by Lucy Monroe
But nothing like her conversation with Drake in the carriage. It kept repeating over and over again in her head. At first the constant repetitions had served only to fuel her anger at her husband. Then memories had started to intersperse with the harsh accusations she had made against Drake in her mind, and she began to feel wretched.
The fact that he had planned to marry a paragon high in the ton was neither here nor there. As he had said, he'd chosen her, Althea Selwyn, and no one could accuse her of being a paragon. Accusing him of wanting her to make peace with her father for his own ends had been a direct hit against pride that had been forced to withstand years as the illegitimate son of a man who would never acknowledge him.
She shuddered at her own needless cruelty.
Even if he did have ulterior motives for pressing her to get to know her father, Drake wasn't aware of them, and making the accusation had hurt him. Besides, he had made his intentions toward her clear aboard ship, long before finding out that she was the daughter of an earl.
She rolled over and punched her pillow, trying to vent some of her frustration and anxiety.
What if he couldn't forgive her? Had she doomed her marriage with her sharp tongue and accusations? It wouldn't be the first time that she had delivered such a strong blow to his pride. Would she ever forget the look of pain on his features as he knelt naked before her, having asked for her hand and been bluntly rejected?
Then she had kept right on refusing, not giving in to his desires or her own. Still, he had persisted. Had insisted on doing right by her and the child they may have created.
He had also helped her in her investigation just as he had promised, arranging for men to watch Uncle Ashby and the London warehouse. Not caring that the investigation took him away from his own business, he had pursued the thief as if it were a matter of his considerable personal honor.
After all that, she had to go and accuse him of marrying her for her place in society and her half of Merewether Shipping. She almost laughed aloud. Drake was wealthier than she'd ever dreamed of being, and once society learned of her father's duplicity, her connection to him would not improve her or her new husband's standing in the ton.
He'd certainly gotten no prize in his bride.
If he could not get past her latest attack on his honor, she did not know what she would do.
She slid her hand between the sheets along the other side of her bed. The side that he should be occupying. It was their wedding night, after all, but he wasn't there. She lay, lonely, longing for his presence, not even sure when he would return to their home.
What was the matter with her? Why had she behaved so abominably toward him?
The truth hit her like one of Whiskey Jim's bottles.
The love she was so afraid of acknowledging made her vulnerable to her own insecurities. She loved him so much she would die for him, and it terrified her that he did not love her even a little in return. That fear muddled her reasoning, and she had struck out and hurt him as surely as his lack of deeper feelings toward her had made her heart contract in pain.
Love did not always make one kind, she realized.
Her depressing thoughts were interrupted by sounds from the next room that indicated her husband had finally returned.
It was about time.
Despite her remorse for her treatment of him, indignation rose in her. Didn't he realize how inappropriate it was to desert his wife on their wedding day?
She would certainly tell him so. She would also humbly beg his pardon for casting aspersions on his honor.
She pulled on her wrapper and approached the connecting door between their rooms. Should she knock? What if it was locked? That prospect held her paralyzed for several seconds, but taking a deep breath, she put her hand on the knob and turned.
It moved easily under her fingers and the door swung inward. Drake had already doused the light, and the only illumination was a pale stream of moonlight filtering through a small crack in the heavy draperies.
* * *
Chapter 18
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He has remarried! Lady Jacqueline D'Annis. He stole my son for sins only imagined and yet has done far worse. His is truly the act of the depraved. I am still the Countess of Langley—and yet a woman in England lives by that title. A woman shares my husband's bed and his life, mothers my child. That is what I cannot forgive. Lady Upworth could not bear to tell me until I made plans to travel to England. She admitted that Langley has told everyone that I am dead. I will return to England and I will see my son. Langley will not dare deny me now.
March 7, 1807
Journal of Anna Selwyn, Countess of Langley
The sound of the door opening surprised Drake.
He had expected no visit from his wife on this night.
He felt guilty for abandoning her on their wedding day, but if he had stayed, he feared his fury at her accusations would overflow and burn them both. In an attempt to focus on something besides his wife's painful lack of trust, he had gone to Merewether Shipping, not expecting to discover anything new in broad daylight.
He had been wrong on that count and found it incredibly ironic that after all the late nights he'd spent watching the warehouse, the thief had acted during the day.
He still didn't know if it was Emerson or his assistant and thought Thea's supposition it could be someone else very unlikely, but orders had been given for the transfer of a shipment from the warehouse. According to the spy Drake had planted in Merewether's warehouse, it was a shipment of goods that should have been part of the cargo brought on an investment ship from Sri Lanka, goods not yet sold.
Instead, the goods had been marked for delivery to a small warehouse located not a mile from Merewether Shipping. Drake had followed the shipment along with one of his men and waited in the shadows for Emerson or his assistant to show up. They had waited in vain. Drake had left two men watching the building, sure that it housed more goods stolen from Merewether Shipping.
They were given instructions to contact him if anyone else arrived or the goods were moved again.
The sound of Thea moving across the floor toward his bed affected him like a siren's call, and all thought of the investigation disappeared like morning mist.
He had returned expecting a cold bed on his wedding night, convinced Thea had no interest in sharing it after her unprovoked attack in the carriage.
So what was she doing tiptoeing across his floor? He bloody well wasn't in the mood for another argument.
She quietly made her way over to his bed, stopping when her wrapper brushed his counterpane. "Drake?"
He didn't respond immediately, and she put her hand on his shoulder and shook him. "Pierson. Wake up. I have something I need to say."
His hand shot out in the darkness and gripped her wrist. To hell with arguing. She would feel better, and so would he, if they made love. She squealed as he yanked her down onto the bed and rolled over to pin her to the feather ticking.
He kissed her, his mouth open and hot. He allowed all the pent-up hunger he felt for her to come out in that kiss.
She let out a startled gasp and then returned his passion with an ardor that belied her earlier anger or a current desire to argue. He had her wrapper off and was working on her nightgown when she protested.
"Don't you want to hear my apology?"
Apology?
He leaned down and kissed the breast he had just bared. "I want to hear you moan."
She did. Right then and several more times over the next hour. He made love to her until they were both limp and exhausted.
She lay cuddled against his side, her fingers splayed across his chest.
He said her name.
"What?"
"Now I'll hear your apology."
He smiled in the darkness when she laughed.
She grew silent, then leaned up and met his gaze in the shadows. "I truly am sorry I accused you of marrying me for money and position."
"I married you because I
wanted to, Thea. It is as simple as that."
She smiled a little sadly. "I believe you."
Why was wanting her not enough? He remembered her words the fateful day they made love for the first time. She had asked if he loved her. Did she want him to? Did she love him?
More importantly, was he capable of love? He didn't know. But for the first time, he desperately wanted to be.
Her generous apology deserved an answering one. "I'm sorry I left you alone on our wedding day."
"You should never just walk away from an argument," she said, sounding quite serious and full of authority. "You must always try to work things out. It is the only way to have a strong marriage."
He did not agree. There were times his anger might cause more hurt, and when those times came, she was much better off if he left. "Our marriage will be strong because we will make it so, not because we will always do the right thing. Sometimes we will hurt each other, Thea, but I will never walk away from our marriage."
"I won't either."
He hadn't realized how much he needed the assurance until she said the words.
"Where did you go today?" she asked.
He told her and then related what he had witnessed at the warehouse.
"That's wonderful." She hugged him. "We're bound to catch the embezzler any day now. I don't know how I would have done this without you."
The admiration in her voice filled him with bone-deep satisfaction. "You aren't still thinking that Emerson is innocent, are you?"
The man was either guilty or inexcusably ignorant of his own business affairs. There was no other explanation for the discrepancies in the company's ledgers.
She squirmed closer, wrapping one of her legs over his. "I know it looks bleak for him, but he's so much like his uncle, and Ashby Merewether is an honorable man, almost as honorable as yourself."
He smiled in the dark at her compliment until he remembered one of the points they had not discussed from their argument. "Do you truly feel trapped in marriage to me?"
She rubbed her check over his shoulder. "No. It would be easier to think that I was forced to marry you, but I made the decision and I can't even pretend that the thought of carrying your child was the deciding factor."
He wondered what that factor had been, but felt like he'd pushed his luck far enough for one day. He focused instead on her first statement.
Already thinking he knew the answer, he nevertheless felt compelled to ask, "Why would it be easier?"
She played with the hair on his chest. "I don't know. The feeling of not being responsible for a decision I had convinced myself I would never make, I guess."
He let out a relieved breath. She might feel as if she had broken her promise to her mother, but she wasn't saying so, and he would take what he could get.
He leaned down to kiss the top of her head. "You aren't going to regret marrying me."
It was an ironclad promise he intended to keep.
She kissed his chest, above his right nipple. "And you aren't going to regret marrying me." She yawned. "Even if I'm not a patterncard of socially correct behavior."
Unbelievably, he felt himself stir.
He slipped his hand down her thigh, thinking that a perfect paragon would bore him to tears now that he'd met Thea. "Sweetheart?"
"Mmm?" she asked drowsily.
"You may not be pregnant now, but I think I can safely promise that you soon will be."
He drowned her surprised laughter with his lips.
The next morning, Thea was taking a mental inventory of the changes she wanted to make to her new home when her aunt was announced. Drake had gone to check on the warehouse holding the stolen goods, and had insisted that Thea remain at home. She had protested until he reminded her that Lady Upworth intended to call that morning.
Thea gave the butler permission to show her caller into the drawing room. She planned to start her decor changes in this room. Drake obviously preferred stark simplicity, but she wanted to make the large town house a home. She could not fault the drawing room's furnishings. Well-made sofas and chairs clustered around sturdy tables, but it was missing the curios and pictures that made a room cozy.
She smiled at the idea of cozy being applied to the large, elegant room, but she would give it her best effort. Even the drapes were a solid, nondescript color. The fabric was heavy and of the highest quality, but she did not particularly care for it. She would like patterned velvet in a warm yellow.
The dowager entered, leaning on her ornate cane. "Good morning, dear. Where is that handsome husband of yours? Surely he has not abandoned you the very day after your wedding?"
Thea smiled. "He is on an errand of business on my behalf." It was true, although not the whole truth.
Lady Upworth nodded approvingly while taking a seat near Thea. "You will, of course, relinquish your interest in your company now that you are married."
She would do no such thing, but Drake had shown her that discretion with family was valuable, so Thea ignored the comment. "Thank you for the lovely breakfast yesterday. You went to much too much trouble on our behalf."
"Nonsense, you are family."
Thea impulsively leaned forward and kissed her aunt's wrinkled cheek. "You are a dear woman."
Lady Upworth's eyes sparkled, but she dismissed the comment with a wave of her hand. "I'm sorry about the shock you had yesterday. I did not expect Langley to come so early to Town. It is not his usual manner."
"I'm quite all right. Drake took very good care of me."
"Lady Boyle said that he ushered you out of the room so quickly, she barely realized you were leaving."
"He wanted me to have time to get used to the notion of seeing my father."
Her aunt sighed. "Yes."
"Was Jared with him?" The possibility had haunted Thea since the day before.
"No, though he did come to Town."
"Why did they come early?" She discovered she was curious about the goings-on of this family she'd never known.
"Irisa." Her aunt frowned. "Evidently they're angling for a betrothal to the Duke of Clareshire. The servants told your father Irisa could be found at my house."
"But she's only sixteen."
"And his grace is sixty if he's a day. I don't know what your father is thinking to encourage the match. All the fault of his wife, I've no doubt. She's a hopeless social climber."
"I cannot believe a mother would encourage a daughter barely out of the schoolroom to marry a man old enough to be her grandfather. It's wicked." Mama would have fought the devil himself to protect Thea from such a fate.
How could Irisa's mother be so different?
"You don't know the current countess. A duke at any age is considered quite the catch in Jacqueline's eyes. I've always felt she somehow precipitated your father's final idiocy toward your mother."
Perhaps. Thea didn't want to think about her father or Jacqueline right now. She would much rather focus on unemotional issues, such as how to catch a thief. However, her aunt was not finished with the topic.
"I spoke to Langley after you left yesterday."
Wary, Thea probed her aunt's gaze with her own. "What did you say to him?"
Had Lady Upworth told him Thea's secret?
Before answering, the dowager leaned forward and took Thea's hand and held it. "The time for truth has come, my dear. I made a mistake sending your mother to the West Indies. Had I not done so, she would be alive and your father would not have married Jacqueline."
Although she had mentioned a similar feeling before, Thea had not credited the depth of guilt her great-aunt carried about the past events within her family. The older woman's eyes had filmed with tears, the pain and remorse in them unmistakable. Before Thea had a chance to comment or offer comfort, she continued.
"Had I told the truth to your father years ago, things would be much different." Two tears spilled over and rolled down Lady Upworth's withered cheeks. "I promised myself that if you ever came to England, I would tell my
nephew the truth."
Compassion for her aunt's pain welled up in Thea, but it was tempered by a sense of betrayal. "Don't you think that was my decision to make?"
"No, my dear, I do not. Your father has made his mistakes, and he hurt your mother terribly. For that reason I supported her decision to flee with you and make a new life for herself. However, he is your father and he has a right to know that you are his daughter. His sin was not against you, and he has paid for the sin he committed against your mother by losing that which he held most dear, his wife."
Thea wanted to argue with her aunt. She wanted to tell her that if Langley had held her mother dear, he could not have done the things he did, but she was not a child any longer. Life was not made up of easily distinguished colors, but more a rainbow of shades, one melting into the other. The motivations and actions of others were not so easily judged.
"He also lost you. The daughter he never knew."
"Pierson said something to that effect to me once." Thea's voice came out softer than she had intended. She took a deep breath and attempted to speak more normally. "I didn't want to admit it, but perhaps you both have a point. I still don't know if I am capable of having any sort of relationship with him. If I want to."
Lady Upworth squeezed Thea's hand. "It will be up to him to prove to you that he is worthy of your affection."
Thea's heart constricted. "Are you sure he wants to?"
The old woman looked troubled. "I know he wants to know you, but he's afraid of the scandal from his past. Of Irisa and Jared being hurt by the truth."
"If he has a right to the truth, then so do they."
Smiling, albeit mistily, her aunt agreed, "You are right, of course, and Langley will come to realize that. We are dining en famille tonight at his town house. Will you come?"
Thea felt herself tense.
The thought of sitting through dinner with virtual strangers, one of them a man who was both her father and the bogeyman of her childhood, made her wince. "I do not think I am ready for such an occasion."
