Page 73 of Kismet

“For what?” Shaftsbury stared at him in puzzlement.

“Allegra wants to go home to England, and I’m going to see to it that she does.”

“Good God.” The Viscount shoved a hand through his hair. “You can’t seriously think to move her. She was in shock last night.”

“There’s no other option.” His jaw flexed as he narrowed his gaze at the other man. “Othmane has no hotels, and I’m not letting her stay here. She made it quite clear last night that she wanted to go home. She’ll heal faster in familiar surroundings, and it’s time I honor at least one of her requests.”

“So just like that you’re going to send her away.” His cousin’s gaze narrowed as a sudden gleam of understanding sparked in his eyes. He looked away from the man’s perceptive gaze.

“I’m doing what’s best for Allegra.” He grimaced as he moved toward the door. “While I’m out, I’ll see to your train tickets as well.”

“You love her.”

The quiet words resonated through the antechamber with the strength of a loud, tolling church bell. He inhaled a sharp breath then just as quickly released it. Did it matter that the man had guessed his secret? It changed nothing. Allegra despised him. That was an emotion he was well acquainted with since childhood. He ignored his cousin’s observation and tightened his grip on the doorknob.

“Once you arrive in Safi, you should find it easy to secure passage on a ship to Southampton.”

“Damn it, Robert,” his cousin exclaimed. “Don’t act as if this were some social engagement you were planning. If you’re in love with the woman, why not tell her?”

At the sound of his English name, Shaheen jerked his head in Charles’ direction. It was the name of the man he’d once been. But then had he really changed all that much? He was still failing those he loved. His mouth tightening with anger, he sent Shaftsbury a hard stare.

“My feelings for Allegra aren’t your concern,” he snarled.

With a fierce tug of the metal knob beneath his fingers, he yanked the door open. Already the heat of the day was making itself felt, but he was too cold inside to feel the warmth. But his cousin wasn’t willing to let him go so easily as he stepped forward and tugged on Shaheen’s arm.

“I’m finally beginning to understand why you buried yourself out here in the desert,” Shaftsbury snapped. “Out here, you can play the martyr and hide from the truth.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” He turned around to glare at his cousin.

“I’m talking about why you feel so guilty about your brother’s death. It has nothing to do with your failure to stop that gun from going off. You feel guilty because you lived and he didn’t. Your father always blamed you for your mother’s death, and when James died, you simply gave the man one more reason to hate you.”

Shock ripped through him as he stared at Shaftsbury’s harsh, unforgiving features. Unable to move or speak, he fought a desperate battle inside him to reject the truth in his cousin’s words. The knot in his throat making it difficult to breathe, he shook his head in denial.

“You’re wrong,” he choked out in a hoarse rasp.

“I’m right and you know it. I can see it in your face.” Shaftsbury’s face suddenly lit up with comprehension. “It’s why you’re just going to let her go. Loving her is a risk you’re not willing to take.”

The brutal reality of his cousin’s words propelled him through the door and onto the unpaved street. Reeling from the fiery revelations his relative had shared with him, he strode through the heart of Othmane. He passed through the busy market, oblivious to anything except his cousin’s words playing over and over again in his head. He didn’t want to acknowledge the truth in those words, but he was hard pressed not to.

All this time he’d wracked himself with guilt because he’d not stopped James from murdering Frances and killing himself. Now, for the first time, someone had forced him to realize it wasn’t his failure to save his brother that tortured him. His guilt had been nurtured in the knowledge that he’d survived while someone else his father loved was dead. The death of his mother had always been placed squarely on his shoulders, and it hadn’t been a surprise when the earl laid the blame for James’s death at his feet as well.

What would life have been like if his father had been a more forgiving man? He grimaced. Dealing in what-ifs was pointless. It was impossible to change the past. The earl had hated him because he’d lived and his mother hadn’t. James’s death had only made his presence unbearable for his father. But while he couldn’t change the past, he could at least face it. To do that he had to return to England to see his father.

It was unlikely the earl had suddenly had a change of heart, but the time had come for him to put an end to the guilt he’d lived with for all these years. It was time to let go of all the sorrow. Even if his father wanted only one more chance to rail at him, then so be it. He needed to rid himself of this guilt and accept that he bore no more responsibility for James’s death than he did for his mother’s. Guilt had been the weapon he’d used to keep himself from getting too close to Allegra.

He’d wielded it over and over again to keep her from getting past his defenses. But she’d broken through every one of his barriers until she’d touched something deep inside him. Shaftsbury had been right. He’d not been willing to risk telling her the truth. It had been easier to drive her from him than to tell her how much he loved her. And he’d done his work well. Allegra despised him. Even though she’d been in shock last night, it had been Shaftsbury she’d gone to—not him.

The pain of that moment had been worse than witnessing his brother’s suicide. Now, there was little he could do except honor her wishes and see to it she went home to England. She’d suffered enough because of his mistakes. He wouldn’t make her stay here a moment longer than necessary. Ahead of him was the train station, and gritting his teeth, he steeled himself for what he needed to do.

Shaheen stood at the library window staring out at the rain-drenched gardens of Pembroke Hall. It had been raining just as hard weeks ago when he’d entered the manor only to learn his father had died just hours before his arrival. He turned away from the dreary view and crossed the library’s hardwood floor to the table he’d been using as a desk.

As a boy, he’d spent many hours in the massive library, reading everything he could get his hands on. It was the one place the earl rarely visited, which had made it a sanctuary from his father’s cold temperament. His fingers pushed aside several papers on the desk until he found the handwritten note. He studied it for a few minutes before he clutched his wrists behind his back and stared up at the portrait over the enormous fireplace.

Commissioned when he was just a boy, the painting of his father revealed things he’d never noticed before. The harsh twist of his father’s mouth had thinned even more as he’d grown into an older man. Even more enlightening was the depth of misery and sorrow in his father’s eyes. Emotions he fully appreciated. His father must have been miserable without his mother.

It didn’t excuse what the earl had done, but for the first time he finally understood the man. He knew what it was like to lose someone you loved. The portrait was a reminder of what life might hold for him if he wasn’t able to persuade Allegra to forgive him. Once again, his eyes were drawn to the note on his desk.

She would have loved you, but I never could. I simply could not forgive you for taking her from me. For that, I ask your forgiveness. You deserved better.