Chapter 16
Dorothy’s stomachsank as she studied her husband. What had happened? She could only conclude that her defense of her uncle and his family had angered or disappointed Marcus. It must have seemed as if she had taken the other side—the side of a murderer—against him.
Perhaps he even thought that she had flirted with her uncle and encouraged his attentions. Revulsion swept through her at the thought. If she had known what her uncle thought, she would have put an end to it as completely and swiftly as she could.
But it explained so much. Poor Aunt Mary must have been sick with jealousy and desperate to be rid of Dorothy, while her husband worked to achieve precisely the opposite goal. And then there was their bedroom. During their previous visit, they’d been relegated to the top floor where the servants resided. Dorothy had been surprised when they’d been given Cecilia’s lovely room this time. No doubt, the work of Uncle Cyril.
At least he had seemed content to bide his time, presumably until Grace married. When her younger sister left, Dorothy would have been quite alone.
She shivered.
The small of her back where Marcus had previously rested his hand suddenly felt icy cold, bereft of his warm touch. She pulled Cynthia more tightly against her, finding comfort in the child’s tight grip.
“Then… What are we to say about this tragedy? We must have an agreement,” Grace pointed out, stepping around Dorothy and Cynthia.
“Say whatever you wish,” Marcus suggested with scarcely a glance at her.
“That is not good enough!” Grace declared, her hands fisted at her sides. “As you are well aware.” She looked at Dorothy, her gaze pleading for support.
Dorothy sighed and straightened, her hands resting on Cynthia’s shoulders. “As I suggested, we shall say he was carrying his pistol to the library to clean it after supper. He slipped on the marble, and it accidentally went off.”
“I am afraid there is still the matter of the late Lord Arundell and his wife,” Mr. Gaunt said. “The case is open.”
“We will treat it separately,” Dorothy replied. “We will speak to a magistrate privately. Surely, we can explain matters and have the case closed. There must be a way to seal it so that it need never be made public.”
Mr. Gaunt’s gaze flickered to Marcus’s hard face before he nodded. “I have the honor to dine occasionally with Sir John Patterson, one of the Justices of His Majesty’s Court. He is a fair man. I have no doubt he will understand the situation.”
“Thank—” Dorothy broke off and glanced at her husband. They must approve Mr. Gaunt’s suggestion together if it was to provide a satisfactory conclusion to the case that so intimately involved Marcus.
He studied her for a long minute with unreadable eyes before he said, “Very well. Now we must send for the constable.” He looked at the cluster of weeping women huddled by the dining room door and added, “And send for a physician, as well. One seems to be required.”
All too soon, a wiry, rough-looking constable arrived, followed closely by the physician routinely used by Aunt Mary.
In short phrases, broken by wracking sobs, Aunt Mary reported that her husband had had an accident with his pistol. Everyone else supported her, and since the weapon was still clutched by the deceased, the tale was accepted. Mrs. Jolly gently covered the body with a sheet, and with the assistance of Elsa and the cook, they carried away the pitiful remains.
Despite Dorothy’s pleas, Grace elected to remain in the Polkinghorne townhouse. She would be needed there, she insisted, and Dorothy felt too overwhelmed by everything that had happened to argue.
Two hours later, Dorothy and Cynthia were sitting in a coach across from Marcus. Her husband. Night had well and truly fallen, and the lamplighters were busy bringing a few rays of golden light to fight with the shadows on the teeming streets. Carriages rattled past, and snatches of laughter floated through the windows. It seemed incomprehensible that there should be so much raucous life filling London after everything that had happened. Dorothy stared out of the windows, her hands twisting in her lap.
The trip to Arundell House was brief—too brief—and before she had a chance to protest, a young maid took charge of Cynthia. She led the child away to a hot bath and a meal, chattering brightly the entire time.
“Would you join me in the library?” Marcus asked, his strong fingers gripping Dorothy’s elbow.
Without waiting for her reply, he guided her down the wide hallway to the library—an altogether grander affair than the stuffy one at the Polkinghorne residence. Along three walls, bookcases rose from floor to ceiling. Mahogany ladders with brass fittings could be moved along rails to reach the upper shelves, and a multitude of books, bound with brown, green, blue, and red leather, filled the shelves. Not a space was empty—in fact, the shelves were so well-filled that some books lay horizontally on the tops of other books in an effort to squeeze in more volumes.
No fire burned in the fireplace, but several lamps had been lit on a variety of small tables, giving the room a mellow, welcoming look. Columns framed the door and windows, thick rugs covered the floor, and a few fragile porcelain vases, holding fresh roses, had been strategically placed. The light rose fragrance mingled with the scent of leather and a lingering smokiness from past fires, to enrich the comforting atmosphere.
Despite the soothing appeal of the room, Dorothy could not relax. Her fingers twisted together. She could not read Marcus’s expression—his face was too well-shuttered. He released her and strode to the fireplace, to stare down into its black, cavernous depth.
“I must apologize,” he said at last. His voice was so carefully modulated that she could read no emotion in it at all. “It seems days ago, and yet it was just this morning that you were wed and then abandoned.”
Her hands knotted more tightly together. That I was wed? We were wed… “It was unavoidable,” she replied in a soft voice. Her eyes searched his face, but she could only see his profile, lit fitfully by the lamp on the mantle.
“Yes.” He rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. “Nonetheless, you must be wishing me to the very devil.”
“No—not at all!” Hand outstretched, she took a step forward, but the tension stiffening his shoulders held her at bay.
“And I owe you and your sister a great deal for finding my niece and bringing her home safely.”
“You owe us nothing, my lord—Marcus.” She laughed lightly, though it cost her a great deal to do so. “Grace was only trying to do a good deed.”
“A good deed.” A bitter chuckle escaped him. “Well, I owe both of you a debt I cannot repay.”
“Nonsense. There is no debt. I am simply relieved we found Cynthia alive and well.”
He gazed at her for a moment, his eyes blazing before bleakness quenched the light. His jaw tightened. “Which brings me to the matter at hand. It is clear that you can not wish to be married to one such as myself, and I will not force my attentions on an unwilling woman.” He laughed harshly. “I suppose it is understandable. Even my niece would prefer to be elsewhere. Given the circumstances, I can hardly blame you if you wish to have this marriage annulled—no one would blame you. Therefore, you may consider yourself released from any and all debts and obligations. I will make the arrangements for the annulment tomorrow. It is simply a shame that your sister could not accompany us this evening. She could have provided you with a chaperone.”
Staring at him, a terrible chasm yawned at her feet. Dorothy crossed her arms and gripped her elbows. She could not—would not—accept such a terrible decision. Her pulse quickened. He had spoken no word of love to her. In fact, he appeared to have no feelings for her whatsoever, given his behavior.
And yet, she loved him. She took a deep breath.
For once, she would be the one with the courage. She would step forward and say what needed to be said. “That is all very fine and well, but I do not need a chaperone. I have no wish to be released.”
He turned and looked at her, deep emotion flaring in his eyes before his expression grew remote. Controlled. Again, his jaw tightened. The hand he had laid so casually on the marble mantle clenched. “So. Does the title mean that much to you, then?”
“Title? I care nothing for your title. It is obviously going to be nothing but a frightful nuisance. No. I refuse to release you from this marriage because I cannot let you go.” Her throat closed painfully. She swallowed and lifted her chin. “I love you, not the earldom. Though I don’t know how I am to prove such a thing if you are too stubborn to listen to me.”
Golden gleams lit his eyes as he strode across the floor to her. He gripped her arms and pulled her closer, searching her face hungrily. He gave her a gentle shake. “You love me? How can you?”
She laughed and placed her hands against his chest, feeling his heart pounding beneath her palms. “I have been asking myself the very same question. There is no answer, I’m afraid, except that I do.”
“You scarcely know me—”
“And you scarcely know me. So I am perfectly well aware that you most likely do not return my affection—”
“Return your affection?!” An exasperated smile twisted his mouth. His eyes twinkled. “I have thought of little else—”
“Liar,” she said mildly.
“I—”
“You have thought of little else other than your missing niece and recent tragedy. Come, admit the truth!”
His grin turned rueful as he slid an arm around her waist. “I admit to some concerns. However, you were by far my greatest distraction.”
“Distraction?” She wrinkled her nose and pushed at his chest. “That is hardly flattering. The bite of a fly can be a distraction.”
“Perhaps. But flies do not make one love them. You do. Despite the fact that you can be just as irritating at times.” His head lowered, but he stopped with his mouth an inch away from hers. “Sadly, the opportunity I so recently offered you appears to be gone, and you have no one to blame but yourself. I love you too much to grant you an escape a second time.”
When he made no move to close the gap between them, Dorothy smiled and slipped a hand behind his neck. “Then the debt is paid, the contract is made, and will never be broken.”
“Done.” He pressed his lips against hers, his strong arms holding her tightly against him.
Something crinkled in her pocket.
Her hand drifted down to touch the annoyance, only to find the straight edge of folded paper. She pulled away a few inches. “The letter! I have a letter from my sister.” She winkled it out of her pocket to glance at it.
Marcus pulled her closer again with a smile and deep fire in his eyes. “Forget the letter.”
With an answering smile, she did.
The letter fluttered from her fingers and fell onto the thick carpeting, unheeded.
And in a room redolent of leather and roses, Dorothy discovered that when love comes, whether fast or slow, it cancels all debts, heals all hearts, and shines ever more brightly on a glorious future.