“Why?”
“Sir Robert is there. We’ve something in store for him.”
The explanation was provided without hesitation, and it occurred to her that Connor could have demanded his men’s silence if he’d wanted to keep his true reasons for going to Edinburgh a secret. He didn’t look guilty or ashamed because he hadn’t been trying to lie. In all probability, the idea of doing so hadn’t even crossed his mind.
Perversely, that made her feel worse. It snatched away the comfortable shield of righteous anger that had begun to fill the hole in her chest and left her with only hurt. She didn’t want lies, of course. She wanted honesty from him in all things. But would it have been so difficult to have at least thought of her feelings? Of how an invitation produced as an afterthought might look to her?
“I thought it was a trip for us. I thought you planned it for us, and that it would be about us, and we’d—”She pressed her lips together to stem the rapid flow of words. There was a telling tremor in her voice that embarrassed and frightened her. She hadn’t confronted him with the intention of pointing out the heart on her sleeve. And yet she couldn’t seem to make herself leave. She wanted something from him. A sign, a reason to hope . . . Anything.
A furrow appeared between his brows. “It is for us—”
“It’s not,” she whispered. “It has never been about us. It has always been about your revenge.” Their courtship, their marriage, their daily lives—everything had been based upon, or was arranged around, Sir Robert.
“Revenge?” He rubbed her shoulders. “Adelaide, it’s just a spot of business. It makes sense. If we’re to be there, anyway—”
“Then you might as well placate your wife by bringing her along?” She snorted and grabbed hold of the sliver of anger his words afforded. “Efficiency, thy name is Connor Brice.”
“That is not—”Connor broke off and swore at the sound of a soft knock on the door.
A footman entered, carrying a silver tray with a letter on top. “Missive’s come for you, sir.”
Connor’s hands slid away, leaving her cold. He accepted the letter and dismissed the footman with a nod. And as he read the note, his lips curved into that awful, grim smile.
The sight of it filled her with a profound sense of defeat. “I’ll not go to Edinburgh with you.”
Connor looked up in surprise. “Why not?”
She gestured angrily at the letter in his hand. “Because I’ve no interest in sharing the experience with Sir Robert.”
“What . . . Because of the note?” His expression was one of bewilderment heavily weighted with frustration. “It’s only a note. One note.” He held it out to her. “You can read it, if you like. We can—”
“I don’t want to read it,” she snapped. “I don’t care what it says.”
“You don’t . . .” Astonished, he dropped his arm. “How can you not care?”
“This is your quest, Connor, not mine. Sir Robert has never been my obsession.”
He looked at her as if she were a stranger. “You don’t wish to see him pay? Is that what you’re saying?”
“No—”
The flush of temper crept up his neck as he closed the distance between them. “Do you want me to forgive him? Let him walk away?”
“Of course not.”
“Well, what the devil do you want?”
“I want you to not care so much. Why must your life be centered around Sir Robert?”
“Because he’s a right bastard who has to pay—”
“Then toss him on a ship bound for Australia and have done with it!” She threw her hands up. “For pity’s sake, how much of yourself will you give to him? How long will you set aside everything else in your life and—”
“You . . . That’s what you mean, isn’t it? How long will I set you aside?” A hardness settled over his features and his voice turned cutting. “And I deserve that, do I? Have I been a poor husband, Adelaide? Neglectful of you? Cruel to you?”
“No, of course not. I’d not have—”She snapped her mouth shut before she could finish the thought. She’d not have fallen in love with a cruel man.
“Then what the hell is your objection?” he growled.
His green eyes were sharp with anger and swirling with confusion. And why shouldn’t they be? Adelaide thought. She was poking and prodding and hinting, but never landing the point. Ultimately, she was trying to expose his heart while she guarded her own. It wasn’t fair to either of them.
Taking a deep breath, she held his gaze and spoke softly. “I object because it hurts to see you deny yourself happiness in the pursuit of vengeance. I object because it hurts to be part of the life you reject. I want a real marriage with you. I want . . .” I want your love, she thought. She tried to say it, but the words tangled with the ball of fear caught in her throat. “I want a marriage that has nothing to do with Sir Robert and revenge.”
Connor’s eyes went flat, and for several long moments, he said nothing, gave nothing of his thoughts away. When at last he spoke, his voice was cool and faintly mocking. “We had a bargain, Mrs. Brice. I have my revenge and you have your fifteen thousand pounds. Are you attempting to renegotiate?”
She hadn’t thought of it that way, and though the idea of relinquishing her fortune frightened her, it was a fear she was willing to face. Connor was worth it.
“Yes. Yes, I am.”
A flash of surprise and fear crossed his face. He shook his head slowly. “Too late; you took the money.”
“You may have it back. I would like for you to take it back. I would like our marriage to be like any other. I would like you to . . . to look forward instead of back.”
He balled the note in his hand and tossed it at the hearth with an angry flick of his wrist. “Is this a test, Adelaide?”
She shook her head. Strangely, the more agitated he grew, the more reassured she felt. He’d not be in such a temper unless at least some part of him was tempted by what she offered.
“No,” she said. “It is an offer.”
“The money in exchange for letting Sir Robert go free?”
“No. You may have your revenge. I’ve no protest against seeing Sir Robert get his comeuppance. I welcome it.” Slowly, she reached out and placed the flat of her hand against his chest, and felt the brutal pound of his heart against her palm. “But you can no longer define yourself and your life by it. It can no longer come first. Your anger and your revenge can no longer—”
“Do I come first in your life?” he asked caustically.
Be reckless, she told herself. Be hopeful. Expect more.
“Yes.” Her voice came out remarkably strong and clear. “I love you. There is nothing I would not do for you.”
He shivered at the words. She felt the tremor pass under her fingers. But he said nothing, simply stared at her for what seemed an eternity. Finally, he reached up and pulled her hand away.
“Then allow me this,” he said and let her go.
For a long time after Adelaide’s departure, Connor remained in the library, going through every word of their argument. At least, he tried to go through every word. His mind kept returning to same spot, the same moment.
I love you . . . There is nothing I would not do for you.
Her admission had hit him like a blow to the chest. He’d never known such an instant, irrational and, painful bliss. He’d lost his air, lost his sense of balance. He’d damn near lost his mind. Almost, he’d agreed to her terms. In the first moments after she’d said the words, he’d been willing to agree to anything, anything at all, just to hear her say them again. Fortunately, that moment of lost control had shocked some sense into him.
Bloody hell . . . Let Sir Robert go? Was she mad? He’d waited fifteen bloody years—no, not waited, worked—he’d worked for fifteen bloody years to see the bastard pay. And she expected him to toss it all away because of three little words?
Well, not tossed, he allowed. She’d not asked him to give it up entirely. Have done with
it. That had been her suggestion. As if he and Sir Robert were engaged in a minor quibble. Didn’t she understand the enormity of what had been done, the importance of what needed to be done? How she could claim to love him and not bloody understand?
Suddenly in need of company who had no trouble understanding, Connor left the library in search of his men. Gregory and Michael knew what it meant to seek revenge. They’d not wanted it for as long, but they’d always understood.
He found them in their usual chairs in his study, and after pouring himself a large drink, he took his own seat and explained his situation . . . In part, anyway. He skirted around a few details of the argument, and Adelaide’s confession of love he kept to himself, but the basics were relayed.
As he unburdened himself, he began to feel better. His men would stand behind him, offer a bit of well-meaning, if useless, advice, and otherwise prove their loyalty to him and the revenge they’d all worked so hard to obtain. Comradery always helped to put a man at ease. He sure as hell hoped it would ease whatever nasty bit of unpleasantness was chewing on the inside of his chest.
He rubbed at it without realizing and took another long drink of his brandy before finishing up his recitation. “I told her no, naturally. I’ll make it up—”
“Devil’s the matter with you?” Michael demanded.
Connor blinked at the outburst and set his drink down slowly. “Nothing is the—”
Gregory looked at him as if he’d grown a second head. “Putting aside your own wife?”
“I’ve not put her aside.”
“Aye, but you’ve put her after.” Michael shook his head in disgust. “A man thinks of his family first.”
Gregory nodded, lifted his glass in agreement. “His children, if he’s having any. Then his wife, then everything else.”
“Priorities, boy.”
“I know what my priorities are.” Damn it, this was not what he’d come to the study for. “Sir Robert—”
“Ain’t going nowhere,” Michael told him, before leaning back in his chair, his round face tightening into a challenging expression. “More’n what might be said for your wife.”
“She’s upstairs,” Connor ground out. “Not missing.”
“For now.”
“For good,” he snapped. Whatever was gnawing on his chest clamped down with iron jaws. “She’s not going anywhere.”
Michael mulled that over a bit before asking. “What if she did? What if she went missing?”
The jaws gnashed and ground. “She’ll not.”
“But if she did,” Michael pressed. “If she decides she don’t want a husband what puts her last. What then? Would you look for her?”
“I don’t put her last.” He reached for his glass, discovered it empty, and swore. “And of course I’d bloody look for her. What sort of question is that?”
Gregory shared a quick look with Michael. “Aye, but would you be looking for her if your brother went missing as well?”
“If he kidnapped her?” That question was more ridiculous than the last. He’d never let it happen. “What—?”
“Not kidnapped,” Michael cut in, rolling his eyes. “Gone missing at the same time. Adelaide’s left you. Sir Robert’s gone off to hide in the laps of luxury and a pretty tart.”
Connor pinched the bridge of his nose and prayed for patience. “If there is a point to be made by these questions, make it now.”
“Who are you going after?” Gregory huffed with impatience. “Your wife or Sir Robert?”
“Both.” He’d find Adelaide, lock her in their chambers, then he’d hunt down the baronet.
Michael swore and tossed his hands up in defeat. “Boy’s friggin hopeless.”
Gregory muttered something about wood and forests. “Now listen carefully, lad; you know what’s being asked of you. Which are you wanting more, your wife or your revenge?” Gregory jabbed a finger at him in a rare show of temper. “And don’t you be telling me both. You’ll answer the question as I put it to you, or I’ll be taking a strap to your hide. Not so bleeding big I can’t beat some respect into you.”
Connor struggled between his threatened pride and the respect Gregory demanded. He itched to call Gregory on his bluff—Try it, old man—and knew damn well he’d cut out his own tongue before it could form the words.
Pushing away from the desk, he rose to pour himself another drink at the sideboard.
He wasn’t the one being unreasonable. They wanted a simple answer to a complicated question. That wasn’t the way the world was fashioned. Nothing was black and white. There were no absolutes, no definitive rights or wrongs. But if they wanted an empty, useless answer, they could have it.
Did Adelaide mean more to him than his revenge, or didn’t she?
He forced himself to contemplate the notion of failing in his revenge. Sir Robert deserved to hurt. He deserved to suffer for every stolen coin, every second of hunger, every moment of fear and cold and misery. And Connor very much wanted to be the cause of that suffering, not just for himself but for Adelaide and his men.
That played into the question, didn’t it? It damn well should. How could he want Adelaide and not want to butcher the man who’d hurt her?
“Sodding black and white.”
“What’s that, boy?”
“I’m thinking,” he snapped over his shoulder.
Though it chaffed, he pushed aside the matter of what was owed to Adelaide and his men and imagined how he would react if Sir Robert disappeared in the night, never to be seen or heard from again. He’d be furious. Without question, he would gnash his teeth over the loss of vengeance for a good long while. But eventually . . . Eventually he would learn to live with it. He’d not be happy about it, but, probably, he could learn to be happy without it, or at least around it. He’d survive.
Satisfied with the conclusion, he took a drink of his brandy and turned his thoughts to Adelaide.
If something happened to Adelaide . . .
The teeth in his chest tore viciously.
If she went missing . . .
His stomach twisted into a sick knot.
If she were never seen or heard from again . . .
The brandy turned to acid in his throat.
He set his drink down with a hand that shook. Holy hell, he couldn’t even get past the question. He couldn’t bring himself to think of what his world would be like without Adelaide. He’d all but torn his hair out when she’d been gone for half a day. How could he even fathom a lifetime without her? How could he contemplate what it would be like to live, day after day, without seeing her smile, hearing her voice, feeling her warm and safe in his arms?
He needed her. It was as plain as that. He wanted revenge. He craved it. But Adelaide, he needed. It was a terrifying and humbling realization.
The thirst for vengeance, he understood. It involved cause and effect. It had a definable beginning, middle, and end. Vengeance was due because Sir Robert had destroyed a part of his life. The thirst would be quenched when the favor had been returned. It was simple, quantifiable, and most important, manageable. The nature of the revenge, the steps between beginning and end, the length of time it took to reach the goal, those were entirely up to him. Even the depth to which he wanted his revenge was, to a degree, within his power to alter.
But this need for Adelaide, he had no power over that. Because unlike a desire for vengeance, what he felt for Adelaide could not be quantified, managed, or defined. Unlike vengeance, love was not something he could control.
Connor closed his eyes and swallowed a groan.
Bloody, bloody hell, he was in love with his wife.
Every fiber of his being rejected the notion. He despised not being in control. He had no experience with love. This sort of love, anyway. He wasn’t a stranger to other sorts. He’d loved his mother and father, and though wild horses come from an icy hell couldn’t drag the admission from his mouth at present, he loved Gregory and Michael. The first had been the love between child and paren
ts. It came naturally, existed simply because they existed. Gregory and Michael—well, that was nearly as easy. They were the same as him. They wanted the same things, held the same expectations.
But this, what he felt for Adelaide . . . It was an altogether different sort of love. It was enormous, overwhelming, dangerous. It had the power to strip him of his pride and required he give over a part of himself, even all of himself.
“Son of a bitch.”
“Come to a decision, have you?” Michael’s cheerful voice grated.
Connor forced himself to turn and face his men.
“Yes,” he said. “I want Adelaide more. She means more.” She meant everything.
Michael nodded, then shrugged. “Then show her.”
Despite the fear churning in his system, Connor chuckled. Show her. What a charming bit of advice from a man whose only known romantic gesture was to slip his favorite Boston barmaid a crown before he left for Scotland. Several times her usual fee.
“It’s not that simple,” he muttered. He’d given Adelaide fifteen thousand pounds. He sincerely doubted she’d be moved by a tumble and a coin.
Even agreeing to limit the time he spent on planning revenge would likely prove inadequate now. He imagined offering his heart, laying open his soul to Adelaide and watching her toss it aside.
Then allow me this.
Guilt flooded him and was closely followed by the fiery lick of panic.
Oh, hell. Oh, hell.
“I need to think.”
He’d apologize. He’d take the words back. He’d make it up to her.
Vaguely, he was aware of returning to his seat. Mostly, he was focused on how futile and trite it would be to make yet another apology. He’d hurt her more than he could hope to make up for. Why the devil should she accept his apology now? Why would she even believe it? She’d offered him everything, more than he’d even thought to hope for, and out of fear and selfishness, he’d tossed it all aside as if it meant nothing.
An Unexpected Gentleman (The Haverston Family Trilogy Book 2) Page 28
