Page 15 of A Rogue's Downfall
Miss Williams and Mr. Carstairs had left the drawing room together after effusive thanks on both sides. The earl looked down at the half-empty bowl of punchand at the cake with the base of the heart missing.Nothing ever tasted quite as sinfully delicious asCook’s icing. He must remember to tell her so in themorning—before he kissed her cheek.
“Thank you for the roses and for the surprise guests and the dancing,” his wife said quietly. “Good night,my lord.”
But he set his hands on either side of her waist before she could escape. “It was Hugh a short whileago,” he said.
She appeared to be finding the folds of his neck cloth fascinating. And so she should. His valet hadexpended enough care and energy over them.
“Has it been better than last year?” he asked.
She raised her eyes to his. “I want to go to bed,” she said. And blushed.
“So do I.” He smiled at her discomfiture. “But not just yet. I want us to go there together if you willfreely and gladly agree to do so. There is somethingI must tell you first.”
“You wanted it to be better than last year,” she said. “Let it be better then. Let it end here. It hasbeen a—pleasant day. I will remember it with somepleasure when you have gone. Let it end here, mylord. Let me say good night and leave you.”
“I love you,” he said.
She looked up at him with helpless misery. “No, you don’t,” she said. “You don’t have to say so. Perhaps you say it to all your other women. Perhaps it iswhat makes them compliant. You said it to me lastyear. But you need not say it this year. We both knowthat if you wish to come to my bed you may do so. Iam not so lost to all good conduct that I would refuseyou your conjugal rights. You do not need to seduceme with flattery and untruths.”
“There was a sparkle of something in you,” he said, “that set you apart from all the other girls who madetheir come-out two years ago. Something that mademe notice you. Something that made me fall in lovewith you, though I was horrified by the feeling andvery unwilling to act on it. Being in love with a virtuous young girl and courting her and marrying her werenot in my plans for the foreseeable future. And so Iloved you secretly and unwillingly until I saw you atthe opera house a year ago tonight.”
“You are lying.” There were tears of anger—and perhaps something else—in her eyes. “Don’t lie. Youwere unaware of my very existence until thatevening.”
“How did I know who you were then?” he asked. “How did I know whose father to call upon with myoffer the next morning?”
She stared up at him. “I don’t believe you,” she said. “Why did you abandon me if you loved me?”
“Because I had ruined you,” he said, “and destroyed that sparkle. Because I was forced to offeryou a rake for a husband and could see in your eyeshow much you hated me. I have hated myself for whatI have done to your life.”
“It was not hatred for you,” she said. “I hated trapping you into marrying me when everyone knew that you had no intention of marrying anyone—especiallysomeone like me. It was the situation I hated. My ownhelplessness. And then I hated you for abandoningme. You cannot imagine what my wedding night waslike. You cannot possibly imagine.”
“I can.” He swallowed and touched the backs of his fingers to her cheek. “I lived through it, too, Amy. Ifthat is what hell is like, I believe I am going to haveto reform my ways so that I can go to the other placewhen I die.”
“I always loved you,” she whispered. “From the first moment I saw you. I suppose it was not love. Itwas hero worship or worship of the forbidden, morelike.” She looked down suddenly. “I always lovedyou.”
“Well, my valentine,” he said, lifting her chin with one finger so that she had no choice but to look intohis eyes again. “Well.”
“Please,” she said, catching at his wrist. “Please, Hugh. If this is seduction, have pity on me. Please.”
He touched his lips to hers and found them cool and trembling. He warmed them and stilled them withhis own, wrapping his arms about her and drawing heragainst him.Ah, Amy. Ah, my love.
It was too late. A day too late. A year too late. Perhaps two years too late. If she had never seen him,perhaps she would have been safe. Having once seenhim, she was forever lost. She sagged against him,pressed her lips back against his, opened her mouthto the seeking of his tongue, twined her arms abouthis neck.
It was too late. And she did not care any longer. If there was to be only the night, then so be it.
He drew his head back a few inches after a while and looked down at her.
“If I would freely and gladly agree,” she said. “I do. You may take me to bed.”
He first smiled and then chuckled. “You look rather as if you were inviting me to escort you to the scaffold,” he said. “It is not for tonight only, Amy. I amhungry for a regular bed partner, you see, and I havediscovered over the past year that only my wife willdo. There has been no one else since our marriage,you may be surprised to hear. That means there hasbeen no one at all since our marriage. I want youtonight and every night. I want to live with you everyday and sleep with you every night. I want to be a father to my son—toourson—and to any future sonsor daughters we may be blessed with. I want a marriage with you, Amy. I will settle for nothing less. Ifyou can offer only tonight—with the martyred expression you just assumed—then no, thank you. I shallreturn to London tomorrow at first light.”
The sense of peace was so overwhelming that she had to close her eyes and rest her face against hisneck cloth. Sin was not irredeemable? Punishment wasnot eternal? There was to be a reprieve after only oneyear?
“You love me?” Her voice was muffled by the folds of his neck cloth.
“I love you.”
“Not just because it is Valentine’s Day and there have been the roses and the primroses and the musicand candlelight and the heart-shaped cake?”
