Owen

by Sasha Cottman

  “Owen, don’t,” she sobbed.

  It hurt so much to look at him, to love him. To know that no matter how long she lived, this man would always hold a place in her heart.

  Owen took hold of her arm and drew her to him. “I am so sorry, Amy.”

  She looked at him through a sheen of tears. “What do you want me to say? That I forgive you?”

  He shook his head. “No, I could never ask that of you. I just wanted to come here today and tell you how sorry I am. I threw away the chance of having a loving marriage and I will regret that till the end of my days.”

  Amy was wrung out. Owen’s appearance and apology had knocked her sideways. She had been convinced that he didn’t care. That losing Diana as his convenient mistress had been a minor hiccup in his life. His words of love had all been a lie. Dare she think she had been wrong?

  She could just imagine Lord Lowe’s reaction when he discovered that his efforts to save the family fortunes had been scuttled by his son’s rakish behavior. The Morrisons were still facing ruin.

  She wiped away her tears with the back of her hand and fought to regain her composure. “What will you do now?”

  “My father and I have managed to sell a few things, including some land. That will keep the creditors at bay for the foreseeable future,” he replied.

  “But you will still need to find a wife with a substantial dowry.”

  It wasn’t a question. They all knew the financial mess the Morrison family was in, and that Owen would still need to marry well in order to save the estate.

  “Yes, I will. But, thanks to you, I won’t be looking to marry purely for the money. I realize now that I want a proper marriage, one where my wife and I love one another. A marriage where I can be a good husband, and true to my vows.”

  “At least that much has come of all this pain,” she replied. She offered him her hand. “I hope for your sake and that of your wife that you have changed, Owen, because the man I heard bragging on the stage to Callum about keeping a mistress and a wife was not a man I think capable of love.”

  He took her hand and they shook as friends. “I’m sorry you overhead that conversation. I was in a terrible place at the time, and Callum kept pushing me. I said things then that even I knew were wrong, but I got caught up in the heat of the argument and let my temper rule my head.”

  It was some comfort to know that Owen had learned some hard and painful lessons. She still found it hard to muster sympathy for him; he had hurt her more than she could ever put into words. But she could be polite and civil to him for her father’s sake.

  Amy let go of Owen’s hand. She wanted to walk away and find somewhere private for another long cry, but there were some things she had to say before she did.

  “It’s a pity that you didn’t come to know yourself until now, Owen. I think we could have made a great future together and been a happy family. You have torn my life to pieces, but even after all that I still love you. I hope someday to find someone who will wipe the traces of you from my heart.”

  “You still love me?”

  She swallowed down the lump in her throat. “Yes. And, as I said to you that day in the coach—I wish I didn’t.”

  Chapter Forty-Four

  It was good to be back with his friends and fellow Noble Lords. Owen had spent the week with his father at the family estate at Abbots Langley, working through papers and discussing how they could save every spare penny. By the time he returned to London, he was feeling hopeful about their finances for the first time in a very long time.

  His meeting with Amy had left him to rue his former hateful ways. He had thrown away a golden chance at happiness and he only had himself to blame.

  “Cheer up, Owen. We have a concert tonight; can’t have you sobbing in the middle of Mozart,” said Kendal.

  He chuckled. “Thank you, Kendal.”

  On the other side of the carriage, Marco shook his head.

  No one made mention of Callum as they made their way to the latest Noble Lords performance. His sudden departure from the group and Follett House was still too raw.

  But tonight, they had other matters with which to concern themselves. This evening would mark the debut of Marco in his role as special guest of the Noble Lords. While Reid would still sing as a tenor with the group, the others would provide the music for Marco when he sang his own set at the beginning of the program.

  Owen hugged his new violin case to his chest. The loss of his priceless Stradivarius was still taking some getting used to; the new instrument felt strange in his hands. Kendal, fortunately, had claimed to hear little difference between the two violins and Owen was grateful for his rare diplomatic gesture.

  Colin helped Amy down from their carriage. She smiled at him. It was good to be out together and not have to worry about Colin hiding away while she went through the pretense of being an abandoned wife. Tonight, she could be Lady Amelia Perry and not have a care in the world.

  “I do like your outfit,” he said.

  Her caramel-colored gown actually covered most of her décolletage, and the cream woolen shawl she had matched it with was enough to keep the evening air from chilling her bones. She secretly missed wearing the other gowns, but they would have to remain hidden at the back of her wardrobe until another day.

  She laughed. “Yes, a little less skin on show makes for a more modest fashion statement. It’s also a damn sight warmer.”

  Inside the grand mansion, they began to mingle. Colin was making good on his promise of bringing Amy back to town and escorting her to as many parties, balls, and dinners as she could handle.

  She noted the odd looks she garnered from some of the other guests. It would take time for people who had known her as Diana Smith to get used to the fact that she was actually Lady Amelia Perry. The ton rumor mill would no doubt have a field day with that tasty piece of gossip once it became public. After having survived making the uncomfortable explanation to her parents, she felt up to the challenge of dealing with London society.

  There was a buzz of expectation inside the main hall. Former musical enemies were going to play alongside one another tonight. With the rest of the Italian contingent having gone home, the war for the hearts and minds of London society was over.

  No one had been declared a winner.

  Tonight, would be the first time Amy had seen Owen since his unexpected visit to Rickmansworth. Her father had been pleased to hear that the two of them had parted as friends, though Colin was still harboring his stated intention of giving Owen a damn good thrashing when he found an opportune moment.

  She was quietly nursing a glass of wine, an inexpensive burgundy by the taste of it, when the crowd parted and in marched the Noble Lords. Amy did a double take when she saw Marco Calvino walking beside Owen. The two men were chatting and laughing with one another. Oddly, Sir Callum Sharp appeared to be missing.

  “It looks like a few hatchets have been buried, but possibly not all,” noted Colin.

  “Yes,” she replied.

  It was good to see that Owen had not only tried to make amends with her, but with one of his sworn enemies. Perhaps there was hope for him after all.

  His head was turned the other way as he passed Amy and Colin. She felt a surprising prick of disappointment at him not having seen her.

  Don’t be silly. It’s just your heart aching for something it cannot have.

  “Where would you like to sit for the performance?” asked Colin.

  When Amy nodded in the direction of the front of the room, her brother scowled. “Really?”

  “Yes please. I may never get to be up close to the Noble Lords again, so I should take the opportunity while it still presents itself. They are going on tour shortly, and Owen said they are supposed to be breaking up at the end of the summer,” she replied. She wanted to listen to the wonderful music of the Noble Lords one last time, but she had to be near Owen.

  If it was just about the music, then there were plenty of other places to sit and
listen. Be careful, Amy.

  With a reluctant sigh, Colin escorted Amy to the front of the room. They settled into their seats and she watched with interest as the group began to unpack their instruments and make ready to play.

  Owen was seated in his usual spot to the left of Reid from how the audience viewed them. He reached into the case beside him and took out his violin. He tucked the instrument under his chin and began to tune it, plucking the strings and turning the pegs.

  Amy sat forward and stared at the violin. Where was the Stradivarius? She had never seen him play anything else.

  Reid Follett stepped forward, and after politely accepting the enthusiastic applause of the audience, held up a hand for silence.

  “Thank you. It is wonderful to see so many familiar faces in the room tonight. We would like to extend a special thank you to those of you who came to our hugely successful concert two weeks ago, and to remind you that there are only a few tickets remaining for the upcoming royal command shows.”

  The audience burst into another round of hearty applause.

  “Tonight, we debut a new Noble Lords lineup with the addition of a special guest, Signore Marco Calvino. Signore Calvino will be playing with us for the rest of our performances and also during the tour. Please make our friend welcome.”

  Things certainly had changed. But no mention was made of Callum.

  Owen and Kendal joined in the applause to acknowledge Marco, who stood and politely bowed to the crowd. As the noise died down, Owen bent and picked up a piece of rosin for his bow.

  He lifted his head and met Amy’s gaze.

  Old emotions came pouring back over her, and she swallowed deep. She managed a bashful smile for him, which was rewarded with a soft grin. In his eyes shone the warmth she knew so well from those sweet afternoons spent together in Hyde Park.

  He continued to stare at her, only finally turning away when Reid leaned over and spoke to him. Owen gave him a nod and lifted the violin to his shoulder.

  The Noble Lords played, Reid sang, Marco sang, but Amy couldn’t have recalled any of the concert if she had been asked. Her gaze, mind, and soul were focused solely on Owen. As his fingers danced over the strings of the violin her body grew heated with the memory of his touch, of how those same fingers had made her feel alive with passion. She drew in a ragged breath and placed her hand over her heart.

  Owen.

  After the show, Colin made ready to leave.

  Amy put a hand on his arm. “Could we stay for a little longer? I would like to speak to Owen for a minute if that is alright.”

  He gave a silent nod; she was grateful that he held his tongue. Colin would have been well within his rights to admonish her for letting her foolish heart rule her head.

  She made her way through the crowd, finally spotting Owen standing talking to Kendal. Kendal caught her eye as she approached. He tapped Owen on the shoulder and nodded in her direction.

  “Lord Grant. Lord Morrison,” she said.

  They both bowed.

  “Lady Amelia,” said Kendal.

  Owen appeared to hesitate for a moment, and then he smiled.

  “Amy,” he finally said.

  She grinned, unable to stop herself.

  Kendal made a quick ‘excuse me’ and beat a hasty retreat. There was nothing subtle in his manner of departure.

  “You played well tonight. I think the addition of Marco rounds out the Noble Lords nicely,” she said.

  “Yes, it allows us a bigger range of songs. And, to be honest, the man sings like an angel, so it really was a fait accompli when he turned up on Reid’s doorstep and asked to perform with us,” Owen replied. Since he said nothing about the absence of Callum, Amy left the subject well alone.

  She had forgotten how easy it was being in Owen’s company, how comfortable he made her feel. Her sensible self was asking not so quietly what she was playing at, but her heart had a firm grip on the reins.

  “May I get you a glass of wine?” Owen asked.

  A glass of wine with an old friend shouldn’t pose a risk to her sanity. She and Owen had come to a polite agreement. They had even shaken hands.

  “Yes, please. I would like that,” she replied.

  With drinks in hand, they wandered over to a quiet alcove and sat. Neither had suggested the move, but it would appear they were in concert with one another.

  Owen put his violin case down.

  “I happened to notice that you were playing a different instrument tonight. Is the Stradivarius undergoing repair?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “No. I sold it. If my mother has to give up part of the garden to allow sheep to graze on it, then it is only fair that I make a personal sacrifice.”

  Colin had made mention of the Morrisons carving off a piece of their estate and selling it. Land was one thing, but she could imagine that giving up his beloved violin would have hurt Owen deeply.

  An uncomfortable silence settled between them. Guilt slipped under her guard at the thought of Owen having to give up the priceless instrument.

  If he had your dowry . . .

  “I am sorry that you had to give it up,” she said. Her words sounded so empty. After everything that had happened between them, she shouldn’t be feeling any sort of guilt, but she did. Why did hearts have to be so reckless?

  He reached out and placed a hand on hers. Memories of his heated touch came flooding back. “It is not your fault that we have had to sell some parts of the estate, but now that we have, some of our major loans have been settled and we have more time to rearrange our finances. My family is working together to solve this problem, and we will come through this and be stronger in the end.”

  “I am glad you and your family have hope for the future,” she replied. Amy opened her hand and Owen slipped his fingers between hers. His thumb rubbed slowly back and forth over her skin.

  She lifted her glass to her lips and took a small sip. She shuddered as the rough red went down. Why did people feel the need to serve bad wine at parties?

  Owen laughed. “They are not serving the good bottles from their cellar this evening?”

  Amy met his gaze and nodded. “For the life of me I cannot understand why people would knowingly drink this stuff. Life is too short to waste it on cheap wine.”

  He grinned back at her; the hint of mischief sparkled in his eyes.

  You are a gorgeous scoundrel, Owen. I miss you so much it hurts.

  With their fingers entwined, Owen lifted her hand to his lips and placed a tender kiss on Amy’s fingertips. A frisson of heat raced down her spine.

  “You are right there, Amy. We shouldn’t spend our lives on anything but the best.”

  Amy and Colin left a short time later. Owen was relieved that he and Amy had reached a point where they could share a civilized conversation. He didn’t deserve her good graces, but her kind words over the loss of the Stradivarius had touched him.

  He sat staring at his glass of wine, swirling it around in his fingers. It was a rough, cheeky wine and he could understand why Amy had left much of hers. He sat the wine down on the table next to her abandoned glass.

  Owen softly sighed. “How the hell am I ever going to find another woman with such great taste in wine?”

  The answer was simple.

  He wasn’t.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Reid was standing in the foyer of Follett House the following morning, a pensive look on his face as Owen approached. From behind his back, he produced a folded and sealed note which he promptly handed to Owen.

  “I hope it’s not another letter of demand,” said Reid.

  Owen took it and sighed. “So, the fuck do I. I thought we were square with everyone for the moment.”

  He looked at the paper. It was oddly familiar.

  Reid came and stood beside him; the message was clear. Owen would not be opening it in private.

  6pm today

  Grosvenor Gate entrance

  I can’t find the red ribbon

/>   Diana

  * * *

  A dirty, wicked laugh rumbled up from Reid. “Well, well.”

  Owen put a hand to his mouth. A thousand ‘what-ifs’ crashed through his mind. He read the note again just to be sure he had read it right.

  He had been genuinely surprised to see her at the concert. Their private chat later in the alcove had concentrated his mind for the rest of the evening and well into the wee hours of the morning.

  Am I holding onto a hope that does not exist?

  “What do you think it could mean?” asked Reid.

  “Absolutely no idea,” replied Owen.

  What he was hoping and praying for was something so wildly beyond his imagination that he dared not put it into words.

  Reid laid a hand on his shoulder and gave a gentle squeeze. “May I give you one piece of advice?”

  Owen chanced a look at him and nodded.

  Reid was smiling like a Cheshire cat. “Just don’t fuck it up.”

  The afternoon dragged on for an eternity. Owen changed his outfit three times and was about to do so for a fourth when his valet slapped him over the back of his hand with a hairbrush and told him he was done.

  Owen was a bundle of nerves.

  The last thing he did before leaving Follett House was to slip a small blue box into his coat pocket. He had paid a visit home to Lowe House earlier and retrieved the box from the family safe. The chances of him having any use for it were slim but he wanted to be prepared.

  If there is the slightest chance, I am going to seize it with both hands and never let go.

  The thirty-minute walk to the Grosvenor Gate entrance did little to burn off his anxious energy. By the time he did arrive, he was hot and sweaty under the collar.

  “My own stupid fault for wearing formal evening attire,” he muttered, as he pulled his white gloves off and stuffed them into his pockets.