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Without a word, she exited the study, leaving him there sated and vanquished. She had demolished him, as no woman had ever done before.
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Otilia planned to talk to Edmund after dinner to communicate about her new position and the intention of taking it. She had full awareness that the conversation would not be easy, but she was determined not to let his overbearingness take her off her path.
The fact that he arrived home earlier and required her help with the ledgers surprised her. What came next delighted her. She did not shy away from it, for she understood it would be part of her building memories. So, she did it as if it would be the last time. And it was if she intended to take the mail coach early next day. Edmund and Otilia would have tonight for farewells, she hoped.
They were now in the small dining room as the servants served the final course and melted away somewhere. The meal elapsed in a light, if somewhat simmering, atmosphere.
Edmund sat on the other end of the medium-sized table dressed in such fine attire that it was impossible to take her eyes off him. Those sculpted lips drank the wine, and she imagined them on her, on her, and scalding heat flowed to her core.
“I have been thinking about our situation.” He began when he placed the glass on the pristine table cloth.
These few weeks together had been adding new elements to the Edmund she once knew. He was domineering, yes. Of which she had not the right to complain because it turned her on in their intimacy. But she also discovered a tenderness to him and a thoughtfulness she never guessed to be there. They seduced her together with the things they did in the small hours. His sharpness and willingness to learn the new tasks of his lands counted in his favour.
Her attention snapped to him. “Indeed.” He surely meant this thing going on between them.
“I came to the conclusion we need to arrange it in a different way.” His silverware came to the plate as his elbows rested on the table. His rugged features were hard; his jet eyes firmly on her.
Otilia did not give any thought to the way they proceeded with this. It had always been a temporary connection in her mind, sad as it might be. She did not allow herself to expect anything. No more, no less. And she would leave in the morrow, anyway. He would hear of that soon enough, and she did not want to spoil a good dinner by opening the discussion he
re.
“In which way?” She found herself obliged to ask.
“I have decided to settle you down,” he stated in a neutral tone.
Her entire being froze. He was not proposing what she thought he was. Fervent hope bloomed in her insides that he would not do this. Not him. Not here. Not with her.
As she said nothing, he continued. “I will provide you with a house, servants, and a carriage, yours for as long as you live.”
Her chilled glare did not leave him, but her stomach churned. She put a hand to her middle in a wrenching effort to keep it quiet. Her throat would not be able to issue words if her life depended on it.
He was doing what almost every other lord of this wretched town had done to her. Proposition her. The ultimate lack of regard. Lack of empathy. Lack of feelings. He was telling her he felt nothing for her except lust—that he wanted her in that cursed house ready for him when and how he wanted. That her emotions, her dignity, her will meant absolutely nothing to him.
“So we have a safe and private place for our dalliances,” he completed. His choice of words could not be any clearer. She was merely a ‘dalliance’ in his existence.
She blanched to a greyish hue as her stomach roiled in rebellion.
His words drowned on her like a glass full of the cheapest gin, burning everything in its way; disintegrating any positive feelings she might have sprouted for him in the last weeks. Not love, for sure. Never love. She would have to be stupid to have retained any of it after that senseless first kiss years ago. But respect? Gone. Consideration? Gone. Civility? Gone. Even the tiniest shred of the least human sentiment disappeared from her insides at that moment.
What remained was nausea. Extreme nausea. So abrupt and so poignant, she feared she would not make it to her chambers.
“If you will excuse me,” she blurted between her teeth while she used the last remnants of composure to walk lady-like and prim to the door.
Outside, she slapped her hand to her mouth and ran for her life. Fighting the wave of sickness, she forced it in until she burst in her dressing room to retch in the clean chamber-pot her lady’s maid kept there. The bitterness poured endlessly. Endless because it would live in her forever.
Bent over the pot, her frantic lungs took in oxygen, her frame shaking with it.
She felt so hurt it seemed as though a huge hand had thrashed at her insides ceaselessly until she could not even breathe. So hurt she was incapable of even crying. She went dry, numb, the pain pressing in on her like a landslide.
Calling for her maid, she asked her to tell the lord she had fallen ill and would retire alone for the night.
In the small hours, she mustered enough strength to pack her old dresses and former personal items. For the life of her, she would not touch the fashionable frivolities the Earl had ordered for her. And she certainly would not come face to face with him to talk. She feared she might retch again. She would leave him a note. The last of the pin money her uncle had given her remained in her reticule. It would afford her trip, thankfully not such a long one.
She did not sleep a wink. At dawn, she grabbed her things and turned her back on the house and everything inside it.
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