even to defend himself, because he took responsibility for a mistake he’d made in his youth.
That was why being abandoned by him after the accident had carved a hollow emptiness inside her chest. Seated in her husband’s library, her legs drawn close, Chloe stared absently at the letter on her lap. The cryptic missive had been resting on the leather button sofa… a note that not a single member of the staff she had questioned had been able to account for.
She trailed her fingertips over the handful of sentences there.
Your husband is not who he seems. The carriage incident is a reminder that he should proceed with greater caution if he has a regard for your well-being…
What did it all mean? Leo was not who he seemed? She’d already seen flashes of truth about Leo Dunlop, but why should someone go to such lengths to harm her as a message to him?
What secrets did he carry? Secrets she’d long suspected and couldn’t make sense of, but could make even less sense of now.
Glancing up from the note, she looked around at the rows upon rows of leather tomes. The sheer volume of books in this room was an incongruity that didn’t fit with a rogue who couldn’t be bothered with a book over his bedroom activities.
Furthermore—Chloe furrowed her brow—what did it say about Leo that, despite the grim state of his finances, he’d not sold those copies, still?
“Who are you, Leo Dunlop?” she whispered into the quiet. And why did she have this painful inkling that he’d never tell her? Not truly and not fully. He was a man bent on his secrets, who shared only the remotest glimpses of himself and then pushed her away whenever the wall between them began to come down. Pushed her away by seeking out his clubs and returning only in the dead of night, when Chloe should be sleeping. But she remained awake, unable to rest, fixed on the sounds of him entering his rooms and moving about the chamber next to hers. Until all was quiet.
At which point, sleep eluded her still.
She hated this gripping need to see him and talk with him. To share with him the contents of the note and face that unknown threat with him.
Because in that instant when they’d both nearly died, when he’d shielded her body with his own, there hadn’t been indifference, but a fear in his eyes and a need to protect.
Footsteps sounded in the hall. Heavy ones, methodical in purpose, and definitively masculine.
Relief filled her. Note in hand, Chloe stood.
And her heart promptly sank as the door was opened.
“The Marquess of Waverly,” Tomlinson announced. Tomlinson, whose steps were as stealthy as Chloe’s husband’s.
“Oh.” The regret-tinged utterance slipped out.
Her brother grinned wryly. “A standard greeting I’ve come to expect from my dear sister,” he drawled, pulling off his gloves as he walked.
A guilty flush climbed her cheeks. “I didn’t mean… I wasn’t expecting…” She hurriedly folded the letter and tucked it away inside her pocket.
He waved off her attempt at an apology. “As I’ve stated numerous times in the past, I long ago accepted that I am not the favorite of your brothers. Speaking of which…” He fished a note out of his jacket and held it out.
Chloe’s startled gaze went to the officious-looking letter, folded and marked with a familiar signet. “Alex.” As soon as the telltale admission came out, her blush burned all the hotter. “Forgive me,” she spoke on a rush. “I didn’t mean to imply—”
“It is fine, Chloe,” Gabriel said gently.
Worry pitted her belly. “Imogen?”
“Has not yet given birth.”
Since she’d wed, something that felt very much like homesickness struck when being presented with a link to the sibling who’d stepped between Chloe and her father’s fists countless times. Accepting the note, Chloe clung to the edges and clutched it close, finding a lifeline in the connection to Alex.
Perching herself on the leather button sofa she’d abandoned, she slid a nail under the seal and worked the page open. She proceeded to read.
Chloe,
I won’t begin by berating you. Knowing our dear mother and Gabe as I do, you’ve already suffered through quite enough chastisement.
A smile curved her lips.
When her mother and eldest brother had sought to shape Chloe into someone other than who or what she was, and would always be, Alex had encouraged her to thumb her nose at convention. There had been a great void in the Edgerton household since he’d gone and wedded Chloe’s dearest friend.
She continued reading.
I will not say, however, I’m glad over your choice of husband (Tennyson ran in too wild of circles for even me), or your being married without an Edgerton at your side. Particularly me. Because had I been present, I would have had an opportunity to threaten your husband with death if he even causes a wrinkle of a frown in your brow.
He’d always been devoted. Nor did Chloe believe for a single instant Alex’s words were anything less than a promise based in fact. He would kill Leo if Chloe gave that order.
Alas, my face-to-face and threats must be saved until I return. Please, send me some indication of your well-being. If you need me now, say the word.
Your faithful servant and favorite brother,
Alex
Chloe carefully folded the note over. For that was the devoted brother he’d always been. Even expecting his first child and his wife in confinement, if Chloe cried for help, he’d be there.
“I learned you were involved in a carriage accident,” Gabriel said quietly, unexpectedly. “A carriage accident, Chloe,” he repeated, more urgent in his tone. He moved to the edge of his chair. “And yet, you didn’t see fit to tell any of us.”
She shrugged. “There was nothing to say. I’m—”
“Never tell me? You are fine?”
Well, she was. Chloe flashed a teasing grin. “Well, I was going to say all right. But that shall also suffice.”
Of course, her most serious sibling merely frowned in return. “Do you truly think this is a matter to make light of?”
Her teasing and mischievousness over the years had been a crafted ploy to keep anyone—her family, the other girls at Mrs. Belden’s—from seeing the scars she carried. Ones that would always be there…
Except, since you met Leo, you’ve not been haunted even once by those ghosts…
“What would you have me do, Gabriel?” she asked, impatient. “Dissolve into histrionics about an incident when I’m fine? An incident that happened yesterday and left me no worse for the wear.”
“That accident was a product of your husband’s funds.”
She scoffed. “Don’t be foolish. There’s nothing wrong with my husband’s conveyance.” Or there hadn’t been, until it had splintered into a million fragments and pieces. “The accident was a product of a broken axle. Nothing more.”
“That same day, Tennyson and I met for drinks at White’s. I invited him to join Waterson and me.”
“How gracious of you.” If Gabriel detected any of the sarcasm there, he gave no outward indication.
“Chloe,” he went on in pained tones. “He admitted to not having two coins to rub together to buy a horse.”
She bit the inside of her cheek. I should know that. She’d sworn never to be one of those wives who remained oblivious to the familial finances. As such, Leo’s inability to purchase a horse if he so desired was a detail she should be privy to. Nonetheless, her own failing aside, she took umbrage to Gabriel’s being here. Chloe arched a brow. “Is that why you’ve come, then? To tattle on my husband?” Her brother blushed. “I daresay it is in bad form to bandy about details shared among gentlemen.”
A sound of disgust spilled from Gabriel’s lips. “Again, you’d disparage me while blindly turning an eye to who Tennyson is.” Before she could rush to her own defense, her brother pounced. “Tell me, Chloe. Where is this honorable husband you so staunchly defend?”
“My husband is otherwise engaged,” she said smoothly, not missing so much as a beat. She’d too much pride to admit to anyone—family included—that she didn’t know where in thunderation her husband was.
“Then ring for him. Invite him to join us.”
Chloe bit back the urge to tell her brother precisely where he could go with his questioning. For, Gabriel knew. Her brother knew precisely what he was asking and where Leo was.
“He’s not here, Chloe. He left following the accident and hasn’t returned since.”
“Having my servants spy upon me and my husband, are you?” Outrage sent her hands curling into fists. She made a tsking sound. “How impolite of you.”
“Be upset with me, Chloe. But I know this is hurting you.”
Damn him for being correct. “What do you hope to accomplish?” she asked tightly.
“I am looking after you.”
“You are more than twenty years too late,” she cried. As soon as that charge echoed around the room, she wanted to call it back.
Gabriel paled.
“Gabriel.” She stretched a hand out.
“It is fine,” he said gruffly.
“It isn’t. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“No. You should have.” Her brother dusted his hand over his jaw and, avoiding her gaze, spoke. “You are correct, Chloe. I have attempted to exert control over your life, but it is not a product of you or anything you’ve ever done wrong.” His throat convulsed. “But because of every way I failed you. I should have been there. It should have been me who put an end to…” His gaze slid to the door, and he went silent.
It was those secrets the Edgertons carried and shared with none. Ones they guarded, even now.
“Oh, Gabriel. Your being here now will not erase any decision you made.” Or, more important, the ones he hadn’t made. It would be unfair to hurl accusations… even if she’d always resented him for not intervening when their father had beaten her. Now, with a woman’s eyes, she saw the truth. “You were afraid,” she acknowledged to herself, as much as for his sake.
“I was,” he said, his voice as ragged as a graveled path.
He looked back to her. “Chloe.” He stretched those two syllables into an agonized plea. “This isn’t about me being right or you being wrong. This is about you deserving more than one like Tennyson.”
“One like Tennyson,” she echoed, her voice climbing. “And what does that mean, precisely?”
“Very well, you’ll have me say it.” Ticking off a list, he jabbed a finger in the air with each point he made. “One who’s unfaithful. One who’ll leave you for days on end while he goes off with scandalous widows.” Chloe curled her toes so hard, the bottoms of her feet ached. “And the least of the offenses I’d level: He can’t even hold a serious conversation about matters of importance, Chloe. You deserve, at the very least, an intelligent gent capable of matching your wit.”
She wrinkled her nose. “I assure you, my husband is most clever.”
Gabriel gave her an incredulous look.
And yet, he wouldn’t know that Leo quoted Mary Darby Robinson and knew of the enlightened thinkers. Rather, he handed the world an image of who he wanted them to see, and all were content with that shallow view. Why was her husband so very determined to maintain that image?
“Chloe, Tennyson joined me and Waterson for drinks, and not only could he not string together a meaningful thought on politics or Society, but he insulted us both throughout.”
Chloe stood. “Then mayhap you should give him reason not to insult you,” she said matter-of-factly.
Gabriel winced. “I see.” He rose. “I merely came to deliver that missive and remind you that when you tire of your circumstances, we are here, and we will help you.”
“Thank you for the note,” she said pointedly.
He nodded curtly and strode toward the front of the room.
Her family still sought to protect her from the folly of her decision. They still assumed she was incapable of looking after herself. And though she appreciated their love, she would not tolerate their constant efforts to control her.
“Gabriel,” she called when he reached the door. “If it is as you said and you truly ‘see,’ I’d encourage you not to make another appeal for me to leave my husband.”
After he’d gone, Chloe let her shoulders sag. She pressed her palms into her face and breathed deep. For in the privacy of her own company, she absorbed all the accusations her brother had hurled and processed them as she’d refused to do with Gabriel present. Why was she so determined to defend Leo? And trust him? And, as her brother had accused, turn her cheek to Leo’s failings?
Because he’d proven himself to be more… and she yearned to hang on to that.
But she was deserving of more, such as an understanding of their finances and… respect. Blast it, she deserved his respect. And fidelity.
With renewed purpose, she set off at a brisk clip through her new home, not stopping until she reached Leo’s office.
She twisted the handle, braced for the resistance of a lock. She was surprised when it easily turned. The well-greased hinges of Leo’s door were silent and smooth as she stepped inside the darkened rooms.
You are not to set foot in my office…
The pledge she’d made reverberated in her mind.
“Yes, well, you promised fidelity,” she muttered and hurriedly closed the door.
The hum of quiet pinged off the walls and rang in her ears as she took in the sterile space.
Leo’s desk, a hand-carved walnut piece with double bookcases built in, sat slightly off-center of the doorway, as outrageously bold as its owner, a man whispered about by all Polite Society. But for a handful of chairs and a fully stocked sideboard, the room was wholly barren, evidencing one who’d sold off his fineries to appease his creditors.
Her brother’s chastisement echoing in her mind, Chloe moved deeper into Leo’s office, making a path for his desk.
Gripping the carved back of the Venetian grotto chair, she dragged it out and seated herself.
Chloe shifted back and forth, testing the comfort of the carved walnut seat. Again, even Leo’s choice of seating, when most men set themselves up in comfortable leather winged chairs, set him apart. Was he merely determined to thumb his nose at conventions? Or was there more? Did he simply appreciate the obscure female philosophers and ancient bronze pieces?
Stealing a glance at the front of the room, Chloe verified she was still alone.
“Of course, one’s husband would have to be home for me to fear the risk of discovery,” she mumbled.
Not that she feared discovery. After all, she was the lady of the household and entitled to a full understanding of their dire financial straits. Why, mayhap she could even help Leo with his books.
Enlivened by that purpose, Chloe tugged the center drawer out by the garish gargoyle with a ring through its mouth. Wrinkled papers and parchments lay in a haphazard display with pens scattered about.
Chloe quickly set to work righting the untidy space. Removing the vellum and paper, she set them into neat columns, stacking blank page after blank page. Into the next pile, she placed sheets that contained markings with establishments she recognized as scandalous clubs.
She paused. Her gaze lingering on one.
Forbidden Pleasures. Debt to be paid: three thousand pounds.
Was it the drink he sought there? Or the wicked women? Or… both?
Jealousy slithered around her insides, an ugly serpent spreading its venom.
She’d known who she married. But seeing his pastimes laid out left her aching inside.
“Fool. You bloody fool.” She repeated that mantra and forced herself to continue cleaning. After all the miscellaneous scraps had been neatly organized, Chloe peered down at the faded leather ledger resting crookedly at the bottom of the drawer.
With dread replacing jealousy, she forced herself to drag the book out. Loath to see the true state of her husband’s and now—by their marriage—her finances, Chloe stroked the top of the book. She’d hidden long enough from the reality of her circumstances.
Compelled by that, Chloe opened the book.
Even prepared and expecting it as she’d been, unease tightened her chest as she read page after page of sloppy accounting that detailed the depth of her husband’s wagering—and losses. The money gone to mistresses and drink and wagering went on and on. Dates crossed out, ink marring the pages, Leo’s ledgers were a sorry glimpse of his reckless existence. Chloe pored through page after page until the recordings blurred before her eyes and her back ached.
She turned another page… and stopped.
Chloe sat slowly up in her seat. Absently rubbing the aching muscles of her neck, she fixed on the abrupt end of her husband’s accounting.
It had been more than three weeks since he’d made a mark within the book.
Mayhap with his erroneous notations, he’d missed a page or two… or several. She flipped ahead.
Nothing.
A curl fell over her brow, and she blew back the errant strand. “Hmph,” she murmured, setting the book down.
Chloe leaned back in her husband’s chair and tapped the arms in a distracted rendition of The Rakes of Mallow.
Her gaze fell on the double doors along the sides of the desk.
She brought her fingers to a slow halt. Shoving back the chair, Chloe grabbed the ring.
The door held tight.
Locked.
Nonetheless, she tried again, and then each door, before ascertaining that her husband had, in fact, locked them all. Which could mean only that there was something contained within that he sought to hide.
Puzzling her brow, Chloe sank to her knees. She pressed her eye against the heart-shaped lock.
Disentangling a pin from her chignon, she jammed it inside, poking around.
She went on that way, blindly searching for the mechanism.
At last, the lock gave way with a satisfying click.
Triumphant, she tossed the pin aside, forgotten, and drew the doors open.
Empty? She peered around the space. That made even less sense than the locked doors. Chloe ran her palm through the space, which was one foot wide and one foot deep. She glided her fingertips around the corners.
An oak panel flipped up.
She gasped and yanked her hand back.
Hesitant, she sat there, motionless, more than half fearful about what she would find now.
Did he have an illegitimate child? A number of them?
With dread driving her movements, Chloe reached inside and found a stack of leather journals. Drawing out as many of the volumes as she could, she sat and rested the pile beside her. And then she proceeded to read.
They were… ledgers.
And yet—blindly reaching overhead, she fished around for the discarded book on the desktop.
Chloe dragged it down and compared the writings and the accountings.
They were all in Leo’s hand, but wholly different. Marked with the same dates, these books revealed not a wastrel drunkard sloppy with his finances and careless with all, but rather—
“Have you had a good look, Wife?”
Heart lurching, Chloe looked up and found her husband’s menacing, black gaze on her.
She swallowed hard.
Drat.