Chapter 45
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
It was a relief Mrs. Harris no longer slept in Mr. Harris’s bed.
She’d taken a room of her own, albeit not on the same floor with his working girls, and Harris once again kept her busy at his books.
He, meanwhile, was doing his utmost to annul their blasted marriage, with progress slower than he wished due to one sticking point: his solicitor deemed the feat impossible.
Which is why Harris had spoken to Jasp, who’d sent him to his man instead.
Jasper’s solicitor thought there might be a way around matters, but he did not guarantee success, and Harris did not like the solution.
Only it didn’t matter what he liked, he had to try for Annabelle’s sake.
Thus, he had agreed to have the man draw up a damning document listing every rotten deed Harris had ever done, including quite a few he hadn’t.
It was finished just in time for his wife’s twenty-first birthday, though Harris gave it to her a day early.
“Arthur, what is this?”
“A gift.”
“How did you know tomorrow is my—?”
“The girls all talk, Bella. Y’ think I don’t hear things?”
She blushed.
“I hope you’re pleased.”
She skimmed the contents, her face clouding over. “But Arthur, this is dreadful. It paints you in a terrible light. Why, to read it one would think you the most dishonorable, reprehensible rake in all of London!”
“Yup, added in the dastardly parts meself. Quite th’ story, eh?” He was pleased with his work.
“But why do such a thing?” Her lovely face crumpled. “Why would you knowingly perjure yourself in such awful, unflattering terms?”
“T’ make it legal.” He frowned back at her. “The solicitor says there must be blame—irrevocable proof—t’ achieve annulment. He insisted a doctor prove yer chastity too, but I paid the feller off so you needn’t submit t’ no exam.”
“You mean a doctor would have—?” Her face turned scarlet.
“Bella, don’t worry yer pretty head o’er aught what got written.
Society deems me a lowlife as ’tis. Y’ need only sign t’morrow in the presence o’ me solicitor as witness, an’ the matter’ll be done.
” He did not understand why her entire body seemed to radiate displeasure.
“Why the long face? I thought it were the perfect gift.”
“Oh it is perfect, all right.” Her eyes began to fill. “It is perfectly splendid. I don’t mind in the least what you have allowed them to write about you, not in the least!”
And out she ran, tears spilling from her eyes and the document discarded on his desk, making Harris wonder what the hell he’d done this time to rile her.
Come morning Arthur’s working ladies surprised Annabelle with a birthday tray, replete with chocolate and flowers.
She pulled the covers over her head and told them to go away.
Janie shooed the others out, threatening Annabelle, “Now that ain’t no way to treat folks, Mrs. Harris, an’ as I’m sure Arty’d like t’ congratulate you too, you’d best—”
“He won’t.” Annabelle sniffed. “He doesn’t want me, Janie. Never has.”
Arthur’s house madam yanked on the bedclothes, exposing Annabelle to the brisk morning air. “What’s this now?”
“He’s drawn up a document to annul our marriage.” She yanked them back.
“Well o’ course he has.” Janie fisted her hips. “Arty always keeps his word.” She took one look at Annabelle and pursed her lips. “Quite the pair you are.” She tsked. “Looks like you’ve a choice t’ make, Mrs. Harris, one yer husband’ll not make for yer.”
“But he already has.” Annabelle roughly fluffed her pillow, then punched the thing outright. “I’m to sign his blasted document so he can send me away, so you and he and everyone here can go on living as though I never existed.”
“You think he’d forget you that fast?” Janie’s brow rose. “Why, he’s been moonin’ about th’ place e’er since y’ took yer own room. He’s sweet on you, ma’am, only he knows he ain’t good enough fer yer kind.”
“Of course he is good enough!” Annabelle was outraged. “Arthur Harris is the most generous, kindhearted man I know.”
“You talkin’ ’bout the same man as dragged yer t’ Gretna an’ slit Finch’s throat?”
“But that was—he did those things to protect me. Everything he did was—”
“I’m chaffin’ yer.” Janie grinned. “Arty’s a gem.”
“Then why say he is not good enough for me?”
“’Cause he’s not titled—a whoreson same as Jasper. Only Arty’s no striver like yer sister’s fancy Baron. He sticks to his own, meanin’ he’ll ne’er be yer equal in name.”
“Well I am no striver either,” Annabelle insisted.
Janie’s lips twitched. “If y’ want Arty as yer husband, ma’am, you’ll have t’ be more direct, ’cause he thinks he can’t have you. Don’t mean he don’t want you.”
“But I’ve been direct. I’ve—”
“Just bed the man, Bella, an’ then he’ll have t’ stay married.” She smirked. “An’ do it afore them papers need signed. In fact, why not skip on o’er to ’is room right now?”
Annabelle thought Janie insane.
Until she did not.
Harris was roused by a tickle, as if a flea had got under his sheet. He reached to scratch the itch but was met with supple skin instead.
Had he been so rumdum last night he’d invited a chit to his bed? ’Twas true he’d tipped the brandy, but he’d stayed true to his bloody wedding vows this entire time.
He rolled and planted his face into a bosom that smelled divine.
The plush, pillowy breasts reminded him of Bella the night he’d first educated the miss.
Harris sampled one bud in his state of half-sleep and groaned.
He climbed atop the inviting body, yet in place of give felt limbs stiffen, making him scramble off so fast he—
“Arthur, stop running from me, please! I wish to consummate our marriage, and I do not want to sign that awful document!”
Bella’s face swam into focus as Harris froze, braced for flight beside his wife. He could not tear his eyes from her.
“I have tried to tell you, but you would not listen, or you chose not to hear, and I simply cannot bear the thought of never knowing your true feelings.” She gulped.
“If you do not want me for your wife, Arthur Harris, I will sign what I must and pester you no more. Only I think you the most wonderful, dear, generous man ever to—”
He kissed her in desperation, with a need so intense it overpowered his heart and loins. There’d be no leaving this bed or escaping his arms, not when body and brain had found union at last.
He’d make Mrs. Harris his wife for good this time. At last.
“Jasp, y’ ought t’ speak with ’er.”
Gerald’s continued needling grated. It was late and Milton wanted his bed. His butler could go to hell.
“Gerald, if you continue to provoke me I’ll—”
“What? Fire me an’ half th’ staff? Hire bloody strangers who’ll care even less fer yer miserable self?
Because I warn you, Jasper Audrey, our patience is growin’ thin, an’ yer wife sure as shite don’t deserve such treatment either.
If y’ mean t’ lose ’er fer good, boy, you’re doin’ a damn fine job of it. ”
Incensed by his butler’s words, Milton reached for the nearest object to fling but instead crushed the thin glass in his grip. “Fuck!” He stared at the shattered mess of lamp dome on the floor, blood dripping from his hand.
Gerald snapped open a kerchief and neatly wrapped it around Milton’s bleeding palm. “Soddin’ idiot,” he clucked like a surly hen. “You’re an arse, Jasp, an’ need more’n a few rounds in th’ ring t’ knock sense back into yer dull skull. Bustin’ things like a boy…”
His butler pushed him toward another lamp and unwrapped Milton’s bloody fist to begin plucking bits of glass from his flesh. He was still fussing when Elizabeth’s billowy self rushed the room in her night-rail, spectacles askew. She looked from Milton, to the shattered oil lamp, to Gerald.
Too pale. Too thin. Christ.
“Forgive me,” she said stiffly. “I heard something … break.”
Her voice flayed his heart to ribbons.
“Lady Milton, will y’ see t’ Jasp a moment, please? I’ve an urgent matter downstairs.” And out Gerald scurried, the bleeding opportunist.
Elizabeth cautiously approached.
Milton turned from her. “I can manage.”
“Removing glass from one’s dominant hand is no easy task.”
His heart spasmed. “Someone else can—”
“Am I truly so abhorrent to you, sir, that you would spurn my offer to help?” Her words lashed. “I’ll not speak, if my voice repulses. I will simply pluck out shards.”
“Lizzie, that is not what I—”
“Don’t speak to me either,” she bit back. “Just allow me to assist.” She took his hand in her palm.
He was both chastened and aroused by her presence, for it had been ages since they’d stood this close. The smell of her, her touch on his skin… The way her dark braid framed her neck, so elegantly elfin while the rest of her was so deliciously—
Milton forced himself not to think of his wife’s anatomy. “I trust you are feeling better?”
She did not respond.
“I meant to offer my—”
“Congratulations?” The word puffed from her lips. “Are we at a house party, sir, that you only now acknowledge your wife is with child, with your precious heir?”
He deserved her ire. He deserved far worse. “I did not wish to upset you more during your convalescence.”
“How considerate of you not to wish to upset me.”
“Lizzie, I know I’ve been a—”
“Do not speak, sir. Your actions leave no doubt as to how little you regard me.”
“Elizabeth, I cannot…” He was at a complete loss for words, while feeling miserably, abjectly sorry. To stand so near to her while she methodically pulled slivers from his hand was doing things to him which he’d tried desperately to avoid.
“I will remain your wife—I’ve no choice.” Her tone stung. “And I will raise this child as best I am able, but I will engage in the bare minimum of necessary interaction with you, Baron. I have not forgotten your treatment of me or Mr. Kilpert.”
Milton blinked as something wet fell to his hand.
“If you are in pain I will slow my efforts.”
“It is nothing,” he said stiffly.
The air between them blistered, yet when she finished, her words surprised. “Why did you crush the lamp?”
“Need you ask?” His voice cracked.
She rashly cupped his cheek. “Jasper, if you are hurting I will—”
“Damn it, woman, can you not see how painful tenderness is to me?” He violently withdrew, leaving her to stare back at him with such wide, wounded eyes he felt kicked.
“I do not know how else to be.” She stepped further away. “I can no sooner deny tenderness of feeling than I can mete out revenge with a ruler. It is not in my nature to abuse, Jasper. I am not Finch, and so I cannot—” Her face paled even more. “Clearly, I cannot give you what you need.”
She left. Elizabeth left him with his hand plucked clean and his heart splitting in two, tears falling like sparks from his eyes. He stood in his room wanting his wife more desperately than he’d ever wanted anything in the world.
That he could not have her—did not deserve her—was the greatest evil Finch had wrought.