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He recalled meeting the man when he and Otilia went to the theatre soon after arriving in town. He also remembered how disgusting Darlington’s behaviour was towards her, and how it annoyed him.
The Earl expelled an ugly curse. “When?”
“Oh, since she came to town with the late Earl and Countess.” Titus observed his friend attentively. “The girl is made of iron, never faltered. Accepted none of it.”
In that very second, it dawned on Edmund what he had done. Just what he had done to Otilia. It dawned on him like a full-speed, giant snowball. He treated her little better than a woman without a choice walking the streets. Otilia had been the weaker side in this bargain. An orphaned bastard, her adoptive parents gone, she was alone in this world to fend for herself. And what did he do? He, an Earl, rich and powerful. He seduced her. Even if she consented, he possessed full awareness of her few choices. He seduced her, slept with her countless times, took his pleasure, his satisfaction—she enjoyed it, too, but this was beside the point. He took his satisfaction and, when he saw himself threatened by the space she occupied in his life, what did he decide? He did precisely what Darlington and other vulgar men did. Exactly the same. Except that he had already robbed her of the possibility of becoming a wife by lying with her without a second thought. Without consideration to her side in this. Without a shred of empathy.
Good grief! He was a blackguard.
His propositioning her was aimed for his convenience. His pleasure. His will. Not once did he ask her what she thought her future looked like. Not once did he listen to her plans. Not once did he take her trials into account. He had simply assumed she would focus exclusive interest in a title when she did not show the least bit of concern with one.
Otilia had even refused Carlton. Edmund could only guess her reasons. But he would bet she did not want to sell herself for security. She would not settle for an arranged marriage that must make her unhappy. One that might make her bitter. It showed she had been true to herself; praised her independence, her integrity, her happiness more than anything.
She must hate him and all the ton for it. For the humiliations they forced her to go through with that arrogance only they displayed. The lack of regard for her feelings. Or the way men slotted women according to their own self-centred suitability. The Earl of Thornton fell in line with everyone else. Selfish, condescending. Disgusting.
Curse it all! He was a monster.
No wonder she was so furious with him on the road. Were the roles reversed, he would react in the same way.
No wonder she left.
No wonder she left him alone in this murky sludge of never experienced before emotions.
He treated her bad eight years ago and these past weeks because he was blinded by his own misconceptions and prejudices.
Brunswick and Darroch watched him with close attention. “Are you all right?” The latter asked.
Edmund darted tempestuous dark eyes at them. “Yes,” he said, his fists tight by his side. “Yes, I am fine.” He looked the diametral opposite of fine.
“It is common knowledge.” The Duke shrugged. “I assumed you heard of it.”
“I have now.” His self-derisive tone required no further explanation. “If you so much as glance at her, Darroch, you will answer to me.” With the ultimatum thrown, he turned and exited the club in desperate need of fresh air.
A
Poor refuge did his study in Thornton House offer. He had marched into it as he came from his club, forgetting even to close the door behind him. Restless, he paced the carpet unable to sit still. The turmoil churning his guts would not abate.
Stopping, at last, his hand propped on the mantel as his eyes stared blankly at the fire. Behind him, a faint mew announced the presence of the kitten. Edmund turned to see the little thing come inside mewling in a way that resembled sadness.
“She is not here, my chap.” He spoke to the small feline.
Coal neared him, and he took the furry thing up from the carpet. The black bundle settled on his forearm. “Do you miss her, too?”
Edmund left the study aimlessly, haunting the halls like a lost soul. The cat with him. Every single spot in the echoing empty place reminded him of her. A smile, a kiss, a gesture of defiance, a cosy night in. The walls were soaked in her presence, and tonight, in her absence.
The library was where the image of her became stronger as she spent long hours there. Inside the deserted room, he remembered. On an armchair, one of her wraps lay casually draped. His strong hand held it. He dived his nose, deeply inhaling the scent of orange blossoms and woman that tortured his memories and his senses.
He put it back, and Coal gave a sudden jump from his arm to the wrap, rubbing his whiskers on it before kneading the fabric and lying on it. Little did he know about cats, but there was no doubt felines slept on things belonging to their favourite people in the house.
At least, they agreed on this. He and the four-legged creature.
“Well, chap, if you find solace here, I do not.” Coal looked at him before he burrowed in the wrap and went to sleep.
The Earl should do the same. If he only could.
Hours later, an emptied bottle of brandy lay by his side on his huge bed. His huge, cold and lonely bed.
Talk about solace.
