His Wicked Embrace (32 page)
Read His Wicked Embrace Online
Authors: Adrienne Basso
“Has the earl returned to The Grange, Jenkins?” Isabella inquired, asking the question she feared most.
The valet's expression softened slightly. “Damien and the children await you in the front salon.”
Isabella nodded her head in acknowledgment, not trusting her voice. When Jenkins had departed, she struggled up the narrow staircase with the bundle of clothes for Maggie.
Maggie's delight and excitement over the beautiful gowns quickly changed to sadness when Isabella said her final good-bye. Maggie hugged her tightly and sniffled loudly.
“Fred and I are so very grateful for everything you've done for us and the baby. I don't know how we'll get on without you. Catherine and Ian will miss you so much. And so will I. And Fran and Penny and Molly. Goodness, everyone will miss you.”
“Even Mrs. Amberly?” Isabella joked, blinking back the moisture from her eyes.
“Oh, miss!” Maggie smiled. “That's just what I mean. Who will make us laugh when you are gone?”
Isabella smiled weakly. After a several minutes of fussing over the baby and more hugs from Maggie, she finally quit the room. Nerves frayed and resolve waning, Isabella proceeded to the front salon. Marshaling the courage she knew she would need, Isabella paused before entering the room.
Her expression remained contained, but she flinched inwardly when she saw Damien, Ian, and Catherine. God help her, this was going to be difficult.
“Father told us you are going away,” Catherine said without preamble in the typical forthright manner of children. “Why are you leaving us?”
“I have important business I must attend to that forces me away from The Grange,” Isabella replied, giving as much explanation as she dared. She was relieved that Damien had spared her from informing the children of her departure, but was unsure what the earl might have told his children. “I shall miss you, Catherine. And you too, Ian.”
“But we don't want you to go away,” Catherine cried.
“I know,” Isabella whispered, impulsively dropping to her knee and opening her arms wide. Both children rushed forward without hesitation. Isabella hugged their small bodies tightly, committing to memory the joyful feel of their clinging arms and sweet, wet kisses.
“You must promise to behave yourselves and mind your father,” Isabella said. She sat back on her heels but still held the children loosely in the circle of her arms. “I want you to practice your numbers, Ian. Catherine, you must continue with your alphabet and letters. I'm sure your father will be glad to help you.”
Isabella risked a glance at the earl, but Damien's expression gave no hint of his inner thoughts.
“You may go down to the kitchen, children,” Damien said. “Cook prepared a special treat for you last night and has left it in the larder.”
The children didn't budge, clearly reluctant to leave, but after a commanding nod from their father they sprang into action.
“Good-bye, Miss Browning,” Catherine said.
“Good-bye, Miss Browning,” Ian repeated.
With one final hug, the children dashed from the room. The door slammed loudly at their exit, the room silent except for the lingering sound. Isabella slowly rose to her feet. She straightened her traveling cloak, looking down at the buttons that adorned the front.
“I waited for you last night,” she said softly.
“My mood was not very congenial.” Damien flexed the fingers on his left hand. “I would have been rather unpleasant company.”
“I wouldn't have minded,” Isabella said honestly. Screwing up her courage, she asked. “Where were you?”
“I rode for several hours around the grounds of the estate before eventually heading toward the village. By nightfall I found myself at the town square. I went inside the church.” Damien swallowed so hard she could see his Adam's apple move. “And spent the night there.”
“In church?”
A ghost of a smile flashed across his face. “Unbelievable, is it not?”
“Not really.” Isabella leaned close and laid her hand on the earl's arm. “I hope it brought you some measure of peace, Damien.”
“At this moment, I don't think that is either humanly or divinely possible.”
Isabella gripped his arm. She wanted to lean her head forward until it rested against his broad chest. She wanted to tell him that she shared his pain, his grief, his distress. She wanted to offer comfort and be comforted by this strong, noble man whom she loved beyond all reason. But she did not move.
Damien cleared his throat. “We spoke once of the possible consequences of our physical relationship. If, after you leave, you discoverâ”
“There will be no child,” Isabella whispered, dropping her arm.
“I see.” The earl's voice was smooth and emotionless. “Are you all packed?”
“Yes.” Isabella bowed her head.
“Has Jenkins or one of the other servants brought your luggage down?”
“Yes.”
“Then I suppose you had best be gone. It is already several hours past the early morning start that Poole demanded.”
“Yes,” Isabella whispered, her voice a thread of misery. She could feel him looking at her. She wanted desperately to lift her face and stare into his one final time, but her eyes were swimming in tears and she vowed he would not see her cry.
“Good-bye, Damien.” A great weight was pressing down on Isabella's chest, and she had difficulty catching her breath. She turned to leave.
“I will miss you, Isabella,” he said quietly. “I have no doubts that I shall think of you far too often for my own peace of mind.”
“Oh, Damien! ”
Her legs nearly gave out. She turned back to the earl, hesitated, then rushed into his arms. Burying her head in his shoulder, she finally allowed herself the luxury of tears. The unexpressed emotions and unspoken words of love remained hidden deep in her heart as she cried for all they had shared and for all they had lost.
Her legs nearly gave out. She turned back to the earl, hesitated, then rushed into his arms. Burying her head in his shoulder, she finally allowed herself the luxury of tears. The unexpressed emotions and unspoken words of love remained hidden deep in her heart as she cried for all they had shared and for all they had lost.
Damien's fingers twined in her hair. He held her close, and she welcomed his protective, possessive touch. His warmth eased away some of the bitter coldness in her soul. Isabella felt her heart thumping in slow, painful beats, wondering why it did not simply split in two.
“I know it is selfish, yet I'm glad you will also miss me,” Damien said hoarsely.
Isabella gulped back her sobs and raised her tear-swollen face. Damien smiled down at her, but she saw the bleakness he could not hide clearly in his eyes. He leaned down and kissed her lips softly, gently. It was a kiss of affection, not passion. A kiss of tenderness and comfort. A kiss of love.
She closed her eyes against the pain. All too soon the kiss ended. Isabella felt Damien take her hands in his own. They were warm and solid. She clung to them tightly. Slowly he led her out of the room, across the great hall, and into the sunlight.
A fine traveling carriage stood waiting in the drive, the steps lowered and door opened. It was a warm morning despite the breeze, but Isabella barely noticed.
Damien handed her into the carriage. She was glad of his support, for her feet faltered on the small steps. She settled on the near side and blindly thrust her arms out the open window. She felt Damien take her hands. He lifted one, then the other, to his lips.
“Farewell, my lord,” she said.
“Godspeed, Isabella.”
He dropped her hands abruptly, and the carriage lurched forward. Panic clawed at Isabella's throat as the wheels crunched down the gravel drive. Within minutes they had cleared the gates and turned onto the road.
Lord Poole gazed broodingly across the coach at her, but held his tongue. Isabella supposed he was chafed at the delay her long farewell had caused. She sighed deeply, allowing numbness to overtake her bruised emotions. She had left The Grange at her brother's command, because she had no other choice. But her heart would forever remain behind.
The sound of shattering glass brought Jenkins to the library at a run. He opened the door, fearing what he might discover, but the drapes were shut tight, bathing the room in darkness. Jenkins could barely discern the earl's tall silhouette.
“Are you all right? I thought I heard glass breaking.”
“I didn't throw anything this time, Jenkins.” Damien gave a hollow laugh. “I was merely holding my goblet when it suddenly broke.”
“That goblet was made of leaded crystal,” Jenkins grumbled. “You must have been pressing on it awfully hard for it to split like it was a ripe melon.”
The valet lit a brace of candles, then crossed the room to assess the damage. “You've cut your hand,” he exclaimed. “And in more than one place.”
“So I have,” the earl replied absently. “Strange, I didn't even feel it.” Damien looked down with detached interest as the blood dripped steadily onto the rug. “Poor Mrs. Amberly will be distressed. I've gotten blood all over the Aubusson carpet. It leaves such a nasty stain. I hope she will not have too much difficulty removing it.”
“Have you gone completely daft?” Jenkins pulled the earl's hand toward him and examined the wounds. There were several cuts on Damien's palm and a few slashes across the finger pads. After dousing the wounds liberally with whiskey, Jenkins wrapped the hand with a clean handkerchief. The earl remained silent through the entire procedure.
“After all that has happened today, the one thing that troubles you is the damn rug,” Jenkins said with exasperation.
“You are missing the point, my friend,” Damien said. He poured himself a fresh glass of whiskey. “If I concentrate long and hard on the inconsequential occurrences of today, I can ignore all the important ones. It is a technique I have subconsciously employed for years, yet I only realized that today. However, this afternoon I deliberately turn my attention toward the minute details.”
“You are talking nonsense.”
“I am not.” Damien sighed heavily, and twirled his whiskey glass restlessly in his uninjured hand. “I have lived most of my life chasing after the unimportant details. My marriage to Emmeline was unhappy, so I ignored her and invested all my energy and time in making The Grange a profitable estate. If I had put half as much effort into my marriage, Emmeline might still be alive.”
“You are not to blame for her death,” Jenkins insisted, watching the earl's expression change from indifference to regret.
“Oh, but I am.” Damien made a small, guttural noise and bit down on his lip. “She was my wife, my responsibility. And I failed her. God only knows what she was doing in that passageway, and so it shall remain. We will never learn the truth. But if I had cared more, if I had concerned myself more with her happiness, if I had protected Emmeline properly, she would have been safe. I failed her, Jenkins. And she paid the ultimate price for my neglect.”
“Emmeline never sought or wanted your involvement in her life,” Jenkins said. “Her friends, her social activities, pursuing her own interestsâthat is what occupied Emmeline's days. She wanted little to do with you or The Grange or even her own children. She spent far more time living in her brother's house than she did in yours, even after you were married.”
“She was my wife, Jenkins. She was my responsibility,” the earl repeated stubbornly.
Jenkins shook his head. “Are you going to wallow in guilt and self-pity for the rest of your life to atone for this great sin? Is that why you let Poole drag Miss Browning away? Are you punishing yourself?”
“God, I hope not,” Damien replied honestly. He crossed the room and pulled one drape panel open. He stood looking out the window for several minutes. “I have nothing to offer her, Jenkins. I know Isabella left because she thought it would forestall Poole's revenge on me. She is a noble and unselfish woman.”
“She is,” Jenkins agreed.
“I doubt Lord Rathwick would have been able to bring me to trial without a shred of evidence, but Poole certainly would have pressed him hard to prove that I murdered Emmeline. Now Poole will have to content himself with my financial ruin. I feel certain he will demand payment of the mortgages by the end of the week.”
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