Page 74 of How the Earl Entices

She forced her gaze to his, to acknowledge his sympathy and show her gratitude for it. “The following fortnight was a blur. I stayed away from everyone because I couldn’t bear to see their pity. It was easier to grieve in peace, and I was still feeling ill. We had the funeral, and as the heir, Vincent assumed the viscountcy.”

“The heir presumptive,” he corrected. “You were of child-bearing years, which should have given everyone pause. I cannot imagine anyone believing your husband wouldn’t have made love to you, repeatedly and often.” He murmured, “I damned well would have.”

An embarrassed blush rose in her cheeks. It was difficult enough to share this with anyone after all these years, but discussing her marriage bed with the man she’d just given herself to with such wild abandon nearly overwhelmed her. “No one would have assumed that. I certainly didn’t. After all, we’d been married for two years, and I hadn’t becomeenceinteduring that time. David wanted children, and I desperately wanted to give him a family. But after two years, even we had come to believe that I was barren.”

“Surely the Committee on Privileges would have waited to see for themselves.”

“I was too distraught and ill to speak with them. Vincent said he would take care of everything, so I let him, still believing that I couldn’t possibly be with child.”Still believing his lies that he would protect me. Oh, she’d been such a fool! “When he notified them of David’s death, he told them that I was barren, and they believed him. I had no reason to think otherwise.”

“When did you find out?”

“Two weeks after David died, when I missed my second month of courses.” The bittersweet anguish of that day flooded over her, that day that had been both the happiest and most terrible of her life. “I began to suspect why they hadn’t come, why I’d been so ill…When they didn’t come the third time, I knew for certain.”

“Why didn’t you go to the Committee then?”

She slowly raised her eyes to his. “Because Vincent had already threatened my life.”

His jaw tightened. But who was he angry with—Vincent for threatening her, or her for keeping all this awful truth from him for so long?

She swirled the brandy, took another long swallow, slowly lowered the glass, raised it to take another sip—doinganythingto directly avoid his eyes. She couldn’t have endured the anger she might see there. Or the cold accusation.

“It was shortly after the funeral and before I knew for certain about the baby,” she whispered breathlessly. “We were at the London house. Vincent had already moved in. To help comfort me, he’d said. The family solicitors were there, to discuss the settlement of the estate. I let Vincent meet with them and went to my room to be alone. At the time, I thought he was being so kind to keep me from being burdened with all that. But when the men left, Vincent came upstairs.” She squeezed her eyes shut against his face as it materialized before her, as if no time had passed at all. “I’d never seen him so angry, soenraged. Far beyond shouting and cursing. And his eyes—Dear God, Ross! Such hatred…”

“What happened to anger him?”

“The will wasn’t at all what he’d thought. David had changed it without telling him. Or me. I had no idea—” She shook her head as an anguished pain pierced her. “Vincent inherited all the property entailed with the title, but most of the estate wasn’t in that property but in bank investments. It came from their mother, whose family were wealthy factory owners in Manchester. David left everything that wasn’t entailed to me. It was a fortune.” A sad smile touched ironically at her lips. What a wonderful, kindhearted man. But his love had been her doom. And his son’s. “Vincent demanded that I turn it all over to him. He said it belonged to the rightful heir and not to some trollop who’d bewitched his brother into marrying her.”

Ross tensed. His hands gripped the window casement beneath him so hard that his knuckles turned white even in the dim lamplight.

“When I refused—” The words strangled in her throat, but she swallowed hard and forced out, “He shoved me toward the fireplace. I landed on my side on the fender, and my head—” Her hand shook so violently now that she had to set down the glass for fear that she would splash the remaining brandy onto the floor. “I missed the flames, but the iron cut my cheek.”

She reached up slowly to trace her fingertip over the scar slicing from the corner of her mouth to her temple. Even after a decade, drawing attention to it like this was agony. The sweep of her finger pained her as much as if the wound were still raw.

“Jesus.” Ross rasped out, stunned, “He tried to burn you.”

“Yes,” she whispered, knowing the severity of the accusation she was making, one of attempted murder. “Such an unremarkable way to die that no one would have given my death a second thought…the new widow so aggrieved by her husband’s untimely death that she hadn’t been minding her skirts around the fire, who died by trying to run away from the very flames that were burning her alive. Nothing more than a tragic accident. Thank God the maid heard my fall and came running into the room.” She placed her hand over her scarred cheek, unable to tamp down her humiliation over being so helpless that day. “I knew then that he would kill me if I didn’t do as he asked.”

His expression was inscrutable despite the tensing of his body that was so fierce as to be visible. “So you signed over your inheritance.”

“No.” She lifted her chin in foolish pride at that obstinate act. “I never signed any papers, but how could I stop him from taking everything anyway? He was a viscount, after all, and my only male relative. All I could do was make certain that I was never alone with him, that my maid or one of the servants was always with me.” She picked up the glass and drank the last of the brandy, then winced at the burn. “Already I was trying to figure out how to escape him, where to go, who I could call on for help. Yet I stayed because I was young and afraid, because I had no place else to go…until I discovered that I was with child.”

Wrapping her arms around her middle for protection against the past, she stepped forward until she stood beside him at the window. She gazed out blankly through the dirty glass at the moonlit alley and the service gardens of Chelsea that lined it. Appearing so still and silent…a mirage that belied an entire world sleeping and at peace.

“I kept it secret from everyone. If my baby were a girl, she would have been no threat. But a son would have taken everything away from Vincent, including the title. He would never have risked that.” She lifted her hand to the window, to feel the cold of the night—to feelanythingexcept the omnipresent fear that still haunted her. “If he were willing to harm me to steal my inheritance, how far would he go to eliminate any chance of losing the title?”

Ross stepped up behind her but didn’t reach for her. She felt the absence of that touch as coldly as the glass beneath her fingertips. “So you fled.”

She gave a jerky nod. “I packed a bag, took what little money and jewels I’d secreted away in my room, and left that night. It was dangerous, but so was remaining in Mayfair. I found an inn where I hired a post-chaise. I didn’t think to give a false name or hide my appearance—I was too concerned about simply fleeing, about protecting my baby.” She forced a grim smile. “Which turned out to be the very best thing I could have done.” Then her smile faded, replaced by grief so deep that she pressed her hand against her chest to keep breathing, to keep telling her tale. “Because when I finally stopped running ten days later, so tired that I couldn’t go on, there was a fire at the inn. A terrible fire.”

“Were you hurt?”

The thick concern in his voice nearly undid her, because it gave her hope that he might understand and accept the horrible things she’d done to survive.

She shook her head. “I was one of the lucky ones. But several people were killed, their bodies taken to the parish church and placed in the crypt to await burial. Somehow I knew that this was my chance for life, for me and my baby.” She had to pause to gather herself before she could continue. “So I went to the church. I lied to the vicar and told him that I needed to search for my friend who was separated from me in the fire. He let me into the crypt, where I chose one of the women. A young woman my size, burned beyond recognition.” She swallowed. Hard. “I told the vicar that the body belonged to her, to the woman I’d met while traveling…Susan Montague.”

Ross said nothing, but in his dim reflection in the window glass, she saw his hand lift to rake his fingers through his hair. That telltale sign of frustration she’d become so familiar with during their time together.

“I knew my word wouldn’t be enough. Not to fake the death of a viscountess. So when the vicar wasn’t looking, I put my wedding ring onto her finger so that Vincent would identify her body as mine. I knew he wouldn’t look too closely. After all, he wanted me dead. It was the answer to his prayers.”