Page 43 of The Grand Mistletoe Assembly
She nodded, took another sip of her brandy, and set the glass on a nearby table. It was long past time to face her past. Alastair deserved to hear the entire story, even though afterward he might never want to see her again. She looked into his eyes and let the horror flow through her, the memory as real as if it were happening in the moment.
CHAPTER 6
FIFTEEN YEARS EARLIER …
Jack Whittington stumbled into the bedroom, slammed the door, and ripped off his coat, cravat, and waistcoat, dropping them on the floor.
“Cowering under the covers, are ye girl? You think hiding in your room will save you from my attentions? Ha! I paid well for you, my dove, and I expect a vigorous romp tonight.”
“You’re drunk again, Jack. Get out.”
“Now, now. Don’t get all high in the instep with me, wife. You may be a well-born lady, but ’twas my blunt that saved your precious home, what’s it called? Ah yes, Langston Grange.”
He shed his boots, shirt, and his trousers and spread the bed curtains wide. “There you are, but what’s this? A cotton night rail? You know I want you bare as a new babe. Take it off or I’ll rip it off.”
Lily climbed out of the bed, clenching her jaw, and stood in front of her husband. She would fight him tonight. When he was thoroughly foxed, he usually had trouble in his nether parts and blamed her. He was rough and rude, having grown up on the docks before making his fortune as a shipping merchant, but he’d never struck her. But there was always a first time.
She sniffed the air, recognizing brandy and something else unfamiliar, something sickly and sweet. “Where have you been, Jack? ’Tis almost sunup.”
“None of your business. Just shed that gown, so I can get to work.”
She slid by him and ran to the fireplace, warming her cold hands in front of the grate. He came up behind her and pulled her into his body. She felt no telltale sign of his lust, shuddered, and took a deep breath.
“Why don’t you lie down, Jack, while I warm myself in front of the fire. There’s a draft in this room.” If he complied, he’d be snoring in a trice, and she could slip away to a guest chamber.
Instead, he grabbed her long braid and loosened the end, spreading her hair over her shoulders. “I love all these red locks. A fiery, passionate redhead. That’s what I wanted. Not the cold fish you turned out to be.”
She turned then and faced him. “You stink of rum and whatever else you took. Go to bed and leave me be.”
He lashed out with his fist, and she ducked to avoid the blow. Instead of connecting with her face, his fist swept through air. He lunged back toward her, and she pushed him, throwing him off-balance. His head hit the stone fireplace with a thud, and as Lily staggered to her feet, he fell to the floor, a loud crack disturbing the silence of the night.
“Jack?” She knelt beside him.
His eyes were wide open and his mouth in a scowl, as if cursing her for all eternity. Blood seeped from behind his head, staining the floor and the hem of her gown. She leaned down to listen to his chest, her hands in his blood. No heartbeat.
She screamed then and ran out the door, calling for the servants. Breathing in gasps, the room spun and a white haze descended. When she woke, she was in a guest bedchamber, her blood-stained nightgown still on her body, her ears attuned to the maids whispering nearby.
“She killed him all right. Ain’t nobody gonna believe it, ’cause she’s the sister of a toff. But she did it. Blood all over her and him naked as the day he was born.”
* * *
As Lily recounted her story,she remained as still as a statue, afraid to breathe.
Alastair rose and topped off her brandy glass, handing it to her. “There was an inquest?”
“Yes. Jack’s sister accused me of murder. She’d spoken to the maids, who said they’d heard harsh words and shouting. My brother attended. The twelve men called to be jurists found me innocent, and the coroner made the pronouncement. Hannah’s never let me forget it. She told everyone in the ladies’ retiring room tonight that I was a murderer and my brother had somehow bribed the coroner and jurists into letting me go free.”
Alastair took her face in his warm palms and gazed into her eyes. “Why did you marry him, Lily? Why didn’t you refuse?”
“I wanted to, but the estate was in shambles. Father had gambled away all of his funds and was in declining health. He’d sold or wagered away the hunting lodge and the unentailed farms. I love my brother. He didn’t deserve to inherit a disaster, nor did the staff at the Grange deserve to lose their homes and their livings.”
She placed her own hands over Alastair’s warm ones. “And you hadn’t returned for me on my twenty-first birthday, as we’d planned.”
He wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her onto his lap. “I tried to get leave. It was denied.”
She rested her head against his heart.
“I sent a letter, explaining,” he said into her hair.
