Julianne MacLean (17 page)

A
dele was sitting with Sophia in the Wentworth House drawing room, when Clara, wearing a dark brown, slim-fitting walking-out dress with a matching hat, was shown in. She pulled off her gloves and took Adele’s hands. “What is it, darling? I came the moment I read your note.”

“She has something she wishes to discuss with us,” Sophia said, moving forward to join them in the center of the room.

“Let’s sit down,” Adele said. They all took places where they could face one another. “I’m not quite sure how to tell you this, because I know it will come as a shock, but I need to break off my engagement to Harold.”

Both her sisters went silent for a few awk
ward seconds. Then Clara spoke quietly. “Is it because of what we talked about at Osulton?”

“What did you talk about?” Sophia asked.

Clara began to explain. “You remember that Lord Alcester brought Adele home from the kidnapper?”

“Yes.”

“Well, she and Lord Alcester spent three days and nights together, and—”

Clara didn’t need to finish. Sophia understood. “You care for Lord Alcester, Adele? Why didn’t you tell me?”

Adele gazed apologetically at Sophia. “I was going to, but there never seemed to be a right time. But it doesn’t matter. I don’t want Damien. That’s not why I can’t marry Harold. I would have made this decision even if I had never met him. At least I hope I would have made it.”

Sophia glanced uneasily at Clara. “Good heavens, I’ve been encouraging Lily to consider Lord Alcester. I wouldn’t if I had known.”

Adele shook her head. “If he is inclined to propose to Lily, that’s fine. It’s their business, not mine. I just want to go home.”

“But Lily left London this morning,” Sophia said. “She didn’t say why, but we all know she doesn’t enjoy the marriage mart.”

Adele was surprised. Lily had said she
wanted
to fall in love with someone.

Clara spoke up. “But if Damien has no hold on your feelings, Adele, why don’t you want to marry Harold?”

“Because I don’t love him. It’s as simple as that.”

“But you thought you did at one time,” Clara said.

“Yes, but that was before—” She stopped herself.

“Before you met Damien,” Clara finished for her.

Adele stood and paced around the room. “Yes, before I met Damien. But that doesn’t mean I want to marry him. He just helped me see that I wasn’t the person I thought I was.” She stopped in front of the window. “Mother is going to think he was a very bad influence.”

Sophia blew out a breath. “To be sure.”

They were all quiet for a moment, digesting the news, then Clara said, “When will you tell Harold?”

“Today,” Adele replied. “I’ll hate hurting him of course, but I think this is best dealt with in a decisive manner. Then I will go home as soon as possible. I want to find a purpose in my life or a dream of my own to work toward. I’m tired of drifting in the direction of other people’s pointing fingers.”

Sophia rose to her feet. “I think that sounds wonderful, Adele.”

Adele smiled. “So will you help me explain it to Mother?”

Her sisters pulled wary faces.

“Of course we will,” Clara said. “I anticipate you’re going to need all the help you can get.”

Two hours later—after no shortage of sobs and arguments, and general, all-around misery from Adele’s mother—Adele stood on the front steps of Osulton House with her two sisters, tapping the large brass door knocker and trying to keep her nerves steady.

Harold, may I have a moment alone with you?
she rehearsed in her mind. Or perhaps she would need to speak to Eustacia first.
Eustacia, would you be so kind as to give me a moment alone with your son?

Her whole body churned with dread. She hoped Eustacia would not react the same way her mother had, toppling backward onto the sofa with her mouth open wide. Eustacia and her mother were similar creatures, however…

Adele turned to Clara. “Do you have the smelling salts?”

Clara patted her reticule. “Do you even need to ask?”

Just then, the door opened, and the butler appeared with his usual stony expression. He took one look at Sophia and Clara, however, and made a bow. “Your Grace. Lady Rawdon.” He then turned his gaze to Adele. “And Miss Wilson. Good afternoon.”

Adele squeezed her reticule in her hand. “Is Lord Osulton at home?”

“I’m afraid he’s not. The family left for the country not more than an hour ago.”

Adele’s eyes narrowed questioningly. “Whatever for?”

He inclined his head. “I regret to inform you that Lord Osulton’s grandmother is ill.”

“Catherine?” Adele tensed. “Is it serious?”

“I believe it is, Miss Wilson.”

Adele turned to Clara and Sophia. “This is terrible. Poor Catherine. And poor
Harold
. I must go, too. I am still his fiancée after all. Surely Mother will take me.”

Adele started back to the coach with speed and determination in her gait—something Clara and Sophia had never seen in her before.

“Thank you,” Sophia said to the butler, before she and Clara had to scramble to keep up with their baby sister on her way down the steps.

I
t was past noon the next day when Adele and Beatrice were greeted at the door of Osulton Manor and invited inside. The house was somber. Adele and Beatrice were shown into the drawing room. Eustacia was standing alone at the window.

“Oh, my dears,” she said, turning to welcome them. “How good of you to come. We left in such a hurry, we had to leave it to Hendersley to explain where we had gone.”

Beatrice embraced her. “We came as soon as we heard.”

“Is she any better?” Adele asked.

Eustacia held a handkerchief up to her nose. “The physician doesn’t think so. He said it wouldn’t be more than a few days. A week at
most.” She shuddered with a sob, and hugged Beatrice again. “Oh, my dear, dear mother. What will I do without her?”

Beatrice led Eustacia to the sofa. Eustacia lifted her puffy, watery gaze. “Adele, go and see Catherine now. Harold is with her. It will mean so much to him that you came.”

Adele leaned forward to squeeze Eustacia’s hand, and met her mother’s concerned gaze. Beatrice had made no secret of the fact that she had hoped this visit would change Adele’s mind about Harold.

Adele did not know what would transpire. Maybe it would change her mind. Maybe it would not. She wished only for clarity and an absolute certainty in her decision, whatever it turned out to be.

She made her way through the house to the east wing where Catherine’s rooms were located, and knocked upon the door. No one answered, so she quietly entered the sitting room.

Catherine’s space looked the same as always. It was cluttered with old pillows and interesting knickknacks—evidence of a lifetime of collecting special treasures. She passed through the sitting room to the double doors on the other side that led to Catherine’s bedchamber, and stopped to prepare herself. Harold was surely going to be distraught. She would do her best to comfort him.

The doors were slightly ajar, so she peered through the narrow opening before she en
tered, but she could see only the foot of the bed. She heard a quiet weeping.

Oh, Harold
.

Adele closed her eyes and bowed her head. She gently pushed the door open, but it was not Harold she saw. The person sitting next to the bed, with his head resting on Catherine’s hand, was Damien.

Adele’s heart squeezed painfully. She pressed her hand to her chest.

He must have sensed her presence, because he turned and looked at her. His eyes were colored by a dark, despairing anguish, along with a measure of shock from seeing her when he had not expected it.

Adele swallowed over a lump that formed in her throat. Damien—the black knight who could raise his sword and conquer any enemy, and the scoundrel who could, at his whim, seduce any woman…He had been weeping.

Damien rose from his chair and crossed the room toward her. He stood for a moment, staring into her eyes, then he pulled her gently, tenderly into his arms. Adele shuddered with surprise at the contact, not realizing how desperately she had wanted to touch him, despite all her reasons not to.

He held her tightly for a long while, then he pressed his lips to her neck. She allowed it, because she could not forget all the times he had helped and comforted
her
. But when he laid a trail of kisses across her cheek and took her face
in his hands and gazed down at her lips, Adele realized she was not allowing this to comfort
him
. It was an excuse to take from him what
she
wanted. Pleasure. Closeness. Intimacy.

Elated to be in his arms, jubilant simply to
see
him, she ignored the little voice in her brain that reminded her that anyone could walk in and find them this way, gazing into each other’s eyes like lovers. Or that Catherine could open her eyes and see what sin they were committing, what betrayal, when Adele was still engaged to Harold.

But in all honesty, to Adele’s utter shame and bewilderment, none of that mattered. Not at this moment when Damien was holding her and telling her with his body that he wanted her, too.

Damien closed his eyes. “God, I’m sorry for touching you like this.”

She shook her head. “Please, don’t apologize.”

He said nothing for a few seconds, his voice a mere whisper when he spoke. “What are you doing here?”

“I heard about Catherine.” They glanced with concern at his grandmother. “How is she?” Adele asked softly.

“Not good. All her life, she’s had a sparkle in her eye. But not today.”

“What did the doctor say?”

Damien explained the prognosis—that at Catherine’s age, this illness would take everything she had, and leave her with nothing. Her breathing was already shallow and erratic, which implied the worst.

“Has she been conscious?” Adele asked.

“Not this afternoon. I’ve been sitting here, talking to her for over an hour, trying to get her to wake up, but—”

Adele reached for his hand and clasped it warmly in hers.

“We were able to talk earlier this morning,” Damien said. “She had a great deal to say—and most of it came as a surprise.” He pinched the bridge of his nose.

Adele waited patiently for him to say more.

For the longest time he simply stared at the rug, then he glanced uncertainly at her. She sensed he wanted to talk, and she wanted very much to be the person he talked to. “You can tell me if you want to,” she said gently.

“I do want to.”

“Then I’m listening.”

He glanced back at the bed again.

“She told me something I didn’t know,” he said. “That my father kept a secret from me and the rest of the world.” He lowered his head, shaking it, then he lifted his gaze. “There is something I never told you about myself and the way my parents died.”

Adele remembered what Violet had told her….

“Damien, you don’t have to hide it. I know. Violet told me something after you left for London. She said your father killed himself.”

His eyes gleamed with dampness; his brow furrowed with surprise. “You knew that?”

She nodded. “Yes, but I don’t know how it
happened. I only know what would be considered gossip.”

He swallowed hard. “Well, I don’t think anyone knows how much of it I consider my fault.”

Adele took a step closer to him. “Oh, Damien, I didn’t know
that
. What happened?”

He sent a glance her way—a glance that told her he appreciated her sympathy and understanding. She wanted very much to touch him again.

“I was only nine when I found out my mother was having an affair,” he said quietly. “I was furious with her, and I didn’t have the sense or experience with life to handle it tactfully, so I told my father. He was devastated, and he went after my mother with a gun.”

“Good gracious, Damien.”

“I took my horse and followed him through London. He went to the house where my mother’s lover lived, but I didn’t get there in time. He had found her with her lover. He meant to shoot them both, I believe.”

Adele braced herself for the worst. “Did he murder her, Damien?”

He shook his head. “No. He found them together, but he ran out. My mother tried to go after him, and that’s when I came along. She took my horse so she could go after my father, but she fell along the way, galloping across the park, and that’s how she died. I was the one who found her when I was running after her.”

Feeling a deep, excruciating ache in her chest,
Adele spoke in a hushed tone. “I’m so sorry.” She squeezed his hand.

“I ran home to tell my father, and that was even worse than what I had told him before. Then, the day they buried my mother, he went into Whitechapel and got himself stabbed. Purposefully, it’s believed. I blamed myself, of course, for causing the explosion, which is what it was.”

Adele swallowed hard at the shock of hearing this. “But you were just a boy, Damien. It wasn’t your fault. You were only the messenger.”

“Not a very tactful one.”

Adele put her arms around his neck and hugged him. He squeezed her tightly in return.

“But this morning,” he said, “my grandmother told me that my father suffered from what she called an unsteady constitution.”

“Unsteady constitution? What does that mean?”

“Sometimes he was as happy and energetic as a child, and other times he withstood a deep melancholy that would often last for weeks.”

“You knew nothing of it?”

He walked to the foot of the bed. “I remember that he would go away sometimes and I wouldn’t see him, then he would come back with gifts and he would want to celebrate. We would stay up all night dancing and playing games. I don’t remember any melancholy.”

“Perhaps he tried to keep it from you to protect you.”

“Yes.” He turned around to face Adele again.
“Grandmama also told me that he tried to take his own life more than once. Even before he met and married my mother.”

Adele crossed to Damien, and reached up to lay her hand on his cheek. He covered it with his own.

“For years she’s been trying to convince me that what happened that day wasn’t my fault,” Damien said, “but I never believed it.”

They both gazed at Catherine for a moment. “Do you believe it now?” Adele asked.

He considered it. “I believe I need to forgive the nine-year-old boy who didn’t know any better. But I don’t believe I will ever be able to let go of the guilt. I will always feel remorse when I remember the way I told my father. I did not try to spare his feelings. I didn’t even think of that. I was only angry at my mother, and wanted to see her punished.”

Adele digested all this with a deep, soulful understanding. “You were only nine, Damien. You didn’t have the maturity or information to understand what your mother was going through. It’s only natural that you would have been angry. And you’re right. You do need to forgive the nine-year-old boy you were then. Your regrets are the regrets of a man who knows how he would handle the situation today. And you
would
handle it differently today. I know you would. I’ve seen the way you’ve handled everything that had happened with us.”

Damien kissed Adele’s hand. “You are so kind,” he said.

Adele swallowed over the lump in her throat and fought to keep tears from spilling out of her eyes.

“Let’s not talk about that anymore,” he said. “It’s good to see you.”

Adele watched his face, so beautiful in the gray light pouring in through the windows. His dark eyes were closed; he looked calm as he kissed the inside of her wrist, sending gooseflesh up her spine. His mouth traced a path up her arm.

“Don’t tell me to stop yet, Adele,” he whispered. “Please. It’s been a trying day. Just give me this moment.” He returned his attention to her hand, and kissed it again and again.

Adele trembled. She couldn’t have told him to stop if she’d wanted to. All she could do was close her own eyes and revel in the feel of his warm, moist lips upon her skin.

“I’m not going to stop you,” she whispered, wanting to be selfish and greedy for once in her life, and barely recognizing the husky thickness of her voice. “I’m tired of fighting it.”

He stopped and lifted his gaze. Though his eyes were brimming with desire, he was apparently surprised by her surrender, and he looked to be waiting for an explanation.

She didn’t know if she should tell him her decision not to marry Harold or not. She was afraid of what Damien’s response would be. He’d accused her of some terrible things recently. Would he see this as another careless, thoughtless act from an inconstant woman who could not be faithful? Or would he be pleased?
Pleased that she was finally following her heart?

She continued to watch his waiting face, then felt her own eyes grow heavy with yearning. She adored this man. She couldn’t deny it, and the truth was flailing inside her, kicking and screaming to get out…

“I’m not going to marry Harold,” she said at last, and the weight of the whole world lifted from her shoulders. There. It was out. Damien knew. “I’m going to tell him as soon as I can.”

Shock glimmered in his eyes. Adele waited anxiously for his response. “May I ask why?”

“Because I don’t love him, and it wouldn’t be fair to either one of us.” A hot quivering began in Adele’s belly, and she glanced at the bed, wondering fleetingly if Catherine was awake, if she could hear them.

Just then, the outer door of the sitting room opened. Both she and Damien stepped apart in time to see Eustacia and Beatrice push through the double doors to the bedchamber.

Eustacia stopped when she saw them. “Damien. I didn’t realize you were here.”

Adele glanced at her mother, who looked at her with disapproval.

Eustacia crossed to the bed and took Catherine’s hand. “Hello, Mother,” she said softly, but Catherine did not stir.

Damien turned his back on all of them and walked to the window. He gazed out at the gray sky. Adele’s body was still trembling with unease because of what she’d just told Damien.
She didn’t know what consequences would arise from her confession. Her mother was not happy with her decision. That much she knew. What would Eustacia think? And Harold? And what would Damien want after all was said and done? She couldn’t deny that she was still dreaming of a happy ending with her handsome black knight. Even now, her body was warm with desire and anticipation after what had just occurred between them. She wanted more of him—more conversation, more touching. She hoped her cheeks were not flushed.

Beatrice moved to stand on the other side of the bed. She turned her gaze to Adele. “I wonder where Harold is?”

Adele heard the reprimand in her mother’s voice, for she had always considered Damien a threat, even though Adele had never openly revealed her feelings.

Quite unexpectedly, Catherine stirred. “Did someone mention Harold?”

Eustacia leaned over the bed. “Yes, Mother. Adele is here.”

“Adele? The American gel?”

“Yes, that’s right. She’s engaged to Harold. Remember?”

Adele’s heart broke a little at Catherine’s confusion and lost memory, for she had spent many enjoyable hours with Catherine over the past few weeks. They had talked and laughed together and shared many stories. Catherine’s mind was clearly deteriorating quickly. Adele shared a glance with Damien and knew he was
concerned and thinking the same thing she was. Adele could see it in his eyes.