Chapter 23 #2
Madelaine tried to smile but lost it somewhere in a memory of a cloakroom, Lord Cotereigh very close. “Nothing works, Mrs Ardingly. I have tried it all.”
There had been so much grief in his voice, so much crushed hope… Was it any wonder she’d started to believe he had a heart?
“Is your head paining you again, dear? You don’t look well.”
Madelaine startled, giving her aunt a reassuring smile. “I’m quite well! Really. Still tired, perhaps.”
“Go and rest, my love.” She looked Madelaine over in concern. “You are still far from your normal self. Lie down and see if you can sleep for a while.”
It seemed inviting, being alone. Though it could be dangerous too. She knew well how thoughts could intrude and magnify if one was left alone and undistracted.
But she felt shaky as she stood. Exhausted. Weak. Which was ridiculous. She’d only heard his name. She must get stronger. She would in time.
But when she left the sitting room and began to climb the stairs, she heard more than his name. She heard his voice.
Her heart slammed to a painful stop. Every bone in her body felt tense enough to snap. He was in the hall, talking to Godfrey. And then he was on the stairs up to this floor, his step swift.
She made hers swifter, running up the next flight to her room. But she wasn’t quick enough. He saw her.
“Stop.”
No. He had no right to make her. She had no reason at all to listen to him.
“Mrs Ardingly…” There was a dark warning in his voice. But he could hardly follow her to her bedchamber.
Except that’s exactly what he did, storming through the door a scant moment after her with so much force the door slammed back on its hinges.
“Running from me? You won’t do me the courtesy of talking to me?”
He was as tall and dark and hard as ever. Had she forgotten how hard he could look or was he worse than normal? She stood in the middle of the room, chin up, daring him to come further, but he stayed where he was, just inside the doorway.
“I’m not aware I owe you any courtesy.” Good. None of the frantic trembling in her breast was apparent in her voice.
Something flickered over his face. Not hurt, but anger.
“You won’t explain this?”
There was a note in his hand. He tossed it to the floor at her feet. Even without reading it, she knew what it said. She’d written it only hours before.
“It is quite self-explanatory. I am returning all the items you purchased for me, having no further use for them.”
“Yes.” His grim smile was a snarl. “I read those exact words.”
“Then I fail to see what you do not understand.”
His eyes dropped dismissively to her oldest dress. “You are dressed in rags.”
“I am dressed like an honest woman.”
He scoffed. “Oh please. Don’t pretend the things I gave you were a whore’s trinkets. You are not that stupid. Nor that unsubtle.”
“I suppose in your circle there is a subtle difference between a whore and a mistress. It’s what allows you to bow your head before God every Sunday, I suppose. To go home and kiss your wife. But in my less sophisticated circle, there is no difference at all.”
“Don’t pretend you believe in God any more than I do.”
“That is hardly the point I am making!”
“And believe me,” he continued as though she hadn’t spoken, “none of what you returned to me is what I would purchase for a mistress.”
“No, too opaque.”
“You’re right. I like them in French shifts. I like it so sheer I can see every cleft and curve.”
“You are disgusting—”
“I am honest.”
They were flinging words back and forth so quickly they were cutting off the end of each other’s sentences. Now it was her turn to scoff.
“Honest! Are you this honest with your betrothed, Cote? Does Lady Frances know what you were doing to me not ten minutes after you left her on the dance floor?”
He only smiled, the edges of it sharp as knives. “Probably.”
“But you don’t give a straw for her, of course. You told me that too.”
“She knows what our marriage will be. Do you think she doesn’t take lovers? I suspect she has one as we speak. This is how it is for people like me. This is how it is for every married couple at that ball last night.”
She sniffed, chin held high. “Not for my parents. Not for my aunt. Not…not for me.”
His eyes narrowed, but he finally looked away. She sagged at the removal of his dark gaze, as though it had been a stake pinning her in place.
“You’ve had your perfect love. You’ve had your perfect marriage.” His voice was quiet, but no softer. “No one is going to live up to that. No one will ever be as wonderful as that boy you knew. Because you won’t ever let them be.”
He swung his gaze back to her, unfathomably black.
“Were you expecting me to be as soft and doting as some sixteen-year-old in his calf love? No wonder you are disappointed. I wasn’t capable of that even then.
I am not some soft and delicate child to go mooning about, falling in love with your blue eyes and your shining hair. ”
“No. All that has been beaten out of you.”
He held her gaze for a long moment, until he began to sneer. “I see. You have to believe that, don’t you? I’m the proof of your pet theory.”
“You’re hardly doing much to convince me otherwise.”
“So perhaps I’m broken. Perhaps I’m incapable of softness. Doesn’t that make me an object of your compassion, my Mary Magdalene, my goddess Eleos?”
But her response was equally scathing. “I’m to be your whore out of pity, am I?”
He flinched at that. He would probably always flinch at the mention of pity.
She walked towards him, and he was wary as he watched her approach.
“You used my husband when you kissed me. You called on his name and told me he would want me to live, when all you wanted was to use me. There is nothing, Lord Cotereigh, nothing you can do in this world or the next that will ever make me forgive you.”
She set a hand on his chest where she’d once tucked that letter away, thinking she knew him, thinking she loved him, and she forced him backwards from her room, closing the door soundly in his face.