Dread of The Earl (The Valiant Love Regency Romance) (A Historical Romance Book)

by Deborah Wilson

  Lucy took the chair nearest her slowly. “What’s wrong?”

  He didn’t move. Neither did he speak. One arm rested on the mantle. The other hung by his side. He leaned toward the fire, his large body half in shadows and half aglow.

  “Kent?” Lucy asked. “What’s the matter?”

  “Everything. Nothing. It doesn’t matter.”

  “Of course, it matters.” she said. “What did you do today?”

  “I went to see my mother.” he said. Then he looked at her and held out a hand. Not in invitation. “Stay where you are.”

  Lucy had been poised to get up, but she quickly fell back into her seat. Anything to keep him talking. But it hurt. Staring at him while he was like this and remaining so far away…it hurt like nothing before. “Did you tell her…?”

  “I told her.” He looked back at the flames.

  Speaking to him was beginning to frustrate her.

  “I’ll take the painting to Lord Maltsby tomorrow.” Kent said quietly.

  Was she being dismissed?

  “We’ll still be going together, won’t we?” she asked.

  “No, that will no longer be necessary.” His shoulder lifted and fell as he sighed. “He’s untouchable at the moment. Even I understand that now.”

  “Kent, look at me.”

  She thought he’d ignore her, but finally, he turned and met her eyes. Her stomach fell. “I would like to come with you, Kent.”

  His eyes flickered. It was the only reaction she got before he said, “You should go to bed. We can speak in the morning.”

  She didn’t want to go to bed. Not like this. “You don’t have to tell me what she said. I already know it was awful.”

  He chuckled without feeling. “Yes, it was.”

  “I don’t want to leave you alone like this.” Lucy said.

  “No?” He moved toward the door. “Then stay. I’ll go.” He disappeared before she had a chance to protest.

  She was jarred from her seat when she heard the front door open and close and then rushed out to find him. Standing on the steps, she looked around but couldn’t see him. Where had he gone?

  Likely to Astlen’s house. She wanted to follow him but didn’t feel right about leaving George alone tonight. Not with everything going on.

  Why was Kent pushing her away?

  She regretted telling him the truth just as much as she regretted keeping it from him for so long. If she’d told him in the beginning, if he’d pushed her away before he’d ever shared part of himself with her, then her heart would not be breaking as it was now. She’d have easily shaken off whatever pain his dismissal would have brought her.

  But now, it felt like she was dying, like he was sand slipping through her fingers.

  She couldn’t hold him. She’d been a fool to think she could. Hadn’t he showed her, told her that he was incapable of giving her what she wanted?

  She needed to focus. From this moment on, she needed to think of George and George alone.

  She’d be at that meeting with Lord Maltsby tomorrow whether Kent wished for it or not.

  ∫ ∫ ∫

  5 4

  * * *

  “Excellent. Hang it right there.”

  Kent watched as Lord Maltsby had his footmen hang the painting of Jessica in his library gallery. Another painting, one of his father, was being taken down, replaced by the woman he’d told Kent had been his soulmate.

  Maltsby’s library was something to marvel, a long room with deep tones and gleaming finishings that boasted both wealth and comfort.

  The painting now sat over a fireplace that held a little writing desk on one side and two Queen Anne chairs on the other. Everything was of the highest quality, and Kent wondered just how much of it had been bought with his own money. He quickly steered his mind away from that thought, knowing it would fuel the anger that he was working hard to contain.

  A part of him wished he’d brought Lucy, wished she was here to comfort him, yet a nagging feeling in the back of his mind told him that would have been a mistake. It was not wise of him to depend on her for anything. He wasn’t sure who he was anymore.

  All his life, he’d been unsure of many things, but always, always there was his title. That had been his rock, the thing had held some semblance of him together even on his worst days.

  Now, that was gone.

  How much longer until the rest of his life fell apart, until the warmth in Lucy’s eyes faded into loathing? He could not hope for better any longer. He’d been a fool to have done so in the beginning. Hadn’t life taught him to stop reaching for anything better?

  When the footmen were done, Kent sat and watched Lord Maltsby as he silently admired the painting. The footmen remained inside by the door. Kent noticed their rather large size and assumed they were there to keep him from killing their master.

  If Kent was inclined to kill Lord Maltsby, it would take more than those two to hold him back.

  Lord Maltsby walked over to the painting, reached up, and ran his fingers over the canvas. He had done nothing to hide his delight at having the portrait returned. He’d even sniffed it.

  Oh, yes, he’d loved Jessica. And Kent knew he’d been right when he’d told Lucy she would have to give the original back. Lord Maltsby would know the difference even if no one else would.

  If Kent ever got a portrait of Lucy done, he would know.

  At the thought of Lucy, the yearning returned. He wanted her here with him. He wanted her with him always. But always didn’t exist for him. It was better he created distance now than invest anymore of his heart into her.

  As Kent watched Lord Maltsby’s moment with Jessica, he realized how similar their situations were. Both women were out of their reach and it was their own fault.

  “The book.” Kent reminded the man when he thought he’d given Lord Maltsby more than ample time to reminisce with the painting.

  Maltsby turned with surprise, as if he’d forgotten Kent was there. Then he nodded. “Oh, of course. The journal. Would you be willing to sell it to me? You’d be surprised how generous a sum I’m willing to pay for it. It’s priceless.”

  “It’s not mine to sell.” Kent said.

  Maltsby frowned in disagreement. “Everything that woman has is yours. That is the way it works.”

  Kent crossed his arms. “I am familiar with the law.” He didn’t bother to finish the rest of that statement, which questioned whether Maltsby was familiar with it.

  Maltsby blinked and then sighed heavily. “Lord Ganden, I do apologize for any pain I might have caused you—”

  Kent’s arms fell and he leaned forward. “Might have?”

  “Have.” Maltsby said quickly. “I have caused you pain, but I wish to make amends, not only to you and Lucy, but to George as well. I wish to see my son.”

  “That’s not going to happen.” Kent said. “I’ll be leaving with the book now.”

  Maltsby ran his hands through his hair. It was only then Kent realized how tired the man looked. “You don’t understand. I’ve made a terrible mistake where the boy is concerned. He’s a part of Jessica and I should have…” The man hung his head. “I should have loved him.”

  Kent felt a tightening in his chest and fought to pull himself back from the memories of his own father. “But you didn’t love him. You hated him. He associates your existence with little more than pain and despair. You’d be better off dead.”

  Maltsby lifted his head with a gasp. Then his face crumbled, and he covered it with his hands. “You’re right. How could I have…?”

  “Your tears will not work with me.” Kent told him. “George is mine to protect. You entrusted him to your son—”

  “I thought it was best at the time—”

  “And your son sold him to me.”

  “Then take your money back!” Maltsby stood, angry. “I want my boy back. A boy needs his father, does he not?”

  “No.” Kent stood and straightened his jacket. “A boy needs someone who loves him
for him. Not because of blood or some tie to a woman you loved, but because of who he is. George is smart and clever. He is a warm child with a gentle spirit. I’ve never seen him act cruelly with anyone or anything. He’s strong and won’t complain even when I urge him to do so. He wishes to be a jockey. Sometimes a carpenter. Recently, he’s thought to go The Royal Veterinary College and learn to attend horses. You’d have likely admired your son’s iron will and fortitude if you’d have gotten to know him, but you didn’t. I won’t let you near him. I won’t allow you to ruin him and if you care for him at all, you’ll see that I am right, and you’ll stay away.”

  “And you?” Maltsby asked. “You think you’re the right person to guide my son into the future? With your anger and rages? Don’t think I don’t know about you. You were known to be uncivilized in public. Is that the sort of man my son should admire?”

  Kent’s hand was trembling, but he spoke with force. “I may have been uncivilized in public, but at least I was not a snake in the dark. Clearly, you’ve already corrupted one of your sons. Why should I allow you to do it to another?”

  His words turned Maltsby pale and then the man looked away. “Adam had no part in my dealings. You’ll never prove it.”

  “Apparently, proof means nothing in the courts these days. You should have hung weeks ago.”

  “I thought I would.” Maltsby turned away and moved to the window. He looked out and was quiet for a long time. “I’ve made mistakes. Should I not be forgiven for them?” He looked at Kent. “Surely, you’ve made mistakes in your life. Surely, you have been forgiven a time or two.”

  Kent couldn’t begin to count the many times Lucy should have shut him out of her life. “Perhaps, it would have been better if I hadn’t been forgiven.”

  Maltsby closed his eyes. “I can understand your wish to keep me away from George, but he is my son and nearly a man. One day soon, he’ll be able to make his own choice about me.”

  “And when that day comes, he can.” Kent said.

  “Have you thought about sending him off to school?” Maltsby asked. “Perhaps, he’d be better there.”

  Kent crossed his arms. He was ready to leave but wouldn’t go without the journal.

  “So, you’re considering sending him off?” Maltsby asked.

  “That is the plan.” Eventually, when he was old enough for Cambridge or Oxford, but not now. Lucy didn’t want George to go away so young, therefore Kent planned to keep him close to her.

  But Maltsby didn’t need to know that. He would not be a part of George’s life unless George chose it sometime in the future. He understood forgiveness, but he also understood evil when he saw it. Maltsby had ten years to get to know his son. A decade and he tossed the chance away.

  When George turned sixteen in a few years, Kent would allow him to do as he pleased.

  “It’s a sound idea.” Lord Maltsby said, as though Kent needed his approval.

  “The journal, my lord.” Kent said. “I’ll take it now.”

  Maltsby sighed and moved to his desk. He opened a drawer and pulled the book out. Kent saw how much it pained him to hand it over. “I hope we can meet again. In time.”

  Kent took it. “Good day, Lord Maltsby.”

  ∫ ∫ ∫

  5 5

  * * *

  Lucy felt ill—betrayed—as she urged the hackney home.

  In her hand rested a letter, something of great value, yet she nearly flung it out the window as the horse sped on. She’d gone to Lord Maltsby’s house, looking for evidence of his crimes.

  It had not been hard to find. She’d known about the hole in the floorboards underneath the rug in his bedchamber. She’d seen him open it a time or two after walking in on him by accident.

  What she’d found there had surprised her.

  It was a recent letter from the magistrate about the Bow Street Runners and local constables. In the letter was the magistrate’s confession to aiding Lord Maltsby’s release…which included sending the ruinous notes to Mr. Maltsby while his father was still in prison.

  Mr. Maltsby must have returned the papers to his father upon his release. It made sense Lord Maltsby would keep them, just in case the constable or the magistrate turned against him.

  Blackmail could at times be a two-edged sword.

  If she got the papers to someone in Parliament, someone she could trust, then Lord Maltsby and his son were finished. She’d been so delighted when her fingers had closed over the paper. A part of her had been sure that once Kent knew, he’d calm, and they could be happy again.

  She’d been so distraught by the distance her husband had created the other evening. She’d been unable to touch him, unable to reach that place inside himself that he’d shut her out of.

  They’d been doing so well. She loved him.

  But his words to Lord Maltsby proved that their marriage had been a mistake. She’d had to pass the library in order to get to Maltsby’s room and had overheard Kent’s conversation with George’s father.

  Kent planned to send George off to school even though she’d begged and begged him not to. It seemed everyone wished to take her boy away from her, but she wouldn’t let them. George needed her. Could Kent not understand that? Perhaps, if in his early years he’d been shown great love, then maybe she’d have allowed him to go to Eton, but George was just growing comfortable with his life.

  Now, thanks to Kent, they would have to flee.

  The hackney stopped before Kent’s residence and Lucy rushed in.

  If she had the time, she would leave now, but Kent was on his way home. She’d never have George readied in time. Which meant she’d have to wait. They’d leave at nightfall. It was likely Kent would sleep at Astlen’s home again, just as he’d done the previous night, just as he did every night he didn’t wish to run into her.

  She went upstairs and hid the letter in her drawer before she went to see George.

  He was in his room surrounded by the many carriages Kent had brought him. They were in straight rows, almost like a road. The traffic looked as terrible as St. James Street, yet George was happy. He didn’t even see her standing by the door.

  Miriam was playing by the window with a doll that she was rarely without. Her head was down as she fussed with the doll’s hat.

  Only Lady Nora saw her. Lucy put a finger over her lips and Nora nodded, recognizing that Lucy did not wish to interfere. It would be George’s final night in such a fine place. It was best she allowed him to have this time.

  Lucy closed the door and was startled by Kent.

  “I believe this belongs to you.” He held Jessica’s journal.

  Unable to meet his eyes, knowing what she was planning, she stared at the journal as she grabbed for it. “Thank you.”

  Their fingers touched and the sudden shock of it hit her like a blow. She tightened her fingers on the hard binding and told herself not to look at Kent and not to wonder if he’d felt it as well.

  It didn’t matter. He’d made his choice. He’d given up on them. He’d betrayed her and George.

  Her body was pressed against the door. She couldn’t go around him without touching him again, so she remained where she was.

  “This was also in the journal.” Kent held up a paper. “It’s addressed to George. No doubt he hoped you’d give it to him knowing that I wouldn’t.”

  Lucy looked up at her husband finally and found him to be studying her. “What are you going to do with the letter?”

  He held it out. “I’m giving it to you. You know George better. You read it and see if the boy should have it or not.”

  She frowned. Kent was giving her a choice in this? He’d taken so much else from her, including himself. He was planning to send George to school even though she believed he’d changed his mind about that. Yet, he was willing to let her decide this. “I don’t understand. Why?”

  His brows pulled together. “I believe I just explained myself.”

  She snatched the letter, making sure she avoided h
is finger. She also dropped her eyes. “Thank you.”

  He stood there for a long moment and didn’t move. She stood rigidly and waited for him to do something, leave most likely. Instead, he simply breathed, the sound of it slightly labored and rushed.

  “Lucy…” Her name was nearly pained. His hand reached out, going for her cheek and she turned away.

  She was trembling with hatred and desire. Why had he ruined everything? Why had he done this to them? Why hadn’t believed in her love?

  Perhaps, it was because he couldn’t love her, couldn’t understand the concept. How many times had he warned her, not only with words, but his eyes as well? She’d hoped. She’d prayed that they would work, for George, for Kent, for herself.

  But he’s pushed her away and had then forsaken her in the worst way. Yet she still wanted him. Her heart desired nothing more than the large man before her. If only they could go back to yesterday morning, before their world had fallen apart. But such hopes were a waste.

  His fist tightened before he dropped it to his side and sighed. He took a step back. “I’ll be at Astlen’s if you need me.”

  “I won’t.” She looked up and saw him wince.

  She pressed her lips together to keep herself from retracting the words, but…how could she? She wanted him. She knew that much was true, but she didn’t need him. The only person she could afford to depend on now was herself.

  Kent didn’t say another word but quickly turned and left.

  Lucy waited by the window until she saw his carriage pull away and then she got to work. She dismissed Lady Nora for the day, which delighted the woman greatly. She usually only got one day a week off.

  Guilt hit her as Nora gathered Miriam and left the room. With her and George leaving, the woman would have to find work elsewhere.

  Lucy took a moment to leave the woman a good character and reference letter as George rested. Then she started to pack. She decided to take all of George’s clothes. Hers as well. Who else would wear them? She would also take the carriage and spend part of her money to send it back to Kent once they arrived at their destination.