The Letter (11 page)

“Let me up,” he demanded. “I’m not going to touch the bastard, but I want him out of my house. Now. I want all of you gone. Tonight.” He gestured at the bed. “Especially her.”

Michael turned to leave. At the door, he stopped and gave Diana one last look. How could she do this to him? He had believed his heart safe in her hands. He wanted to ask her, but she had her face buried in his aunt’s chest, in shame, he was sure. His aunt held Diana close, softly talking to her.

He walked out.

****

“I went to my room, dressed and in less than an hour, I was hell bent for Wyburne where I spent the next three days attempting to drink all thought of you away.”

Diana stared at her empty glass, wishing she could drink away the horrifying images his words had put in her mind. Dear God, she wanted to get up and leave, to find a place she could hide in shame.

The story was worse than she could have imagined, and she had tried many times to envision the events of that night. Yet, because it was so appalling, she understood better why Michael had reacted the way he had. If he had only found Leo stretched out next to her, then he probably—no, she was sure that he would have seen Leo’s picture for the forgery it was. Leo, being a devious bastard, knew exactly how to ensure that Michael didn’t take the time to reason things out.

“He staged everything, even to my hand resting on his head, and his mother pretending to speak to me. I swear to you, Michael, I wasn’t aware of anything.” Would he believe her?

Anguish filled his eyes. “I know. God, I know. I want to kill him.”

“Then, thankfully, he is already dead. I would not want his blood on your hands.” Neither one of them deserved what Leo had done. She understood Michael’s need for revenge, there had been times she thought about killing her husband. But she wasn’t Leo, had never wanted to become like him, nor did she want Michael to stoop to that level. Had Leo’s mother made him like that by catering to her son’s every wish, by encouraging his belief that everyone owed him?

“Who do you think knocked on your door?”

His eyes shifted away from her. “It could only have been my aunt. What is difficult for me to get past is that everything done to you was from my side of the family.”

She shook her head. “No, that isn’t true. My mother refused to see me, and my father disowned me and then left me with Leo. I’ve not talked to them since.”

“Myana.”

Her special name, spoken so softly, so filled with remorse was more than she could bear. She lifted a hand, stopping him. “No, please. If you want forgiveness, it is yours. It is a horrid story, and we were all deceived by a despicable man. I need you to be patient while I settle everything in my mind.”

What if she had walked into Michael’s chamber and found a woman with her mouth on him? Just the thought of it made her want to hurt something. As much as she wanted to believe she would have asked for an explanation, she wasn’t so sure. How could she blame him for doing what she might have done in the same circumstances?

“Perhaps I shouldn’t have told you.”

Perhaps she shouldn’t have asked. But no, although she hated the mere thought of the things Leo had done to her that night, she now understood why Michael and her parents reacted the way they had. It still didn’t mean they hadn’t deeply hurt her, their actions leading to ten years of hell with the Devil’s minion.

“No, I’m glad you did. I needed to know and I understand everything better now. That doesn’t mean I’m not mortified to know what everyone saw.”

He held her gaze for a moment before speaking. “You’re the only one who holds no blame. Leo and his mother were the villains, but every other person in that room is guilty to some extent of abandoning you, especially me.”

“I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

“So be it.” Michael glared at the letter on her lap. “Are you ever going to finish the deuced thing? There is something more we need to talk about, but that won’t be possible if you don’t read it.”

“All right.” She picked up the pages.

****

Reliving that night, telling her the sordid details, had left him raw and angry. He rubbed his palm over his chest. All these years he had blamed her for the almost unbearable pain in his heart. Seeing that night through new eyes took the shame from her and put it on him.

He had failed her, but the word didn’t seem right. One failed to show up on time for an appointment, one failed to repay a loan, one failed to wind a clock. To put the woman you loved, that you should have protected at all costs, in the hands of a monster was worlds beyond a failure, it was dastardly, and it
was
unforgivable.

Yet, after hearing how she had been humiliated and debased, then thrown out like the garbage, she’d absolved him.
I forgive you.
There, all better, everyone can go their merry way now. He wasn’t sure he could accept her forgiveness.

As she read, he studied her profile, marveling at how much healthier she looked with only a few days of adequate food and rest. There was color in her cheeks again, and the dry, cracked lips were now pink and soft. How many times had he kissed that mouth? He should have counted so he would know. He jerked his gaze from her lips to her hair. Even though she still kept it in the tight knot low on her neck, it was now clean and sleek, a shimmering golden-honey. The muslin day dress was an improvement over her black rag but far from the height of fashion. He would have to do something about that.

Today, she smelled of vanilla.

As unobtrusively as possible, he pushed his feet against the floor and slid his chair away. How far did he need to go before he couldn’t smell her?

What would their life have been like had they married? Would they have still been happy eleven years later? He wanted to think so, had once believed nothing could mar their joy, so great was their love for each other. Could they find that again?

Michael reared up from his chair and moved to sit behind his desk. He leveled his gaze on the letter in her hands, and off her hair, her cheeks, her pink lips. There was nothing more to find, except perhaps a long-lost son. She must be nearing Leo’s claim that Michael might have sired Jamie. He waited for her to make some sound, some exclamation telling him she had reached that part, and was it too much to hope she knew the truth and would tell him? That truth being Jamie belonged to him? Please God.

She held the last page, her gaze at the bottom of the blasted thing and still not a word. It didn’t seem as if her eyes were moving. Had she come to the end? Why didn’t she say something? Was it possible for one to climb out of one’s skin? If no one ever had, he thought he might be the first to bloody try it. He suddenly realized that one leg was bouncing like an agitated tiger wanting out of his cage. He clamped a hand down on his knee.

Without one devil of a word, she stood, handed him the letter and turned to leave. Stunned, he stared at the thing. She had nothing to say? She was halfway across the room when he reacted, shooting out of his chair, the pages scattering over his desk.

“Oh no you don’t,” he roared.

She cringed and at the fear in her eyes, rational thought ceased. Why was she afraid of him? Hadn’t he proved to her by now he wouldn’t hurt her? Christ Almighty, he wasn’t Leo!

Later, he would ask himself what possessed him to kiss her. Later, he would remember roaring at her. Christ, had he actually roared at a woman taught to be afraid of men? All of that would come later.

Now, rationality had abandoned him. He stood over her, glaring at her, wanting answers. The apprehension in her eyes undid him. By damn, he would show her he would never hurt her. His mouth crashed down onto hers, his anger driving him. There was so much to be angry about.

All of it was in the kiss; his youthful stupidity, her years of being hurt, his role in it, and the missing years of his perhaps son’s life. His fury was so great that he didn’t notice her trying to push him away. Then awareness seeped in. Sweet Jesus, what was wrong with him? He was ravishing the last woman in the world he would want to hurt.

Breathing hard, he started to pull back, but then her hands stopped bracing against his chest and slid up his neck and into the back of his hair.

“Michael,” she whispered.

His name, spoken on a soft sigh, took him back years to the time she was his, when there was still reverence in her voice when she said Michael in just that way. He stopped thinking again. His mouth lowered to hers, gently this time, a mere brushing of lips over lips. Dear God, he had missed her. Her lashes lowered to her cheeks, and he marveled at how right it felt to be holding her in his arms, how familiar, yet not.

He deepened the kiss, slid his hands down her back to rest over the upper curve of her bottom. She nestled into his body, her belly pressed against his hardening cock. He wanted her, wanted her with the desperation of a drowning man seeking air.

His tongue pressed against the seam of her mouth, seeking entrance. Did she still taste of honey and spice? He had to know.

Her eyes flew open, searched his, looking for what, he didn’t know. Then she was gone, slipping out of his arms like a wily otter, gone before he could stop her. He stood in the middle of his study, panting hard from desire, and still no answers.

Was Jamie his son? Did she know?

Did she still taste of honey and spice?

He hung his head, the added guilt heavy. God forgive him, he had almost assaulted her!

But then, she kissed you back.

He returned to his desk and fell heavily onto the chair and stared at the letter, the pages scattered across his desk. How had it all come to this?

Chapter Nine

Diana turned the key in the door of her chamber, then slid down the wood and buried her face against her knees. Too much. It was just too much at once. Michael’s revelations of what happened, finally understanding how Leo tricked everyone.

And then
the kiss.
She touched her mouth.

He had kissed her and she had liked it. Not at the beginning. There had been so much anger in his eyes, and it had frightened her. But he wasn’t Leo. He wouldn’t hurt her. With the warmth of his hands on her back, with the gentle brush of his lips on hers, came want. So many years alone, so many lived in fear without a kind touch.

She had kissed him back.

His tongue touching her lips had brought her to her senses and she had fled. And, she had done so with the knowledge that Michael was Jamie’s father. She should have told him. Or, should she?

She stood and went to the bed, grabbed the counterpane and took it with her to the window seat. Was it only last night and this morning she had sworn to be happy? She wrapped the cover around her. The cold she had tried to banish had returned in force. Would Leo ever leave her in peace?

Learning the details of that night was a mixed blessing. She wasn’t to blame, not for any of it. Yet, the humiliation of what Leo had done, what everyone saw, she wasn’t sure she could ever put that out of her mind.

Would Michael want to know he was Jamie’s father? He hadn’t said anything about that part of Leo’s letter. What had he thought when he read it? And if she did tell him, what would it mean for her and Jamie? What if Michael wanted Jamie?

She had almost told him, but then she would have to talk about life with her husband, explain that Leo had never touched her during their marriage. He had tried once her first week at Brantley Hall. She squeezed her eyes closed against the memory of his coming into her chamber.

He had been in his cups, swaggering around her room, bragging how he had cuckolded his cousin. “My finest moment,” he’d boasted. “Thinks because he’s an earl, he’s better than me, but I showed him.”

She had huddled in her bed, holding the covers tight around her, warily watching him circle, moving in, coming closer. Then the thing she feared most happened. He toppled over, falling on her so hard she had bruises the next day. He stripped away the covers, pushed her nightrail up to her waist and tried to enter her.

Only because she had lain with Michael that one time did she understand Leo was too soft to manage the act. She had remained still, afraid to move so much as a finger while her new husband made his clumsy attempt. He had called her a cold bitch and said it wasn’t surprising he couldn’t do it with Michael’s whore.

It was the first time he beat her. He never tried to bed her again, and for that, she had thanked God every night in her prayers. When she realized she was going to have a baby, she’d believed Leo had raped her that night in Michael’s home. She often wondered which one of them was Jamie’s father. Now she knew.

She was ecstatic it was Michael and not Leo. Now, she could stop watching for her husband’s cruel tendencies to appear in her son. Should she tell Michael? Whatever her decision, it would be the one best for her son.

What of Jamie? He had been cheated out of an earldom. The boy who should have been Michael’s heir was instead a baron with a small, run-down estate and no money in his coffers. And there was nothing to be done about it. No one could ever know except her and perhaps Michael. The mere idea of Jamie’s loss because of Leo, and to a lesser extent Michael, enraged her. If she had known this when her husband was still alive, she might have rethought her stance on violence and run a sword though him.

A scratching on her door interrupted the thoughts churning in her mind. “My lady?”

“Come in, Fanny.”

“My lady, his lordship wishes to know if you will join him for luncheon.”

Diana shook her head. “No, give him my apology, but I would prefer a tray be sent up.” She didn’t want to have to dodge his questions. Before she saw him, she needed to decide whether to tell him the truth.

“Yes, my lady,” Fannie said and left.

****

Michael received Diana’s regrets from her maid. He wasn’t surprised. What did he expect? He briefly considered going up and attempting to talk to her, but wasn’t sure what to say.

His gaze fell on the boy sitting next to him at the table. He might be uncertain what to say to her, but Michael knew what he wanted to ask. Was Jamie his son? What if she wasn’t sure? The idea that he might never know was difficult to accept. The surprise was how badly he wanted it to be true.