Still dazed, he wrapped his arms around her and tightened his hold. “I may never have a need for pleasure again,” he blurted, scarcely aware of his own voice.
She laughed softly against his chest and traced a finger down the buttons of his waistcoat.
They sat quietly in the carriage for what seemed like a very, very long time.
“Radcliff?” she finally whispered.
“Yes?” he whispered back.
“I must tell you something before we go inside.”
“What is it?”
“Promise me, no matter what I say, you will not toss Matilda out of the house.”
Radcliff froze, his heart pounding. He tightened his hold on her. “What happened?”
“Promise me you’ll not toss her.”
“I cannot damn well promise you something when I don’t even know what it is you intend to say.”
“Promise me.” She shook him. And then shook him again. “For my sake.”
God save him, why did he have to be so damn soft when it came to her? He blew out a heavy breath. “I… Fine. For your sake. Now tell me. What is it? What happened?”
She hesitated, then moved away and pulled open both curtains, exposing the glass windows. Dull golden light from the carriage lanterns filtered in.
She sighed and settled back against the upholstered seat beside him, pushing at her disheveled hair. She flicked her gaze across the length of him, sighed again and leaned in and, tucking his cock into place, buttoned his trousers.
“What?” he demanded, not caring for the silence she continued to exhibit. “What the bloody hell happened whilst I was gone?”
She met his gaze. “Matilda kissed me. It appears she prefers women over men.”
Radcliff sucked in a sharp breath, shock flying through his gut. “What? She…kissed you? You mean on the mouth? Using her tongue?”
She lowered her eyes and picked up his gloves which were hanging off the seat. “Yes. On the mouth. And yes, using her tongue.”
Radcliff’s gut tightened in disbelief. As of late, the only times he’d ever seen Justine happy was with Matilda. And now he knew why. “Is that why you fucked me just now? Because guilt compelled you to? Because you’re involved with Matilda? Is that what you are saying?”
“Please don’t use that tone or that language with me. And no. I simply wanted to ensure nothing would come between us. I wanted to share something meaningful with you after last night.”
“And do you plan on sharing this something with Matilda, too? Is that what you are informing me of?”
“Do be serious. I never once encouraged her.”
“No? Like hell you didn’t. Don’t think I didn’t see your hands touching that woman every two breaths and in turn, her hands touching you. You might as well have announced to the entire world you were lovers.” He paused and stared her down. “Are you lovers?”
She glanced back up at him, surprise flitting across her face. “No. Of course not. I—” She winced and shook her head. “My touches were never meant in that way. We are friends. Nothing more.”
He drew his brows together. “A friend does not take advantage of another friend like that.”
“She was not trying to take advantage of me. She was merely… She was hoping I felt the same way is all, and wanted me to better understand her. Radcliff. I cannot help but pity her knowing she has lived her entire life being something she is not. Surely, you can understand. You yourself have supported my father’s studies all these years. Studies that have more than proven there is nothing wrong with a woman loving another woman. Or a man loving another man.”
Radcliff opened his mouth and shut it. Despite knowing she was Lord Marwood’s daughter, he couldn’t help but be stunned about her matter-of-fact approach to all this.
“Radcliff?” she whispered, now placing a hand on his knee. “Let her stay. Please. She knows I do not feel the same. She knows I am devoted to you and you alone and that I would never allow another woman or man to touch me.”
Those words and the pressure of her hand and its warmth pushed him over the cliff of uncertainty he’d been hanging from, wanting to not only trust her but throw his entire soul into hers. He grabbed up her hand with both of his and held it so tightly he could feel her pulse against his own.
He searched her face. “Do you mean it? You would never allow anyone, not man or woman, to touch you the way I did just now?”
She leaned toward him. “I would never. Not ever.”
Those words gave him a sense of peace he’d never known, because he believed her and knew he could believe her. He grazed his fingers across her knuckles. “And how do you know she won’t take advantage of you again?”
Justine didn’t move. She didn’t even seem to blink. “I don’t.”
His pulse hitched in his throat. He struggled to remain calm. “Then how can you insist she stay in our home?”
She squeezed his hands. “Because it is the right thing to do. Because she has no one. Please. Give her one last chance. If she oversteps her bounds, you may personally escort her out of the house.”
Unable to fight the stabbing agony of it all, knowing all he ever wanted for her was to be happy with him and with her life, he brought her hands up to his lips and savagely kissed them. “It is done, then. Because you wish it.”
She blinked, as if fighting her own emotions, and smiled through tight lips. “Do you know what I also wish for more than anything in this world?”
“You are going to be the death of me, Justine. You do realize that, don’t you?”
She laughed quietly. “No, no. I…what I wanted to say is that…that I wish you could love me. I wish you could love me as much as I love you. Because I do.”
He choked, his chest tightening. Though a part of him had longed to hear those words from her lips all this time, he knew he couldn’t linger on them, nor make her think he was accepting of them. For they were nothing but words.
He slipped his hands from hers and shook his head. Violently. “Do not say such things. Even if you mean them.”
She stared at him. “Whatever do you mean? Why not?”
“My mother told my father she loved him every day. Every single day throughout fifteen years of their marriage. Until he up and died from apoplexy. I always thought they had a perfect, loving marriage, but in the end, she never meant the words she so freely offered him. She had given herself to another in a moment of pleasure she was not willing to even confess until it was too late. She only ever said those words to him because she was expected to and because my father had always wanted her to. I am not expecting you to profess your love for me. And you cannot expect me to profess mine. Because such words mean nothing. Not to me.”
“I am not saying the words because you want or expect them of me, but because they represent what is in my heart.” Justine blinked rapidly, then looked away. “Does this mean you’ll never be able to profess your love for me? Not ever? Not even if and when you were to feel love for me?”
He sighed and slowly shook his head. “I’ll never be able to say the words. But I will gladly show you what I feel and I will gladly prove to you what I feel. Each and every day. Does that not mean more than three insignificant words?”
“I…suppose. Yes.” She nodded. She paused and whispered, “I know I do love you. And I hope you do love me. Good night.”
Flinging the carriage door open, she gathered up her skirts and jumped down. Her slippered steps echoed as they rushed back toward the house. The entrance door opened and slammed, resounding like a shot through his head and through his heart.
SCANDAL NINETEEN
A lady should never lose her temper, Wrath damages far more than one’s fair complexion.
How to Avoid a Scandal, Author Unknown
Two days later, early morning,
while Radcliff still slept
JUSTINE PACED RADCLIFF’S STUDY, not knowing what else she was supposed to do. Since that night in the carriage, it was as if R
adcliff had ceased to exist. And it was breaking her heart to think that she had caused all of this misery by merely professing her love. This was not how a man was supposed to react to words of love.
Justine paused in the middle of the study, her gaze lifting to the large portrait hanging above the marble mantelpiece of the hearth. The portrait of a rosy-cheeked, beautiful dark-haired woman in a flowing daffodil-colored gown whose gloved hand was playfully propped against a garden wall. Radcliff’s mother.
Those same black eyes Radcliff shared stared down at her. They seemed to be mocking her predicament.
“You destroyed him,” Justine whispered up at the woman. “And in turn, destroyed our chance of ever knowing the sort of happiness we both deserve.”
The woman continued to stare down at her, offering nothing at all.
Tears burned Justine’s eyes as fury choked her. She dashed toward the hearth, reached up and grabbed the bottom of the gilded wooden frame of the painting. She gritted her teeth and yanked on it. Hard. It swayed against her jerking movements but remained tightly affixed.
“You are not staying in this house,” Justine seethed, pulling harder. “I have finally found my purpose…someone I can call my own…and I will not allow you to cast a shadow upon it.”
The portrait jumped off the wall and crashed off to the side of the hearth with a huge clatter, causing a small side table to fall over with a bang and an old vase to shatter into tinkling shards, pieces that may as well have been her own heart.
Justine stumbled toward the portrait and dragged its cracked frame toward the entryway of the study. She was getting rid of it. It was not staying in her home. She couldn’t understand why Radcliff even kept it.
“Justine!” Matilda stood in the doorway of the study, eyes wide, her hands holding the sides of her large belly. “What… Are you all right? What are you doing?”
Justine set her chin and continued to pull the portrait toward the entryway, toward Matilda. “I’m removing this portrait is all.”
The hallway bell chimed in the distance, echoing through the corridor.
Justine kept right on dragging the painting out into the hallway, past Matilda, who stepped back.
“Justine,” Matilda whispered, reaching out a hand toward her. “It pains me to see you like this. Please don’t—”
“You needn’t fret,” Justine drawled. “She isn’t your relative.”
Jefferson’s shout echoed in the far distance as the scuffling of feet against the tiled marble shook the walls. A low, anguished cry shattered the air.
Justine dropped the portrait with a clattering thud and stood there for a frozen moment, her heart pounding as determined steps thundered in their direction.
What—
A man with an ivory cane hurried into view barely a few feet away, turning toward her and Matilda.
Justine scrambled around the portrait and grabbed hold of Matilda’s waist and arm as a young man with sharp blue eyes, dressed in expensive morning attire and a horsehair top hat, made his way toward them in a predatory manner. It took Justine all but a single moment for her to realize that it was Radcliff’s half brother, Carlton.
Justine yanked Matilda toward the study. “Come! We must—”
Matilda pushed Justine off and away with a solid strength that caused Justine to gasp as she skidded backward toward the wall.
“No. I refuse to run.” Matilda set her chin and stepped onto the face of the portrait lying on the floor at her feet. The wood frame creaked beneath her weight as she swept past. She snatched up one of several small bronze statues off the side table in the corridor and waddled straight for Carlton.
“Matilda!” Justine scrambled after her. “No! Don’t!”
Carlton removed his top hat, exposing wavy, dark hair beneath, and flung it aside. “I should have known you were here.” He shook his head, glancing about, and hit the point of his cane hard into the tile. “You do nothing but disappoint me, Matilda.”
“I shan’t disappoint you ever again.” Matilda rushed at him, raising the bronze bust high above her head.
Carlton yanked his cane up into the air and swept it toward Matilda. The sickening pop of flesh being smacked resounded within the corridor.
Justine gasped as the bust crashed to the floor and Matilda stumbled and fell to her knees with a piercing wail.
Carlton adjusted his coat over his broad shoulders. He shook his head, his features twisting as he leaned down toward Matilda who now shielded her belly and sobbed. “Why do you keep doing this to me?” he insisted in a choked tone. “Why? Don’t you understand that I—”
“Get out of my house!” Justine could hardly breathe as she marched toward him, fisting both hands. “Get out!”
Carlton straightened and eyed her. “I regret that you have to witness any of this, Your Grace, but you have no right to interject in our affairs.”
“This is my home and she is my friend and therefore it is my right to interject. It is also about to become your brother’s right, as well.” She sucked in a breath and screamed, “Radcliff! Radcliff!” She only hoped he still wasn’t sleeping.
“Enough.” Carlton pointed the silver head of the cane in her direction and stared her down with blue eyes that were sharp, demented and eerie. “I ought to hurt you, Justine. I really ought to. It would make my brother bleed to see you suffer. I hear you are so damn happy together. Are you? Tell me you are. I want to hear it.”
The corridor seemed to blur and spin out of focus. She could feel the veins in her throat swell as her heart pumped faster. Her mind blanked and all reason fled.
She turned, wishing Radcliff had pistols or swords hanging on the walls. Finding nothing but paintings, she snatched up one of the bronze statues remaining on the side table and made a dash at him.
“You wish to come at me?” he barked, rounding toward her. “Is that what you wish?”
Justine closed the distance between them and whipped her makeshift weapon at his head. He ducked, and it thudded into the wall, sending a painting crashing to the floor. Losing all sense of reason, she jumped forward and snapped out her open hand—sending it flying toward his face.
Carlton caught it before she could make contact, causing her arm to pop back from the swift movement. He bared his teeth and squeezed her entire hand with strong fingers, crushing it. Her vision blurred from the searing pain shooting up the length of her wrist and arm.
She gasped as he forced not only her arm but her entire body straight down toward the marble floor. Although she exerted every ounce of her strength to remain standing against the weight of his heavy body, it was no use.
Her knees cracked against the floor. She gasped again, only this time in disbelief.
Carlton released her hand with a satisfactory grunt by flinging it away and stepped back toward Matilda. He held out a gloved hand. “Come, Matilda.”
Matilda sobbed, shook her head and did not move, her arms still cradling her belly.
“Matilda,” he growled out. “Get up.”
Justine tried to push herself up and onto her feet, only to find Carlton now towering over her. His gaze penetrated her soul. “Stay on the floor.”
“I am not a dog, you bastard,” she seethed up at him, setting her palms on the floor and pushing herself up.
The first blow of his cane bounced off Justine’s back as quickly as it had descended, causing her to gasp as she stumbled forward. Though its deliverance was brutally hard and burned her backside like the touch of fire, she somehow managed to not only straighten, but lunge at him.
The cane descended again, cracking her shoulder before she could reach him. Her knees weakened as pain blinded her, and she fell past his frame, stumbling to the floor.
“What the fuck are you doing?!” someone boomed.
Justine gasped for air and sobbed in disbelief. She tried to push herself up but her arms shook.
Angry shouts and crashing ensued around her.
“I will murder you!” Radcliff�
�s shouts echoed as if she were in a dream. “I will murder you and gladly hang for it!”
Though she could see Radcliff smashing his fist repeatedly into Carlton’s head and violently throwing Carlton up against the wall, causing more paintings to crash to the floor, her mind could only veer toward Matilda who was panting and sobbing beside her.
“Justine!” Radcliff skidded into view on his knees at Justine’s side, clothed only in a pair of trousers. He hovered over her, his hands shakily roaming over her face and shoulders as his bare, muscled chest heaved.
He gathered her gently against his warmth and searched her face frantically, his disheveled dark hair hanging in his eyes. “Justine,” he choked, tears clinging to his eyes. “Jesus Christ. Are you all right?”
“Radcliff,” Justine managed through her own sobs and delirium. “All is well.”
“Your Grace!” Jefferson, along with a swarm of servants, rushed down the length of the corridor toward them. “Your Grace! He forced his way in!”
Jefferson, whose face was gashed, grabbed hold of Carlton, who staggered up from the floor, and dragged him toward the other servants who proceeded to bind him with their own cravats. It was the first time Justine was thankful all their servants were male.
“Bradford,” Matilda panted as she scooted toward them, holding her belly. “Justine.” She let out an anguished cry and rocked momentarily back and forth. “I…I am soaked. The baby. It comes!”
Justine blinked several times and pushed herself out of Radcliff’s arms with shaky hands, her gown cushioning her movements on the floor. Scrambling to her feet, she swayed for a moment, her vision blurring. “Radcliff! The baby. We need a doctor. We need a bed.”
“Justine, please.” Radcliff gently guided her back down to the floor and cupped her face. “Stay here. For God’s sake, don’t move. I will see to her and have the servants call for a doctor. Stay here. I will be right back.”
Justine nodded, then drew in several deep, steady breaths, trying not to allow the core of her pain to overtake the rest of her weakened senses.
Prelude to a Scandal Page 20
