In former times, the aristocracy would come up to London for the Season which was held between March through early summer. After which, they would return to their ancestral seats or travel. But then, I’m not part of the aristocracy and retiring to the mausoleum known as Winterleagh Castle will never be in the cards for Gabriel and me.
“Oh, no, I’ll be working.”
“Working?” The marchioness next to Gabriel stares at me as if I’ve grown two heads.
“Yes. I’m studying to become a lawyer and will be working at an international firm. To gain experience.”
“Not with your husband’s company?” The marchioness asks, her head gravitating between Gabriel and me. “How odd.”
“No. I—I deemed it more advantageous to work in another firm.”
“Where?”
“Payne Industries.”
“Ravensworth’s company.” Somebody down the table says.
“But. I don’t understand,” the marchioness says.
“If I may?” Sebastian offers.
I nod. “Lady Winterleagh has a rare mind, one especially attuned to the intricacies of international finance law.”
How he knows this without ever seeing my work is beyond me.
“So she has kindly accepted my job offer to work under me.”
Someone gasps. A hush falls over the table. What happened? What did he say that was so wrong?
“Under you?” The marchioness chokes out.
Someone titters, probably the daughter of the councilman, a teenager with more hair than wit.
Gabriel comes to his feet. Red-faced, he strides toward us.
Oh, God. What is he going to do?
“Ravensworth, a word with you.”
“Gabriel, whatever you’re about to do, don’t,” I whisper.
Ignoring my plea, he remains rooted to the spot, a cauldron of seething emotion. “Now Ravensworth.”
Arching a brow, Sebastian rises. “If you will excuse me, Lady Winterleagh.”
“Yes, of course,” I say, trying to put a good face on this.
Together, they walk out the door, leaving a shocked silence behind.
Embarrassed to the core, I glance down the table at the myriad of expressions on the faces of our guests. Derision, pity, amusement. God, how could Gabriel do this to me? After all the hard work I put in.
Edward rises from his seat and curls his hand over mine. “I’ll try to get him to stop.”
“Please do,” I say in a heartfelt plea.
Mortified over the turn of events, I signal Bentley to serve the next course—a cold Vichysoisse.
Not a word is spoken by any of our guests. Everyone eats their soup in silence while listening hard. As I am. What are they doing out there? Did Edward reach Gabriel in time to prevent bloodshed? Suddenly into the silence, the sound of flesh hitting flesh reaches us. How could that be? I turn. Damn it. The door’s been left open.
As heat rises in my cheeks, I turn to our butler. “Close the door, Bentley. Please.”
But it’s too late. Everyone’s heard. The councilman’s daughter is busy texting into her cell. I can only imagine what she’s saying. Soon it will be all over the news that the Earl of Winterleagh and the Marquis of Ravensworth fought over Lady Winterleagh. My name will be dragged through the mud. Again.
Ten minutes later, Gabriel returns to the table, tie askew, knuckles rubbed raw. “Ravensworth won’t be back. He sends his apologies. He had to leave. A prior engagement.”
Taking his seat, he signals Bentley for a fresh serving of soup. Eyes wide, the marchioness stares at him, but he resumes eating like nothing’s wrong.
He’d hired a classical music trio to play for our guests after dinner. But after dessert, everyone drifts off. Headaches, stomach upsets, a myriad of reasons offered as excuses for the early departure. But nobody voices the real reason. So they can spread the news far and wide about the contretemps between the Earl of Winterleagh and the Marquis of Ravensworth over the earl’s wife.
The last guest to leave is Lady Margaret Payne, Gabriel’s godmother, who ironically enough is Sebastian’s aunt. She glances up at Gabriel who’s hovering over me. “If I could have a word alone with Elizabeth?”
“Of course. Thank you for coming.” Gabriel kisses her cheek before turning to me. “I’ll be in the drawing room.”
Afraid I’ll blurt out something rude in front of our guest, I simply nod.
As soon as we’re alone in the hallway, she hugs me. We barely exchanged words at the Valentine’s Day party at her home the night I went into labor. So her embrace surprises me.
Her eyes signal nothing but kindness. “These Storm men. So much passion.”
Storm men. As in more than one. But then her brother had been intimate friends with Gabriel’s father. So she would know about the former Earl’s penchant for extramarital affairs.
“Yes.”
“It will be all right, my dear. You’ll just need to ride out the storm. If you need someone to talk to, I’m only a phone call away.” She hands me her calling card. Printed on a gorgeous cream cardstock with an understated font, it’s classy just like her.
I brave a tremulous smile. Best I can do at the moment. “Thank you.”
Just then the maid returns with her wrap and an umbrella. “It’s been raining m’lady. Would you like a footman to accompany you to your car?”
“No, thank you. But I’ll take the umbrella.”
The maid bobs and disappears back where she came from.
I walk Lady Margaret to the door and down the steps. Seems the polite thing to do. When we arrive at the curb where her car waits for her, she turns and cups my cheek. “Take care with Gabriel. He’s very dear to me.”
Understandable request, given she’s his godmother. But I can’t agree to such a thing. Not after the events of the night.
As she climbs into her sedan, the light from the corner lamp post illuminates her features. I gasp. Why she resembles Bri. How very odd.
Watching her car fade away, I’m tempted to walk home and leave all the chaos behind. It’s not that far as the crow flies. But that’s the coward’s way out. And I can’t walk out on Gabriel. I did that once before to disastrous consequences. He’d gotten drunk the next day and crashed his Jag into a tree. Heaving a deep sigh, I trudge up the steps to do what must be done.
Chapter 12
______________
Gabriel
“YOU’RE A FUCKING IDIOT.” Bri yells at me. “How could you do such a thing? Right now every last one of our guests is calling, texting, sending smoke signals about what happened here tonight. Tomorrow morning the event will be headline news in the gossip rags.”
I tangle a hand through my hair. “I know that. Don’t you think I know that?”
Edward hands me a tumbler with more than two fingers of liquor. “Here, drink this.”
“NO!” Bri grabs it out of my hand.
“What the hell, Bri?”
“Don’t you remember what happened the last time she walked out on you? Because I do. You got blind drunk and crashed your car against a tree. You lost your memory, fucked up your leg. I’m not letting you do that again.”
“I’m not going to do that. Christ. Who do you take me for? I have a son, a wife. I wouldn’t put—”
The door to the drawing room opens and everyone freezes, including me.
Elizabeth walks in, her gorgeous hair in disarray. Dark shadows bruise the skin beneath her eyes. A pain stabs at my heart. I put those there. Me. And no one else. “Elizabeth.” A cry from the heart.
She doesn’t say anything, just stands inside the door, with a look of despair in her eyes. Christ. I’d rather have her screaming at me, cursing my name.
“We need to talk,” she says.
“Yes.”
Edward’s the first to walk out. Royce follows but not before he squeezes her shoulder in a show of support. Bri hugs her. “I’ll be waiting outside to take you home.”
She hugs Bri bac
k. “Thanks. I’d appreciate that.”
Aching to comfort her, I take a step toward her.
But before my hand can brush her face, she stumbles out of reach.
“I—he—Sebastian.”
“Sebastian did nothing wrong. He only stated a fact. I will be working for him.”
“He said ‘under you’.” It might be inadequate, but it’s the only defense I have.
“A slip of the tongue. If you hadn’t made such a big deal out of his words, they would have been disregarded. Instead your actions ensured no one will. More than likely everyone who was here tonight believes I’m having an affair with Sebastian. Because that’s the only conclusion to be reached from your actions.”
“I’ll fix it.”
She crosses her arms across her chest and glares at me. “How? How Gabriel?”
“I’ll find a way. I’ll bloody find a way.” A public show of accord would probably fit the bill. I don’t know how I’ll do it, seeing I can’t stand the bastard. But I’ll do anything to keep Elizabeth by my side. “I don’t want to lose you over this.”
She doesn’t hear me as she paces the rug. “You were determined to pick a fight with him. Why didn’t I see that before?” she says almost to herself.
“I wasn’t. That was not my intention.”
She stops in the dead center of the room. So lost in her anguish, she’s forgotten about me. “And now he’ll rescind his offer of a job. Because of what you did.”
“I’m sorry. Truly.” I embrace her, because I can’t help myself. I need to feel her heart beating against mine, to press her warmth to me. This time she allows it. But it’s like clutching a block of ice. “I hate you so much right now.”
Her words wound me to the quick, and I almost double over from the pain. My arms drop to my side and, head bowed, I step away.
Behind me the drawing room door slides open.
“Are you done, love?” Royce. It would be him.
“Yes,” she says.
“I have your shawl. Come,” he says.
I turn in time to watch him drape her wrap over her. With him on one side and Brianna on the other, they make their silent way down the hall. The front door opens, closes. And then she’s gone.
I grab the bottle of scotch, pour another drink, and collapse on a tufted antique from the 18th century.
“Gabriel.” My brother, Edward. I’m not feeling too kindly toward him. If he hadn’t invited Sebastian, none of this would have happened.
“This is all your fault.”
Marching up to me, he grabs the tumbler and slams it down on the mahogany drum table. “Don’t you dare blame me for your stupidity and for your temper. I warned you two weeks ago how it would be. I advised you to seek counseling. But you’re too stubborn, too full of pride to do so. And now you may have lost the best thing that ever walked into your life.”
Screaming, I swipe at the bar. Everything crashes to the floor. The glasses, the bottles of liquor. The lemon, lime and oranges slices infuse the air with their citrus scent. I drop my head between my hands, scrub my face. “Why did you invite Sebastian? How can you be friends with him, after what he did?”
“He did me a favor once, long ago, at the cost of his own reputation.”
“He got that girl pregnant in Oxford and abandoned her. She killed herself because of him.”
“He didn’t get that girl pregnant.”
I jerk up my head. “How do you know?”
“Because I was the one responsible. If you want to blame someone for her death, blame me.”
“You?” I choke out.
“It was my first year at uni. I was only 18. Not that that’s any excuse. I wasn’t bloody handsome like my older brother, the one who could have any woman with a snap of his fingers. Sometimes you didn’t even have to do that. They just fell into your lap. You had money, looks, charm. I was bloody jealous of you. Women didn’t come on to me like they did you. But she did. I couldn’t believe someone as beautiful as her could be attracted to a spotty, gangly-foot blighter like me. So I shagged her, as many times as she’d let me. Sometimes twice a day.”
“Is that why your grades slipped there for a while?”
“Yes. I was too busy fucking her to care about anything else. So when she told me she was expecting my child, I believed her. She asked me for money to get rid of it because her Da would kill her if he found out. I begged her not to do it. Told her there was another way, but she was adamant about it, so, God help me, I gave her the money she needed. Except . . .”
“Except what?”
“Her Da knew all about it. He took her money and used it to pay off his gambling debts. And then he sent her to a butcher to get rid of the baby. She bled to death. If I’d known, I would have taken her to a reputable place, insisted on personally escorting her, but the thought of her getting rid of the child sickened me. So I let her go believing she would follow through on her promise.” He hurls his glass at the fireplace where it smashes into a million pieces. “She died because of me. If only I had known. But by the time I found out the true state of affairs, it was too late.”
“But she named Ravensworth as the father of her child.” I can’t let go of my animosity toward my rival for Elizabeth’s attention.
“She went to him for money. She never had enough. Told him she’d keep quiet about the baby if he gave it to her. He knew the child wasn’t his. They’d broken it off by the time I took up with her, so he refused. In reality, he didn’t have money to give. His family was destitute.”
“So when he wouldn’t pay, she branded him publicly.”
“Yes. I think deep down inside, he was the one she loved. When he rejected her, she took it out on him by branding him a cad. Familiar as she was with the young aristocrats who attended Oxford, she knew that was the worst insult she could offer the son of a peer. But he was not to blame. I was the one responsible. I was the father of her child.” He breaks down and collapses on a wingback chair, head between his hands.
“God, Edward. What a tragedy we are.”
“I’m going upstairs.” He grabs the only bottle to survive my ire and leaves. He’ll get good and drunk tonight. Hope the bottle buys him forgetfulness. Even if there were another one, it wouldn’t do me any good.
And it’s in this moment of solitude when I’m all alone, something Jake said a long time ago comes back to me. “If you lose her, there won’t be enough liquor in the world for you to drown in.”
I have lost her, and the only person I have to blame is myself. I slog out the door, down the stairs to my waiting car—in pain, alone. And stone cold sober.
Chapter 13
______________
Gabriel
BEFORE I’M ALLOWED INTO THE OFFICE of the doctor Edward recommended, I provide my vitals to the receptionist. Name, birthdate, address. I leave the insurance information blank. Whatever happens in this office will remain between the doctor and me. Not some insurance flunkie who figures out who I am and turns over the information to some news outlet for a quick payday.
“Who shall we bill then?”
“Me. At this address.” I tap my finger on the private mailing address I use for confidential items. I want neither Elizabeth nor my secretary to know about my visits to this particular physician.
Taking the clipboard from me, she invites me to take a seat. I barely have time to skim a magazine before she calls my name. “Mr. Storm?”
“Yes.” I quickly come to my feet. Having determined it should take no more than three sessions to discuss my issues with the psychotherapist, I’m eager to get this over and done with.
“Dr. Langenfeld will see you now. Go through that door.” She points to the one clearly labeled with the physician’s name. “No need to knock.”
Doing as she says, I walk into Chris Langenfeld’s office and come to a dead stop. The good doctor is not what I expected. Petite, blonde, blue eyed. Oh, and one more thing.
“You’re a woman.” I can just hear Edward’
s laughter. The tosser failed to mention the psychotherapist’s gender.
“Yes.” Her sharp eyes are filled with humor. She must get this a lot. “Does that present a problem, Mr. Storm?” she asks, shaking my hand.
I blink. “Umm. I don’t know. Maybe.”
“Langenfeld & Associates has several male therapists on staff. Maybe you’d feel more comfortable with one of them.” She takes a seat behind a glass-topped desk with chrome legs.
Would I feel more comfortable baring my soul, spilling out all the messy details of my life, to a man? No. That would suit me even less. This whole process stinks to high heaven, but a female doctor is the lesser of two evils. “No. I’d like to consult with you.”
“Well, now that that’s settled.” She grabs an electronic device from her desk, shows it to me. “I like to record the sessions. Do you mind?”
I tilt my head. “Who will listen to the recordings?”
“Only me. After a client’s visit I download the conversation to my laptop and erase it from the unit. I’m the only one with access to my laptop.”
“Computers have been broken into before.”
“True. But we use a top-of-the-line encryption process. Even if someone managed to break through our firewall, all he would hear would be garbled words. We take our clients’ confidentiality very seriously.”
I might not be totally comfortable with the situation, but clearly she’s taken all the necessary steps to safeguard the conversations with her clients. “Very well.”
Clicking on the recorder, she swivels the chrome and white leather chair toward me.
From the corner of my eye, I spot a sofa in the corner. Damn if I’m going to lie down. “I don’t have to use that, do I?” As tired as I am from a week’s worth of restless sleep, I’d probably nod off if I lay down.
A small smile lights up her lips. Probably not the first time she’s been asked that question. “Not if you don’t want to.”
Storm Redemption Page 8
