Page 147 of To Catch a Viscount

And, in this instant, Andrew discovered he possessed some shreds of honor still, after all. “Iwasoffered money.” He finished the thought, letting it remain incomplete. “But it isn’t how it looks.”

The hope in her eyes went out. “But you must admit it certainly looks nefarious, does it not?”

“Yes,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I can certainly see that.” He found his legs and strode over to her, but the look she cast his way froze him.

He’d never before seen such ice in this woman’s eyes.

Not even when she’d been speaking about the man who’d sired her, or the man who’d jilted her.

And it was a sentiment she now turned on Andrew. Becausehewas deserving ofthat.

And it cut him to the core.

God, what a mess he was making of this. All of it. “But that isn’t it at all. I wanted you to be happy and knew… I knew…” Andrew closed his eyes. He’d known he’d ultimately break her heart. As her father had predicted. When he opened his eyes once more, he met her gaze, and the pain in her eyes cut through his heart. “I thought I made you happy, too. I cared about you. Iwantedto marry you,” he begged. It had always been Marcia. There’d only ever be Marcia.

“How much was returned to you?” she asked coolly, completely glossing over those assurances he’d given.

Andrew winced, hesitating. “Enough to cover my debts and then some beyond that. Some fifty-five thousand pounds and unentailed properties I’d lost.”

Properties he’d lost in poorly placed wagers. It wasn’t every day a man was confronted with the mess he’d made of his life.

Marcia inclined her head. “Well. That is quite a fortune, and now that you have those monies, you’re free to spend your days playing with your investments, and not spending time with the wife you didn’t really want.”

“No!” he rasped, her words hitting him like a kick to the gut. “I want to spend my nights and days with you, Marcia,” he said, willing her to understanding, imploring her with his gaze and his words and everything in him. “You helped me see I’m different than my father, and the day you came back from the Serpentine… I committed myself to being a better man and making something worthwhile of myself and funds so that I could care for you and the children we will one day have.” Little blonde-haired girls with her spirit and tenacity.

And for a moment, he saw her waver, felt her softening, and he found hope. “Marcia, I love you.”

“Do not,” she rasped, her voice breaking. “Just… do not.”

Andrew closed his mouth, holding back the rest of the profession that was a day late. Hedidlove her. He always had. It had, however, taken him all of almost forever to realize all the ways in which he loved her.

He needed her to know. To trust him in this.

Andrew tried again. “In retrospect, I see where I should have mentioned all of this… Marianne… Rutland and Huntly.”

Tears filled her eyes and then slipped silently down her cheeks, crystalline trails that broke his heart all over again, and he took a step closer.

“It was only about you,” he whispered, catching those tears with his thumbs and brushing the drops away. “I only wanted you.” He knew that now. He suspected he always had.

And then, with the grace of the most regal of queens, Marcia pulled away from him, tipped her chin back a fraction, and nodded at the door. “My friends are waiting for me.”

“Of course,” he said dumbly.

As Andrew started after her, he scarcely dared to breathe for fear that he’d break apart and would never be able to put the pieces of himself back together.

A short while later, Andrew, after depositing his wife’s garrulous friends at their respective households, he and Marcia returned home.

The moment they reached the foyer, she climbed abovestairs, without so much as a glance back.

Andrew stared after Marcia, following her entire, slow, regal retreat: wishing he had the words to make this right, and alternately proving a coward for welcoming a reprieve… because he didn’t know what to say.

His relief was short-lived.

“His Lordship, the Marquess of Rutland, is here,” his butler said without preamble as he accepted Andrew’s cloak. “Along with Her Ladyship’s father, the Viscount Wessex. I’ve shown them to your offices, my lord.”

Of course, Rutland, with his eyes and ears all over London, would have gathered what had transpired this night.

Bloody splendid. The goddamned cherry on the end of this bloody night.

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