Unveiled (Undone by Love Book 3)

by Kristina Cook

  He reached for her chin, grasping it between his forefinger and thumb, forcing her gaze to meet his.

  “You’re lying. Tell me the truth.” His eyes scanned her face, witnessing her inner struggle. “You want me. Say it.” She closed her eyes and shook her head weakly, but he didn’t release her. “Say it,” he commanded in a low growl.

  He tipped her head back, his mouth moving to her throat. Her pulse raced beneath his hungry lips, and it took every ounce of fortitude to tear himself away. “Say it,” he whispered, refusing to take his eyes off hers.

  “I want you,” she murmured, so quietly he barely heard the words.

  Triumph filled his heart, set his blood racing through his veins. He felt the stirrings of desire in his loins heighten a pitch, the length of him suddenly straining against his trousers.

  “I want you,” she repeated, more loudly this time, her gaze boldly meeting his. “But I will never have you,” she added defiantly. “What would you have me do? Become your mistress? Because I would not–”

  “No. That would never do.” Dear God. That would be just as dangerous as taking her as his wife. More so, perhaps. How could he possibly explain, when he barely understood it himself?

  “You’re perhaps the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met–intelligent, charming, accomplished.” He swallowed a lump in his throat and reached out to her, stroking her cheek with his knuckles. “You are perfection.”

  She turned her head aside, but he saw one glistening, crystal tear trace a path down her cheek. “Why must you make this more difficult?” she whispered.

  “When I offered for you, I was acting rashly, prematurely. I did not know you well enough to see the threat. Marrying Miss Upshaw is the right thing to do, to protect you, to keep you safe from my curse. I’m a strong man, Jane, but I cannot go through it again.” His voice broke, and he cleared his throat. “I simply cannot.”

  She shook her head. “You speak in riddles.”

  He reached for her shoulders and pulled her toward him, gazing down into her tortured face, his own contorted with despair. “I am no longer capable of love. I have no heart to give, and my affections are nothing but a curse to anyone I bestow them on. Nothing but tragedy follows in its wake. You must remain safe from that. That’s why I must marry Miss Upshaw. I asked you to meet me here because I felt you must know my reasons.” He released her, as if her flesh burned his hands. “Never before has my resolve been tested as you have tested it.”

  “We are more alike than you know, then, Hayden,” Jane said quietly, her mouth curved into a mysterious, sad smile.

  So deeply mired was Hayden in his own pain, in his own intensely felt regret, that he didn’t even begin to wonder what Jane meant by those mystifying words until she left him standing there, alone in the pale moonlight. Sighing heavily, he shoved his hands into his pockets and glanced down. Moving one foot aside, he saw the lovely pink bloom he’d held so tenderly, trampled and bruised beneath his boot. With a primal groan, he stormed back inside.

  Back to his betrothed. He reached up to readjust his cravat as he stepped into the ballroom. The noose was tightening.

  ***

  “Jane, dearest, you’re as pale as a ghost. What’s wrong?” Emily set down her coffee with a frown.

  “Am I pale? I must be tired. I suppose I’m not as young as I once was. I’m finding the Season frightfully exhausting.” She would never confess that she’d lain awake the better part of the night, painful images from the evening’s ball replaying in her mind, over and over, till she thought she’d surely scream.

  Only moments after she’d returned from the rose garden, Lord Pemberton had joyfully announced his daughter’s engagement to Lord Westfield. Jane had raised her glass with the rest of the guests, gripping Nickerson’s forearm with her other hand as if her life depended on it. Across the length of the room, Hayden’s eyes had met hers over the rim of his flute, and her heart had momentarily stopped beating. The look of longing, of regret, touched her like a physical blow.

  ‘You are perfection,’ he’d said. She reached one hand up to her burning cheek at the memory. Perfection. No one had ever said such a thing to her. If only he knew the truth–that she was horribly flawed; that madness lurked somewhere within her, simmering, just waiting to rear its ugly head. He was cursed, he’d said. Well, she was equally cursed.

  Yet she didn’t quite understand what he meant. Why ever would he think himself cursed? She turned to Emily, who sat at her side nibbling a piece of toast while she read the latest gossip sheet. Emily had known him her whole life–did she have the answers? Dare she ask?

  “Emily?”

  “Yes? More coffee?” Emily reached for the silver pot.

  “No, thank you. I’m a bit, ahem, curious about Lord Westfield’s past. He’s hinted at some tragic history of which I know nothing.”

  Emily’s eyes widened with surprise. “Somehow I thought you knew.”

  Jane shook her head. “I’m afraid I’ve no idea.”

  Emily looked uncertain for only a moment. “I suppose there’s no harm in speaking of it, especially if he’s hinted at it. Perhaps he thought I’d told you. Well, it all began when his mother died. A miscarriage. He was only a boy, but it’s been said that they brought him in to bid her farewell as she lay on her deathbed, and the poor child witnessed her final moments. And then you’ve heard that he had a sister?”

  Jane nodded. “Yes, I’ve heard her mentioned. She was your friend.”

  “Indeed she was. Isabel was my dearest friend. She was the sweetest girl one could ever hope to know. She was kind and generous, as unselfish as could be, and blessed with the most endearing, witty sense of humor. But she was sickly and frail from birth–a weak heart.” Tears gathered in the corners of Emily’s eyes. “Lord Westfield adored her, and she worshiped him in return. He did everything in his power to make her life as comfortable, as happy as possible. I believe that his vigor, his vitality gave her strength. His father insisted, of course, that he go to Oxford, and not two months into his first term, Isabel slipped away.”

  “Oh, how dreadful.” Jane’s heart sank.

  “I’m not certain Lord Westfield ever recovered from her death. He’s been a changed man since. I fear he holds himself responsible, for having left her.”

  “But it wasn’t his fault.”

  Emily nodded her agreement. “And then there was Katherine.”

  “Katherine?”

  “Lady Katherine Holt. They were betrothed as infants, by their parents, yet they grew to love one another on their own accord. I think that, after Isabel’s death, Lord Westfield found comfort in Katherine. It was such a relief, to see him smile again. Their wedding was to be held in Derbyshire, in the rectory at Richmond Park. Guests traveled from near and far, the district filled with a festive atmosphere. And then, just days before their wedding, Lord Westfield accompanied her family to a dinner in Ashbourne, a feast in honor of their upcoming nuptials. Their carriage lost a wheel on the way home and was sent flying over an embankment. Everyone survived, mostly unhurt, except for poor Katherine who was thrown from the conveyance. She broke her neck, I’m told. It was Lord Westfield who retrieved her, and it took several men to pry her broken body from his hands. Quite tragic.”

  “Poor Lord Westfield.” Jane struggled to grasp the full meaning of his words, and her mind raced to the obvious conclusion. Did he truly think that everyone he loved would die?

  She shuddered at the thought.

  “I think I’ll take a walk,” Jane announced, rising on shaking legs.

  “So early?” Emily’s brow furrowed. “It isn’t even noon.”

  “I must get some air at once. Please excuse me.” She hastened out the room without a backward glance.

  ***

  A half hour later, Jane found herself standing outside a gray stone townhouse on Upper Brook Street, her lady’s maid at her side. This was Richmond House, Hayden’s accommodations in Town. Emily had pointed it out to her days ago as the
ir carriage had sped past, and Jane was glad for the opportunity to study it more closely, admiring the fine details.

  The mansion rose five stories high, a Venetian window gracing the first floor just above the shiny black front door with a white-stone Gibbs surround. The keystone in the arch above the door depicted a lion’s head, intricately carved and amazingly detailed. A dogleg staircase doubled back from a single landing, its railing an elaborate scroll of ironwork painted a brilliant lapis blue. The house bespoke of great wealth and excellent taste.

  Bridgette peered up at her curiously. “Are you planning to call on someone, Miss?”

  “I’m not certain,” Jane confessed with a shake of the head.

  “Might I ask what lady resides here?”

  “No ladies at all, I’m afraid.”

  “I implore you to reconsider, then. I would surely lose my position for allowing such an impropriety. Please, miss, let’s return at once to Leicester Square.” Poor Bridgette stood on the walk, wringing her hands in desperation.

  Bridgette was right, of course. She could not call on a gentleman, a betrothed one at that. She hadn’t a clue what had come over her. She’d needed some air and she’d started walking aimlessly toward the park, her gaze lowered to the walk beneath her feet. When she’d looked up, Richmond House stood before her. For a moment, she’d allowed herself to consider going inside, giving her name to the butler and awaiting Hayden’s surprise at finding her there. She only wanted to tell him that she understood.

  But it was folly. With a nod, she turned and headed back toward the Tollands’ more modest residence as Bridgette’s dramatic sigh of relief reached her ears. They walked toward Leicester Square at a brisk pace, Jane’s heels tapping the cobbles in rhythm to her racing heart. Whatever had she been thinking, standing on the walk and gaping at his house?

  A half hour later she skimmed up the stairs of the Tollands’ rented townhouse and breezed into the foyer. “Where is Mrs. Tolland?” she asked the housekeeper as she handed over her bonnet.

  “She’s gone out, miss,” the woman answered. “Not a quarter hour ago. Mr. Tolland arrived home and they left in the carriage. Shopping, I believe.”

  “Very well. Perhaps I’ll rest, then.” Jane hurried to her room, but instead of lying down, she sat at her small escritoire and began a letter to her mother. Her mother had hoped to join her in Town by now, but her youngest grandchild had taken ill and kept her in Essex. The poor child had the hooping cough, and Susanna had been happy for the extra pair of hands. Not for the first time, Jane realized how desperately she’d missed her family.

  Voices below in the drawing room drew her attention away from her task before she’d yet filled the page. Curious, she rose and went to the door, pulling it open and peering out into the hall. The housekeeper appeared at the top of the stairs.

  “Have we callers?” Jane asked.

  “Indeed. Lord Westfield is in the drawing room. Shall I tell him you are not at home?”

  Jane swayed against the doorframe. Had he seen her, standing outside his home? The blood rose in her face. Oh, if only Emily and Cecil had returned so that they could receive him. She pressed her fingertips to her temples, unable to decide what course to take. She took a deep, steadying breath and dropped her hands, straightening her spine. She would face him.

  She took her time descending the stairs, her hand firmly gripping the banister for support. Her feelings of trepidation increased as she neared her destination, and it was all she could do to force herself to breathe normally.

  She stepped into the room on silent feet. Hayden stood with his back to her, gazing out the window as the sun rose high in the sky. He held his hat in one hand, resting it upon his hip. She could see his black kid gloves folded neatly inside the hat. Her gaze skimmed across his broad back, the dove-gray wool of his jacket stretched taut across the impressive width. Dark locks curled against his collar, and Jane suppressed the urge to reach out, to feel his silky hair between her fingers. Unable to speak, she cleared her throat in an attempt to gain his attention.

  He spun around in unmasked surprise. “Miss Rosemoor.”

  “Lord Westfield.”

  He bowed stiffly. “I’d expected to find Tolland at home. We have some business to discuss.”

  Jane shrugged. “I’m afraid you’ve found only me. Will you sit?”

  “I should go.” He retrieved his gloves from his hat.

  Jane gestured toward an oversized chair covered in wheat-covered velvet. “Please, Lord Westfield. Sit. I’ll ring for tea. Do not be uneasy on my account.”

  His gaze sought hers, and then he nodded. Moving aside his coattails, he sat in the chair she’d indicated and stretched his long legs out before him.

  “Are you hungry?” she asked. “Perhaps I’ll ask for some sandwiches and cakes with the tea.”

  “That sounds very well, Miss Rosemoor.” His voice was stilted with formality, and it made Jane flinch.

  In silence, she rang the bell. Only after she’d made her request to the housekeeper did she take a seat opposite him.

  “And how is baby Amelia faring?” he asked at last.

  “Very well. She’s much less colicky these days and becoming quite a delight.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. Mrs. Tolland is well?”

  “Yes, exceedingly so. Town has done wonders for her spirits.”

  Five full minutes passed in uncomfortable silence until the tea tray was laid before them.

  Jane was happy to busy herself with spooning sugar and stirring cream into her cup. Hayden did the same. The food sat untouched.

  At last Jane found her courage. “The Pembertons’ ball last night was lovely.”

  “It was tolerable,” he responded.

  She took a deep breath and spoke quickly. “Emily has told me a bit about your past. Your sister and Lady Katherine.”

  “Oh?” he asked, one brow raised. “How very forthcoming of her.”

  “I only questioned her because you spoke so mysteriously. Please don’t be angry with her.”

  “I’m not angry.”

  He certainly looked angry. His mouth was pinched and his eyes looked like storm clouds about to burst.

  “Perhaps now you understand,” he added, folding his arms across his chest.

  “But you cannot blame yourself for their deaths. You cannot believe yourself responsible.”

  “I can believe whatever I wish to believe, Miss Rosemoor.”

  Jane swallowed hard. “I understand,” she said quietly.

  “Do you?” He rose and stood towering over her. “Do you understand? Do you know what it’s like to know you’re cursed, forced to deny your will, compelled to go against your own desires? To protect yourself and those you might love? Can you possibly understand what it’s like to live in that hell?”

  A tear coursed down Jane’s cheek. She reached up to brush it away. “I do understand. You see, I’m similarly cursed myself.”

  He stepped back from her and she saw his face blanch. “What do you mean, ‘similarly cursed’?”

  She shook her head. “I cannot tell you.”

  “Cannot or will not?”

  “Both. I could not speak the words, even if I wanted to. It’s far too dreadful.” She stood to face him, her gaze challenging his.

  He reached for her shoulders, taking them roughly in his grasp. “Tell me,” he commanded.

  Jane took a deep breath before replying, fighting for the courage to say the words aloud. “I will not have children. Therefore, I cannot marry. Not you, not anyone,” she whispered, feeling as if her heart might break in two.

  “Not even William Nickerson?”

  “Not even him,” she answered, a bubble of hysteria rising in her breast, threatening to topple her composure.

  “But you seem so fond of Amelia. You were so good to Madeline. How can you not want children?”

  “I didn’t say I don’t want children, my lord. I said I cannot have them.”

  “Cannot? But
how can you know such a thing? And even if it’s true, you can still marry.”

  “No.” She shook her head wildly. “You don’t understand.”

  “Then make me understand.”

  “Oh, Lord Westfield,” a voice called out, and he released Jane at once. She looked up as Emily entered the room, her eyes wide with surprise.

  “Westfield, old boy. Sorry to keep you waiting.” Cecil strode into the room and clapped Hayden on one shoulder. “Why, we just ran into your betrothed, buying her trousseau I suppose.”

  Jane’s heart contracted painfully as her eyes met Hayden’s one last time. As long as she remained in Town, she’d be forced to endure reminders of his impending nuptials. No doubt she’d continue to run into him or Miss Upshaw wherever she went. It was unavoidable. However would she bear it? Already her fragile heart could take no more.

  She turned and fled from the room.

  Chapter 14

  Jane pulled her shawl more tightly about her shoulders as she stepped out of the carriage and walked toward the grand, columned façade of the Theatre Royal Haymarket, Nickerson’s hand resting lightly on her elbow. She sighed heavily. She loved the theatre, of course, but no doubt Hayden would be there, Miss Upshaw on his arm. Tonight marked the opening of Mrs. Centlivre’s The Busy Body, and everyone was suddenly abuzz about it. No doubt the ton’s finest would be in abundance tonight.

  As they entered the theatre and made their way through the lobby to their box, Lucy turned and smiled weakly at her. “I hope you don’t mind,” she said brightly, speaking loudly to be heard over the din of the crowd, “but Henry has asked Lord Westfield to join us tonight.

  Jane was sure that her shock was evident in her countenance. Why had no one mentioned this to her until now–now that it was far too late for her to decline the invitation?

  Lucy moved closer and whispered in her ear. “What could I say, Jane? You asked me not to speak a word of it to him.”

  Jane forced herself to smile in reply. It was the truth; she had exacted such a promise from Lucy, and she was glad and a little surprised that her friend had actually honored the request. She must suffer through it, all five acts. Her head began to pound in anticipation as she settled herself into her seat between Lucy and Nickerson. Emily and Cecil took seats behind them, next to the two empty seats directly behind Jane. Awaiting Hayden and his betrothed, of course.