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 o
nly 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.
Chapter 26
Bloody hell.
He’d known from the instant she’d sneaked into his residence and put demands to him that Chloe would be trouble.
He could not, however, have predicted just how much.
“Leo,” she said calmly, rising to her feet, maintaining a hold on his damned ledger.
His fury spiked. Nay, not solely his fury… panic and desperation.
What has she done? The question peeled around every corner of his mind.
He seethed. “You were ordered never to come in here.”
She held his ledgers up. “You lied.”
God, she was breathtaking in her bravery and resolve. Any other time, he’d have admired her for that showing.
“Quiet.” He glanced back at the door. His staff had all been carefully selected by the Brethren, but that still did not mean speaking freely was safe.
Chloe jutted her chin out. “You are not in dun territory.” He winced. “You are outrageously wealthy. Of course,” she breathed. “It all makes sense. It is why you allowed me control of my dowry, and you have that bronze piece that any man truly in debt would have sold off long ago.”
His mind swirled under her rapid ramblings as his panic mounted, staggering in its intensity.
His wife smiled, that pleased little expression that indicated pride at what she’d pieced together. And then it faded as she contemplated him. “It all begs the question, however, of why? Why do you go to such great lengths to present yourself as someone other than who you are?”
A loud ringing filled his ears as she raised the most dangerous question that not a soul before her had dared ask.
“I’m not discussing this with you,” he bit out. “You violated the terms of the contract.”
“With good reason. I have every right to know the state of our finances.” She jutted her chin at a defiant angle. “And the secrets you carry.”
Those five words sucked the air from his lungs and all life from the room.
“Who are you, Leo Dunlop?” she murmured, drifting closer.
He had to send her away. He’d realized as much when pieces had slid into place at White’s. Her discovery here only confirmed the urgency with which he needed to separate himself from this woman.
Agony pierced him like a thousand dull knives being plunged into his chest. Oh, God, he didn’t want to send her away. And yet, she couldn’t stay. Not with what she’d uncovered. And not with what she was so very close to discovering—that his life had, in fact, largely been a lie crafted so he might carry out his work for the Home Office.
He snapped.
“You had no right,” he thundered, slamming his fists down hard on the surface of his desk. The ledgers and his wife both jumped. Fury pumping through his veins, he surged toward her. “You had no right,” he repeated on a furious whisper.
He took her by the shoulders and gave her a firm shake. “There are no secrets,” he hissed. “Do you hear me? There are no secrets!”
With a cry, Chloe stumbled out of his arms. Terror bled from her eyes and spilled from her slender frame.
Good, she should be afraid. Mayhap then she’d allow him to keep the walls resurrected between them. Mayhap then she could be safe. Only, why did he want to carve out his own heart for daring to scare her as he was?
Chloe was bold, fearless, and courageous above anyone he knew… and he’d reduced her to this trembling, pale-faced shadow of herself.
Leo dragged a hand through his hair. “Say nothing about what you’ve learned here.”
She shook her head. “You want me to let my family to continue to malign you and worry after me—”
“I don’t give a bloody damn on Sunday what your family believes or does not believe,” he bellowed.
Chloe recoiled, holding his ledgers close to her chest in a terrified embrace. He expected her to run, wanted her to so he could begin trying to set this all to rights.
Leo stalked over and, with crisp, angry movements, stacked the pile of books at his desk. He stuffed them back inside the secret panel. “Only you would know how to pick a damned lock.” He belatedly recalled the copy she still held. Leo glanced back. “My book, madam,” he snapped, holding out a hand.
Again, Chloe jumped and released the copy into his hand.
As he organized the pile and slid the lock back into place, he dug deep for calm and order of his thoughts.
So she’d discovered he had an appreciation for literature and healthy finances. Such discoveries revealed nothing about his work for the Brethren. Calmed by that, Leo slowly unfurled to his full height.
Chloe edged away from him, placing his high-backed chair between them as a barrier.
The muscles along his jaw went taut. Good, she feared him.
Why did that feel like the emptiest of victories?
“I prefer my finances a secret,” he began, feeding her yet another lie. “So that the creditors I’m indebted to don’t all come a’calling. So the mistresses I broke it off with who didn’t receive so much as a parting gift aren’t prodding me for baubles.”
She worried at her lower lip. “I don’t believe you.”
Of course she didn’t.
“You’re not who you seem,” she persisted. “I’ve always believed that. And then I received this…”
His senses on heightened alert, Leo fixed on her slender fingers as they dug around the front of her gown. She withdrew a small, folded sheet.
Chloe came out from behind his chair.
“What is this?” he demanded as she turned it over. Not bothering to wait for an answer, he unfolded it. Leo’s stomach dropped. Oh, God. He stared blankly at the warning as terror peeled around his ears.
“Who would send me that? And what would they warn you away from, Leo?” She spit out question after question. “Tell me,” she pleaded.
With an animalistic cry, he swept the contents off the surface of his desk, scattering them about. The inkwell crashed in a crystal explosion, spraying shards about his office.
Her entire body recoiled.
“It is not your business,” he cried. He gathered her firmly by the shoulders again, crushing the damning note against the delicate white puff of her sleeve. “Why? Why must you probe?” he shouted. The page slipped in
a whispery fall to their feet. “Why?” A keening moan filtered past his lips.
“Stop,” she pleaded, wrenching back, but he tightened his hold.
“Do you want the truth?” he thundered, shaking her harder. “Do you?”
“Yes,” she cried.
“I am an agent for the Home Office.”
It was harder to say who was more stunned by that whispered revelation. His own shock was reflected in the pools of her eyes. “What?”
The question belonged to the both of them, spoken simultaneously from a shaken state.
He shook his head numbly. What? Where? Leo jerked his palms back so abruptly, Chloe tumbled back into his chair.
He flexed his fingers. His throat burned with the need for liquid fortitude. On unsteady legs, he stalked over to his sideboard. Not bothering with a glass, he grabbed the bottle of whiskey that was closest to his fingertips. Yanking the stopper out, he tossed it on the floor, where it bounced around.
Leo took a long swallow.
Chloe’s eyes followed his every move. As the liquor burned a path down his throat, she sank farther and farther into her seat until she sat with her shoulders hunched in a protective posturing.
Lowering his bottle, Leo took a step toward her.
She held her hands up, an entreaty in her gaze.
That fear—of him—struck like a lash upon his soul. Leo dropped to his haunches, the decanter dangling between his fingers. The bottle was a crutch to cling to. Words stuck in his throat, making speech impossible. He swallowed hard and tried again. “I’ve been an agent for a special division within the Home Office since I was just eight and ten.” He finally shared the truth with another soul, the first time in the whole tenure of his service to the Crown. “My role with the agency required I cultivate the persona of a rake.” Leo chuckled, seeing the scared child he’d been. “It was so very easy,” he said softly to himself. “My… father… I wasn’t…”
He closed his eyes as every age-old sense of failure and insecurity battered at him, transforming him back into that stuttering, stammering, pleading boy. Leo forced himself to complete the telling. “I was never the child my father wanted.” There, that much was true. Sharing with her the darkest truth of his existence, however, he still could not bring himself to utter. “My work gave me purpose, and I reveled in every moment of my instruction. Bedding whores, drinking spirits, learning whist and hazard and faro…” How very thrilling it had all been to him, a sheltered scholar.
The Lady Who Loved Him Page 30
