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Sylvester faced him, propping his shoulder against the window. “It has been a while, Julian, it is good to see you.”
There was a pulse of silence.
“Are you ignoring my question, then?”
He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “My countess wants me to petition for a divorce.”
“You jest in poor taste!”
“I do not.”
“On what grounds?”
My lack of trust and faith in her…my lack of sentiments. “Our marriage…” Sylvester cleared his throat, almost ashamed to confess how much he had blundered everything. “Our union has not been a happy one. Her father blackmailed me into marrying her, and for years I have ignored the delight of her because of it, Julian. I did not trust that she could have wanted me simply for the man I am. Now I know better, but I have still made a muck of it all. And my countess has left.”
“She is your wife, for God’s sake, she cannot just leave you.” The marquess lowered himself onto the sofa by the fireplace. “You never told me you had been blackmailed,” he said with a frown. “I wouldn’t have betrayed your confidence.”
“I was ashamed that I had not been able to protect my family better, and I was angry that another would trample on my choices so easily and without remorse. And while I resented her part in the sordid affair, I wanted no other to do so.”
The marquess appeared dazed. “I would never have thought it of her. I quite admire your countess.”
“And you have been right in your esteem, her heart is kind and lovely. She had no notion of her father’s schemes.”
“Thank Christ. Then why in God’s name has she left you?”
“Because she has lived long enough without love and trust.”
Julian remained unusually silent for a period. Finally, he said, “And you do not love or trust her?”
An unknown sensation assailed Sylvester, very much the same feelings as when his countess had asked the same question. And he felt similarly bereft. Do I love her? “I crave to always see that gleam of pleasure in her brown orbs. She has the finest eyes I have ever seen,” he said softly. “She laughs with her eyes first, and then her lips, and a smile from her makes my damn heart tumble in my chest.”
He loved that though they hadn’t consummated their marriage as yet, he knew with his entire soul nothing would equal the bliss of being with her so intimately. “I cannot say for sure the moment my countess irrevocably captured my heart. Perhaps it was when I fell into the lake and she laughed so unfettered. Or it could have been when we were kidnapped, and she had the courage to fight for our lives.”
“Good God, you were kidnapped?”
“Or it could have been the first time she smiled at me…or maybe it was that night on the yacht.”
He was irrefutable in love with his countess.
Julian looked at him as if it were the first time he was seeing the man before him. “Why in God’s name aren’t you chasing her?”
What would he say to her? That he hadn’t held her accountable for her father’s despicable actions but had been so invested in restoring honor to England, he had not made time for her. Truly, if death had not knocked at his doors so insistently, would he have ever pulled his head from his arse and seen the wife in front of him?
He hadn’t been any sort of husband to her, had he? He hadn’t worked to create an environment where they could disagree and then resolve their conflicts like people invested in their marriage. Regret burned though Sylvester. They would have more arguments. His countess was too decided with her opinions, too bold and adventurous to expect anything less. Would she always flee at the first sign of discontent between them? Could he trust that she wanted their marriage with the same desperation he had been feeling for the past few weeks?
Trust. He was a damn fool. How could he even think to demand trust from her when he had displayed a lack of faith in her honor. She’d had the letters and had not used them to try and blackmail him into granting her a divorce. She hadn’t read them, he had seen the pained honesty in her eyes. He hadn’t trusted her enough to confide the particulars of the blackmail.
A hollowness formed in his gut. Do I truly not trust my wife?
When he’d received the note from her brother, he had simply burned it, recognizing the viscount had no true knowledge of Hetty’s secret. For several moments Sylvester had wondered if Daphne knew of her brother’s demands. Though he had dismissed the notion, a disquiet lingered in his gut.
“I need a drink,” he murmured.
They made their way from the drawing room in silence, and Sylvester did not comment on the sidelong glances from his friend. They entered the library, and he went over to the mantle, grabbed the tumbler, and poured whiskey into two glasses. He handed one to Julian, and then Sylvester downed his drink in one swallow.
“I will have to cut our meeting short, my friend. I need to find my wife.” He needed to be honest with her about the hopes in his heart and the emotions she stirred there. How his declarations would be received, he had no notion, but he must say something.
A knock sounded, he bid entry, and the butler opened the door.
“A note for you, my lord,” he said, walking over.
Sylvester plucked it from the slaver, frowning at the unfamiliar seal. The butler departed, and, using an opener, Sylvester pried open the seal and unfolded the letter.
Carrington,
A few years ago, Blagrove approached me for your secrets. I gave them over, and after learning the harm that has befallen your sister since, I deeply regret it. I, too, possess three sisters whom I would do anything to protect, and it is unforgivable I took part in the pain dealt to yours.
As it were, I recently arranged a clandestine meeting, which if discovered will be the scandal of the season and the ruination of your marriage. I’ve discussed it with my wife, and she agrees with this note I’ve sent you. If you would travel to 87 Audley Street, you will find something very precious to you, I believe. Be gentle with her. When our hearts are wounded we tend to act rashly.
Rhys Tremayne
The man known as the broker was now Viscount Montrose. Years ago, Sylvester had hated him for his part in his sister’s heartache, then he had realized Lord Blagrove could perhaps have unearthed the information by other means if the broker had refused him. When Sylvester had gone to find Alexandria in Cornwall, it had been remarkably easy to uncover the steps his sister had taken to hide her indiscretion. Still, he had spent months trying to uncover the identity of the broker, to no avail. It had only been in recent years past that he had discovered who the broker was and had been shocked to learn he was someone Sylvester socialized with at the gaming hall Asylum. Tremayne had been a man he respected, even if he had not thought him a friend.
As a token of his regret, the man had offered him secrets on the vile earl who had ruined his sister. But Sylvester had declined. He’d had the means to break Danbridge years before but had found out the man had a wife and three children. To ruin the earl would have been to ruin his family, so Sylvester had settled the matter with a bout at Gentleman Jackson’s. He had beaten Danbridge with a precise callousness that had left many men in awe of Sylvester, and the earl, shamed, bloodied, and broken, had hidden his face from society for months. Many had understood that a lesson was being taught, that vengeance or perhaps justice was being exacted, but they hadn’t known the why of it. Only Lord Hartington, whom his sister had found the courage to confide in, had understood.
Now it seemed Tremayne was offering another token. Sylvester did not appreciate vague messages. Something precious. That precious something must refer to his wife. Frowning, he read the note again, carefully noting the section about a clandestine meeting. Sylvester’s heart froze in his chest as the implication sank in. A clandestine meeting…scandal and ruination of their marriage. For precious moments he could hardly breathe. Piercing emotions tore through him with the power of the fiercest storm, and at its center was a raw, terrible pain.
&n
bsp; It bit into his skin like a poison-tipped dagger.
It did not require any great degree of intuition for Sylvester to know his wife must be heartbreakingly unhappy to resort to such a drastic tactic. And he was undoubtedly the cause. Self-loathing ripped through Sylvester’s gut. He had driven her to this. Though the evidence was before his eyes, he still could not reconcile that his wife would act with such dishonor. Except…she wanted to be free. He slapped a hand to his chest, refusing to think tormenting thoughts of her in another’s arms, or Daphne trading her honor. The decision would haunt her forever, for the woman who had been revealed to him these past weeks was one of thoughtful manners, sensibilities, and honor.
But if this is what she truly needed, no matter how it killed all the hopes that had brewed in his soul for her, he would have to let her go. A separation and, despite the scandal of it, eventually a divorce. His honor had always been a guiding beacon in how he conducted himself, and if his wife wanted her freedom enough to take a lover, he should let her go, immediately.
The denial that roared through him was so fierce his hands trembled. Dropping the note on his desk, he stumbled over to the sideboard and poured himself a generous splash of brandy and downed it in one swallow. Then he poured another.
“I take it you’ve received unwelcome news?” Julian asked.
Sylvester scrubbed a hand over his face. She may forever hate him for it, but how could he let her go when he knew he had fallen so deep into his wife that a future without her smile, her kisses, was impossible to envision? He hadn’t hoped for love or intimacy and affection in his marriage, but he believed it now to be possible, and the fact that his countess did not, that meant he had failed her. He rubbed at the sudden ache in his chest.
