A Lord Rotheby's Holiday Bundle (43 page)

As usual, Mother’s tone brooked no
argument. Quin had to chuckle. Despite his thirty-two years, she
could put him in his place in the span of a moment—without even
batting an eye. “You are right, of course.”

“
Of course I am. I’m always
right. You ought to have learned that by now.”

“
Consider the lesson
complete,” Quin said.

Mother raised a single eyebrow. “And
you ought to also realize that the same goes for Aurora, too. She
is always right. You’ll save yourself years of heartache if you
learn that one simple fact right in this moment.”

Apparently it was a lesson Sir
Augustus had learned many years before. The man did seem to let his
wife take the reins far more often than was Quin’s inclination—but
he also seemed to have far less conflict within his
marriage.

Damnation.

They finished the dance, keeping up
their playful banter as they did. Then Quin saw his guests out to
their conveyances. Most of the house party seemed inclined to stay
up enjoying themselves a while longer in the salon. That was more
than all right. It was the final night of the house party, after
all.

But he missed his wife.

After he’d seen to their comforts and
made certain the staff would not work too late into the night, Quin
excused himself and went up to their chamber. He half expected to
find Aurora asleep on a settee in their sitting room, as had been
her habit for the majority of their marriage. But she was not
there.

Then he went into her chamber,
thinking she might have been too exhausted and fallen asleep in her
own bed. Again, she was not to be found.

Finally, Quin went to his own chamber.
Instead of his wife, however, he found her journal. It lay
carefully positioned on his pillow, open to a certain page a little
past the halfway point. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he took the
journal into his hands gingerly, almost as though it would
disappear in the same manner Aurora seemed to have done. He held it
to the candlelight and read.

We, neither one of us,
wanted what we now have: a marriage full of more silence than
laughter, of more pain than joy, of more secrets than truths. Even
just tonight, I learned yet another truth that has been hidden away
from me for these last months
—
the truth of why you refused to
honor your agreement with Lady Phoebe.

Which led me to another
truth: no matter how much I may wish otherwise, no matter how much
I love you and want the best for you, no matter how many years have
passed, you are still the boy whose father beat him when he
couldn’t handle his own grief. Perhaps you will always be that
child
—
lost and
hurt and seemingly alone in the world.

There is a truth about me
which you should know. However much you believe yourself to be like
your father (and mayhap you’re right), that is also how much I am
like my mother. I had hoped this would not be the
case
—
that her
problems with bearing healthy, living children would be hers alone
and would not pass down to the next generation. Alas, they are not.
Her problems are now my problems.

Which means, as my
husband, they are yours as well.

The babe I carried is
gone. Indeed, it is doubtful I can ever carry a child long enough
for it to survive. Out of my mother’s countless attempts, I was her
only success. And what a success I have been, earning the scorn of
the
ton
, whilst
failing in the one task you had set for me.

I cannot bear the thought
of continuing along my mother’s path
—
of trying and failing again and
again until all that is left of my soul is an empty shell, all that
is left of our marriage is the memory of love with the reality of
heartache. And if there is one thing I have learned about myself
through our marriage, it is that I am, generally, a selfish person.
I wish for what is best for me, rather than what is best for my
acquaintances. I wish for what is best for me, rather than what is
best for my dearest friend. I wish for what is best for me, rather
than what is best for you, my husband. I had thought I might
change, but now I am not so sure.

What is best for me right
now is to be alone.

By the time Quin came to
the end, he was baffled. The baby was gone.
Aurora
was gone. But where could she
have gotten off to? Mrs. Marshall hadn’t said anything about Aurora
leaving, so she must still be in the abbey somewhere.

He had to find her. He couldn’t allow
her to be alone. Not now. Not after losing the baby. She needed
comfort. She needed to know that he loved her, regardless of
whether they had a baby or not. That he didn’t care about Rotheby’s
blasted edicts. That he needed her more than brandy, more than
gambling or boxing or any of his other pursuits, even more than
air.

Quin rushed from his chamber down to
the salon. “She’s gone,” he said as he burst through the door.
“Aurora is gone. She’s lost the baby and she is gone.”

The house guests leapt to their feet,
all talking at once.

“
The baby? What
baby?”

“
Where on earth could she
have gone?”

“
It’s the middle of the
night. Surely she couldn’t have gone far.”

Quin shook his head. “There’s no time
for explanations. We have to find her.” He sat in the nearest
chair, eyes wide, with Aurora’s journal still in his
hands.

“
Let’s all work together,”
Jonas called out over the general commotion. Every eye turned to
him, including Quin. “We’ll break into pairs to search the abbey
and the grounds. The servants are still setting things to rights
after the ball, so we will gain their assistance as well. Question
everyone—Cook, the grooms in the stables—everyone you run across.
Find out if they’ve seen her this evening. We will all report back
here, to the salon, in thirty minute increments as to where we’ve
searched and what we’ve learned. Lady Aylesbury and Lord Rotheby
will remain here to keep track of our efforts.”

Thank God for Jonas. Lord knew Quin’s
head was anything but level at that precise point in
time.

Within moments, pairs formed and
cleared out of the salon, beginning their search.

Quin left alone. He couldn’t sit and
wait for someone to find her. He couldn’t bear the thought of
anything happening to her when she was alone, when he wasn’t there
to protect her.

He had to find her.

~ * ~

Zeus hadn’t stopped licking Aurora’s
face since they had arrived at the hermitage hours before, other
than a brief stint where the pup was too tired to keep his eyes
open and he fell asleep on her lap where she sat in the leather
chair. But then her sobbing had started anew, and Zeus returned to
his vigil.

She oughtn’t to have brought him with
her. She ought to have left him at the abbey, where he could be
petted and played with and loved by all the young ladies after the
ball had finished.

But as was her wont, Aurora had taken
the self-serving path.

Zeus had just moved to lick dry the
salty tears on the other side of her face when the hermitage’s door
flew open with Quin on the other side of the threshold. He stood
there gasping for breath, with his eyes ablaze and hair flowing
free about his shoulders, unmoving.

For long moments, they merely stared
at each other. Why had he come? There was nothing he could do,
nothing that could repair what had been lost.

Zeus left her and waddled over to
Quin’s feet, barking and jumping up for affection. How lovely it
must be to be a dog. They were always free to show their love,
leaping into a lap or licking a face whenever the mood struck. A
simple nudge or a bark was all it took to receive love.

How much more complicated to be a man
or a woman.

Quin reached down and scratched behind
Zeus’s ears. “I wondered if you might come here,” he said into the
stillness.

With each word, another piece of her
heart broke off.

“
Everyone has been looking
for you, you know. You’ve given us all quite a fright.”

Aurora nodded. She couldn’t trust her
voice yet, couldn’t speak without fear of falling completely apart
at his feet. That just would not do. She could not become a weak
ninny, crying and begging him to love her despite her
failings.

When Zeus wouldn’t stop stretching up
Quin’s long legs to nudge his hand with his wet nose, Quin finally
reached down to scoop the pup into his arms. “May I come in?” he
asked. His voice was calm. Measured.

Again, Aurora nodded.

He stepped into the hermitage, his
massive frame nearly filling the small room, and took a seat in the
chair opposite her.

“
I love you,” he said. “I
love you more than I know how to”

Aurora raised a hand to stop him.
Tears welled in her eyes again. She couldn’t listen to
this—couldn’t bear knowing how much pain he was in. Her own pain
was more than she was prepared to carry. The added weight of his
would suffocate her.

Taking her hand into his
own, he lowered it to her lap. “Yes, I have to tell you this. And
you have to listen.” Quin closed his eyes and inhaled sharply. “I
love you more than I know how to handle, and I can’t live without
you. I can’t
exist
without you. Do you realize what you’ve done for me? I have a
reason to enjoy life again—a reason to be the man my father never
managed to be.”

It wasn’t enough, though. It could
never be enough, as long as she couldn’t give him the heir that his
grandfather required. “But Lord Rotheby”

“
Rotheby can go straight to
the devil without a backward glance,” Quin said.

“
But the baby. The baby is
gone, Quin. I’ve miscarried. Did you not read my
journal?”

“
I read it and understood
perfectly well. That doesn’t matter. If marrying you and learning
to live a proper life isn’t enough for him, then he can have the
abbey. I’ll take up a profession. I’ll do whatever it takes to
support you, Aurora. Because I can’t be without you. And it doesn’t
matter to me if we never have children, if we never provide an heir
to become Rotheby after me, as long as I have you. After all, once
I’m in the ground, I won’t give one whit who holds the title. It
could go to Norcutt or Jonas, or anyone else under the moon, for
all I care.”

He dragged a hand through his shaggy
hair, which looked as though he had done just that countless times
already that evening. “Do you understand what I’m saying? There is
nothing—absolutely nothing—I won’t do to convince you of my love.
To convince you that you mean more to me than anything else in the
world. Please, love. Please tell me you love me too. I need to hear
the words.”

“
Words? Words can repair
nothing,” she said. “Words are fleeting, impermanent—gone as soon
as they’re uttered. I said them to you earlier this evening. Not
that it matters. Love can’t solve everything. It couldn’t restore
my parents’ marriage, not once it was filled with such distress and
suffering. Why should ours be any different?”

Quin stood and paced through the small
room, causing Zeus to leap down from his arms and regain a perch on
Aurora’s lap. “How is it that you, who cannot go a day without
writing her every thought in a journal, you, whose writings have
been the cause of such scandal and turmoil, believe words to be so
invaluable? Do you not recognize your own power, Aurora? Do you not
see how the world reacts to your words?” He faced her, searching
her eyes. “Your father has spent the past fortnight hoping to catch
a smile and a word from you. Nia, whom you had never met before she
arrived here, has hung upon your every word as though it is the
gospel, to the point that she has actually tried to act upon some
of your half-witted suggestions. Lady Rebecca, while she might not
have valued your opinion about Lord Norcutt as much as her own,
still seeks you out for conversation at nearly every point in the
day, forsaking the conversation of all others including her
betrothed. And they are far from alone, Aurora. I could go on all
night. Even the blasted dog on your lap is drawn to the sound of
your voice, coming to you when you call, all the while ignoring
anyone else. Why, in God’s name, is it so difficult for you to
understand that I need to hear some simple words from your
lips?”

“
Simple?” she replied.
“Love is the furthest thing from simple.”

“
Precisely!” he said. “Love
is complex and twisted, and it is different every time it occurs.
Who is to say that our love will wind up in the exact manner your
parents’ love did? That is about as unlikely as the idea of me
becoming a replica of my father. You happened to tell me once that
I am not him, though we may be alike. Do you recall
that?”

She nodded. Of course she did. Aurora
could recall nearly every conversation they had ever had. She
remembered every touch, every kiss, every tremble when he drew
near. He consumed her.

Quin dropped to his knees before her,
taking her hands into his own. “You are not your mother. You may be
like her, but you are not her.” He lowered his chin to their joined
hands, eyes closed. “I know that you love me. If it wasn’t clear
from the fact that you are here, in my special place, your journal
would have made it abundantly obvious. You love me despite all your
best intentions and against all odds. I hardly deserve your love,
but I intend to spend the rest of my life trying to earn
it.”