"That doesn't surprise me." Sterling gave the woman a devilish wink. "The very height of scandal, wasn't it?"
She looked somewhat taken aback that he would admit such a thing. Her pale hand fluttered nervously about her throat. "I'm sure you can understand how such talk gets started. After all, you have been something of a recluse since your return."
"That's because I can't bear to drag myself away from my beloved's side." Sterling slipped a possessive arm around Laura's waist. He smiled fondly down at her, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "As soon as I laid eyes on my Laura here, I knew I had to have her. Why, it was almost as if we'd been betrothed for years, wasn't it, dearest?"
"Um… uh…" Laura had forgotten how devastating the full force of Sterling's charm could be. She might have gone on stammering indefinitely if he hadn't given her a sound pinch. "Oh! Yes, it was quite extraordinary. Why, at our very first meeting, we found ourselves discussing our future together."
"Just how did the two of you meet? Given your disparate… circumstances"—Lady Hewitt flared her patrician nostrils—"I'm assuming it must have been pure chance."
Sterling chuckled. "Some might call it chance, but I call it fate. I owe it all to a skittish mare. After I was thrown, Laura was the first to stumble across me. I must confess that I found myself quite at her mercy."
Although she continued to beam up at him, Laura placed her foot on top of his and pressed firmly on his instep. "I don't recall hearing any complaints at the time."
"On the contrary. The happiest day of my life was when she agreed to marry me."
Laura batted her eyelashes at him. "And how was I to resist such an eloquent and romantic proposal?"
His eyes narrowed ever so slightly. "It's no wonder we've set the gossips' tongues to wagging, is it, darling? Who would have thought the dastardly Devil of Devonbrooke would end up surrendering his heart to such an angel?" Bringing Laura's hand to his lips, he bestowed a tender kiss upon it.
The women who had been eavesdropping on their conversation didn't bother to hide their sighs of envy. When one of their husbands dared to roll his eyes, his wife smacked him on the arm with her fan.
Lady Hewitt's mouth pursed as if she had eaten something exceedingly bitter. "If you'll excuse me, I do believe I've promised the next dance to the marquess of Gillingham."
"Heaven help him," Sterling murmured, watching her flounce away.
Laura could no longer hold in her laughter. "And heaven help you for spouting such drivel. Why, it was enough to make Lord Byron himself blush!"
"On the contrary, he was standing just over your left shoulder during the entire exchange, frantically scribbling down notes."
"No! Why, Lottie will expire from envy!" Laura spun around, hoping to catch a glimpse of the dashing poet.
Sterling rested his warm hands on her bare shoulders and brought his mouth close to her ear. "I can assure you that before this night is done, no one in London, including Lord Byron, will doubt that the duke of Devonbrooke adores his wife."
His cryptic words sent a shiver of longing through Laura's soul, but before she could question them, the musicians launched into a rollicking Scottish reel that made further conversation impossible.
Thane ducked through the dancers, desperately trying to elude one woman and find another. Lady Elizabeth Hewitt had been stalking him for the past hour, pursuing him with chilling relentlessness. Since Sterling had thrown her over, she had obviously decided to seek consolation in the bed of his dearest friend. Only a few weeks ago, bedding one of Sterling's castoffs might not have been such an unthinkable proposition, but now the woman's throaty titter and incessant preening made Thane shudder.
He much preferred tall, willowy women who were so confident in their timeless elegance that they didn't find it necessary to follow the fickle tide of fashion. Thane sighed. Although he'd combed every corner of the ballroom, he had yet to find such a woman.
What he did find was Lady Hewitt heading his way again, her bosom jutting forward like the prow of some mighty ship. Biting back a groan, he ducked behind a footman's tray of empty champagne flutes. He was seriously considering making his escape through one of the tall French windows when he caught a flicker of movement on the gallery above.
Lady Diana Harlow stood with her elbows propped on the gallery rail, her chin resting in the cup of her palms. Thane shook his head. She might disdain the shallow gaiety of the festivities, but he should have known she'd want to keep a close watch on her cousin and his bride.
But she wasn't watching Sterling and Laura. She was watching him.
Their eyes met over the sea of dancers. She straightened, her wistful expression replaced by one of alarm. As she turned to flee, Thane started up the stairs, his long legs easily clearing two of them at a time.
She'd just reached the mouth of the corridor leading to the north wing when he made it to the top of the stairs. "Running away from the ball, are you? I thought that was Cinderella's role."
* * *
Chapter 26
« ^ »
But even the sweetest of dreams
must come to an end…
Diana halted, then slowly turned, smoothing the rich burgundy of her skirts. "I never thought it quite fair that the fairy godmother didn't enjoy the same privileges as her protegee."
Thane moved toward her. "Aren't you tired of running, Diana? I know I am. I've been running for eleven years now and it hasn't gotten me anywhere I wanted to be."
A mocking smile touched her lips. "And just where do you want to be, my lord?"
"In your heart. In your arms." As the shimmering strains of a waltz wafted up from the ballroom below, he took another step toward her. "In your bed."
Diana turned away from him, but not before he saw her stern mask crumble. "How dare you insult me so? Why, one word from me and my cousin will be compelled to call you out."
"Let him," Thane said grimly. "I'd rather die on the dueling field tomorrow than spend the rest of my days only half-alive. Which is how I feel whenever I'm not with you."
Diana turned back to him, blinking furiously. "Well, that's just your wretched luck, isn't it? Because you're the one who squandered the last eleven years of our lives, not me."
"That's not true and you damn well know it. You were the one who broke off our engagement. You were the one who chose to believe an ugly morsel of gossip instead of the man you professed to love." He shook his head. "I still can't believe you thought I'd throw you over for some brainless chit like Cynthia Markham."
"I saw you!" she shouted. "I saw the two of you together that night at Lady Oakley's party! I saw you holding her in your arms! I saw you kissing her just as you always kissed me!"
Thane felt the blood drain from his face. "Oh, God," he whispered. "I never knew."
"Aren't you going to deny it? Aren't you going to tell me that she kissed you? Who knows? After all these years, I might just be lonely and desperate enough to believe you!"
Thane closed his eyes, buffeted by the secret shame that had kept him from defending himself to her for all these years. A lifetime of regrets flashed before them—the tender moments they might have shared, the children they might have had. But when he opened them again, he knew this was the only moment that mattered.
"I'm not going to lie to you. I did kiss her."
"Why?" Diana whispered, the tears spilling from her beautiful eyes breaking his heart all over again. "Why would you do such a thing?"
Thane drew a handkerchief from his breast pocket and handed it to her. "Because I was young and foolish and alone in a moonlit garden with a pretty young thing who was looking at me as if I hung the moon. Because I was going to be married in less than a fortnight. Because I was half out of my mind with loving you, but terrified of the depth of my feelings." He shook he head helplessly. "The moment my lips touched hers, I knew it was a mistake."
Diana crumpled the handkerchief in her fist. "Georgiana and Blanche came to me the next day and told me you were pla
nning to marry Cynthia instead of me. And, of course, I believed them. How could I not? I'd seen the evidence with my own eyes. You left me no choice but to break our engagement before you did. How else was I to spare my pride?"
Thane cupped Diana's chin in his hands, forcing her to look him in the eye. "You might have seen me kissing Cynthia Markham in the garden that night, but you didn't linger long enough to see me push her away. You never heard me tell her that my life and my heart were already promised to another." He caressed her trembling lower lip with his thumb. "To you."
She clutched his wrist, revealing just how badly she wanted to believe him. "But why didn't you come to me? If you'd have only explained…"
"God knows I should have. I should have hurled rocks at your windows and broken down your door. I should have shouted my love for you from every rooftop in London until you had no choice but to listen. But I was little more than a lad myself then and your lack of faith in me dealt my pride a terrible blow." He lowered his eyes. "And I suppose I was ashamed knowing that there was even the tiniest morsel of truth in that cruel gossip."
Diana searched his face, tears continuing to trickle down her cheeks. "It seems that pride and time have made fools of the both of us."
Thane wrapped his arms around her, holding her as he'd longed to do for so many years. "I'm much older and wiser now. I say to hell with pride. And as for time, well, I've no intention of wasting another precious second of it."
Making good on that pledge, he brought his lips down tenderly on hers, making sure she would never again have reason to doubt him.
It was well after midnight when the last guest departed Devonbrooke Hall. Both the ball and the formal supper that had followed had been proclaimed a smashing success. The highlight of the entertainment had come when the countess of Rockingham had peeked beneath the lid of a serving dish only to discover a plump black kitten nibbling at the chicken beneath. Believing it to be an enormous rat, the buxom dowager had screamed and fainted dead away.
As was his habit, their dashing host had set every tongue in London to wagging. But this time it wasn't the duke's philandering, his gambling, or his dueling that had captured their imaginations. It was his touching devotion to his lovely young bride.
Although it was hardly the fashion to dance the night away with one's spouse, he refused to be coaxed away from her side. Between dances, he introduced her to each of their guests in turn, regaling his rapt audience with the dramatic story of their first meeting and subsequent courtship. During supper he offered a toast in her honor that was so tender, so very eloquent that even the jaded Lord Byron was seen to be dabbing a tear from his eye. Poor Lady Hewitt became so overcome with emotion that she could barely speak and had to depart shortly thereafter.
As the musicians packed away their instruments and the footmen doused the candles in the chandeliers one by one, Laura wandered through the ballroom. She wished the ball could have gone on all night. Or forever. Forever would be too short a time to spend basking in the warmth of Sterling's eyes, the heat of his touch. A wistful sigh escaped her. For a few precious hours, it was almost as if she had her Nicholas back.
Someone behind her cleared his throat. Laura turned to find Sterling standing in the gathering shadows, a sleeping Lottie in his arms.
"I found her curled up beneath the dessert table, fast asleep," he said softly.
Laura crossed to them. Correcting the awkward angle of one of Lottie's arms, she whispered, "The poor thing will be devastated. She was determined to stay up all night."
"She probably just succumbed to a surfeit of treats. George said she was complaining earlier of an aching tummy. I'm sure she'll be fine in the morning."
As he turned away, gently cradling Lottie's head against his shoulder, Laura was struck by a rush of unbearable tenderness. Would he carry their own children just so? Would he tuck them into their beds and kiss their rosy cheeks before leaving them to their dreams each night?
Laura had no way of knowing if he would. But she had to give him the chance. Her hand brushed her stomach. Not just for his sake, or even her own, but for the sake of their unborn child.
"Sterling," she said, lifting her chin high.
"Yes?" he replied, turning in the doorway.
"After you tuck Lottie in, may I have a word with you in the study?"
Wariness darkened his eyes for the first time that night, giving Laura a pang of regret. But she couldn't afford to waver. If she waited until he came to her bedchamber to try to talk to him, there would be no words.
"Very well. I'll be back shortly."
Laura slipped into the study to wait for him. She hadn't breached Sterling's sanctuary since the evening they'd quarreled over her birthday gift. The fireplace was dark and cold so she lit the lamp sitting on the corner of the desk. She sank down in the wing chair in front of the desk, tapping her slippered feet impatiently.
The moments seemed to crawl by. She finally rose and made a restless circuit of the room. The lamp was doing little to banish the oppressive gloom.
"Perhaps he has some candles tucked away somewhere," she muttered.
She poked around on the bookshelves, but failed to locate anything but two candle stubs and an empty tinderbox. She would simply have to brave the monstrous desk. She intended to perch on the very edge of Sterling's chair, but instead found herself sinking deep into the seductive comfort of its burnished leather.
So this was how it felt to be duke, she thought, surveying the room from an entirely new perspective.
Perhaps when Sterling came in, she should make him sit on the other side of the desk. Then she could lean back in the chair, tuck a cheroot in the corner of her mouth, and explain that she'd had quite enough of his brooding and he was simply going to have to forgive her for being such a ninny.
Laughing softly at her own foolishness, Laura began to search through the desk drawers. Soon the bottom left-hand drawer was her only remaining hope. She tugged on its mahogany knob, but the drawer stuck, as if it hadn't been opened for a while. Gritting her teeth, Laura gave it a mighty yank.
The drawer slid free from its moorings, filling the air with the unmistakable fragrance of orange blossoms.
* * *
Chapter 27
« ^ »
I pray that someday you will find it
in your heart to forgive me…
When Sterling pushed open the study door, he found Laura standing behind the desk, clutching a fistful of papers to her breast.
Alarmed by the tears streaming down her cheeks, he started toward her. "What is it, Laura? Did someone say something cruel to you tonight? Because if they did, I swear I'll—"
Before he could reach for her, she slapped the papers against his chest. "You never opened them," she said, her voice low and fierce. "You never read a single word."
As Sterling gazed into her anguished eyes, a killing frost began to creep through his heart. He didn't have to examine the papers to realize what they were. He could smell them.
He gently, but firmly, removed his mother's letters from Laura's grasp and dropped them back into the drawer, pushing it shut with his foot. "She had nothing to say that I cared to hear."
"How can you know that when you refused to listen?" Before Sterling could stop her, Laura had yanked open the drawer again and began to pull out handfuls of his mother's letters. She tossed them on the desk until they were piled so high they started to spill over onto the floor. "Every week for the last six years of her life, this woman poured out her heart to you. The very least you could do was listen."
Sterling could feel his temper rising. "I don't wish to discuss this with you, Laura. Not now and not ever."
"Well, that's just too bad, isn't it? Because I'm not some unwanted piece of correspondence you can stuff into a drawer. You can't make me disappear just by ignoring me. If you could, I would have vanished the minute we set foot in this accursed house." Laura tore open one of the letters, her hands shaking violently. '"My dearest son,'
" she read.
"Stop it, Laura. You don't want to do this."
She shot him a defiant look. "'Winter is coming and the days are growing shorter, but I begin and end each one of them with thoughts of you. I think of how you might be passing these brittle autumn days and wonder if you are happy.'"
Sterling propped his hip on the edge of the desk and folded his arms over his chest. "If my happiness was of such import to her, I don't think she would have been so eager to sell me to the highest bidder."
Laura broke the seal on another letter. '"My dearest Sterling, I dreamed of you again last night, not as the boy I remember but as a man whose handsome countenance and fine character made my heart thrill with pride.'"
He snorted. "My, that was a dream, wasn't it? Had she encountered the reality, she would have been keenly disappointed."
Ignoring him, Laura unfolded another letter. '"My darling son,'" she read. "'Please forgive my atrocious penmanship. The laudanum I'm taking to dull the pain seems to befuddle the hand as well as the mind.'"
Sterling straightened. "Don't, Laura," he said softly. "I'm warning you…"
Although fresh tears began to trickle down her cheeks, her voice remained ruthlessly steady. '"Don't waste any of your pity on me. It is not such a terrible thing that I should die, only that I should die without seeing your precious face one last time.'"
"Damn it to hell, woman, you haven't the right!" Sterling snatched the letter from her hands, crumpled it into a ball, and hurled it into the fireplace. "She wasn't your mother. She was mine!"
Laura pointed a trembling finger at the hearth. "And those were her last words to you. Are you certain you want to just throw them away as if they were so much garbage?"
"And why not? That's what she did to me, wasn't it?"
"What about your father? I've never been able to understand why you blame her and not him."