Nicole Jordan (29 page)

“You seem to hold me in dislike, Miss Grimble.”

“I have good reason, my lord—because of what you did to Miss Laurent. Or perhaps I should say, what you did not do.”

“I trust you mean to explain?”

“You allowed the wolves to devour her.”

Dare’s eyebrows narrowed to a frown. “That tells me little.”

“You left her at the mercy of that beast. I found her….” The shopkeeper took a deep breath. “Miss Laurent had sent me to deliver a commission, and when I returned…Lord Ivers had just driven away.” The woman glanced toward the back of the millinery where the stairs were. “He had violated her, my lord.”

Air hissed sharply between Dare’s teeth; his gut clenched as if a knife had been plunged into him.

With sudden brutal clarity he recalled the blood on Ivers’s lip, an injury the earl had claimed was due to Julienne’s preference for rough play.

Oh, God.
His heart thundered while a wave of horror crashed through his mind.

“He forced himself upon her,” the Grimble woman repeated, twisting the knife further. “You didn’t know?”

“No…” Dare whispered, the word a raw rasp. “I never knew. Perhaps I should have.”

“Aye, I think you should have. He was a beast, but you…She loved you, my lord, and you abandoned her.”

Raising a hand to his head, Dare clutched at his hair. Understanding nearly brought him to his knees; the violent reality of it was paralyzing.

He had fled Kent that very afternoon, too intent on his own bleeding wounds to question the fate of the beautiful deceiver who had savaged his heart. He had kept away for years, forcibly attempting to shut out even the slightest thought of Julienne.

The shopkeeper merely stood there, not speaking, her silence eloquent with condemnation while Dare grappled with the enormity of his transgression.

“Why in God’s name didn’t she tell me?” he said after a time.

“I don’t know, my lord. I wanted to go to you. I thought you would somehow protect her, even after…what Lord Ivers did to her. But she wouldn’t let me. I think she must have been too ashamed.” Miss Grimble’s tone hardened. “That was not the worst of it, either. Lord Wolverton made certain her reputation was utterly destroyed by rumors of treason. No one would give her business any longer, and the scandal nearly killed her mother. Miss Laurent was forced to leave town. His lordship drove her away. And by then you were long gone.”

Dare couldn’t speak. There was nothing he could say, no apology he could make to excuse his ignorance or his actions.

Turning, he blindly made his way out to his carriage. Self-contempt stuck in his throat, hot and thick, as he fell back against the squabs of the landau.

Julienne had been assaulted—raped by that vile bastard—and he had walked away.

They were never lovers at all. She had only wanted him to believe it. But in God’s name,
why
? Had Ivers threatened to hurt her? Forced her to support his claim? Dare’s mind rebelled at the possibility. Surely Julienne knew he would have done everything in his power to keep her safe.

But he hadn’t kept her safe. Instead he had failed her in the worst possible way.

He squeezed his eyes shut. Julienne had never betrayed him with Ivers. She had been faithful all along. But his own jealousy had blinded him, caused him to condemn her as deceiver.

Was that why she hadn’t told him? Because she’d anticipated what his response would be? Or had she thought he wouldn’t want her as his wife after she had been violated? Or was there another, more immediate reason? Had she been afraid he would call Ivers out? That he would kill the man?

Dare’s fists clenched. He
would
have killed Ivers if he’d had the slightest inkling of the truth.

Rage gripped him in its power, along with an acrid shame. However unwittingly, he had let Julienne suffer alone the consequences of their passion. Abandoned her to the mercy of his grandfather’s wrath and brutal scheming. The marquess apparently had hired Ivers to break up their betrothal by whatever vile means necessary.

What a stupid, blind,
bloody
fool he had been! He had known his grandfather could be a ruthless bastard. He just hadn’t known
how
ruthless.

For a long while Dare sat there, rocked to his soul by a tempest of emotions—grief, raw fury, hatred, self-contempt. The truth burned too hot and fierce for anything else to penetrate his dazed stupor.

“My lord?”

The concerned voice finally registering, Dare raised his gaze. His coachman was looking over his shoulder at him, his expression troubled.

“Are you unwell, my lord? Should I drive you to a doctor?”

A doctor could never cure his malady, Dare thought with a bitter, mirthless laugh. “No, no doctor.”

“Where do you wish to go then, my lord?”

The coachman was waiting for orders as to his destination, Dare realized. He had to return to London at once. He had to see Julienne.

He gave the command to return to Wolverton Hall so that he could pack and collect his traveling chaise. But as he sank back into the searing turmoil of his thoughts, there was one agonizing question that burned brightest in his mind.

How in this lifetime could Julienne ever forgive him?

Chapter

Fourteen

He waited for Julienne in the shabby parlor of her hired rooms, counting the minutes until she returned from the theater. When finally he heard a carriage out on the street, Dare went to the window and peered down.

Riddingham had escorted her home, he saw, forcibly quelling a spark of jealousy. He had no right to object to her choice of protectors. He had lost that privilege long ago.

His stomach churning, Dare returned to the worn settee before she unlocked and opened the door. Upon seeing the lamplight, Julienne stopped abruptly, her eyes wide with fear and defiance as she searched the room.

She had a knife in her hand, and his conscience smote him once more as he realized the significance of it.

At least her relief seemed sincere when she recognized him.

“How did you get in here?” Julienne asked, shutting the door behind her.

“Your landlady allowed me to wait here for you.”

“I don’t understand—” she began, but he cut her off.

“I’ve just returned from Kent…from Whitstable.”

Julienne said not a word. She merely stared at him.

“I spoke to your former shop clerk about Ivers. You were never lovers.”

Her face drained of color. Her fingers trembled as she set the knife down on a table. Then, moving like a sleepwalker, she sank into the chair opposite him.

For a moment Dare lowered his gaze to veil the stark emotion in his eyes. It hurt just to look at her and know what he had done, to comprehend the ugliness that had been thrust upon her. It sickened him to realize how badly he had mistaken appearances, but Julienne had permitted him to believe the lie. What he couldn’t fathom was why she hadn’t denied the claim outright, then or even later.

“Why, Julienne?” He heard the ache in his voice as he said her name.

She winced but refused to look at him. Instead she stared down at her hands, which were clasped tightly in her lap. “I didn’t lie to you,” she said in a voice so quiet, it was barely a whisper.

“You let me believe you were lovers. You never refuted him.”

“I thought I had no choice. He threatened to harm my mother.”

“I would have protected her—did you never consider that?”

When she raised her gaze, there was such pain in her eyes that it almost broke him.

She gave a faint shake of her head. “It would not have mattered. I knew I could never wed you, Dare. I couldn’t let you sacrifice yourself for me. Ending our betrothal was the only way to save you from being disowned.”

Dare felt his heart twist with agony. “Did you think my grandfather’s fortune meant so much to me?”

“Perhaps not then, but you might have come to resent me if I had caused you to lose your inheritance.”

I couldn’t let you sacrifice yourself for me
. The words haunted him. Julienne hadn’t wanted him to suffer, so she had made the sacrifice herself.

“The Wolverton estate was entailed,” Dare said softly, yet with an edge of irony. “It would have come to me on my grandfather’s death, along with the title. And in any case, I had already amassed a considerable fortune of my own by then. I would never have missed his wealth.”

Julienne returned his regard solemnly, dismay shimmering in her dark eyes.

“Why didn’t you even give me the chance to discuss it?”

She clenched her fingers more tightly in her lap. She felt raw and exposed under the unwavering intensity of Dare’s gaze. “It all happened so quickly. Ivers had just made his threats before you arrived. He said that your grandfather was determined to separate us, that Lord Wolverton would never let our betrothal stand. Then you walked in, and Ivers made that claim about being my lover….”

She took a steadying breath. “I
wanted
you to believe we were lovers, that I had been unfaithful. I knew you would never let me end our betrothal otherwise.”

She closed her eyes, remembering the pain and betrayal on Dare’s face. That tormented look had haunted her for years.

“I didn’t want to lie to you,” she added, her voice low. “I hated that you could think so badly of me. And in my secret heart…I hoped that you would see through his lies and realize that I still loved you. But then Ivers…I was such a naive little fool.”

She attempted a self-deprecating laugh, but it stuck in her throat; her laughter was too bitter to release. “I didn’t realize what a black-souled villain Ivers truly was. I thought that since I’d done as he demanded—called off our betrothal—he would be satisfied. But that wasn’t enough for him. He wanted to make certain I was thoroughly compromised. That you would never want me for your wife. Your grandfather had paid him to make certain of it. After you left…I tried to fight him. I scratched his face till it was bloody, but he was too strong….”

“God.”

She opened her eyes at his tortured whisper. Dare had sunk his head in his hands and was clutching his hair, as if he might tear it out by the roots.

“You could not have known what he would do,” she said quietly.

His groan was low and harsh. “Don’t try to absolve me, Julienne. I should never have left you there with that devil.”

“It wasn’t your fault. If anything, it was mine, for being so utterly gullible. Afterward…I could scarcely believe it had happened. When he was done, I lay there dazed, stunned. The shock must have dulled my memory, but I remember I swore that I would kill him if he touched me again, if he harmed my mother. He seemed to believe me, for he went away. But I realized that any hope for a future with you had been shattered.”

Dare raised his head then, and the pain in his eyes mirrored her own. “You should have told me.”

“How could I? If your grandfather was set against our marriage before, what Ivers had done made it a thousand times worse. I was ruined, damaged goods. I had been violated by another man, and I feared you would never want me again. Or worse…that you would do something noble like insist on marrying me. That would have exposed you to scandal and ridicule and caused your grandfather to disinherit you after all. I couldn’t let that happen.”

Scalding tears filled her eyes as she felt the helplessness again, the hopelessness. The sheer misery of having lost Dare. She had wanted so desperately to tell him the truth, to make him understand that she would have died before willingly betraying him. But she couldn’t take the risk.

Agony rushed to envelop her as she remembered, and her tears began to fall.

In two strides he was at her side, lifting her up and wrapping her in his arms, hushing her sobs against his chest.

She wanted to resist. She hated for Dare to see her so vulnerable, so weak. But she had no defenses left. She wept against him, clinging to him tightly.

Dare could barely stand the anguish. It seemed so inadequate to hold her, to try to comfort her, when he’d been the one to hurt her so badly. To see her like this was agony. He ached for her, ached with the need to banish those terrible memories.

After a moment her sobs lessened. Finally she drew back, dashing fiercely at her streaming eyes. “I don’t want your pity, Dare. I won’t stand for it.”

He saw wellsprings of pain in those dark depths, but there was infinite courage amid the vulnerability.

“No,” he whispered. “Not pity.”

It wasn’t pity that smote him. Shame seared at the remnants of his soul. Shame and remorse and self-blame for the nightmare she had endured.

He could picture Julienne then—desperate, devastated, alone. He could only imagine the strength it must have taken to bear the rape and the scandal of his grandfather’s accusations afterward. To earn her living in such a difficult profession as acting. To sell her body so that her mother’s final days could be less agonizing.

His heart hurt, ravaged by a misery greater than any he had ever known, even when he had thought his love betrayed by a scheming enchantress.

He drew Julienne over to the settee and pulled her down with him, holding her tightly against him, his face buried in her hair, until her trembling gradually quieted.

The constriction in his throat made his voice shaky when at last he spoke. “Julienne, I can never deserve your forgiveness. I can only tell you…I would have cut out my heart before letting you be hurt.”

With a shuddering breath, she shook her head. “You weren’t to blame, Dare.”

“I
was
to blame. I was young and stupid and hotheaded—determined to defy my grandfather at all costs, damn the consequences. But you paid the price for his wrath.”

Tenderly he brushed the dampened tendrils of hair from her cheeks, kissed the tears from her face. Then he drew her close again, so that her head lay on his shoulder.

His voice dropped even lower, his tone grim as he recalled that disastrous afternoon. “I was considering ending our betrothal even before I discovered you with Ivers. My grandfather had threatened to charge you with treason, and I feared he might actually attempt it. I was coming to discuss it with you that afternoon. But then…When I saw you with Ivers and he claimed you were lovers, I was insanely jealous. I wanted to kill him merely for touching you.”