Ever My Love: The Lore of the Lucius Ring (The Legend of the Theodosia Sword Book 2)

by Kathryn Le Veque

  She decided to pin all her ire on the earl. For the moment, at least.

  This was all probably his fault anyway.

  Chapter Nine

  Charles had no idea why Britannia returned from her meeting with Peter mad at him.

  He wasn’t the one who had taken up with another woman. He wasn’t the one who had lied about being a groom when he was really a lord of the realm.

  He wasn’t the one who had abandoned the most beautiful, scintillating woman in the world.

  Needless to say, dinner that evening was awkward.

  For one thing, he’d never dined with a groom before.

  And for another thing, there were two furious women at the table.

  Britannia’s ire was bad enough, but when one added his sister, Chelsea, into the mix, it became downright dangerous for a man to open his mouth.

  Caesar was the only one who seemed amused by the entire kerfuffle. He sat back in his chair and gleefully consumed his dinner as he watched the others play round-robin with glares.

  For Charles’ part, all he wanted was a moment alone with Britannia—or perhaps more than a moment—to talk over what she had discovered and see if she had finally released her irrational devotion to Peter Devon.

  More to the point, if she intended to keep her promise and consider Charles as an alternative.

  Although, with the glances she was sending him, it was highly unlikely.

  So then, it became germane to discover why she was so furious.

  Honestly, he had no clue.

  He decided to approach the topic subtly, to gently lead the conversation in the direction he desired.

  But again, it was dangerous for a man to speak. The only word he uttered was a tentative, “So…” before she whirled on him with a glower.

  “You knew,” she said in a snarled whisper. The fury of it took him aback.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Beg all you want.” Damn. Her tone was frigid.

  He firmed his chin. “I, ahem, knew what?”

  “You knew that John St. Andrews was in love with your sister.”

  “I knew he was interested. I did not know it was love.”

  “It is definitely love,” Peter said, staring at Chelsea, who sniffed.

  “You might have told me it was love. And what’s more, you might have told me,” Chelsea’s voice rose to a dull roar, “that you had a fiancée!”

  “Men,” Britannia huffed, to which Chelsea nodded.

  Well, lovely. At least the two of them were attuned.

  “I do agree with Tannia,” Caesar drawled, taking a gulp of Charles’ most expensive wine. “You should have told her that Peter had a lover—”

  “We are hardly lovers,” Chelsea shouted.

  Peter went white. “Who said we were lovers?” He turned to Chelsea. “Did you tell your brother we were lovers?”

  “Why would I have told him anything? He is an irrational stick.”

  “I beg your pardon,” Charles felt the need to interject. “I am not a stick.”

  “In fact,” Caesar continued, utterly indifferent to the mayhem swirling around him, “you should have told her in London. Then none of this would have to have happened.”

  Ah, what a horrible, awful, dismal thought. As uncomfortable as this dinner was, if this journey had never happened, he would never have had a chance to kiss Britannia. Certainly no chance to woo her.

  Although the wooing was, admittedly, not going well.

  “What nonsense,” Britannia said in response to her brother’s assertion. “I would still have come.”

  “Knowing your fiancé might have been unfaithful? You would have come all this way just to see if he was Peter?” Caesar gaped at his sister.

  “Of course I would have,” she snipped. “I honor my promises.” Why she glared at Charles was a mystery.

  “I keep my promises,” he insisted, but she ignored him.

  “Beyond that, I could never have moved on without knowing what happened to you,” she said to Peter. That she said it with such warmth made the fish in Charles’ stomach start swimming again.

  A flush rose on Peter’s face. “I appreciate that, Tannia. And I apologize. I know it was wrong of me.” He turned to Chelsea. “It was wrong of me to keep my true identity from you as well.”

  Apparently this tactic worked. Both women were soothed by this unabashed apology. So much so that Charles decided to give it a try.

  “And I am sorry as well, that I neglected to tell you the truth about John and my sister.”

  Oh. Apparently, Britannia had run out of mercy. Her glower was scorching.

  She stood, tossed her napkin on her plate and stormed from the room.

  Caesar watched her leave with the hint of a smile on his face. “Well,” he said. “That didn’t go well.”

  Charles sighed. “How long do you think she will stay mad?” he asked.

  “Difficult to say,” Caesar said, his annoying smile broadening. “Say, do you have any more of this lovely wine?”

  Britannia headed for the garden, her mind in a whirl. She was still furious with Charles—but oddly enough, not so angry with Peter. Beyond that, she was buffeted by a myriad of emotions. There was a hint of relief that her betrothal with Peter had ended and, of course, guilt for that relief. There was a great deal of confusion, as well. She’d spent years imagining her future with Peter. It was difficult to let that go, even considering the swell of excitement at the thought of being free. And then there were her feelings for Charles, which bewildered her as well.

  She’d been attracted to him since the moment they’d met, though she’d made a valiant effort to convince herself it was nothing more than simple lust. But in the past weeks, as she’d come to know him better, those feelings had deepened. His kiss had thrown her into a tumult, steeping her in a forbidden desire.

  The thought that she could now consider a different path was almost too much for her to contemplate.

  So she focused on the anger at him.

  Although, if she was being honest, she wasn’t angry that he’d failed to mention Peter’s betrayal. Her ire with him stemmed from the turmoil he’d created in her soul. The way he made her ache, want, feel.

  Peter had never made her lose her temper. Never caused her frustration. Never made her weak with a glance. The Irritating Earl of Wick did all that and more. He was a provoking man on so many levels.

  She sucked in a deep breath and allowed the cool night air and the scent of flowers to soothe her soul. Hopefully it would help her make some sense of this riot churning within.

  “Are you all right?”

  Britannia spun around at Chelsea’s soft question. She stood in a shaft of moonlight, an expression of concern on her lovely face. And she was lovely. It was easy to see why Peter had fallen for her.

  “I… I’m not sure.”

  Chelsea smiled. It was tinged with sympathy and compassion. “It is a bit of a mess, all this.”

  Britannia had no clue why she laughed. “It is.”

  “I swear, I dinna know John was betrothed. I would never have…”

  “I know.” Britannia took Chelsea’s hand. “I know. I think it is fair for both of us to blame the men in this.”

  Chelsea nodded with alacrity. “Oh, I totally agree.”

  “So…” Britannia fixed her gaze on Chelsea. “Do you love him?”

  “I do.” Her response was a whisper. “Do you?”

  Britannia opened her mouth to answer, but the words stuck in her throat. She did love Peter. She always had. But the feelings she had for him did not compare to the emotions Charles incited.

  She nodded and Chelsea paled. “I see. I…won’t stand between you. How could I?” The anguish in her tone tugged at Britannia’s heart.

  “Chelsea. Wait. I do love Peter. I always will, but…” She sighed and turned toward the vista of Wick Bay in the distance.

  “But…what?”

  “It was a girlish love. I know that now. I was
in love with the idea of love, I think. In love with the idea of marrying Peter simply because it was the only dream I had then.”

  “Then?”

  Britannia swallowed heavily. “Yes. You see, I met someone else while Peter was missing…” Oh, how difficult it was to admit. But at the same time, something of a relief. “Someone who made me feel…”

  “Feel what?”

  “I don’t know how to explain it other than to say, he made me feel…alive.”

  Chelsea chuckled. “That’s how John makes me feel. When he smiles, when he kisses me. When he walks into view.”

  “Yes. Exactly. But he annoys me as well.” When he smiled. When he kissed her. When he walked into view.

  “Hmm.” Chelsea nodded. “That sounds like love.”

  Britannia blinked. “I always imagined love was a peaceful thing. A safe place. A sanctuary. Not this constant…angst.”

  “I can only speak for myself, but I have to say, when I first met John, when we first realized we had feelings for each other, it was difficult.”

  “How so?”

  “He was a groom. I was the earl’s sister. He felt he wasn’t good enough for me. Beyond that, he resisted our attraction because he didn’t remember who he was. I think, even then, he felt conflicted. Perhaps a part of him did remember that he was promised to someone else.”

  “Did he tell you when his memory returned?”

  Chelsea’s expression soured. “No, he did not.”

  “I hope you scold him heartily for that.”

  “Oh, I intend to. Trust me.” Her lashes flickered. “So Britannia, do you forgive me for stealing your betrothed?”

  “Forgive you?” She stared at the girl in shock. “There is nothing to forgive. You didn’t steal him. None of this was intentional on your part.”

  “Can you forgive Peter?”

  It only took a moment of thought. “Yes. I can.” And the reason she could so easily release all of her pain and anger was a surprise.

  Or maybe not a surprise, as much as a blinding realization.

  She loved Peter. But only as a friend.

  Charles…

  Well, Charles was much, much more. Charles was her heart’s desire.

  That annoying, vexing, tempting, irresistible man.

  She loved him with everything in her. So much, that if he did not return her feelings, she thought for certain she would expire. Life would cease to have meaning without him in it. The Lucius Ring could claim its victim and she would hardly care.

  Upon reflection, she wasn’t sure she liked love at all. Just as the wild adventure she’d always craved, it was far too treacherous.

  She turned to Chelsea and took both her hands. “I hope you and Peter will be very happy together.”

  “Oh thank you!” Chelsea pulled her into a long hug with lots of rocking and a plethora of pats and sobs. There might have been a tear or two on her part, but Britannia brushed them away. “And what about you?” Chelsea asked. “What about the man you met? Could you have a future with him? Does he love you as well?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Her hopeful expression fell. “Oh, Britannia. I am sorry.”

  “I will have to find out, I suppose.” It was a dismaying feeling, this. To realize she loved Charles with all her heart while not knowing how he felt. How he really felt. She knew he found her attractive. She knew he didn’t mind kissing her. An affair would probably be acceptable to him, as long as her father never found out.

  But they’d never talked about this. Not really. They’d never spoken of anything other than what might happen between them should John not be her betrothed.

  Britannia glanced down at the ring on her finger, the one with a suddenly ghastly curse attached. She’d never put much stock in the stories her mother and grandmother told her, never worried about being alone for eternity. But only because she hadn’t really understood what it could mean.

  Life without Charles was a devastating prospect.

  No matter how much he annoyed her. No matter how much easier things would be without this complicated relationship. No matter what.

  She sighed. “I should probably talk to him.”

  Chelsea blinked. “Talk to him?”

  Britannia offered a sad smile. “Haven’t you realized who it is yet?”

  “Not Charles?” She stared at Britannia and, at her nod, threw her arms around her once more with a squeal. “Oh, that is brilliant!”

  Was it? Was it brilliant?

  Or was it a disaster?

  “I’m nervous.”

  Chelsea grinned. “Don’t be. I’m sure he adores you as well.”

  “How can you say that? You’ve just met me.”

  “He stared at you all through dinner. And he did not look pleased.”

  “That is my point, exactly. He’s been a bear since we arrived.”

  “Can you see why? If he does have feelings for you? Being forced to see you reunited with your fiancé? Not certain how things will turn out?”

  Britannia put out a lip. “That is no excuse to be rude.”

  “Charles is rarely rude. But when he is, there is a reason. And being a man, as he is, it’s usually because he’s not getting his way.”

  Oh, that was a lovely thought. “Do you really think so?”

  “I think the only way you can find out is by asking him.”

  So true.

  The thought also made her stomach churn. What if, when put to the point, he did not share her deeper feelings? What if she was the only one interested in pursuing this tension between them? What if—

  It was pointless to wonder. She needed to speak with Charles.

  If he wasn’t interested in her, so be it. She would leave posthaste even though it would break her heart and, indeed, condemn her to a lifetime of loneliness.

  Oh, not because of any old ring. Or curse. Or family legend. But because she knew now, there was no other man for her.

  If she could not have Charles, she didn’t want anyone at all.

  “Britannia?”

  Her pulse lurched and she whirled around to find the object of her thoughts standing in the shadows, hovering at the entrance of the garden.

  “Y-yes?”

  He hesitated. Kicked the toe of his shoe into the grass. “May I have a moment of your time?”

  Britannia glanced at Chelsea, who attempted to hide her smile. She patted Britannia on the shoulder. “I shall leave you two alone.” And then she leaned in and whispered, “Good luck.”

  She watched as Chelsea headed back to the house, desperately attempting to calm herself. It didn’t help that Charles stepped closer. But didn’t touch her, thank God. She needed to focus on her questions and she knew if he so much as breathed on her, her attention would shatter.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt,” he said softly.

  “Chelsea and I were done speaking.”

  “Were you?” He toyed with a protruding branch, most likely to have something to do with his hands. “What did you talk about?”

  “Peter. Or John.”

  “And?”

  “She loves him.”

  “I…ah… How do you feel about that?”

  She sucked in a deep breath and locked her gaze on his face. “May I ask you something, Charles?”

  He blinked. “Of course.”

  “How disappointed were you? When we discovered John was Peter?”

  He didn’t answer, but his fingers tightened on the branch. It snapped.

  “I’d really like to know, Charles.” The fact that he’d been so blasé, so casual about it, had devastated her.

  His lashes flickered. His Adam’s apple bobbed. Without meeting her gaze he said, “I…ah…was verra disappointed.”

  “You didn’t seem upset.”

  “Upset? Upset?” A snort. He pinned her with his icy-sharp gaze. “Do you no’ know? Can you no’ see it?”

  Her heart fluttered. Her head went light. “See what?”

  He grimaced
and turned away, which made her heart flutter in panic. But then he pinned her with an intense stare and whispered, “Can you no’ see how much I need you?”

  Yes. Yes.

  “You need me?”

  His stare intensified. His features went taut. “Aye.”

  “So why did you act like you didn’t care when I found Peter again?”

  He huffed a laugh. “Surely that is not a mystery to you?”

  “Clearly it is.”

  “Do you intend to humble me utterly, Britannia Halsey?”

  Humble him? What had she ever done to humble him? “Tell me. Please.”

  “How should I act when the woman I love is reunited with the love of her life?”

  The woman he loved? Oh lord, had he said that? Had he truly said that?

  “He’s not,” she blurted.

  Charles blinked. “What?”

  “He’s not the love of my life.” She took his hands and stared into his eyes, willing all her adoration to shine through.

  He must have missed it, for he broke away and raked his hair with his fingers. “Beyond that, you are the daughter of a duke. You’ve lived in London your whole life.”

  “I rather prefer the country.”

  He ignored her. “And what am I? Naught but a lowly Scot. A savage. A lesser soul?”

  “No. No. Never.” She tugged on his arm until he turned to her. “Never. Never that.”

  “Then what?” His tone was ragged, his eyes red-rimmed.

  “What are you to me?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  Her heart swelled. “Everything. You are everything to me.”

  To her aggravation, he did not seem to believe her. He stood rigid, his expression harsh. “My life is here. In Scotland.” He gestured to the lovely garden, the beautiful vista beyond the shore, dappled in moonlight as it was. “A far cry from the life you lead in London. I couldn’t ask you to—”

  “I hated that life. Hated those parties. Hated pretending. Hated interacting with insincere and arrogant members of the ton.” She stepped closer and took hold of his sleeve as though, by that small gesture, she could claim him. Keep him.