Page 22 of Lady Constantine & the Sins of Lord Kilgore
“Some husbands and wives share bedchambers, Peter, if they are very much in love.” She felt a little awkward saying such a thing to the boy, and speaking of such a topic with him, but she assumed he thought it improper somehow for her to sleep in Callum’s bedchamber.
Peter eyed her for a long moment, looking as if he were considering what to say. Finally, he spoke. “Cal will not want you in here if he even lets you stay at all.”
Because he did not love her? Is that what Peter was trying to tell her without saying it. She pulled the shawl around her shoulders tight, needing the comfort and the invisible shield from the hurt of rejection she was all too familiar with. “Unless Callum is willing to have me forcibly removed from our home,” she said on a burst of angry determination, “I’ll at least be staying here in this residence.”
Peter’s eyes widened. “Cal was not exaggerating when he said you were fearless.”
She grinned in surprise at that and found some of her anger and hurt disappearing. If Callum did not care for her, then why would he have talked about her so often and in such a complimentary way?
“He also said he worried you had a tendency to rush to the aid of others heedless of the dangers to yourself, but I don’t know what heedless means.” Peter quirked his mouth as he stared at her.
“It means Callum thought I do not consider the danger to myself when helping others.” She was about to ask him what else Callum might have said, but he yawned and his eyes took on a sleepy look.
“You should go to bed,” she said, and as he rose to stand she had a thought. “Peter!” He turned to look at her. “When this is over, we must hire you a tutor.”
He frowned. “Whatever for?”
“You’re uncommonly intelligent,” she replied. “You need to be taught to develop it further so that your future is a good one.”
“My future…” He blinked, looking surprised. “I never much thought to have one, and then Cal set us all free. I hate to be glad that he was dumped at the asylum, but…”
“But he saved you.”
Peter nodded. “He saved us all. He—Well, never mind.” The heaviness of his words and the sorrow on his face made her dread knowing what Callum had been required to endure to escape, to free everyone else, but she would know. Eventually. She suspected learning Callum’s secrets was the key to discovering exactly who her husband was—complex honorable man, unrepentant rogue, or perhaps a bit of both.
She fell asleep on the settee in Callum’s room, and she awoke near dawn to a high keening sound coming from his bed. She rushed to Callum’s side to find him burning with fever. After calling in Peter and White, the three of them set about bathing him with cloths to cool him, and though it took hours, he finally settled once more. It was not until the sky was dark that Callum half woke and began to speak. His gaze was unfocused, and he seemed to be talking to someone other than her, but the words were very clear.
“I loved her,” he said.
Constantine’s breath caught as she sat on the edge of the bed beside him. “You loved who?” she whispered.
“Constantine, of course.”
She could not speak. Shock spread through her and robbed her of her ability to form words.
“Never worthy of her.” He shook his head, and a sad look settled on his face that made her heart race.
He had loved her. Could she believe him? Did she dare to?
“Once we might have had a chance—she and I.”
He thought they had a chanceonce? She frowned, her heart thudding.
What? Now he believes there is none?
It was just like him to confess that he’d loved her at one time and then rip hope away as quickly as he’d dangled it. “I wed her, you know, Peter. Did I tell you that? I’m a selfish bastard.”
“Yes, you are,” she snipped, incensed.
He went on as if he had not heard her. He was trapped in his own world, his own mind. “I knew she deserved far more than me, but when she offered herself, I wed her with hope to show her the man I could be for her.”
“Perhaps you could show her now,” she whispered, her heart in her throat. “Make a fresh start of it.” Hope and fear swirled within her.
“Men like me cannot start again, Peter.”
“Oh, do listen to me,” she demanded, though she knew it was futile at the moment. “Youcanstart again.” She finally knew the truth. After all these years, she had heard the truth from his lips. He had loved her, and she had loved him. Despite the fact that she had already loved him, hated him, and mourned him, wild hope filled her that maybe, possibly, there was a chance for real love between them.
She was sick and tired of love being so elusive. Of waiting for it, hoping for it. Perhaps she’d been too passive. Maybe she needed to charge into securing love like a warrior into battle? Maybe she’d given up too easily before offering a marriage of convenience. She had not believed in herself enough, she supposed. Perhaps the thing to do was to fight. Fight until she had no more fight in her for the love she wanted. Did she want to do that? How on earth was she even to know? She didn’t know Callum, not really.
