Page 52 of Tender Blackguard

But the pleasure of being with her couldn’t overcome the truth. A truth that had become starkly apparent when her tear fell on his hand as it covered her breast.

He was a cad. His father’s son.

And he hated himself for it.

When he finally found his way back to the house, he did not go through the secret tunnel. Instead, he approached through the garden so he could see if a light was still on in the housekeeper’s rooms. Apparently, he hadn’t tortured himself enough yet this night. But all was dark, as it should have been at such a late hour. Unsurprisingly, it was disappointment rather than relief he felt as he continued into the house, along the quiet hallway, and up the stairs to his bedroom.

What would he have done if there’d been a light in her window? Knocked on her door? Apologized? Taken her in his arms to kiss her breathless?

When he entered his bedchamber and saw his housekeeper sitting quietly in the chair by the fire, the harsh groan rising from his chest died in his throat. She was staring at the door, her focus intent and steady. Waiting for his return.

He almost turned on his heel and left her there. To go back out into the night. To keep walking until the distance behind him exceeded the pull to return. But he’d been doing that from the day he’d left this mother’s house. There was no place far enough to escape the truth.

He said nothing as he walked across the room to his valet stand. Typically, his first task would be to stoke the fire, but she’d kept it healthy in his absence. Besides, the task would have brought him nearer to her. With his back to the room, he removed his coat and loosened his cravat. After unwinding the neckcloth, he took the time to fold it then set it aside. The movements were automatic and required no thought, allowing his mental focus to remain on the silent woman who hadn’t yet moved from her place.

He wanted to look at her. But he wasn’t ready for what he’d see in her eyes.

Why was she here?

She should have gone straight to her room after he’d left her. Where she could lock her door against him.

“Tell me about your mother.”

Her words surprised him. The calm steadiness of her tone as well as the request itself.

The muscles along his spine ached with tension and resistance as Alastair’s hands curled into fists. Unable to turn and face her, he shifted his gaze to look out the window. There were no stars and the clouds made it impossible to find the moon.

Was there a reason not to tell her? If she’d read his notes, then she’d also likely read his father’s memoir, which meant she knew the full truth of his sire. His mother’s story was far more tragic, but there was little reason to keep it all from her now.

“Her name was Moira Cullen,” he began simply, speaking toward the darkness outside. “A sixteen-year-old girl who’d come to London with aspirations of earning enough money to support herself and her large family back in Galway. She’d thought herself fortunate to be hired on so quickly by such a prestigious household. A dream that became a nightmare.” He couldn’t keep the hard edge from his voice as he spoke. There was no tenderness in this story. No happy ending. He angled his head to glance over his shoulder. “You read his notes?”

There was a pause. “Only very briefly.”

He made a rough sound. “Couldn’t bear to read more? I suppose you can imagine what he did to her. He held her captive for weeks. Raping and humiliating her for the entertainment of his noble friends.”

He didn’t hear the woman come up beside him, but he felt her presence. Warmth. Steadiness. Calm strength. She’d told him earlier not to underestimate her. He doubted he could. She was the very embodiment of courage and constancy.

Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to finish. His words came out sounding sharp and utterly unfeeling despite the way they tore painfully through his throat. “When she discovered she was with child...she attempted to end her life. The prior marquess, however, had decided he was ready for an heir, and he didn’t particularly care where he got one. He forced her to the altar then sent her to a frozen manor in the north of Scotland. Away from anyone she might call friend, cutting all ties to family, guarded day and night to ensure she remained alive long enough to give birth. She survived, but the experience changed her. Her mind...certainly, and her heart had been altered. Hardened. Every time someone called her countess or addressed her as my lady, the screws twisted more tightly. She hated every reminder of what she’d endured. Me, especially.”

He paused. Thinking back to those dark years in the cold and snow of a guarded old castle. “When I was very young, I didn’t understand her hatred. Why she’d look at me with such pain and revulsion. I learned to stay out of sight as much as possible. But eventually, I started to suspect what had happened to her from the accusations and damning curses she hurled at me over the years. I considered running away, if only to give her some peace. But I think a part of me hoped she’d come to see me differently. Separate from my father.”

The woman beside him stepped closer but didn’t touch him and didn’t say anything. He kept his gaze on the sky, thoughtlessly searching for the moon.

“The marquess visited only once when I was very young, but the violence his appearance unleashed within my mother kept him from ever returning. He did his duty, however. Ensuring I had the proper education, manners, and so forth to inherit his place in the world. When I was old enough to go away to school, she started doing better. Her outbursts became less frequent, and she developed a friendship with one the maids who cared for her.”

He took a heavy breath. “I went back only once. She mistook me for him. The look in her eyes is one I’ll never forget. I did not return again.”

“Where did you go?”

He shrugged. “Everywhere and nowhere. Places that allowed me to disappear in a crowd and places so desolate I was the only person around for days. I traveled for several years over multiple continents until a day, just over a year ago, when I received notice of my mother’s passing. A peaceful death, I understand. When I returned to my childhood home, I discovered the hundreds of letters she’d written to her family over the years. Written but had been forbidden to send. Letters that described in painful detail the torment she endured at the hands of an evil lord and his malevolent friends.”

“That must’ve been difficult.”

Though he’d read them only once, the content of those letters would remain with him always. The anguished outpourings of a girl who’d discovered monsters were real and heroes didn’t exist. A young woman tortured by a fate she had no hope of escaping but through death.

Yes, it had been difficult. But also, a relief.

“I finally understood the source of her hatred of me.” He cleared the emotion from his throat. “I’d never had a desire to know the man who’d sired me, but when I learned the full truth of what he’d done, I had to confront him. I found him in Venice, where he’d been living since his exile from England for some scandal he couldn’t completely sweep away.” His hands clenched into fists. “He’d laughed at my outrage. Told me I’d understand one day when I discovered the true pleasures of life as he had.”

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