Chapter Fifteen
A s the clock in the entry hall struck midnight, Shay stood in front of the dying fire in his otherwise dark study and lifted the bottle of whiskey to his lips. In his rush to drink himself into oblivion, he hadn’t bothered with a glass.
He couldn’t bring himself to go upstairs and put this day to an end, either, because that would mean dawn would come sooner than he could bear. And with dawn would come Sophie’s departure. So he stood there, half dressed in his shirt sleeves and unbuttoned waistcoat, his discarded cravat on the floor.
Dear God, would he ever be able to wipe the look of anguish he’d put on her face this afternoon in the greenhouse from his memory? First, when he’d admitted to killing John for her. Then, when he’d voiced the only solution to their problems—for her to leave Ravenscroft. And him.
That was when she’d gazed at him as if he truly were a monster.
But it couldn’t be helped, just as he couldn’t allow her to stay. She had to leave, they both knew it. Living with him would only cause her pain.
He gave a bitter laugh at his own situation. She might be free, but her absence would eat at him like a ghost pain, like one of those men who had lost arms and legs in the wars but continued to feel their presence long after they’d been severed.
After his declaration that their marriage needed to end, he had left, striding away through the gardens to reclaim his horse from the grooms. He’d ridden away as fast as he could, leaving her to stand at the edge of the gardens and watch him until he could no longer see her over his shoulder. He had only returned a few minutes ago, long after midnight and well past the time she should have gone to bed.
But damnation if a candle wasn’t glowing in her bedroom window as he’d approached the house. She’d found no more peace tonight than he had.
“It’s for the best,” he told himself. Perhaps if he said that often enough, he would start to believe it.
A faint knock rapped on the door. Shay glanced up, for a moment his heart foolishly hopeful—
But it wasn’t Sophie.
“Colonel?” Pearson stepped into the room. “Henley said you’d asked for me. Do you need help undressing?”
“No.” Shay stared down into the dying embers and lifted the bottle to his lips again, only to find it empty. With a curse, he set it on the mantel. “The duchess is leaving in the morning to return to London. I want you to travel with her to keep her safe.” When the valet opened his mouth to question that, Shay cut him off with a wave of his hand. “Then you can carry out your plan to resign and find employment elsewhere. I’ll write you a recommendation in the morning.”
Pearson stiffened. “Her Grace is leaving us?”
“Me,” Shay corrected a bit too harshly. “She’s leaving me .” He paused, then added, “It’s for the best.”
“Bollocks.”
Shay rolled his eyes. “Pearson, I am quite aware of your feelings about—”
“Have you seen the weather? Icy cold with more snow expected tonight. Use that as your excuse to keep her here for a few extra days until you come to your senses and realize she’s the best thing that ever happened to you.”
He grimaced at the fire. “But I’m certainly not the best for her.”
“Bollocks.”
Shay knew better than to argue. “Goodnight, Pearson. Be packed and ready to go by eight in the morning.”
The valet lingered silently a moment longer, as if waiting for Shay to change his mind, then left for his room.
But Shay wouldn’t change his mind. Despite everything, he loved Sophie and always would. Just as he knew the best life for her wasn’t one spent shackled to him. Whatever feelings she possessed for him would only turn into revulsion if she ever saw how he truly was now, followed by unrestrained resentment for forcing her to wed him anyway.
As he turned away from the fire, his gaze drifted out the window at the black night. The full moon cast a cold light across the fields and distant hills, brightly enough to expose tall drifts. But a layer of black clouds clung to the far horizon, and the promise of more snow hung in the air.
Pearson was right about the weather. Shay couldn’t send Sophie away under such conditions, and he feared tonight’s new snow would slow her travel. Or worse, trap her at some godforsaken coaching inn in the middle of nowhere, where she wouldn’t have a proper room or meals.
He would have no choice but to keep her here for a few days until conditions improved. But it sure as hell wouldn’t be to mend their marriage.
“I’ll move into the dower house,” he mumbled to himself as he closed the tall shutters on the window and shut out the wintry night that only increased his troubles.
The old place hadn’t been used since his grandmother’s time over thirty years ago, but its isolated location on the far side of the estate from the manor house would serve him well in staying out of Sophie’s way. She would be able to pack in peace and leave as soon as the weather broke. She’d never have to lay eyes on him again.
He turned away from the window, only to freeze when his gaze fell to the desk and onto the little metal bird Sophie had given him. Twice. He picked it up and turned it over in his hand, its iron feathers cold against his palm.
He yanked open the desk drawer and dropped it back into place with her other gifts. “It’s for the best, damn it!”
He slammed closed the drawer and leaned against the desk, his palms flat on the desktop, as he forced his breath to steady and slow. He should have gotten rid of those little gifts years ago, but he hadn’t been able to bring himself to part with them. They were a reminder of the affection Sophie once held for him, of the man he once was.
He blew out a harsh breath. There was no point in disturbing Sophie tonight with news of the change in her travel plans. He would tell her in the morning that she would have to stay until the weather broke and that he would move into the dower house, only to stay out of her way. Only for a few days.
Only until she was gone from his life, this time forever.
“Your Grace.” The footman appeared in the doorway.
Shay straightened. “Yes?”
“Is there anything you need, sir?”
The young man looked exceedingly tired and more than ready to put an end to the long day. But he couldn’t, Shay knew, as long as the master of the house was not yet abed. Neither could Henley; even if the butler had retired to his room, he wouldn’t yet be in bed himself until he received word that Shay had gone to his rooms.
“No, thank you. I’m ready to retire.” He wasn’t. Being in the room next to Sophie’s and listening to the rustle of movement inside while she spent the night packing would be nothing short of torture. But it was a torture he had earned, and he couldn’t haunt the study all night without turning the household even further upside-down than Sophie’s eminent departure already had. “Good night.”
Shay pulled in a deep breath and headed upstairs through the dark house to his rooms.
He paused in the hallway outside Sophie’s room. No candlelight showed beneath the door, and no sounds came from within. Good. Hopefully, she was in bed asleep and wouldn’t hear him as he undressed. There was no point in both of them having a sleepless night.
His bedchamber was dark and cool, the only light coming from the faint glow of coals in the fireplace and the moonlight that slanted in through the windows. Pearson hadn’t prepared his room for the night, not bothering to bank the fire or close the drapes, most likely believing Shay wouldn’t be home at all. Or for spite.
He shrugged out of his waistcoat and let it drop to the floor, then sat on the chair before the fire only long enough to yank off his boots and stockings. Christ, he couldn’t even sit still! How on earth was he ever supposed to sleep? Maybe he never would again.
He crossed to the window as he yanked down his braces and let them dangle around his hips. The thick clouds on the horizon were ominously moving toward the home park, and it wouldn’t be long before they’d hidden away the moon, bringing with them more snow and cold. Stifling a curse at Mother Nature, he peeled his shirt off over his head and turned away from the window.
He froze, the white shirt halfway down his arms. Sophie.
She stood in the connecting doorway between their rooms, her hand still resting on the door handle. She was enveloped in the soft light of the small fire, as surprised to find him there as he was. She wasn’t wearing the ribbon and lace negligee she’d donned for their private dinner in his room on the night she’d attempted to seduce him. No, what she wore tonight was a plain flannel night rail that covered her like a tent, from its scooped neckline to its long sleeves and down to mid-calf. Her golden hair was down and lingering in silken waves around her shoulders and down her back. She looked casual and soft, all ready for a warm bed, and he would have sworn he could smell lavender gently wafting around her like a cloud.
But it was her eyes that struck him, that twisted his gut into an agonizing knot—
She was staring directly at his torso and the hideous scars covering most of his upper body.
Wearing only his trousers, in bare feet and naked from the waist up, he couldn’t hide from her now. He was exposed.
“Don’t,” he rasped out, barely louder than a breath, unable to move beneath her gaze. Don’t look at me.
“I didn’t know you were here,” she said quietly and stepped slowly into the room. “I didn’t think you would come home at all tonight.” She walked toward him slowly. “I used up the pitcher of water in my room and came to steal yours. I didn’t think you would mind.”
“Don’t,” he repeated, blinking rapidly as humiliation roiled inside him in scalding waves, growing in intensity with each step that brought her closer.
She stopped in front of him, her eyes fixed on his scars. His breath came ragged now, shallow and awkward, afraid even that small movement would cause her to somehow see him more fully. He could feel her gaze raking over him, searing over the leathery skin, the rough ridges that would never be smooth again, that appeared discolored and mottled even now in the dim moonlight. There was no hiding damage like that, not even in the shadows.
She lifted her hand to touch his chest—
“Don’t.”
She froze, her hand in mid-reach, except for her eyes that darted up to his and ripped his breath away. He had steeled himself for the revulsion he expected to see on her face, the horror of finally realizing exactly what kind of monster she’d married—perhaps relief that his body would now never be pressed against hers in the marriage bed. Even pity, which would have broken him.
But what he saw instead…curiosity.
Slowly, she moved her hand toward him until her fingertips just barely brushed against the scars on his shoulder. Each feather-light caress was agonizing, the wounds still raw, but he compelled himself to remain perfectly still, somehow managing to force down a shuddering cringe.
“This is what you were hiding from me,” she whispered, watching her fingertips move over his shoulder and down his right arm to where the scars ended just above his elbow. “What you didn’t want me to know about or ever see…”
She carefully slid the shirt the rest of the way off his forearms and let it fall to the floor. He felt utterly naked now, even while covered hips to ankles. The worst of him was bare to her eyes and to her hands as she traced her fingers back up his arm to his chest, and this time, he couldn’t stop the shiver of muscles that followed in her wake.
“I had wondered, when I first saw you again in London,” her voice was as gentle as her touch, and just as painful, “how far the scars extended, if they stopped at your neck or if they covered even more of you. And now I know.” She brushed her hand down his chest to his abdomen, to where the scars thinned as they disappeared below his waistband, sagging low over his hips. “Just as I know that this is the reason you refused to make love to me. You think these scars are your punishment for desiring me—worse, you let them become a wall between us, an excuse to keep your distance.”
“You should have better than a monster for a husband.” His voice was raw and gravelly. “You should have better than to have this body touching yours.”
Her hand stilled on his body as her eyes rose to meet his, looking upon him now with a look of understanding. “I love you, Shay, and my feelings for you have nothing to do with how you look. I fell in love with your soul and your heart, your kindness, your bravery… Do you think I’d let a few scars keep me away from all that?”
“It’s far more than a few scars.” He couldn’t keep the bitterness from his words.
“So it is.” She placed her hand on his chest, right over his heart, and curled her fingertips into the muscle. His heartbeat spiked. “But I don’t care. I love you despite these scars. Perhaps…I love you even more now that you have them.”
He began to laugh at how ludicrous that was, only for the sound to choke in his throat when she lowered her head and placed a kiss to his chest.
He inhaled sharply, the pain unbearable, only for it to soothe away, little by little, as she continued to kiss his chest and then his shoulders. Kisses so tender and gentle that he could barely feel them, but each one pulsed deep inside him, stirring a delicious desire not only to let himself love her but to bring back to life the man who had been dead inside him since the fire. Perhaps since long before that.
“These scars are not your punishment, Shay,” her lips whispered against his chest. “And I won’t let you turn them into mine, either.”
“Sophie,” he pleaded, his hands clenching at her arms.
“Don’t,” she repeated his word of warning and stopped him from pushing her away by stepping into his arms and lifting up onto her tiptoes to bring her mouth to his. The kiss she gave him now wasn’t at all the gentle, seeking kisses with which she’d covered his chest and shoulders. This one was filled with need and hunger, and with a frustration so palpable it grated at his heart. “Don’t keep yourself from me a moment longer.”
She snaked her arms up around his neck and pressed herself so tightly against his scarred chest that he could feel the soft flesh of her breasts flattening against him, the heat of her seeping through her flannel gown. His name was a whisper on her lips as she opened her mouth in tempting invitation. A groan rose from his throat. When he thrust his tongue between her lips, a shivering moan of unbridled need for him spilled from her.
Unable to resist a moment longer, Shay lowered himself to his knees at her feet.