The Lady’s Sinful Secret

by Kelly Boyce

  Arran’s heart stilled. “What are you talking about?”

  “I did not know who you were. Your name was never to be spoken in our home, your very existence ignored. But I still remember the threats. Blackbourne’s promises to destroy you and your family should she not hold up her end of the agreement.”

  Back then, Arran’s father had borrowed money from Blackbourne to expand the estate’s resources. If Blackbourne wanted, he could have called in those debts. They could have lost everything. But Douglas Sutherland was not a man who took defeat sitting down. “My family would have survived regardless of what he tried to do. She could have left him.”

  Nicholas barked out a laugh and shook his head, giving Arran a look that clearly imparted what an idiot he thought he was. It rankled. “If my mother had left Blackbourne, she would have had to leave me behind with a man who hated and resented my very existence. Would that have been a more palatable solution for you? Do you think she would have lived happily ever after knowing she had forfeited her son for her own desires? That she had left me in harm’s way?”

  Arran turned away from Nicholas’s question, but the words battered against his back. Sickened him. Refused to be ignored. He turned and sank into one of the chairs facing the fire as the truth blasted through him like a cannonball, taking chunks out of the resentment and anger and leaving behind a landscape he did not recognize.

  Had he not been so hurt and angry, would he have seen the truth of it? And if he had, would it have changed things? Would he have seen the wisdom of her decision and agreed it would be for the best? That ruining the lives of others so they could have what they wanted would never bring them the happiness they sought. Or would his pride and anger have made him behave recklessly, risking their futures and that of their son?

  He had no answer. Or rather he did, but could not yet give it voice. Because in doing so it robbed him of his ability to beat his chest and brand himself the victim. But were his injuries any more severe than hers? Had he not gone on with his life? Married and had a son while she had been consigned to a marriage that amounted to little more than a prison sentence. What had her life been like, living every day, knowing what she did, and what he didn’t?

  For a time, he’d wished that she lived each day with the misery of her mistake, that she suffered as he did. Guilt stabbed at him. She had not made a mistake at all. She had made a sacrifice. She had offered herself up so that his life would be untouched by Blackbourne’s wrath. So that their son and Arran’s family would not be destroyed in the fallout.

  Glory had more bravery than any soldier he’d stood next to on the battlefield, and not once had she faltered in her cause. Not once had she asked for his help, knowing if he offered it Blackbourne would have destroyed everyone she held dear.

  But what had it cost her?

  “Did she know no happiness at all?”

  Nicholas sighed. For a moment, Arran watched a flicker of guilt cross his features and realized even without knowing the full story, their son had been aware of the sacrifice she’d made for him. That she had protected him as best she could and given him a better life than he would have had if she had left her husband to run off with another man.

  “She had moments, with Rebecca and me. Times when Blackbourne was away and she could let down her guard. But it took its toll.” He shook his head and his voice softened. “When he died, all I could think of was, thank God she’s free of him now. I have never known a woman of such strength and determination. At least not until I met my wife.”

  “I did not know.” But how hard had he tried? He had been so wrapped up in his own bitterness, he’d turned a blind eye to everything else. He refused to entertain any idea that didn’t paint her in the role of villain and he, the victim. It was easier that way. It gave his hurt and anger a place to go.

  But he hadn’t been the true victim at all. He had been able to walk away, while she and Nicholas had been left behind with a man who hated Glory for her betrayal and resented Nicholas for being born. What had he endured that came close to that?

  The realization crawled over him like a sickness, peeling away the years and rebuilding them in a new light. He wrapped his arms around his middle as if he could contain it or hold it at bay. He could not.

  Glory had stayed with Blackbourne to protect her son.

  Their son.

  A slow breath eased out of him, the anger and bitterness seeping away with it, leaving plenty of room for self-incrimination and harsh reality. He had treated her abominably, knowing what he did now. How would she ever forgive him his harsh words? Likely she would not. She had offered him an olive branch, a second chance, and he had batted it away like a petulant child. If she refused to speak to him again, it was nothing less than he deserved.

  He waved a hand toward the other chair. “Sit. Please. I have a feeling there is much more for us to discuss.”

  His son hesitated. He did not blame him. But after a moment, he issued a grave nod and father and son talked well into the night.

  * * *

  “You have been an absolute bear, brother dear. I wonder if perhaps we should not send you off to hibernate until this pique you are in ends.” Beatris sipped from the tea delivered upon her arrival in the sitting room. She had returned home earlier in the day, her meeting with the Duke and Duchess Franklyn not going quite as well as she had planned. It appeared her son was less enamored of the Duke’s daughter than Beatris had hoped and she’d left her husband behind in the city for the purpose of changing their son’s mind.

  Arran had purposely chosen the sitting room for his breakfast as he’d thought his sister would not think to look for him here. Unfortunately, it appeared his older sibling had a sixth sense when it came to his whereabouts.

  “If my mood is so unbearable, perhaps you should find somewhere else to drink your tea,” Arran stated, staring out the window. Dark clouds approached from the north, promising an autumn storm was on its way. He welcomed it, a clear reflection of his mood these past two days as he wrestled with what he knew, what he had done.

  How close he’d stood to a second chance with Glory. And how quickly he had allowed his pride and anger to destroy it.

  “Nonsense. How am I ever to get to the bottom of what has you in such a state if I do not sit here and interrogate you mercilessly?”

  He closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against the cool glass. “Oh, please don’t.”

  He heard the smile in her tone when she answered. “Now, you know better than that, Arran. I simply lack the ability to walk away and leave my baby brother in turmoil.”

  “I am not a baby.”

  “Then perhaps you could stop sulking like one and tell me what is wrong.”

  She would not leave. And if he tried to, she would follow, dogging his every step until he finally relented. He let out a long, slow breath. What did it matter? Perhaps the scandal of his fathering a son with a married woman would horrify her to such a degree she would let the matter drop and never mention it again.

  “I have received news that has distressed me.”

  “About the Earl of Blackbourne?”

  Arran spun around on his heel and faced his sister, his eyes wide. Did she possess the sight? He’d heard stories of relatives from generations past who had made such claims. He had always pushed it aside as pure balderdash, but—

  “Oh heavens, Arran, don’t look so shocked. Judith was most worried and I wormed what information I could out of her.”

  “Then you know he is my son?”

  “I do.” She gave a wry smile. “Quite a pickle, I will admit, and likely a good thing Father is long since dead and buried as I’m sure he would have a pretty word or two to say on the matter.”

  Arran made a face. Falling in love with Glory had displeased his father greatly, but Arran, possessing all the brashness of youth, ignored him, selfishly wanting what he wanted and not looking beyond the ramifications his actions would cause.

  Unlike Glory.

 
“I made a horrible mistake, blaming her for everything that happened between us,” he admitted, saying the words aloud for the first time. “She tried to explain but I…”

  He stopped and shook his head, his shoulders drooping in defeat.

  “You likely railed at her and then stormed off.”

  He clenched his teeth, the back molars grinding against each other. His sister knew him too well. “Perhaps.”

  “Hm. Well, tell me this then,” Beatris said, stopping long enough to take another sip of tea. “When Callum makes a mistake, what counsel do you give him to rectify the situation?”

  “I tell him to apologize to the injured party and make amends.”

  “Well, there you have it. Your own words have given you a solution to your problem.”

  “I have made grievous errors. Said things I cannot retract. Caused her much hurt.”

  Beatris set her cup and saucer on the silver tea tray and stood, walking over to him to take his hands in hers. “My dear brother. You need to stop seeing everything as only black or white. Life exists in all different shades. Go. Talk to her. Listen to what she has to say and then go from there. If you do not at least do that, you will regret it for the rest of your life.”

  “I can’t imagine there is much room left inside of me for regret.”

  “Oh, sweetheart—” She patted his cheek and smiled. “There is always room for more regret.”

  He feared Beatris was right. Outside, the dark clouds rumbled and made good on their promise as the first raindrops splattered against the window behind him.

  Chapter Eleven

  The next two days dragged by, the unrelenting minutes growing slower with each swing of the pendulum in the old clock atop the mantle of the solar. Gloria had sent Abigail to bed over an hour earlier. Her daughter-in-law’s well-intended hovering had exhausted her and yet she remained restless and unable to sleep. Her family meant well and she loved them for it, but her heart wanted nothing more than to surround itself in silence and lick its grievous wounds. Now that the last of the party guests who had stayed at Sheridan Park had departed for their own homes ahead of the rain, she could do just that.

  Arran was lost to her forever. The revelation of a lifetime of secrets had made that fact painfully clear.

  She rose from the chaise and walked to the window, staring out into the night. Rainclouds smothered the moon and stars, turning the night inky black and pelting the earth with their fury.

  With a sigh, she turned from the darkness and rain and left the solar to find the solace of her bedchamber. Perhaps she could pull the covers over her head and sleep until the worst of the pain abated. How long would it take? A week? A month? A lifetime?

  She gave a sad smile as she passed through her bedroom door and closed it behind her. Time had a strange kind of irrelevancy now. She had told her truth. Those who needed to know did. There was nothing else she could do.

  Perhaps that was the worst of it. She could not fix it. She could not undo the pain she had caused. Or take back the secrets she had kept. Nor could she claim she would have done anything differently upon discovering she carried Arran’s child.

  The carved wood of her oak door pressed into her back as she leaned against it. A fire burned low in the hearth, chasing out the damp and replacing it with a comforting warmth. She breathed in the scent of it. In a moment, she would need to call for Doreen to assist her in undressing, but not yet. She opened her eyes and pushed away from the door to sit near the fire. Perhaps the flames would penetrate the cold that had invaded her bones.

  Before she reached the chair, a shadow flickered at the corner of her vision, out of place within the stillness of the room. She whirled about to face it, her heart instantly in her throat as a figure approached, the darkness slipping away from him like water off a duck’s back. Unlike a duck, however, this intruder was quite drenched.

  “How did you get in here?”

  Arran stepped closer, stopping at the corner of her bed. He had removed his coat, but his buckskin breeches bore stains from the rain and his hair was damp and in disarray.

  A host of memories rushed forth from the last time they occupied this space, bringing with them a longing she could not contain or control. “The same way I did over thirty years ago. I sneaked in. With a little assistance this time from your daughter and her husband, I might add.”

  Hope soared within her breast, but her injured heart held it fast, kept it tethered. She had learned her lesson in that regard. Likely he wanted nothing more than to hear the rest of the story. Or to berate her for the parts he already knew. She gripped her hands together and pressed into her abdomen, braced for whatever was to come.

  He approached her, an apparition pieced together from memory and heartbreak. He stopped in front of her and reached out a hand to lift the locket at her breast. As he had only days ago—was it really only days?—he pressed his thumb against the clasp and with slow, deliberate movements, lifted the top. His thumb gently brushed the lock of Nicholas’s hair curled within.

  “I spoke to our son,” he whispered.

  Her gaze lifted swiftly to his, but his expression gave nothing away. “When?”

  “He came to visit me the night of the party.”

  “I did not know. He said nothing to me.”

  The corner of Arran’s mouth lifted slightly as he continued to stare at the inky black curl. “Ah, well, he said plenty to me. It seems he was quite displeased with my behavior toward you and decided I needed to be educated on all the things I did not know.”

  Her heart pounded against her ribs. “What did he say?”

  “He told me of Blackbourne’s threats to destroy my family and our son. I had no idea.” He closed the locket and looked up at her then and for the first time the hardness of his gaze softened. “And he called me a coward.”

  “You are not a coward.”

  “On the contrary. I abandoned you. Your rejection of me in favor of Blackbourne injured my pride and bruised my ego and so I turned tail and ran. I blamed you for everything, just as I did the other night. When I first learned you were with child, a part of me wondered…feared it might be mine. I sent letters, but—”

  “You did?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  She shook her head. “Blackbourne must have intercepted them before they reached me.”

  “Which explains why it was he who responded to them, telling me you were happy with your new position and that the babe belonged to him.”

  She took in a swift breath and pain twisted in her chest. How it must have felt to receive such a letter! “I had no idea he had done such a thing. I had no part in it, I swear to you.”

  He nodded. “I realize that now. But at the time, I was ready to swoop in to rescue you like some knight in shining armor. Instead, I allowed his words to harden my heart against you. Dammit, Glory! I should have known better! I should have come for you.”

  Gloria reached up and placed a hand over Arran’s where he continued to grip the locket. “There was nothing you could have done. Nothing either of us could have done. In the eyes of the law, I was Blackbourne’s property. He had claimed Nicholas as his own to save his reputation and pride. If I had tried to leave him—”

  “He would have kept the boy.”

  “Yes. I couldn’t leave Nicholas to him. Blackbourne was a heartless man. He resented our son and as the years went on and I did not give birth to another son of his blood, his resentment turned to loathing. He needed Nicholas or the title and lands would pass to a distant cousin he despised. He would not have it. But it did not stop him from treating our son like an interloper. In the end, he left Nicholas nothing more than the title and entailed properties. The rest went to Rebecca.” She shook her head, the memories painful even now. “I did the best I could to protect him, but it was never enough.”

  “He told me what you did. What you endured. If I had known, I would have come for you regardless. Why did you not send for me?”

  “I did. I
wrote you when I discovered I carried our child. I begged you to come, to save me. Save us.”

  He shook his head. “A letter I never received. Shall I assume he intercepted yours as well?”

  She nodded. “Yes, although I did not discover this until years later. At the time, I assumed you wanted nothing to do with us.”

  “I wanted everything to do with you.” Closing the locket, he let it go and cupped her face, his hands calloused and cold. His touch set off a fire deep in her belly. “God help me, I still do. The moment I saw you again, I knew I could no longer deny it. Your absence has haunted me since the moment I left that bed behind us and it has tormented me every day since. But your son—our son—was correct. I have been a coward. And a fool. I let pride shut my eyes to what you suffered so I might wallow in my own hurt and bitterness. I locked my heart away and refused to listen when the sight of you, your very nearness, made it whisper once again. I turned away. Again and again.”

  His words cut the tethers and the hope in her heart lifted, set free. “But you are here now, as am I. That is enough.”

  He looked at her, into her, and awakened every sensation he had ever evoked within her. “You are far too forgiving.”

  “I am far too cognoscente of the passing of time. We have lost three decades. I do not wish to lose another day, do you?”

  “I do not.” He smiled and it stirred a commotion inside of her that refused to be tamped down. How she wanted this man. Had always wanted him. Dreamed of this moment without ever believing it could truly happen. And now here he was, standing in her bedchamber, his hand touching her skin, his lips but a breath away.

  “What shall you do about it then?”