Page 82 of Along Came a Rogue

His gut wrenched at the thought of Emily in tears. Every tear he saw in her eyes felt like a knife slicing into his heart. But he also couldn’t help the anger and frustration that made him bite out, “Tell your wife to talk to Emily, then. She’s the one who refuses to marry me.” He raised the glass in a mocking toast. “Said the War Office is more important to me than she is.”

“That’s not true,” Edward said quietly. “I’ve seen how much you care for her.”

“I know.” His fingers tightened around the glass as he returned to hunching over the bar. “But for the life of me, I can’t make her believe me.”

“Emily’s refusing all visitors now, including Kate. I suppose that was what prompted her admonishment to be delicate with tonight’s message. That,” Edward muttered, “and the fact that she can’t swing into Emily’s room on a rope herself.”

Grey grimaced. How the hell did the duchess find out about that? “The War Office is wasting its time with Thomas and me.” He scowled into his glass. The cheap whiskey was too watered down to get him as drunk as he wanted to be, and as quick. “They should have hired the duchess.”

“Please don’t give her any ideas.” Edward grimaced as he pushed the unwanted whiskey away. “There has to be some way to convince Emily to marry you.”

He shook his head at the futility of it. He’d been through this over and over in his mind since the words left her lips, since she begged him to leave her and go to Spain. He’d racked his brain searching for any way to prove her wrong about him. But there was no way to demonstrate his love for her or how much he was willing to give up to be with her—there was no answer except decades of a loving marriage.

And she refused to marry him.

Edward said quietly, “Emily loves you.”

He thought she did, but…“She’s never said it,” he grudgingly admitted, staring down into his whiskey. Not even the last time they’d made love, not even after he admitted to loving her.

“She loves you,” Edward repeated, just as assuredly as before. “But years with that bastard of a husband compared to a few months with you…” He shook his head. “There hasn’t been enough time yet for her to see the truth. Trust me, I know.”

Grey was certain he did, given what he’d gone through to marry Kate.

But time was the one thing he didn’t have. Already Bathurst had threatened to rescind the position in Spain if he didn’t get himself to Seville soon. If he waited for Emily to realize how much he truly loved her, only for it never to happen, he’d lose both his career and his heart. And then where would he be?

“But if I give her time, if she never believes me—” If I lose her…He gave a shake of his whiskey-clouded head. His voice was almost lost beneath the noise of the rabble around them as he ground out, “What difference does love make then?”

“In my experience,” Edward answered quietly, “everything.”

He briefly rested his hand on Grey’s shoulder, then walked out.

The bartender collected the coin Edward had left on the bar, then motioned questioningly toward his empty glass. Grey waved the man away. There wasn’t enough whiskey in the world to dull his pain.

* * *

“Tea, my lady?” Yardley carried a tray into Emily’s room and set it on the table beside her reading chair. “I thought you might like some refreshments.”

“Thank you,” Emily mumbled numbly, not bothering to move her gaze from the window.

She stood at the glass and stared out at the little garden below, the afternoon sunshine casting lengthening shadows across the rose bushes and sculpted trees edging the walls and walkways, as if watching there could somehow make Grey magically appear. But he wasn’t coming to her. And after the way they’d last parted, she doubted if she would ever see him again.

Her shoulders sagged with misery. No more tears could come now; she’d cried them all out after he left, when she lay alone in the bed that still smelled of him. Her chest ached hollow. There was nothing left inside her to give to him now, except the love that she would always carry within her even as she found a way to move on without him.

And she had to move on. She had no choice, not with a baby to care for. Even now, she felt a foot kicking against her ribs—he was just as restless today as she was. But this baby was her life now, and everything she did would be for his protection and care. She had her baby to love and the love he would return to her, and she’d depend upon that to somehow find strength in the days to come. All those long, lonely days without Grey.

Yardley poured her tea, adding the exact measure of milk and sugar Emily liked, then took her arm and gently helped her to sit in her chair. With an affectionate smile, she handed her the cup. “Did you enjoy your morning walk?”

She nodded absently and sipped at the tea when Yardley urged her to do so.

Despite her not wanting to leave her bed that morning, Thomas had insisted she dress and accompany him on a stroll through the park. The day was beautiful and bright, the air gentle and warm, but she saw none of it. Her face remained tilted toward the ground, and her troubled thoughts of Grey never cleared. As they’d walked, Thomas had asked about her plans for the baby, but now she could hardly remember a word she’d said. She wasn’t even certain how she’d been able to put one foot in front of the other to keep moving.

She pressed her hand against her forehead. Oh God! How would she be able to keep moving, breathing, living without him? She would find a way—of course she would find a way, but she doubted the misery would ever leave her.

“Is something wrong with your tea?” Yardley interrupted her thoughts.

“What?” Her distraction must have been evident on her face because Yardley frowned at her. “Oh—it’s fine, thank you.”

“Better drink up, then. Tea is good for a baby.”