Letters to a Lover, page 9
“There is no need,” Azalea assured the footman unsteadily. “I know you are all busy. I shall just sit here until my husband returns.” Waiting for the ax to fall… Perhaps she should leave now, alone, run, and hide in Grizelda’s spare bedroom. She could not face anyone else. But then, she could not even bring herself to move, and in any case, she owed Eric the explanation.
He had kissed her, she remembered dazedly, forcing herself not to touch her still-tingling lips. But even if he still loved her…
She became aware that the footman was gazing at her in anxious expectation. He must have asked her something.
“I’m sorry, what did you say?”
“Shall I send for your carriage, my lady?”
“No need,” Eric’s voice said from the stairs as he descended briskly and accepted his hat from the footman. “We’ll walk, and the air will hopefully clear her ladyship’s head.”
“I hope so,” she said fervently, for at the moment, she seemed unable to think of anything. However, it appeared she could stand and even walk across the hall, through the door and down the front steps, and along the side of the deserted square. “What were you even doing there?” she wondered aloud.
“Making sure you were safe,” he said shortly.
She turned her head, frowning. “You saw me leave?”
His lips twisted under the light of a lamp. “I told you recently I was not a complaisant husband. I suppose I did not say I was a jealous one. And then I imagined you were only enjoying some fresh air.”
“I have never enjoyed anything less.”
A carriage rumbled past them. Azalea did not even glance at it, although Eric tipped his hat. He must have known the occupants.
“Who is he?” Eric asked abruptly. “And what did you give him?”
She closed her eyes. Her hand was on his rigid arm once more, but she didn’t really care if she walked into anything. She thought she would welcome the pain. “I don’t know who he is. I gave him money.”
In the following silence, she was aware of his head turning toward her. She opened her eyes as he steered her around a group of amiable but wobbly drunks, trying to outdo each other in civility but staggering and giggling whenever one of them bowed.
“You may regard it as a silly question,” he said, “but why were you giving money to a stranger? In secret? I would not have classed him on first acquaintance as deserving poor.”
“No,” she said candidly, “I have a horrible feeling he is a gentleman, at least in name though clearly not in practice.” She drew in her breath. Only the truth would serve now, whatever the consequence. “I am being blackmailed.”
Chapter Nine
In the deafening silence, his gaze burned into her face. She waited patiently for outrage to break through his astonishment. For him to push her hand off his arm. She would have to live with his disgust, at least until the truth was uncovered. And by then, how much damage would have been done? How much of her marriage, of her love or his, would be salvageable?
“Why didn’t you tell me?” His voice was low, almost husky. “Why did you not come to me?”
He could always surprise her, this wonderful husband of hers. She could barely see through the tears suddenly filling her eyes.
She gestured with one helpless hand. “How could I? We had just begun…to reach each other again. We were going to Trenchard to be together, to try and close the distance that has grown between us. I could not bring myself to spoil that by confessing my sins. Although it was clearly a foolish impulse, because I have only made it worse, even more suspicious.”
“You had better tell me all of it.”
He did not sound remotely angry. She turned her head to look at him, but he was gazing straight ahead. They were in Mount Street, walking past other people’s large houses toward their own.
Unexpectedly, his gloved hand covered hers on his arm. “When we are inside,” he said, “and you are warm.”
“It isn’t the cold that’s making me shake,” she blurted, but she couldn’t say more, for her throat ached too much with suppressed tears that were about to overflow if she relaxed for an instant.
It was oddly soothing that he could be his old self again, greeting the servants, asking for the fire to be lit in the library. When he removed his gloves, he did not appear to notice the split knuckles on one hand.
The library had always been his territory, but it was a pleasant, comfortable room, smelling of old books and something elusive that was peculiarly Eric. In the early days of the marriage, she had often joined him to talk or simply to be in his company while they both read. She wondered if he had chosen it for that reason tonight or because it gave him some kind of advantage in whatever was to come. In matters of business, he was a calculating man.
Business, dear God!
Abandoning any attempt at dignity, she went and knelt, shivering, by the recently lit fire. Her skirts billowed around her like a protective blanket.
As he had done in the drawing room after Gunning’s ejection, Eric poured two glasses of brandy and brought her one. She took the glass in both hands as if it could somehow warm her, while he pulled his chair nearer the fire and sat down.
“Tell me everything,” he said. His gentleness surprised fresh tears, which she hastily blinked away.
She took a reviving sip of brandy. “I don’t know where to start.”
“The beginning?” he suggested.
“I suppose the beginning was the letter I received in the post, the morning after we dined alone. It demanded money for silence in the matter of incriminating love letters written by me, now in the possession of the blackmailer. It said if I didn’t pay him five hundred pounds, he would give the letters to you and the newspapers.”
A quick glance at Eric showed him frowning faintly. “There was five hundred pounds in that packet tonight?”
“Oh no, I’m afraid there was…a thousand,” she hurried into explanation. “It was my pin money, plus some I had not spent from previous quarters, and a little of my grandmother’s inheritance.”
He swallowed. “Perhaps we should come back to that later. Did you give him the five hundred first?”
“No, I gave him one hundred and told him there would be no more until he sent the letters to me. It was Grizelda’s idea.”
His eyes were fixed, opaque. “You told Grizelda?”
“I asked her and Dragan to investigate it for me,” she admitted with difficulty. “They are good at puzzles, and I wanted him found rather than paid. His instructions were to leave the money in our theatre box…”
“Ah. So that is the real reason we went to the theatre and that quite ordinary comedy.”
“And why I felt I could not go to Trenchard as soon as we had agreed.” There was no point in keeping any of it to herself now. “Anyway, I left a hundred pounds and my own demands in the box, and when we left, Griz and Dragan doubled back to see who collected it. But he had actually climbed out of the box and into another, so they missed him. The next letter demanded a thousand pounds more but at least sent me a fragment of a letter in my hand. That thousand is what you caught me delivering.”
Eric dragged his gaze free and looked into the fire instead. “To return to these love letters. To whom were they written?”
“I don’t know that either,” she whispered.
His mouth twisted. “You have written so many that you cannot even narrow it down?”
“Oh, it is not like that!” she pleaded, then emitted a sound between a laugh and a groan. “At least, I don’t think it is.”
“You don’t appear to know much about any of this,” he said neutrally.
“I don’t,” she agreed. “I don’t recall writing love letters to anyone, not even you, and certainly not the fragment the blackmailer sent me. Dragan is comparing the handwriting to see if there are differences, in case the letter is forged.”
“Is he?” Eric said with odd deliberation. “To be frank, Azalea, I am having difficulty believing you cannot remember to whom you wrote a letter of love that is worthy of blackmail.”
She nodded. “I know. That is the other reason I did not tell you. You would not believe me innocent. But that is the root of the whole problem, the reason why I cannot risk all this coming out. I don’t know that I did not write such things because…because there are blanks in my memory, things I cannot remember doing, people I apparently met but don’t recall. I hid that from you, too, from everyone. I felt foolish, ashamed, afraid I was becoming like Great Aunt Matilda, who forgot everything, including her name. And then at other times, I was sure it was an aberration, an oddity that would stop and not matter, but it seems it won’t stop.”
He was looking at her once more, the frown etched deeply into his brow.
“I saw Dr. Gibson,” she said hurriedly. “Once I realized the importance. He says it is merely my nerves, and I should rest, get away from the hectic activity of town.”
“To forget things of such importance?” Eric said, carefully controlled. “I think we will obtain another opinion.”
“To be fair, I did not tell him the importance of some of the things I could not recall. Dragan says some traumatic event could have caused me to wipe everything associated with it from my mind. He has come across soldiers with head injuries who did so.”
“You have a head injury?” he said quickly.
“No. But Dragan still thinks this is possible.” She took a deep breath. “Gunning, whom I thought I barely knew, seemed to think I had invited him that afternoon for some kind of assignation. I cannot think why I would have done such a thing. His touch repelled me. And…and the Royston’s ball that I asked you about? I cannot remember being there at all. I cannot remember going or coming home.” She forced herself to withstand his gaze. “That is why I paid. I cannot be sure of anything I have done or said, and I could not bear such things to be public and hurt you. Hurt us.”
“It is not the publicity that would hurt me.”
She felt her shoulders slump in misery and had to make the effort to straighten them. To her surprise, his hand closed over one in a gentle, steadying grip.
“The most important thing you have told me about is your health. Your blackmailer, our problem with trust, come well below that.”
“Our problem with trust,” she whispered. “You do not trust me.”
His hand fell away. “You do not trust yourself. Beyond that…there was a time when you would have come first to me with any problem, and we would have solved it together.”
She felt the blood drain from her face, leaving it icy cold. “But you must see why I could not, how this…” She broke off, lifting one helpless hand in dismissal.
“How this concerns me? Us? And how you trusted not me but your sister’s husband, whom you have known barely three months?”
A single tear escaped. She could not wipe it away without drawing attention to it, so she let it roll.
“That is not a criticism of you,” he said with a lightness that sounded oddly forced. “Merely a comment on the state of our marriage. A comment I have no right to make after asserting the most important matter is your health. Like the blackmail, our relationship will wait.”
“Isn’t that the problem, Eric?” she burst out. “We waited and waited for things to get better, and neither of us did anything.”
Something blazed in his eyes that caught at her breath. His lips parted in hasty response before he closed them, and his eyelids drooped, hiding his emotion. But it was too late. She understood what he would have said.
“Apparently, you did?” she said in a flat, hard voice. “Is that what you were going to say? You needn’t hide it. There is nothing you can say on the subject I have not already asked myself. But there’s the rub. I do not know if I did or not.”
For an instant, her own misery was mirrored in his eyes. “We will find out,” he said calmly. “But Zalea, I will not be excluded anymore.”
“No,” she whispered, both defeated and bizarrely comforted.
He took the barely touched glass from her hand and set it on the hearth, then stood and drew her to her feet. “Come, you need to rest. And tomorrow, we will go together to call on the Tizsas.”
She rose obediently. Despite the relief in having told him, she felt his terrible distance like a pain. Common sense told her she had delivered several shocks that he would need time to get over. And infidelity was no doubt an insurmountable hurdle. She hung onto the hope that there had been no infidelity and tried to summon yet another batch of patience.
More than anything, she longed to spend the night in his strong, comforting arms. Just for his presence, without even the passion. But the plea stuck in her throat. He barely touched her as they walked together upstairs. And when they parted at her door, he only touched her cheek in a quick, distracted caress one might give a child.
“It will be well, Azalea,” he said gently, distractedly. “We will sort it out.” And then he turned away and walked back to his rooms. The tears rolled unchecked down her face as she blundered into her room.
It was some time before she could even bring herself to ring for Morris to help her undress.
*
“My lord.” Morris’s soft voice drifted into Azalea’s wakening consciousness. It came from the outer room, distant and familiar.
“Is her ladyship awake?” That was Eric’s cool, lazy voice, wrapping her in warmth from the same distance.
“I’m not sure, my lord,” Morris replied. “If you wait one moment, I’ll just go and find out.”
“No need,” Eric said. “I’ll see for myself.”
It was an instant before the meaning of his words penetrated her sleepy, appreciative brain. She sprang into a sitting position just as Eric sauntered into the bedchamber, resplendent in a heavily braided dressing gown of dark green and gold.
“Ah, you are awake,” he observed and closed the door between the rooms.
“Eric,” she said, still somewhat befuddled. “Morris will think—” She broke off, blushing.
His lips quirked provocatively. “What?” He sat casually on the edge of her bed. “That I have come to make love to my wife?”
After eight years of marriage, she refused to let him embarrass her. “Enticing as you are in that magnificent dressing gown?”
“Isn’t it gorgeous?” He lifted his forearm to admire the velvet fabric and the gold braiding around the wide cuffs. “A gift, if I recall, from your parents.”
“Ah, then you wear it for protection?”
“Yes, but not from you. I came to suggest an early morning call upon Griz and Dragan. Just to make sure they have not vanished into one of their adventures for the rest of the day.”
“Very well,” she agreed.
“Can you be ready in half an hour?”
“Of course.”
His lips twitched. “Including coffee and breakfast?”
“Of course. I can drink and eat toast as I dress.”
“What a marvel is the human species, when pushed.” The faint teasing smile in his eyes faded. He shifted, and his hip pushed against her thigh. Even with the bedcovers between them, she liked that. “How are you?” he asked quietly.
“I’m quite well and remember everything about last night,” she managed, meeting his searching gaze.
“Then it was not too traumatic?”
“Apparently not.”
His lips quirked again. “You must forgive me. I am not used to playing the heavy-handed husband, and I don’t think I like it. Shall we be partners instead?”
In spite of herself and the fact that she couldn’t even tell if he was joking, she smiled back. “Yes, please.”
“Good.” He stood, much to her disappointment. “Half an hour then.”
Chapter Ten
A little less than an hour later, Azalea led her husband up her sister’s garden path. Emmie, who was polishing the brass handles and locks, smiled cheerfully and let them walk straight in.
“They’re both in the drawing room,” she informed them. “Shall I announce you?”
“Oh, I don’t think that’s necessary,” Eric replied smoothly. “You carry on.”
Azalea led the way upstairs. At the door, she hesitated, raising her hand to knock. After all, she did not wish to discover the newlyweds in an embarrassing display of affection.
Eric, however, clearly suffered from no such discretion. He merely reached around her, allowing her a pleasant whiff of Eric-ness, and opened the door. Inevitably, perhaps, Vicky, the little greyhound, bolted toward them.
At once, Eric and Azalea whipped themselves into the room and closed the door to prevent the dog from bolting downstairs and past Emmie, into the street; and Vicky launched herself at them instead.
Griz and Dragan, although at opposite ends of the table, each looking at separate mounds of paper, looked as guilty as if they had been caught in flagrante.
“Zalea!” Griz exclaimed, leaping to her feet. “Eric, how are you? Have you come to discuss important matters with Dragan? Why doesn’t he take you to his study while Azalea and I—”
“He knows, Griz,” Azalea interrupted. “There’s no need to hide anything, anymore.”
“Ah.” Griz shook off her brief flush of embarrassment. “Well, thank God for that. What brought you to your senses?”
“Lack of choice,” Eric drawled, kissing Grizelda’s cheek. “You look well, Mrs. Tizsa.”
Griz flushed rather endearingly. “So do you, Lord Trench. Are we having tea, or did you come to scold us?”
Eric raised one eyebrow. “Why would I scold you for helping my wife?”
“What happened last night?” Dragan interrupted, looking at Azalea.
“I left the money on the bench,” Azalea said, “and was just rushing back to watch from the window when Eric charged across the square and punched my blackmailer in the face.”
