Page 51 of Once a Scoundrel

Chapter Twelve

Hartsfield Park

One Week Later

Stephen dismounted from his horse and tossed the reins to the groom who came trotting up through the cold fall drizzle to meet him. A roll of thunder grumbled overhead, and he cocked a defiant eye toward the gray sky.Bring your worst.Because nothing short of a storm born of hell itself could stop him now.

With a steely determination that had kept him going nearly nonstop since he left Mary and Jeremy with the Llewellyns, and the last two days through cold rains and mud, he charged up the front steps and past the flustered butler as he stormed into the house without invitation or announcement.

“Your lordship!” The butler scurried after him, completely out of sorts that he would so rudely enter. Worse, that he would bypass waiting in the drawing room or front hall to be announced and instead charged on through the heart of the house.

But Stephen had no patience for niceties today.

“Strathmore!” he shouted, letting that be enough of an announcement of his arrival.

The butler turned white. “Sir, I must insist—”

“So must I, Gibbs,” he interrupted but didn’t slow in his stride as he stuck his head inside the passing rooms, to search each one before moving on. If he had his way, the butler, the rest of the staff—for that matter, the entire Westover household and family—had better get used to having him prowling their halls. Because he planned on doing just that, for a very long time to come.

Only when he reached the study did he falter, his heart leaping into his throat at finding Strathmore sitting there behind his massive desk. He ignored the rush of blood through his ears, just as he ignored the butler’s frantic attempts to make him stop, and took a deep breath to fix his courage.

“Strathmore,” he commented as he strode up to the duke with the confidence of a man who knew his destiny and wasn’t afraid to seize it...or with the grim resolve of a man marching to his own execution. Based on the icy reception that the duke gave him, he wasn’t certain which.

Refusing to stand to greet him, Edward Westover narrowed his eyes on him. “Dunwich.”

Stephen removed the small, closed basket he’d worn on a strap around his shoulder all the way from Elmhurst Park and set it on the corner of the desk. Strathmore said nothing, but his eyes darted suspiciously to the basket when it moved.

Stephen tossed his wet hat to the butler, whose mouth fell open at his audacity. “Sir!”

Waving Gibbs out of the room before the man could have a fit of apoplexy right there on the Turkish rug, Strathmore clenched his jaw as he leaned back in his chair and pinned his hard gaze on Stephen. “Is there a reason you’ve invaded my home?”

“I want to talk to you, sir.” He withdrew a bottle of cognac from beneath his caped riding coat and set it in the middle of the desk. “Man to man.”

*****

“Poor little thing,” Faith whispered.

She reached a trembling hand over the stall door toward the foal. But it was too upset to let her comfort it and continued to pace anxiously around the stall, calling out in distressed bleats for the dam from which it was being weaned.

Tears welled in her eyes and turned the foal into a black blur. She feared for a moment that she might start crying again.

Again?She nearly laughed. When had shestopped?

She pulled her wrap tighter around her shoulders against the dreary day and the drip of drizzling rain across the roof. Soon, she would have to return to the house and dress for dinner, plaster a smile on her face for her family, and somehow pretend that her heart wasn’t breaking. Her family had all been very kind to her; even her sisters had been surprisingly supportive. Yet each time she had to face them, each time she had to pretend that she was feeling fine when she was nothing but a bundle of raw nerves, with each passing day more certain than ever that she’d made a mistake in agreeing to let Stephen wage an assault on Mary’s behalf...Oh heavens, how could she continue to bear it?

A tear slipped down her cheek. She couldn’t find the strength to wipe it away.

For the past month, since the moment the carriage rolled away from Elmhurst Park and she’d left Stephen behind, she’d been in near-constant sobs. Not sleeping, not eating, going through the days in an anguished fog...Only caring for the animals gave her any comfort, but even that wasn’t enough to make her forget the joy she’d found in Stephen’s arms that night and the utter wretchedness that consumed her the next morning. The old pain of losing him consumed her, the same anguish and grief that had nearly destroyed her four years ago.

But this time—oh this time it was so much worse! Because she’d tasted love and knew for certain exactly what she was being denied.

His silence was maddening, his absence in her life unbearable. He’d told her that they would only be apart for a few weeks, but a month had passed without any contact from him. After the incident in the stable, Papa had forbidden him to visit Hartsfield or to write to her. Two days ago, unable to bear it any longer, she’d secretly sent a messenger to Elmhurst Park, only to discover from Mrs. Olsen that Stephen had left a fortnight ago, without explanation. Without leaving so much as a note behind for her. And now she was at a complete loss, not knowing what to do except wait, trust in him, and try to keep from breaking down completely.

“There, there...it will all be all right,” she spoke gently to the fool in a choking whisper, in an attempt to also comfort herself. “It will hurt for just a little while, then everything will be better.”

The faint sound of thunder rumbled overhead, and she pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders. At least the weather was on her side. A foul and damp day to match her foul and glum mood. And she was glad for it. She didn’t think she could have borne sunshine and blue skies—

“Faith.”