Regency Romance: The Viscount's Blazing Love (Fire and Smoke: CLEAN Historical Romance)

by Charlotte Stone

  He wiggled free and tried to keep moving. “Goodbye, Jane.”

  “Stop,” she commanded and reached for his arm again. This time she raised her voice. “Stop this instant. I am so tired of you dictating when and where and what we speak of. If we were ever friends, you will stop and speak to me.”

  John did stop. He closed his eyes for a moment and then took a deep breath before he turned to face her. “What do you want from me, Jane?”

  She shoved his chest. “How dare you ask me that?” she yelled. “You are the one who kissed me two years ago and you are the one who reintroduced yourself to my life. How dare you make me feel small for wanting answers when you just show up at my home?”

  “Jane,” he begged. “I am sorry. You do not know… I would do anything to change it all.”

  “So you regret it?” she asked as she folded her arms across her chest. “You regret kissing me two years ago and you regret seeking me out at the ball? And kissing me again? And making me think we had a chance at a happily ever after.”

  “No, I do not regret it…” He ran a hand through his hair. “I am just sorry. I am sorry for it all.”

  “That is not an answer,” she retorted, her face fierce. “You know my whole life people have said I am observant, that I am wise. And then when I was older, I watched people I love just trip over themselves when they fell in love. They could not get past their own insecurities or their pride or whatever hurdle it was. And I would speak to them rationally. I could never understand why they could not just act rationally in return. There was their happily ever after and they could just reach out and be brave enough to take it, but they did not do it.”

  She paused, waiting to see if he would speak. He only closed his eyes.

  She sighed and leaned nearer to him. After the briefest moment of hesitation, she pressed her lips to his as lightly as possible. A million memories passed between them. John calling her the Queen of the Fairies. Her kissing his bruised and bloody knuckles. Him kissing her against the tree.

  The kiss went on and deepened, as she lifted a hand and wrapped it around his neck.

  He kissed her back as desperately as he ever had. But it was she who pulled away.

  “What was that?” he asked.

  “It was a goodbye kiss,” she explained with equal parts sorrow and tenderness in her voice. “Because I finally understand that love is not always rational. And because I finally understand that you are either not brave enough to love me or you do not love me enough.”

  “If you knew… If you knew… You would never love me,” he told her brokenly. He did not mean to hold her so tightly, but knowing it was the last time he would be able to made his hands betray his mind.

  She moved out of his arms, untangling herself. It had to be done. There was no other way. She had to be brave enough to want her happily ever after and it appeared that did not include John. She was tired of hearing the excuse that if only she knew his secret she would not love him. He never trusted her enough to give her a chance to love him. So, she would say goodbye. She would close this chapter. She would find someone else, somehow, some way.

  “I wish you trusted me enough to tell me,” she admitted and then shrugged. She felt years older since the moment she had exited Pritchford Place on his heels. “But you do not. And so, this is goodbye. I will remember you as my childhood friend. I will remember you as the first man I loved.” She closed her eyes and shivered, feeling cold even in the summer air. “And the first… and only… to break my heart.”

  His gray eyes snapped to her blue ones. He looked lost. He looked heartbroken. And he was. But he could not say anything. He could not make an argument without betraying what he had told her family inside. And so, he remained silent.

  “Goodbye, John,” she murmured. Her lip trembled as if she wanted to cry but she took a breath and bit it. There would be no tears now. He had lost the privilege of seeing her feelings spilled out before him. “Goodbye. And I wish you well.”

  He watched her walk away. He stood and watched her back as she walked into the house and he thought of this as one of his many punishments for being his father’s son, because there was never anything as lonely as watching the woman he loved walk away, knowing that despite his best efforts, he had broken her heart completely.

  * * *

  18

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  HE COULD FIND PEACE. …

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  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  The Aftermath

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  T he only reason Cat’s legs were keeping her upright was because her husband was in such distress and that felt more urgent than falling to pieces. He was trembling with unleashed rage beneath her hands. She could hear Shep begging him to calm down, but Shep’s face was just as red with anger as Ben’s. Julia was between the two of them, trying to hush them like children, but Ben only continued to yell.

  “Please,” Cat whispered. Her hands moved to his face, taking both of his cheeks in her hands. Her thumbs brushed the place on his cheeks where his dimples would appear when he grinned. “Please. Please. I need you to calm down. I cannot…” She was trying to be strong for him, trying to be strong in the face of what they had learned. The last thing she wanted or needed was for Ben to rush out after John.

  She was a bit light-headed as she wondered how it was that people could react so differently to such news. She felt shocked and numb. She had searched for anger, wanting it instead of the numbness, but she could not seem to find that anger.

  “Benjamin,” she murmured. She did not ask him to stop. She would never do that. She did not ask him to calm down. He was entitled to his feelings. But he could not go after John as he was threatening to do. It was clear that Shep was torn between helping him and holding him back. It would not take much to convince him to join his friend.

  And then where would they be?

  His eyes filled with tears as they lingered on her face. “Oh, Cat,” he whispered, leaning into her like a child, pressing her into an embrace so close it was as if he wished he could crawl inside of her. “Oh, Cat. I am so sorry. This is not about me.”

  She only started to shake in earnest once she was in his arms, with his hand stroking her hair and the back of her neck. She only felt the tears on her face when he looked at her with concern. Again, she wondered if this was part of loving someone, being strong when they needed you to be and letting go when they could be strong for you. And suddenly she was no longer numb. There was a mess of emotions inside of her but there was also the strong heartbeat of love underneath it all. She clung to Ben. She had never loved him more than in this moment, never needed him more. And was that not a miracle? That she could still love after hearing something so hateful?

  He sat in a chair with her in his lap, forgoing any sense of propriety after what had just happened, with only Shep and Julia as witnesses. He kissed her temple and pulled back just far enough to look into her eyes. When he saw her tears, he felt the pressure in his own throat build. When he spoke, he could hear those tears in his own voice. “I am so sorry, Cat. Tell me what I can do. Tell me what you need me to do.”

  She opened her mouth to speak but no words came out. A part of her wanted to scream, as loudly and wildly as she had as a young girl with her skin burning and boiling and blistering. The pain inside her was visceral, nearly physical. She kept seeing John’s face as he told them what his father had done, as he took responsibility for actions that were not his own.

  “I…” She took a deep breath as her eyes burned. “I think I need you to be angry at the right person.” She closed her eyes. “And that is not John.”

  His hands fisted around her waist. His anger was so intense. He had never felt anything like it. It burned as hot and as fierce as any fire and like any fire, it did not discriminate. It needed a target or it would die out, and he did not know what he would do if that happened. He ha
d promised her, years before, to find the person who did this to her, did this to her family. He had made it his own personal quest. He had always thought that he would feel better when he brought that person to justice.

  Then it hit him, like a brick to the face, that he had always thought that he would feel better. He had not thought of her. She had always agreed and supported his quest and it had begun as something he wanted to do for her. But as they built their life together, as they had first George and then Charlie, as everyday he grew to love her more, it had become less for her and more for him. Because he could not go back in time and save her. There was nothing to do. And when it had been revealed that John had been the one to save her, had it not be more clear than ever that what he truly wanted was to be able to save her from all the pain? Even more than he wanted justice? And because he could never do that, the push for justice only intensified.

  Julia knelt in front of Cat and her brother. “Can I get you anything?” she asked quietly. “Water, anything?”

  Cat shook her head. “Just be here. Because I…” She began to weep. “I do not even know why I am crying.” She lifted her hands, so confused by her own emotions. “But it feels over. I did not know that it felt unfinished until this exact moment. It feels over.”

  Ben’s arms clenched involuntarily around his wife. It did not feel over to him. It felt as if was only beginning. “He… He…” His voice shook again with rage.

  Cat touched his chin, turning his face to hers. “John did not do anything except try and be honorable in a horrible situation. Imagine how he feels.”

  “How he feels?” Ben asked, barely able to get his words out around his shock and yes, continued anger. He shifted so he could stand while she remained sitting. “How he feels?”

  She stopped trembling. Her voice steadied. “Yes, Ben. How he feels. I cannot imagine how hard it was for him to come and tell us what his father did.”

  “How can you even say that?” Ben demanded. “I know you are a better person than I am. God knows that I have always known that but how can you even think about giving him the benefit of the doubt? His father—”

  “Because of that,” Cat interrupted as she so rarely did. “Because his father was the one who set the fire when he was only a child. Because John rescued me without knowing that his father was involved. Because he did the most difficult thing and came here and told us.”

  “I cannot…” Ben took an awkward step back from her. His next words felt choked out of him. “I cannot… I am sorry but I cannot…” And then he left the room at a clip.

  Julia tilted her head to Shep and squinted at him, telling him it was his job to go after her brother, her stupid, stupid brother who would rather hold his anger than hold his wife.

  “Well,” Cat whispered as tears began to fall from her eyes. “It seems as if he is angry at me, too.”

  “Oh, Cat,” Julia wrapped her arms around the woman she thought of a sister as they both sat on the divan. “He is an idiot.”

  “I cannot blame John just so it is easier for Ben,” Cat admitted brokenly. “I cannot blame an honorable man just so he has somewhere to put his anger.”

  “Of course you cannot,” Julia soothed. She was in awe of Cat and the strength she had within her. It was as if the fire that almost killed her was also the thing that forged her. What an incredible woman. “He only wants to fix it for you and he is only now realizing he cannot fix it at all. He is not handling it well.”

  “It is harder for him than it is for me,” Cat concluded as she leaned back. But she still wished she had her husband’s arms around her. There was a particular comfort he offered and she missed it now.

  “I do not see how that it is possible.” Julia raised a brow at her.

  “Because it is always harder on the people who love us. When I was young, my recovery was more difficult on my parents than it was on me. I have had years to make peace with the fire but Ben…” She sighed. “He has always wanted to avenge what happened on my behalf. It was as if he needed to, a compulsion. And now there is no target for justice, no target for his anger. That must be so hard.”

  “And what about you?” Julia asked. “You cannot pretend with me. This is obviously difficult for my brother but you cannot pretend that it is easy for you.”

  Cat looked down at her hands. “I never claimed it was easy. Doing the right thing rarely is. Just asked John Christopherson.”

  * * *

  Neither of them slept, but they did lay next to one another. For Ben, the silence felt oppressive. Cat used the time to pray, her fingers restless against the sheets. She did not know what to do or say to make Ben feel better, since everything that was helping her to cope would make him angry all over again. Not that he had stopped being angry. All day and into the evening his anger had been there, just under the surface. Everyone could feel it. Jane had noticed it, but had not said anything. She seemed lost in her own thoughts today. Even the boys, as they had kissed their father goodnight, had fussed more than normal.

  “Ben,” Cat finally said with a sigh. “Benjamin,” she repeated into the dark. She leaned over to her side table where she lit a candle. “I cannot bear this silence between us. I know we have different feelings on this. And I would never punish you for feeling a certain way. But it feels as if you are punishing me. And there is no reason that this should come between us.”

  After a moment, he reached for her hand. “I am not punishing you,” he promised. “I am sorry if has felt like that. It is not that. I just do not know how to discuss this with you and it is consuming my every thought.”

  “I think that is how it starts,” she murmured, almost to herself.

  Without realizing it, she had him interested in where she was going with this topic. “How what starts?”

  “How someone becomes as angry as John’s father was. He was an awful man. As close to a monster as I ever saw. His mother was always ducking her head, and I never knew if it was because of shame or because of the bruises. It really must have depended on the day. And the children. It was John who was hurt most often.” She sighed, her brow furrowed in worry and as she remembered.

  “Why are you telling me this?” Ben would not look at her. He did not know where she was going with all this but he did not like it.

  She continued, “Jane has told me that was because John often stood in front of his mother and his brothers, but that is beside the point. I think being consumed with anger is how it must have started for Mr. Christopherson.”

  For a moment, white hot anger reached up his throat and grabbed him. “Are you… How can you… Are you comparing me to him?”

  “No!” Cat reared back. “I would never do such a thing. But I also must believe that the man was blessed with a livelihood and a wife and children and he chose to live with bitterness and anger. And I wonder…”

  “You wonder?” he asked, with a little more tenderness this time.

  “I wonder if all that anger could be traced back to something perfectly reasonable. Because Ben, your anger is reasonable. You have every right to it. I would never try to take it from you. But I do not want it to consume you. Because you are good and kind and generous. Because you are the man I love, and I am worried if you let it consume you, you will no longer be the man I love but someone different.” She sounded thoughtful, as if she had been thinking this all through calmly since she heard. And that upset Ben as well, because how could she be so calm?

  “How can you not be angry at all?” he asked.

  “I am. I was,” she insisted.

  He shook his head. “I do not see it. I do not sense it in you. I feel like I am the only who is angry between the two of us and I do not know if that makes me wrong.”

  She touched his cheek with the back of her hand. “Do you want to know why?”

  “Of course I do,” he replied a little too quickly. “Do you think I want to feel like this? Especially when I know you want to move beyond this.”

  “Come with me?” She he
ld out her hand to him as she slipped from beneath the coverlet.

  “Where are we going?” he wondered.

  “Do you trust me?” She held out her hand again. This time he took it, following her as he left the bed from her side.

  “Yes. I love you. I trust you.” It hit him like a ton of bricks that he had not said that to her tonight. He always told her he loved her before bed, but tonight his anger over what had been done to her had strangled that loving feeling, just as she had predicted. If it could, in such a short time, make him forget how much he loved his wife then it was as dangerous as his wife said. But still he did not know what to do about his feelings.

  From beside the bed, she took the candle she had lit and led him out their bedroom door. “We must be quiet. We cannot wake them.”

  “Who?” He had no idea what she had planned.

  She pressed her finger to his lips and then she led him to the nursery. She opened the door just the slightest bit, pointing to their two children. After a whole minute, she closed the door.

  “Did you see them?” she asked.

  He nodded and for a reason unknown to him, he began to tremble. Was this what letting go of such intense anger felt like?

  “And when you were looking at them, were you angry?” Her voice was kind and full of compassion, reminding him of all the reasons he loved her.

  “No,” he was forced to admit.

  She took him back into the bedroom, setting down the candle so she could step into his arms. “I am angry, too. Please do not misunderstand that. But then I look at you. I look at our sons. And I am not so angry anymore. Because God has been good to us.” At this, his arms came around her and held her tight but she continued, “And then I think about Mr. Christopherson and how he let anger eat away at his life. I think about how it led him to do terrible things. Do you think the fire was the worst thing he ever did? I cannot imagine being a child in his home. I think that must have been just as bad. And then I think of John, sitting in front of us, trying to right a wrong that he is not even responsible for. I think how good God is, that such a man can come from something so awful, how John does not have the anger that his father did. It is more important to me to love, to be a mother and a wife and a sister, than it is to hold on to my anger.”