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She hardly knew where to start. Best to get on with it. “There are more in the pocket of my gown.”
He picked up the gown from the chaise lounge and went into the pockets. Sylvester withdrew the letters, and he shuffled through them. Her husband turned to marble before her eyes. Evidently, he found the one with his sister’s name.
“So, you had them all along. And to think I believed you were so different from your family.”
The breath left her lungs, while a sudden ache burned her throat. “I swear on my honor I found those letters a couple hours ago in my mother’s escritoire. I only thought to search for them because of how certain my brother and Redgrave had been that I must be in possession of these letters. I had doubted their very existence until this afternoon,” she said, clasping her hands before her.
“How convenient,” he drawled with an icy bite.
Stung, she jerked back from him. “You believe me capable of such dishonesty?”
A fraught silence lingered, but his eyes spoke the truth. They gleamed with a contempt she had never espied before.
“Have you read these letters?”
“I have not,” she said softly. “I…I never knew about Lady Henrietta…Hartington. I am so deeply sorry my father’s despicable actions hurt your family, Sylvester.”
The fury that leaped into his gaze had her flinching. “What do you think you know of my sister?”
“I—”
“Answer me,” he said in a dangerously soft tone.
The fierce intensity that burned in his eyes had her heart jerking. “I know that my father believed he knew some scandal about your family that had a dreadful impact on her…so much so…that…” Daphne could not repeat the damning truth.
Sylvester prowled closer, and she retreated until her back was pressed against the closed door.
“Until she despaired enough to take her life,” he finished.
“Yes. Oh, Sylvester, I cannot express my sorrow.”
“Can you imagine the torment my sister must have endured to drive her to such actions? The pain and the shame, all because your father wanted my title for you. Do you know the horror I felt to find her bleeding on the floor from the wounds she made to her wrists and the letter your father sent her, threatening to expose all if I did not declare my intentions immediately?”
The icy disdain and the agony in his tone made her want to weep. A harsh sob tore from Daphne’s throat and tears streamed down her cheeks. “I did not know,” she whispered, feeling battered, all the love and belief she’d had in her father’s honor shattered. “I was silly enough to hope you had fallen in love with me that day at Kellits Hall and the few outings we had leading up to our marriage.”
Derision gleamed in his green eyes. “Silly, indeed. I am quite unaware of what love has to do with marriage.”
That clearly told her even if their marriage had started in a different vein, love and tender sentiments would never have been a factor.
“I ask you again, what do you know of my sister’s scandal?”
“Nothing,” she said firmly. “I only know of the consequences, my father’s shame, and my deep regrets.”
Sylvester touched her cheek, his fingertip ghosting over her tears, his eyes so indifferent it chilled her soul. Awareness of her vulnerability to this man seeped into every crevice of her being. Would there ever be a time his indifference and lack of trust did not pierce deep into her heart?
“I would never ask you to forgive my father, but I ask, my lord, that you do not hold me accountable for his terrible actions. I never wanted a title—that was his misguided ambitions for his only daughter. I…I…only wanted you and made the error of making my desire known to a flawed father.”
A fingertip stroked her lower lip, and she swallowed past the tight lump in her throat.
“Ah, my sister’s pain reduced to a meager explanation of a flawed father.”
Profoundly disturbed by Sylvester’s intense stare, she glanced away.
“My question to you, Countess, is how did you know my sister attempted to take her life? You so defiantly claim you had no knowledge of these letters or the information they hold, but you are aware of how they impacted my sister. How?”
She stiffened. “Sylvester, I—”
“How?”
There was such chilling mistrust in the eyes that stared at her, she felt a harsh burn of pain that she had so callously demanded his secrets from Georgiana. A denial trembled in her heart, but she could not bear to speak it. “Before I understood your heart and honor and saw the possibility of what our marriage could be like, I asked the broker for your secrets, so I could have more bargaining power.”
He recoiled, a slash of pain bracketing his mouth before his expression shuttered. “Just like your father and your brother,” he murmured caustically.
Daphne flinched, the shame and guilt raking her like talons. She forcibly swallowed the ache in her throat. “You did get a letter from Henry, why did you not inform me of his dastardly actions?”
His jaw was set in rigid lines. “It did not signify.”
“My brother acted with such gross indignity and it did not signify?”
The contempt that flared in her husband’s gaze felt like a whip across her flesh, stinging and searing. “I am no longer the vulnerable boy I was when I bent to your father’s will. I am at a loss how you do not perceive you acted with a similar indignity in demanding the very secrets you knew your father blackmailed me with.”
The rumble of shame and rage in his voice had her pressing a hand to her mouth. She had never truly considered how impotent and powerless he must have felt. Oh God, how could she have been so blinded. “Sylvester, I—”
“I had no great expectations of honor from your brother, so his attempts were quite underwhelming. I simply burned the letter I received a few days ago. But you, my countess, I had truly come to believe in the sweetness, the kindness you presented, but your heart is just as black, it seems.”
She stared at him, unable to sort the jumble of emotions twisting though her so fiercely. “I was desperate, so very desperate when I asked Georgiana for your secrets, Sylvester. We were married for six years and the only thing I knew about your heart was that it was cold and empty, with no regards for me. I hungered for freedom from such an unagreeable marriage, but you were determined to make our marriage into something I could not envision, or have much hope in.”
“And your desperation would justify uncovering the very secrets which your father had used to blackmail me?” He snarled. “The very ones your brother also claimed he had?”
A most horrifying realization splintered through her. “Do you believe I am a party to my brother’s blackmail attempts?”
The last few days, Sylvester had seemed more reserved and watchful and had made no attempt to drive her mindless with his seductive touches and want. She had foolishly thought it was because their bargain was ending.
Sylvester’s mien shuttered, and she waited for a reply in vain. She would have better luck asking a stone to display emotion, her earl was so frightfully blank. She tried to swallow past the searing pain. “You do believe it,” she whispered. “All these weeks, and you’ve still no notion of my character.”
Wretchedness enveloped her in its cruel arms. Why did she hurt so much? She hadn’t truly possessed any great expectations of him and their marriage. Except, with all honesty and foolish hopes, she had. God, she was not going to cry over this. He’d already gotten six years’ worth. No more.
“I could have lied just now, but I cannot, for I only want honesty between us. I could have read the letters and learned your sister’s secrets, but I could not, because I wanted you to tell me when you were ready. In truth, I do not need to know her secrets, for they have already defined too much of our marriage. When Georgiana gave me another letter just now, I tore it to pieces because I know I am falling in love you, and I could not hurt you. If you cannot trust me to behave with integrity and honor…that is not an
agreeable marriage, my lord,” she said hoarsely.
She moved close enough that the hem of her riding habit brushed against his shoes. This close, Daphne realized he was not at all indifferent. His eyes bespoke anger and betrayal. She raised her face to his and held his eyes fiercely with her own. “Do you believe me, Sylvester, that I had nothing to do with my brother’s demands?”
