To Love a Lord (32 page)

Jane smiled. “I was laughing.”

The other woman snapped her eyebrows together. “Well, laughter is certainly not the appropriate sentiment.”

She schooled her features. “Forgive me,” Jane murmured. “I’m unfamiliar with the proper protocol for being abandoned by one’s husband on one’s wedding night.”

Horror lit Chloe’s eyes as she registered just how her bold words about Gabriel this night might affect Jane. She slapped her palm to her forehead. “I am such a ninny. Of course you are hurt.”

Filled with a restive energy, Jane swept up her book and wheeled away from Gabriel’s sister. She carried it over to the window at the opposite end of the room. “Ours is an arranged match, Chloe. Ours was formed because I was ruined and your brother had some misbegotten sense of loyalty to do right by me.”

The snap of satin skirts indicated the young lady had moved. “As he should. Gentlemen do not go about ruining young ladies without then wedding those same ladies.” With her strict expectations, Chloe would be far better suited to any post with Mrs. Belden than Jane had ever been.

She fanned the pages of her book. “The funds settled upon me by my father were contingent upon my marriage.” She could not keep the bitterness from her words. After all these years, those three thousand pounds had represented the one thing her father had done for her that indicated he cared and worried for her future.

“What?” the young woman exclaimed, her tone that of one who’d been dealt a sharp jab in the belly.

She cast a glance back at Chloe. “Your brother offered to wed me so I might access those funds. He doesn’t want a,” her cheeks burned, “true marriage. He wishes me to serve as your companion until you are wed.”

“I will not marry. But if I
did
,” the young woman gave her a pointed look. “Which I will not. Ever—”

“Chloe,” she prodded gently.

“Er, yes, right…if I did, I would not tolerate my husband abandoning me on my wedding night. The lout,” she muttered that last part under her breath. She pointed a finger at Jane. “And neither should you. Furthermore,” she went on. “All he has done is fueled more gossip where you are concerned. The lout.”

“It matters not, Chloe. They will speak ill of me regardless.”

“But he can protect you where he could.” Those words burst from the young woman’s lips. Her chest rose and fell with the force of her rapid breaths. “He wedded you to protect you? And you for what? Your three thousand pounds?”

It had begun as that. Or at least she’d convinced herself as much. Jane dropped her gaze to the tips of her toes. She’d proven herself a liar in every way, now.

“It wasn’t truly about your funds though, was it, Jane?” her sister-in-law said with a maturity of one far older, who saw far more.

And because she’d grown tired of all the lies, she shook her head once.

“You love him.” As the young woman’s words were a statement, Jane remained silent, not trusting herself to speak.

She started as a small pair of hands settled upon her shoulders. Absorbed as she’d been in her own ponderings, she’d failed to hear Chloe’s quiet approach. “Win his heart,” Chloe urged softly. “He is afraid to love.” She hesitated the fraction of a moment. “We all are. But Gabriel wants it. He just doesn’t think himself worthy of that sentiment.” She wrinkled her nose. “The protective, controlling man he’s become, he likely blames himself for…for…just for,” she finished lamely. “He’s always been that way.” A sad smile turned her lips up. “Since he was a boy.”

A hungering to know more about who he’d been as a child filled Jane. She swallowed hard to keep from asking about his youth. She’d wager he would have been a serious boy with the weight of the world upon his little shoulders. “What was he like?” Alas, there was the whole business with her tongue having a will of its own.

“Serious,” Chloe said automatically. “Alex was the smiling, laughing one. Philippa the obedient one. But as he was much older, I did not truly know Gabriel. I remember him to be the serious one of our family.” She lifted her shoulders in a little shrug. “We all, each of us, learned to deal with the life we were given. Except, Gabriel, well, he took on the responsibility for what happened to us.”

Agony lanced through her heart. Her life had been lonely and uncertain, but it had not been a violent one. “It was not his fault.” Surely, all these years later, he knew that.

“Oh, I know that. But do you think a man of Gabriel’s character could ever absolve himself of that misplaced guilt?”

A knot formed in her belly. “No,” she said softly. For the person his sister had described would never cease to accept blame, nor could he not take care of others. That desire to protect at all costs was just one more piece of Gabriel Edgerton that she loved.

Chloe jabbed her finger once more and wagged it at Jane. “You are not to tolerate his loutish behavior. Is that clear?”

Jane managed a small smile, even as her heart was still breaking for Gabriel. “Abundantly clear,” she assured.

Chloe dropped a kiss on her cheek. “Goodnight.”

As the other woman took her leave, Jane sighed.
A good night, indeed.

*

“Are you mad?”

Gabriel glanced up from his empty glass. Waterson towered over him with a bemused look on his face. “Waterson.” He motioned to a chair. “Will you not join me?”

The other man frowned and tugged out the seat. “You abandoned your wife on her wedding night?” his friend asked without preamble.

Gabriel cast a glance about and found a sea of stares directed at them. He frowned. Rather him. After all, it wasn’t every day that a proper marquess was caught with his sister’s companion, at the opera, in dishabille, wedded, and then at his clubs in the course of a thirty-six hour span. “I did not abandon her,” he said and shifted in his seat. “Furthermore,” he said, dropping his voice to a hushed whisper. “Ours is a matter of convenience and the lady is far better off without me.”

His friend snorted and swiped the bottle. “I will take that.” He robbed Gabriel of his glass and poured a brandy for himself. He lifted the glass in salute. “If you believe that, friend, then you were the only one to see different at your wedding breakfast this morning.” A servant started over with another glass, but Waterson caught the eye of the young man and gave him a look that sent him scurrying in the opposite direction. When he returned his attention to Gabriel, he wasted little time in getting to the heart of it. “I understand you did not want to marry the young woman,” Was that wholly true? Everything was so blasted murky.

His friend continued “But your being here,” he gave his head a shake. “Why, your being here does nothing to help Lady Waverly. It only complicates matters for the both of you.”

Lady Waverly. Not his mother. But a new marchioness. A role he’d had no intention of filling. He reached for his drink and then registered the blasted thing in Waterson’s hand.

The earl swirled the contents in a slow movement and stared contemplatively down into the glass before again speaking. “Of course, I do see why you would be regretful and prefer the presence of your clubs at this moment.”

He frowned.

Waterson flicked a hand. “You’ve once again done the honorable thing and for that, you’re married to the daughter of a who—”

Gabriel leaned across the table and grabbed Waterson by the collar. Liquid spilled over the rim of the other man’s glass and splashed their fingers and wet the table. “Shut your bloody mouth or, by God, I will end you,” he seethed. How dare the other man disparage Jane? She was worth both of them and every other blasted gentlemen of their acquaintance combined.

A twinkle of amusement glinted in the other man’s knowing eyes and Gabriel released him with such alacrity, the earl fell back into his seat. He’d merely baited him. “Say whatever it is and be done with it,” he snapped.

Only, he didn’t need the other man to supply his thoughts to know precisely what he was thinking. Gabriel had no place being here. Not tonight. Not in light of the scandal and certainly not having deposited his new wife, at home. Now Society knew it as well.

“I’ve certainly heard the whispers about her—”

Gabriel fisted the arms of his chair. The whispers.
I am a whore’s daughter….
That is what all polite Society would say about her. Fury hung like a black curtain over his eyes. “I don’t want to hear about the damned whispers,” he gritted out. The
ton
would not see the brave young woman with far nobler aspirations than most.

“I’ve been your only friend for nearly twenty years. Not once in the course of your life have you asked for, accepted, or appreciated any help being given to you. Mine or anybody’s.” Waterson held his gaze. “No man is an island, unto itself, and so you’ll accept my blasted help whether you wish it or not. You will begin by going home and making love to your wife.”

A dull flush heated Gabriel’s neck, as with those words, Waterson roused seductive images of Jane, resplendent in her nudity, with her golden blonde tresses cascading in waves about them.

“And then you will accept that she is yours and you are hers, and that your marriage is final. Whether you wished it or not.” The earl set his snifter, nay Gabriel’s snifter, down, just beyond Gabriel’s reach and then planted his elbows on the table. He glanced about a moment and then dropped his voice to a hushed whisper. “And when you are done with that, do not leave her side again or else condemn her to a life to which she’ll never fully belong.”

Gabriel sat in stiff silence and took in the other man’s words. “I cannot,” he whispered, unsure whether he spoke to himself or Waterson. He slid his gaze beyond the other man’s shoulder.

His friend gave a wry grin. “Alas, my friend, you already have.”

He looked about and his skin pricked with the pointed stares studiously trained on him.

“Why did you wed her?” Waterson asked bluntly, bringing his attention back. “To protect her?” he supplied before Gabriel could speak. “Then do so. Prepare her for Society and spare her from further gossip.” He jerked his chin toward the entrance of the club. “Go,” he urged.

With guilt twisting in his belly—that hated, too-familiar sentiment that had dogged him all these years—Gabriel stood. “Waterson,” he said in clipped tones. “Th—”

“No thanks are necessary. Now, go.”

Gabriel turned and started over the crowded floor of White’s when a familiar, hated form caught the corner of his eye. The rakish gentleman with his Brutus curls tossed back his head and laughed at something the person opposite him said and then he froze. The Earl of Montclair shifted in his seat and a mocking grin formed on his lips. “Waverly,” the earl called out, raising his glass in mock salute. “I understand congratulations are in order.” Mockery tinged his words. Gabriel stared at the man’s mouth as it moved, imagined that mouth on Jane’s, hard and punishing, as she cried and fought for her freedom, then ultimately attained it. Only to be punished for resisting Montclair’s vile assault. And then of their own volition, his legs carried him over to the table.

The earl looked questioningly up at him with a jeering glint in his eyes. “Waverly. You’ve come to join—”

He hauled the bastard who’d put his hands upon Jane up by the lapels of his jacket, up from his seat and buried his fist into his nose, relishing the crack of bone and an agonized cry rung from Montclair’s lips. There was a triumphant thrill of revenge, a satisfaction of his bloodlust. Perhaps he was more like his father than he’d ever dared believe, for the sight of the man’s suffering filled him with an unholy glee. Gabriel tossed the other man to the floor, a bleeding, whining mess and then ignoring the frantic whispers, continued his march to the front of the club. A servant, with his gaze carefully averted rushed forward with Gabriel’s cloak and he shrugged into it. As he exited his clubs and accepted the reins from a waiting servant to his mount, he drew in a deep, steadying breath, filling his air with lungs. Then he swung his leg over the chestnut creature, Devotion, and guided it onward to his townhouse. To his wife. To his future.

His mount shifted under his legs, at the tension in Gabriel’s, and he lightened his grip upon the horse. In the quiet of the London streets, he mulled his friend’s words. He’d pledged to care for Jane. The minute he’d ruined her, she’d become his responsibility and he was shamed by the truth that by seeking out his clubs to avoid the woman who’d upended his world, he’d only brought greater difficulty, too. And more—he couldn’t avoid responsibility. It was part of who he was and one he could not extricate himself from, no matter how much they might wish it. Nay, no matter how much he might wish it. Gabriel guided Devotion down the cobbled roads.

She professed to love him. And while he’d spent the better part of his life wanting nothing to do with that damned sentiment, when she’d uttered those words, she’d breathed into him the truths he’d buried deep down inside. Truths he’d kicked the dust of life upon and hid—even from himself—that damned longing to have someone. What she’d dangled before him preyed on his greatest fears, but also a desire he’d never known he possessed grew inside him.

The façade of his townhouse pulled into focus and he urged his horse forward. No sooner had he leaped to the ground than a servant rushed forward to claim the reins. With a murmur of thanks, Gabriel strode up the handful of steps and through the doors opened by Joseph. “My lord,” the butler greeted. There was a reproach in his eyes that may as well have been a mirror of Waterson’s sentiments at the club.