The Perfect Scandal (17 page)

Zosia stiffened, realizing her head and shoulders were actually resting on Moreland's lap. They were both on an embroidered velvet sitting couch, his great cloak still covering her body and nightdress.

She bolted up, ensuring she yanked his greatcoat up with her to cover her breasts and all the other appropriate places. She didn't even remember being carried. “Please forgive me,” she offered, sliding her leg off the length of the couch and down to the floor where it belonged. “I did not intend to arrive in a nightdress
or
in a state of slumber.”

Moreland rubbed the length of her back assuredly. “Given the hour and circumstance, Zosia, there is no need for you to apologize.” He gestured toward the elderly woman with an ungloved hand. “My grandmother. Lady Moreland.”

The woman set her chin upon introduction and glanced toward him. “Her English is rather impressive.” She swept a pale, veined hand toward the open
double doors to her right. “Leave us, Moreland. No interruptions and no listening. This is between her and me. Respect that.”

Moreland leaned toward Zosia and swept up her hand. He gently kissed it, not once, but twice. “Her forked tongue hides an angelic heart, I assure you.”

Lady Moreland's gaze lingered on the hand he was still paying homage to, before flicking away. “You will only be gone for twenty minutes, Moreland. Not twenty years. Now, off with you.”

Zosia bit back a laugh as he released her hand.

Moreland rose and pointed down rigidly at his grandmother. “Mind yourself.” He then heaved out a breath and strode past them, through the vast double doors, disappearing from sight.

When his footsteps had faded into the distance, the woman angled herself toward Zosia and announced in a cool, flat tone, “I have very little to say to a woman I do not know. But what I do have to say, heed. For if anything happens to my grandson whilst he is in your care, I will hold you responsible and ensure that you and everything you hold dear bleeds until dead.”

Zosia's smile faded, those words scraping against her very soul. It appeared she had officially stepped into the lair of a very protective lioness. A lioness who reminded her very much of her own mother.

“Moreland is far more fragile than he will ever
let on.” The woman stared at her as if intent on penetrating her thoughts. “He had the great misfortune of having a mother who was very loving and very kind but very lost unto herself. A woman who in the last year of her life repeatedly attempted to destroy herself, as she'd fallen into a disturbing form of melancholy. My son refused to lock her away in bedlam where she belonged and took on the responsibility of caring for her himself. Though only fourteen at the time, Moreland supported his father's decision, and without even being asked, became obsessed with securing every room in the house and locking away anything she might use to hurt herself. Needless to say, it warped his young soul into carrying a burden that was never his to carry.”

Zosia pinched her lips together and clasped her hands in an effort not to fight the squeezing emotions that demanded release. Even then, Moreland sought only to protect those he loved. Even at the cost of his own sanity.

Lady Moreland sighed. “Despite their efforts, she succeeded in destroying herself all the same. My son, upon discovering her lifeless body, lost the last of his mind. He bolted her bedchamber door, where he'd left her body untouched, dismissed the servants for the day and then sent Moreland to fetch a doctor, claiming his mother wasn't feeling well. In the short time it took for Moreland to fetch a doctor, my son scribed
one last letter to Moreland and destroyed himself with a razor.” She closed her eyes and shook her head. “What he did to Moreland was unforgivable. I loathed my own son for it. I still loathe him for it. He destroyed that boy.”

Lady Moreland reopened her eyes and sighed. “Though I repeatedly asked to see the letter that his father left behind for him, to this day Moreland refuses to share it. I relented many years ago, with the understanding that it was meant to be kept between him and his father. 'Tis a letter he keeps protectively tucked in his razor case and carries with him at all times. My advice is that you never touch that case or that letter. Do not even ask him about it. He will only resent whatever good intentions you may have. If in time he does let you touch his case or if he ever opens it in your presence, it is only because he trusts you not to violate what is his. Do you understand?”

Tears burned Zosia's eyes, blurring the room as she fought the sob clinging within her chest. She finally understood the burden Moreland carried and why he was the way he was. Knowing he had already opened his razor case in her presence, even if it had been only to offer her his handkerchief, meant he trusted her without question. It was a trust she hoped to never violate.

A tear spilled forth, grazing down her cheek. She swiped at it with the tips of quivering fingers and set
her chin, trying to remain composed despite feeling anything but.

A sad smile graced Lady Moreland's full lips as she tilted her silvery head slightly. “You appear to be very compassionate. That is good. He needs compassion. That is probably why he is so drawn to you. You seek to understand him, not judge him. Few know how to set aside their own views. Even I have a tendency to judge him, and he is my own grandson.” She hesitated, glanced toward the doorway and met her gaze again. “I take it you already know about what goes on with the razor case he carries?”

Zosia nodded. “Yes.”

“He will never be cured of it. He will always have the need to carry that razor.”

Zosia leaned forward and stared at her. “Do you have so little faith in him, Lady Moreland, to think he is incapable of change? I, for one, firmly believe that if I asked him to, he would set aside his razor for me. I know he would.”

Lady Moreland's dark eyes brightened. “You have yet to understand Moreland, child. Ever since he was old enough to toddle about on his own, he never did anything unless
he
wanted to. He is ruthlessly stubborn and passionate to a fault. Much like me. But there is great danger in being overly passionate and stubborn. For when Moreland
does
want something, nothing will keep him from it. Not even reason. Why
do you think you are sitting here? Because
he
wills it. He is going against his King, his morals and his own common sense because he wills it. Nothing you or I say will ever matter. Moreland has to want to stop carrying his case on his own. And it is not something he is prepared to do. Obviously. He may never be prepared to let it go. And that is something you will have to accept.”

“I will not accept anything but the best for him. And allowing him to carry that case is not best for him.”

Lady Moreland rose from her chair and breezed toward her, sitting elegantly beside her. Grasping Zosia's hand with her soft, strong one, she squeezed it assuredly and leaned toward her. “I have shared too much of the bad. There is so much more to my Moreland than the blade.” Her mouth curved with humor. “He is quite the wit. He may never reveal this to you, for it will offend his male sensibilities, but he enjoys dabbling with the quill. He wrote the most poetic commentary on etiquette and courtship ever to grace the shelves. It was appropriately named
How To Avoid A Scandal
.”

Zosia's lips parted. The book. The red leather-bound book Moreland had sent her. The one written by an Unknown Author who in fact had been known to her all along. Her throat tightened in regret. She had tossed that book aside without ever once
considering its worth. She had thoughtlessly tossed a piece of Moreland. She never would again.

“Love him unconditionally,” Lady Moreland insisted quietly. “That is all I ask.”

Zosia's heart squeezed. She nodded and swept up the woman's hand. Bringing it to her lips, she kissed it. “I will. I promise.”

“Thank you.” Lady Moreland's hand trembled against her own. She nodded. Glancing away, she withdrew her hand and rose, waving her off. “You may leave.”

The woman must have forgotten her predicament. Zosia lifted her one leg up off the floor, lifting Moreland's greatcoat along with it. “I fear I will be as dependent upon Moreland as he will be upon me.”

Lady Moreland paused, her tight features softening. “I will fetch him for you.” She turned away and then hesitated, glancing back at Zosia from over her shoulder. “I sense you and he will be very happy and it is far more than I could have ever hoped for him.” She nodded again, then turned and walked out of the room with a smooth, beautiful grace and sashay Zosia couldn't help but admire and long for.

Oh, but to have two legs again! How she did miss it. Moreland would have fallen all over himself had he known her when she still had two legs. She would have waltzed around him at every turn.

She smiled at the thought and glanced down at
her one bare foot set against the cool, marble floor, suddenly wanting and needing to greet Moreland like the young debutante she once had been.

Zosia hesitated, then swept aside Moreland's greatcoat and pushed herself up onto her one leg and off the couch. She teetered for a moment, using her arms to balance herself.

Her one leg was very strong. She had ensured it by standing on it quite often throughout the years, to enable her to stand without assistance for long periods of time. She had simply grown lazy these past few months.

Biting her lip, she lifted the hem of her nightdress above her ankle and hopped toward the middle of the room, pausing every now and then to balance herself. Now standing directly before the door, she angled herself strategically toward it, dropping the hem of her nightdress down to her foot.

Quickly unbraiding her hair, she raked it loose and brought it forward over her shoulders, ensuring it framed her face. Setting her chin, she positioned her arms ever so gracefully at her sides and awaited the arrival of the man she now knew she was very much in love with.

T
RISTAN LEANED AGAINST
the wall at the far end of the corridor, tapping his right pocket and rattling his razor case. Though he could hear the exchange of quiet, female voices drifting toward him, he had
long given up straining to hear what he knew the conversation was about: him and his cutting.

It was degrading. He felt as if he was being passed on from one set of panicked hands to another. It wasn't as if he did it anymore. He only hoped his grandmother hadn't driven Zosia to feel pity for him now. Because he didn't want Zosia's affections to be reduced to pity. He wanted to be a man in her eyes. Not a pathetic pup.

The clicking of slippers against the marble tile made him glance up and over toward his grandmother. He pushed himself away from the wall and straightened, walking toward her until they finally paused before one another.

After a long moment, he offered coolly, “I take it I will now have to crawl in an effort to redeem myself in her eyes.”

His grandmother's dark eyes met his and a tremulous smile overtook her lips. She reached up her aged, pale hands, placing their warmth upon his cheeks, and whispered up at him, “You will never crawl again. Not in her presence. You have done well for yourself, Moreland. Very well indeed.”

He stared wordlessly down at her.

Raising herself on her toes, she lowered his head toward her and kissed his forehead gently. “I will inform His Majesty of the match I have made. He will think I and I alone arranged your disappearance. It
is the least I can do. May God bless you both. Now I am asking you to leave. Go.” She released him and stepped back.

He grabbed her and yanked her back against himself, burying her head against his chest and kissing the top of her soft, white curls. It had been some time since he had held her and acknowledged how much he truly loved her. The fact that she approved of Zosia meant everything to him. More than she would ever know. “I will write the first of every month after we arrive in New York. The moment she is with child, you will be the first to know of it.”

She pushed herself out of his arms and stepped back, tears streaming down her cheeks. She choked back a sob. Covering her mouth with a shaky hand, she rounded him and hurried down the corridor.

He jerked toward her direction as she bustled farther away.
“Grandmother!”
he called out, his own voice choked, unable to let her leave without ensuring she would survive on her own. “Assure me I have no cause or need to worry.”

She curved toward the wall and paused, leaning a hand against it, but kept her back and the long row of ivory buttons on her gown to him. “I am much stronger than I appear.”

He swallowed and stepped toward her. “Come with us. I will carry you beyond that doorstep.”

She shook her head. “I have lived my life. It is time you live yours.”

“At least look at me,” he insisted. “I need assurance you will do well on your own.”

She pushed herself away from the wall, stubbornly keeping her rigid, slim back to him. “Do not make our parting any more difficult than it needs to be. I have my books and you have your happiness. That is all I could ever hope for. I look forward to your letters, Moreland. Be sure to send a family portrait once a year, and I expect the first girl to be named after me.” Setting her chin, she walked down the corridor and disappeared into her favorite room: the library.

Tristan momentarily closed his eyes, drawing in a steadying breath. She would have no one once he was gone. No one who would understand her, that is. But she was right. It was time for him to live out his life. He had waited long enough to live it. If he hesitated now, everything could unravel.

Reopening his eyes, he turned and strode down the corridor, back toward the sitting room where he knew Zosia was waiting. He dreaded the look of pity he was going to see her in her eyes.

Veering into the sitting room, he jerked to a halt and drew in a savage breath at seeing an incredibly beautiful woman serenely and gracefully standing before him, her nightdress draped to the floor and
her long black hair tousled about her slim shoulders. For a moment he actually did not recognize that this was his Zosia
standing
before him.

She smiled playfully, her gray-blue eyes brightening. “I grew a leg while you were gone.”

He choked on a laugh, almost believing it, and dared not approach or breathe lest this beautiful vision of her disappear. “By God. You look…stunning. Taller.”

She shrugged, her body still poised and elegant, not betraying a single sway or that she was standing on one leg. “I thought it was time I share my little secret. I can stand quite well on my own without any assistance whatsoever. I can even hop about an entire room without growing tired, though it is anything but graceful.”

She observed him and confided softly, “I can stand on my own without crutches, Moreland. It is my hope you will one day be able to do the same for yourself. To go through life without a razor in your pocket. I know if I can survive on one leg, you can survive without your blade.”

He swallowed, his chest tightening with a burning need to believe that he
could
survive without a blade, knowing she was at his side. Why was it she had far more faith in him than he had in himself? It was humbling.

He slowly approached. Closing the distance be
tween them, he paused and lingered before her, realizing her true height without crutches was in fact at his shoulder. She was much taller than he thought.

Holding her gaze, he allowed his ungloved hand to drift toward her hair. He fingered the long, silken black strands she'd loosened from her braid, following their smooth length down past her shoulder until his knuckles grazed her full, uncorseted breast. He paused and met her gaze.

Cupping her face with both hands, he leaned toward her and gently kissed the warmth of her soft lips. There wasn't even time to appreciate how wondrous this moment was. Here, he had expected pity and coddling, but instead found a bursting pride and strength that fed into his own. He had finally found someone who truly and completely understood him.

He drew his mouth away from hers and dropped his hands, knowing they had to start making their journey to the coast. “We should have you dress more respectably for the journey ahead. Come.”

Grabbing her waist, he yanked her up into his arms, ensuring she was comfortable. She wrapped her arms around him as he quickly strode toward the sitting couch where she had left his greatcoat.

He met her gaze and leaned slightly forward, tilting her hand toward the greatcoat. He silently willed
her to sweep it up for him.
Show me you understand me without even needing me to say a single word.

She smiled and snatched up the greatcoat, dragging it onto herself and over his shoulder. “We do not even need to speak anymore to have an understanding of each other. Do we?”

He smiled and murmured, “Bless me enough to never speak again.”