Julia London 4 Book Bundle (46 page)

He walked up to the door and lifted the brass knocker, rapping loudly. A few moments later the door was opened by Peters, the butler who had served his family since Adrian could remember. He frowned when Peters’s face fell, and before the butler could react he pushed past him. “Where is my father?” he demanded curtly.

Peters looked terribly pained and glanced sheepishly toward the front hall. “I beg your pardon, my lord, but I am under strict instructions—”

Adrian did not wait for him to finish but abruptly headed down the long corridor to the main drawing room. He rather suspected Archie and Ben were having a glass of port and a friendly chat about all the magnificent things they could do to Kealing Park,
his
rightful inheritance. When he reached the double oak doors, he flung them open and strode across the threshold.

Archie was alone and shoved to his feet, spilling the book on his lap onto the floor. “What are you doing here?” he demanded.

Adrian smiled dangerously as he clasped his hands behind his back. “I think you know very well, Father. It appears there have been some details of my past that have been … 
lacking.
”

The blood drained from Archie’s face. “She has told you then. That wife of yours is a high-and-mighty miss—the two of you deserve each other. All right, so you know. Whatever you may do, do it to me. But I beg of you, do not ruin Benedict.”

Adrian’s pulse soared to dangerous heights. “Do not ruin
Benedict
?” he shouted. “After what you have done to me, you would ask that I
protect
him?”

Archie fell into his chair. “Benedict is my true son, no matter what you will say to me. I love him. I cannot bear to see him dishonored,” he mumbled helplessly.

He might as well have pierced Adrian’s heart with a
bloody arrow—his words squeezed the very life from him, made him fight for breath as he gaped at the father who had allowed a son to believe he was a bastard. “
I
am your son! I am your rightful heir!” he roared.

Archie shook his head, still unable to look at him. “You are
her
son.” In disbelief, Adrian stalked to where his father sat. “All these years you allowed me to believe I was a bastard. How in the
hell
could you be so cruel?” he demanded.

“You have no idea the suffering I have endured because of you! I loved Allison; I would have married her! But Evelyn—that girl seduced me and forced me into marriage because of
you!
She ruined my life!” he cried, “
You
ruined my life!”

Dumbfounded, Adrian was absolutely incapable of speech. Lord knew he despised his father, but he had never thought him so … pathetic. “She was sixteen,” he heard himself say. “You were what, two and twenty? Would you have me believe a sixteen-year-old innocent overpowered you and
forced
you to fornicate?” he demanded harshly.

Archie colored. He suddenly sprang from his chair and moved unsteadily to the hearth. “She was a wanton, taunting me with her body and her eyes,” he spat.

Fighting the urge to strangle the foul breath from Archie’s lungs, Adrian snapped, “You have done me a grave disservice, my lord. I have all the necessary proof I need that you have attempted to ruin me without cause. I could drag you through the courts—you are aware of that, I presume?”

Archie’s eyes widened with fear. “What do you want? Tell me what you want, and I will give it to you,” he pleaded.

What he wanted, had wanted all his life, was no longer relevant. The monumental struggle to be accepted, the many ways he had desperately sought this man’s approval, now seemed like some macabre joke to him. It was almost a relief—at the very least his indiscretions and mistakes over the years, including Phillip’s
death, had never amounted to the cowardice and irresponsibility embodied in the man standing before him now. It seemed to Adrian, in this clarifying moment, that what he had really ever wanted was Archie’s attention. But no more. He never wanted even to
look
at him again.

Unnerved by his silence, Archie took a step forward. “Just tell me what you want and it is yours, but I am begging you, do not dishonor your brother,” he pleaded.

“You mean my bastard brother, don’t you?” Adrian asked, then smirked when Archie’s face turned almost gray. “I’ll tell you what I want,” he said, almost amicably. “I want my rightful inheritance restored to me. I want you to rescind the papers that have labeled me a scoundrel in so many words. And naturally I want you to drop your ridiculous suit to hold Longbridge in trust. In exchange for that, I will keep your dirty little secret.”

Archie nodded quickly. “Anything,” he said. “I will have the papers drawn up and sent to Longbridge without delay.”

Disgusted, Adrian turned on his heel and strode across the room, anxious to be gone before his blood turned sour. But … there was one last thing. He turned sharply to face his father for the last time. “There is one more thing,” he said quietly. “You must tell Benedict.”

“Tell me what?”

Both men jerked around; Benedict had stepped into the room unnoticed, was standing just at the door, looking like a frightened boy. “Tell me what?” he asked again, his voice quivering.

Adrian shifted his gaze to Archie, whose pallor suggested he would be ill at any moment. “Tell him about his mother,” he said, and without another word walked out of that room, leaving Benedict regarding Archie with grave curiosity.

     
H
E PRAYED FOR
a full moon and rode through the night to Longbridge, unconcerned with the inherent dangers. He refused to allow himself to dwell on the question of whether he was too late, which left him to struggle with his enormous burden of guilt. He was drowning in a sea of confusion; he had accused of every perfidy the one person who could toss him the lifeline he so desperately needed, and then had banished her from his life. Just as Archie had once banished him.

He had sunk to a new, unfathomable low—he had no idea how to climb out of the abyss he had fallen into. But, oh God, he loved her—and it was almost beyond his ability to comprehend why that was so bloody difficult for him.

It occurred to him on that wild moonlit ride that he wanted nothing more than to be like the Princess of the Grange. With all his heart he wanted to illuminate the world around him as she did, to trust as she did, to
believe
as she did. But he couldn’t do it alone; the only thing he knew with certainty was that he was frightened unto death with the prospect of losing her. For a man who had never needed anyone, he needed that parish
princess with all the desperation of a dying man. The irony was not lost on him—all his life he had been careful not to form attachments of any kind, convinced he would lose in the end. Well, he was losing. Badly and completely.

Frankly, he had been losing all his life. It was crystal clear to him now—how terribly prophetic he had been, crediting the painful losses in his life to his uncanny knack for destroying those he cared about. Now he could plainly see that the destruction had come not because he cared too much—but because he didn’t care enough.

His mother, well, he had lost her before he ever understood what caring meant. His father had never been his to lose. But there was Phillip—he hadn’t cared enough to look past the deterioration of that man’s spirit, had allowed himself to believe that Phillip was a grown man and capable of taking care of himself. Phillip had no one, really, to whom he could turn, no one who truly cared. And he had let Phillip slip, numb to the signs of despair.

And what of Benedict? His brother had done unspeakable harm to his marriage by lying to them both and forcing the wedge of suspicion between them. As much as it troubled him to think of his traitorous brother, he could not help wondering what course their lives might have taken if he had just shown Benedict how much he cared for him. And he
had
cared once, somewhere deep down where the affection had festered like a disease until it had eaten through his heart and destroyed whatever relationship they might have had. For all his weaknesses, Benedict was what Archie had made him. In fairness, Adrian could not hold that against him. If only he had taken a greater interest in his brother, if only he had tried to love him.
That
was what Benedict had needed from him.

Which was precisely what he would write to Ben, along with the promise of an annuity and a hope that things might one day be reconciled between them. And
he would send another letter to the little cottage near Fairlington, thanking his lady aunt for her honesty and requesting that she and Mr. Fletcher join them soon at Longbridge. He had lost his mother, but he would not lose his aunt, not now, not when he needed her to help him through the quagmire that was suddenly his life.

Which left him with the most gaping wound—the seemingly impassable gulf that spread between him and Lilliana, hopeless to span. It was his fault. Regardless of what Benedict had done, it was
he
who had at first ignored her, then looked for something to distrust. She had saved his sorry life, and for that he had accused her of loving Benedict.

Ah, yes, he was indeed a desperate man. As hard as it was for him, he was willing to flay himself open to her inspection, show her the ugly madness that had caused him to accuse her, the deep shadows and cobwebs that surrounded his heart. He would do anything for that woman, he grimly realized; he would lay down his life for Princess Lillie of the Grange if that would bridge the gulf. Because without her, he was hopeless—a veritable dead man.

He needed her to save him.

The sun was beginning to show itself on the horizon, and Lilliana spread her hands across her abdomen as she gazed out her window over the gardens for the last time. For once her belly was calm, but the illness in her heart and mind churned with confusion. How could she possibly leave this way? What should she do, leave a note behind to tell him she was carrying his child? Since that awful encounter in Kealing she had been torn between the responsibility of carrying his child and the deep hurt that urged her to leave.

Her dilemma was simple: If Adrian Spence needed anything, it was his own child to hold, his own flesh and blood to draw the love from that wretched heart of his.
But neither could she live without the life she carried in her womb. And she couldn’t live with Adrian.

Lilliana sank onto the cushioned window seat and pressed her forehead against the cool panes of glass. She had long forgotten her anger; the fury had been replaced with a deep despair. After all she had been through, the thought of losing him forever was far more painful than the shallow reasons for his lying to her. He had been distrustful of her, but what could she expect? After the life he had led, it was a wonder he had not tossed her out altogether with his suspicions. Unfortunately, she had no hope that he would ever change.

He was such a sad figure of a man, really, and not the dashing young earl with whom she had been so enamored. How empty his lonely life must have been—devoid of true human companionship, of love. His father had laid the foundation upon which Adrian had built an impenetrable wall around him, and that single inability to allow someone into his heart was what had created the deep chasm between them. She felt helpless standing on this side of the chasm, desperate to reach him in some way but hopeless to bridge the gap. He might as well be standing on the other side of the world.

Lord
, she was tired.

There was nothing to be done for it. She had tried, she really had tried, but it was over. She had another life to think about now, and as soon as the coach was ready she would leave Longbridge forever.

Exhausted, Adrian entered the long circular drive at Longbridge and cringed at the sight of the traveling chaise packed high with trunks. His heart sank; she was actually going to leave him.
Please God, please show me Your mercy once more, just once more, and I swear it, I will not squander it
, he hopelessly prayed.

It was even worse than he imagined. As he reined Thunder to a halt on the drive, at least a half-dozen pairs of eyes were on him, including Max’s and a crying
Mrs. Dismuke’s, Lewis’s, Dr. Mayton’s, and those of a few of the servants. And in the middle of them stood Lilliana with a fat mongrel on either side of her.

There was no time to think; Adrian slid off Thunder and handed the reins to a young groom who actually frowned at him. Having ridden all night, he was covered with grime and hardly prepared to face her out here, in front of her army. But he had no choice—he would not waste this chance. He swept the hat off his head and raked his fingers through his hair. For a man who had lived life on the edge and had seen his fair share of danger and adventure, there was nothing—
nothing
—that frightened him more than what he must do at this moment. In front of all these
people.
Awkwardly, he moved forward, almost afraid to look at her. A silence fell over the little group as he lifted his head and gazed at Lilliana.
“Don’t go,”
he rasped.

The color left her face; she glanced sheepishly at those gathered around her. Mrs. Dismuke, with her beefy arms folded tightly across her barrel chest, glared hatefully at him. Bertram, the footman, pretended to be looking at the coach, but glowered at Adrian from the corner of his eye. Even Max, loyal Max, pressed his lips tightly together and riveted his gaze on the tip of his boots. Only Dr. Mayton looked even remotely sympathetic. There were no secrets here today, that much was obvious.

Lilliana nervously cleared her throat. “I … I beg your pardon, my lord, but I promised I would meet my family when they returned from Bath, don’t you recall?”

Adrian ignored her attempt to cover the ugly truth. “I am asking you, please, don’t go.”

Her eyes welled. “I have to,” she said simply.

“No. You don’t.” He took several shaky steps forward. “Grant me a word, Lilliana. Just a word.” God, did he sound as desperate as he felt?

Lilliana looked down, silently debating his request for what seemed like an eternity. Adrian shifted uncomfortably,
tried not to notice the eyes staring at him, but had the distinct feeling that he might as well be standing on the gallows. He felt the butterflies of shame in the pit of his stomach, the heat of it under his collar. And just when he thought he would expire, she nodded. “A word,” she murmured. Several looked disapproving of that decision, particularly Mrs. Dismuke. But Lilliana walked out of their protective circle to where Adrian stood.