The Jealous Love of a Scoundrel (The Marlow Intrigues) (6 page)

“I cannot continue to lie. Will you tell Mary and ask her to support Emily?”

“Yes.”

“Do you think Mary will understand?”

“Of course. She chose me did she not? I was the worst damned person for her.”

Peter laughed and gripped Drew’s shoulder. “You are perfect for her. Will you come to the theatre with me tomorrow and meet Lillian?”

“Yes.”

~

Emily saw Peter leave the room with Drew as she danced with Harry. He had not returned when the next dance began, or the one after that. Drew must be quizzing Peter about her conversation with Mary. She hoped Drew was doing so sensitively and that Peter had not taken offence.

“Emily.” Harry held out a glass of punch. “Is Peter still not back?”

He rolled his eyes when she smiled.

“Truly you should cut him, he is treating you so appallingly. There are better men.”

“You, I suppose.” She laughed.

“Me, perhaps.”

“You are a terrible flirt.”

Harry sighed in a theatrical way, to make her laugh, then looked across the room. “Peter is back, and Drew must have talked some sense into him. He is smiling.”

Emily looked. He was coming to speak with her, and yes, he was smiling. He looked his old self.

“Peter.”

“Emily.” His smile fell when he reached her. But as he had done for the last few days, he did everything appropriate. He bowed, gripped her fingers and lifted them to his lips, then he straightened. “May I speak to you in private? There is something I must say.”

What about?
The words stuck in her throat. She could not ask; whatever he wished to say made him look solemn again.

Her heartbeat stuttered as she walked across the room beside him, discomfort and awkwardness chasing her. She felt as though everyone stared. How would she fit within a life as Lady Brooke? She was not sure she could.

He led her into a dark dining room, where he must have been with Drew, because two chairs were out of place.

“Emily, I am sorry.”

He did not have to say any more. “It does not matter.” Mary was always telling her she was too timid. She should shout at him.

“Emily.” When she would have turned away, he gripped her hands. “It does matter. I know I am letting you down. You cannot be angrier with me than I am with myself.”

She could be, she would have to walk back into a ball held in their name, after this, to celebrate an engagement that was already over.

“I did not intend it. It is just… I must be honest with you. I met someone else a couple of months ago. It was not by choice. I have tried to fight it, and I have failed… I failed you…”

A tear slipped from her eye. She wiped it away. Why was she crying? She felt a fool, she had been equally afraid of marrying him as she was happy to be his wife. “I am sorry.”

His palms gripped either side of her head. “Do not be silly, what do you have to be sorry for? See, that is why I feel for you, because you are such a wonderful, selfless person, and you do not deserve me, Emily. You told me I had been good to you, when I knew I had not been. I have let you down, and if you married me, I would continue to do so. I cannot do that. It is better I accept who I am and let you find the man who will love you as you ought to be loved.”

More tears came; he wiped them away with his thumbs. “I am truly sorry, Emily.”

She took a breath. “What do we do?”

His thumb brushed her lip as it quivered. “We walk out as though nothing has been said, and we keep it a secret, and you go back to your parents, and we never mention it to a soul, and then you need never feel awkward.”

“What happens when you marry her?”

“It will not be published. She is… She is not like you, Emily. She would not cope with all of this. The world will discover the end of our engagement when you announce your wedding.”

She shook her head. She could not imagine marrying if Peter would not have her; she was not popular as Mary had been. That was why she’d been so flattered and so thrilled when Peter had paid attention to her. That was why she’d fallen for his charm. “I do not love you,” she said.

The room was only lit by the moonlight, and in that moment he moved into the light and it shone across his face. His expression looked stiff, but then he smiled. “I am glad. I have not broken your heart then…”

“But I shall be embarrassed.”

“You should not be. It is I who am embarrassed. You accepted me, with all my battered edges, and I was still not decent enough to be loyal to you. I am ashamed of myself. It is why I have been so miserable.”

Emily sniffed and wiped away the last of her tears. He was right to end this. It had been a wrong decision on both their parts. “You should not feel ashamed. You have been honest with me.” Yet she would not be able to bring herself to walk back into that room. “Would you ask a footman to bring the carriage and take me home, and please send for my parents? I know you wish me to walk back into that room as though nothing is wrong but that is you, Peter, not me. I do not have the confidence. Please just let me leave.”

He sighed. Then his hands slipped away. “Very well, wait here.”

She cried again when he’d gone, but not because she loved him, because she felt a fool. Peter had made her feel important, she had travelled on the back of Mary’s excitement, and now she’d fallen. She was not pretty as Mary was.

When the door opened again she wiped away the tears.

“Your parents are in the hall. I have said my goodbyes and told everyone you have a headache. I shall take you and your parents home.”

“Thank you,” she acknowledged, but she would rather have left alone so she might feel like a silly girl in peace.

Part Eight

Peter opened the carriage door and pushed it wider for Drew. Drew jogged down the steps of the Duke of Pembroke’s House—his brother-in-law’s impressive home.

“Hurry.” Peter had spent all day preparing for this. He’d chosen a ring and collected a special licence from the Bishop. He was prepared to win Lillian back and willing to bring every ounce of bloody charm he possessed into play.

Drew climbed in and dropped into the seat opposite. Peter’s footman shut the door.

“Has Mary seen Emily?” Peter may have spent his day preparing to propose to Lillian but he had not entirely set Emily from his mind. He still felt guilty, no matter that she’d said she did not love him. He had embarrassed her.

“Mary called on her this morning. The family were packing. They are leaving town. I think they are all a little embarrassed. They had won a man with a title and now he’s slipped through their fingers.”

“Emily was not calculating like that.”

“No, but I think her parents were, and Mary told me last night that Emily had said to her she was not in love with you, and yet she would have married you because you are wealthy, titled, and handsome.”

No.

Peter laughed.

But then there had been no package of returned gifts from Emily this morning; she had kept all he’d given her.

Peter leaned across the carriage and gripped Drew’s knee, shook it and then leaned back. “How does a man feel guilty and insanely happy all at once?”

“I think it is known as love. I felt the same when I stole poor Mary away from her family and knew that I had broken her heart.”

“Then it is a good job you fixed it again. Now we just have to see Emily’s heart settled and then we may all be happy.”

But he had no guarantee of Lillian; he may not be happy yet.

The ring and the accompanying licence, tucked in his inside pocket, pressed against his chest when he breathed in.

They did not go into the theatre to watch the earlier sections of the performance; they found an inn and drank ale together. Peter did not want Lillian to hear of his attendance until she walked up the aisle. But when he did enter the theatre, he felt like running to her, like a bloody boy. Instead he walked through the dark hall created just for those who used the boxes, his heartbeat racing and thumping in his ears.

She had asked him to give up his box. He had not done it.

Lamps flickered on the walls at intervals.

The audience within the auditorium cheered, applauded, whistled and whooped. The chorus girls were taking their curtsy. He had become so familiar with this place he understood it like the workings of a clock.

Peter opened the door to his box and held it for Drew to pass. “Wait until you see her.” Eagerness raged inside Peter.

He sat down in his usual seat, and leant forward onto the edge of the box, as the music of
Mendelssohn's
Wedding March
began and the lights were lit at the far end of the theatre. There she was.

“Lillian.” He breathed her name aloud as if she might hear.

“She has seen you.” Drew sat next to him.

“How can you know? She is wearing that thick veil.”

“I spent a year watching Mary without speaking to her. I became an expert in spotting subtle looks, there was a movement in her shoulders, and the posy she is holding trembled for an instant afterwards. She knows you are here.”

Peter smiled for her, as if she was watching him.

Excitement, need, desire, hope and fear tied knots inside him. He was not certain she would have him.

He watched her avidly as she progressed with The Magic Monsieur Milligan. The men in the pit parted, and then she climbed the steps. Peter breathed in deeply.

When they reached the point in the show that she turned and held out her hand for Milligan to slide on the ring, then Peter knew she had seen him. He was in her eye line, if she had not known before she knew now, and she was probably wishing him in hell.

The ring slid on, then off, and on, then off, then on again and off one last time. Milligan shrugged. Peter straightened as she turned and knelt. He smiled at Drew. “You will see her in a moment.”

Drew’s hand touched Peter’s back and slid away again as he gave Peter an odd twisted smile. Peter looked back at the stage as Milligan took the sword from the statue on the fake tomb. The red handkerchief was cut in half as Peter had cut Lillian’s heart in half, and then Milligan swung it with a dramatic flourish. The heavy wax head fell with a thud. Peter stood as Lillian’s head lifted her hair a bare, black, glossy mass of curls.

“You have forgotten something in this service!” Peter shouted.

The room became quiet, and then broke into a round of whispers.

“What if there is an objection to the marriage?”

“Peter,” Lillian said in a note that said please be quiet.

“I object!” With a smile, he gripped the edge of his box and then leapt over it. He was left dangling from its edge. The men beneath him moved and then he dropped down, to angry shouts.

“Get on with show.”

“Get away.”

He did not care what her audience thought. He ran up the steps onto the stage. Curses were thrown at him from the pit.

“I object,” he said again, speaking only to Lillian, looking into the teal eyes that he had missed so much. “This man cannot have you as a wife…”

“Get off, Lord Brooke,” Milligan whispered.

“…Because I want you for mine.” 

“You have another woman who will be your wife. Leave me alone, Peter. I am working.”

“No. I am being serious.”

“Lord Brooke,” Milligan complained, and on the far side of the stage Peter saw Victor coming as Peter took the ring from his inside pocket.

He dropped to one knee.

“Get up, Peter,” Lillian urged.

The audience broke into laughter. Perhaps those who did not know the act were beginning to believe this was a part of it. “Will you marry me, Lillian? Truly. I have ended my engagement. I wish for you.”

She squatted down, both her hands embracing his, her silly paper posy pointing outwards. “I cannot. You know I cannot.”

“If you say yes you can, we will work all else out with time. I know it will not be easy for you, and yet… Lillian, I love you. That is all that matters.”

Tears traced down her cheeks as she stood up. The room sighed. “Please, stop,” she said quietly. “Speak to me after the show.”

“Just take my ring. It will not come loose. I swear it.”

She smiled with a nervous expression and shook her head, but then held out her hand. He slid the single sapphire set in gold onto her finger, and knew for certain it was right, it had been like putting the key into a door lock. It fitted. This was right. Warmth and joy gripped hard in his stomach and rose to his chest.

“Now leave, Lord Brooke,” Milligan whispered.

Peter turned and walked out through the wings, then hurried down the steps as he heard Lillian climb up onto her fake marriage bed. The casters spun on the wooden floor as Peter took the entrance which led beneath the stage. He reached the underside of the trap door just as she fell through, and caught her, gripping her waist.

“Peter, I am still performing.” 

“I know.”

He gripped her hand and ran with her along the halls underneath the auditorium and then he opened and held the door leading upstairs. She passed through. He followed. Then she opened the door at the back of the auditorium quietly, and he followed her in.

“This is your last performance, Lillian,” he said over her lips as he gripped her head. He pressed his lips against hers as the lights came up around them. Her arms wrapped about his neck while his tongue slipped into her mouth. Their audience cheered as Lillian’s silly paper posy fell to the floor.

He broke the kiss, lifted her off her feet, and carried her out of the theatre to a chorus of whoops. “Will you marry me, Lillian Hart?”

“I cannot be a lady.”

“It seems you must be one.”

“Peter, you are being silly.”

“No, I am being good, and now I am taking you to meet my closest friend, and his wife is the sister of a duke, so you will have to become accustomed to high society.”

“Peter.” She smacked his chest as he began climbing the steps leading up to his box.

Drew was in the hall. “Hello, Lillian, I presume.”

“Lillian, this is Lord Framlington, Drew, my fellow rogue, and the man who I hope will bear witness to our wedding tomorrow.”

Drew smiled. “Of course.”

Peter turned away. “Lillian, you are coming home with me.”

“My things.”

“I shall send someone to have them packed and brought over tomorrow.”

He walked back down the hall, still carrying Lillian, whose arms remained a steady reassurance about his neck. Drew followed, and Peter felt the proudest bloody man alive.