“I’d give the world to relive the last minute.” Leath kneeled beside her. “Your Grace, how can I beg your forgiveness?”
“Get away from her,” Cam snarled, his grip making her wince. “Name your seconds.”
“Haven’t we had enough violence?” Pen asked shakily, struggling to sit straighter in her husband’s arms. Fighting the pounding in her head, she forced out a plea for good sense in a choked voice. “It seems we’re all family or destined to become so. Can’t we discuss what’s happened calmly and kindly?”
Cam’s arms tightened protectively. “Pen, don’t try to talk.”
“No, I must say this.” She looked at Leath. “Do you really want to shoot Harry?”
Leath scowled at Harry. “Yes, I do.”
Sophie spoke and to Pen’s surprise, she didn’t sound young or silly. “That’s too bad, James. Because I’m marrying Harry Thorne, whether here or in America. In Outer Mongolia for all I care. I love him.”
“You’re not old enough to know what love is.” Leath turned from Pen to Sophie almost with relief. She didn’t mistake how appalled he’d been at hitting her.
“Yes, I am. You think I’m not because you’ve always looked after me.” Sophie smiled at Harry, who still stared at Pen as though expecting her to expire any moment. “Now Harry and I will look after each other.”
“In America?” Leath asked sarcastically.
“If necessary.” Harry ran his hand through his black Thorne hair and met Leath’s eyes with commendable steadiness. “You have every right to want to kill me. I acted badly. Your sister’s honor is as precious to me as it is to you, my lord. I’m unworthy of her. We both know that. But I love her more than my life and I’ll do my best to make her happy.”
“That means nothing.” Leath rose, formidable in the cramped room.
Harry didn’t back down. “It means the world.”
Pen, who despite her fondness had always thought Harry a bit shallow, was impressed. She suspected that Sophie and Harry together were more than a match for the marquess.
Sophie took Harry’s hand. “James, I don’t want to marry Lord Desborough.”
Pen’s pain receded by inches. She realized that she clung weakly to Cam when he didn’t want a bar of her. She straightened away from him, anguished at how easily he let her go. She struggled to steady her voice. “My lord, surely if you love your sister, you won’t force her into an uncongenial marriage.”
Leath frowned more in puzzlement than anger. “Sophie, of course I want you to be happy. But you never said you disliked Desborough.”
“I don’t dislike Desborough.” Sophie’s jaw firmed with stubbornness. “But I told you I loved Harry.”
“I thought it was only a passing fancy for a handsome fribble. I was trying to save you from hurt.” Leath looked devastated. After Harry’s tales of star-crossed love, Leath’s unselfish devotion to his sister still surprised Pen. “I wanted you to marry a man who could give you everything you deserve, who would love you faithfully, and protect you, and treat you like a queen.”
“I’m that man, my lord,” Harry said staunchly.
“Leath,” Cam said quietly before the other man could deliver a blistering setdown about Harry’s ham-fisted attempts to “protect” Sophie.
Leath faced Cam and for the first time, his eyes didn’t flare with hatred. “This is a blasted mess.”
“I agree.” Cam’s voice remained calm. Thank goodness, his temper had subsided. Pen couldn’t bear to think of him risking his life in a duel. Especially over something that was the result of her impetuosity. “And don’t forget that the whole world knows our business.”
Guilt made Pen cringe. In Ramsgate, she’d foretold that if she married Cam, the result would be scandal and disgrace. There was no satisfaction in being proven right.
Sophie gasped softly. “How—”
Leath shot her a stern look. “You’ve been publicly ruined, my girl.” Dislike stirred as he focused on Harry. “Thanks to this oaf.”
Before the argument resumed, Cam spoke. “We need to scotch the scandal as best we can.”
“Go on,” Leath said warily.
Cam rose and very gently helped Pen up. “Can you stand?”
The pathetic creature who would sell her soul to stay in Cam’s arms begged her to say no. The realist, her guide since she’d recognized that she’d yearn in vain after Camden Rothermere, told her to grow up. “Yes.”
“How are you feeling?”
Like someone hit me with a rock. But her heart hurt worse than her head. “I’m fine.”
Cam’s expression was skeptical. Gratefully, she felt his hand curl around her waist, keeping her upright. With more of that heartbreaking gentleness, he led her across to sit on the bed. He released her and she assumed he meant to leave her alone. But his hand settled on her shoulder in silent support as he stood by her side.
Leath’s expression was stark with remorse as he looked at her. “Your Grace, an apology doesn’t come near to making up for what I did.”
Pen mustered a shaky smile. “Then help Harry and Sophie.”
Cam turned to Leath. “Arrange a quick, quiet wedding. Make a show of accepting Harry. Get your cronies to rally around the newlyweds. Given my part in this, I’m willing to offer the match what countenance I can. I’m sure the Harmsworths and the Hillbrooks will help.”
“But the scandal—”
A flash of Cam’s wry smile. “I’ve lived with scandal all my life. You, my lord, are a mere amateur. It’s too late to silence gossip, but a good face on proceedings will help.”
“So best behavior all round. That includes not shooting each other.” Pen glanced toward Harry and Sophie. “Or sailing to America.”
Harry still looked wretched. His chin bore a bruise to rival Leath’s. At this rate, they’d all return to London looking very sorry. “Pen, I never should have embroiled you in this.”
Reluctantly she left Cam to offer Harry a gingerly hug. Every movement made her head throb. If Leath ever decided against becoming prime minister, she could recommend him as a boxer. “Be happy, brother.”
Carefully she hugged Sophie. “Welcome to the family.”
Sophie returned her embrace, then approached her brother. “James, I’m sorry I’ve caused all this trouble.” Her voice wobbled. “But I love you and I hope you can forgive me one day.”
Pen was sure that Leath would hate the way his expression betrayed every emotion. Anger. Frustration. Abiding affection. Guilt. Then reluctant acceptance. Up until now, Pen hadn’t been sure that she liked the marquess. She didn’t blame him for hitting her, but she couldn’t excuse his arrogance.
Now when he beheld his sister as though he’d sacrifice anything for her, Pen’s heart melted.
It was the old magic again. Love. Once more she faced the harsh truth that the magic would forever remain a mystery to her husband.
“I’ll think about forgiving you.” Leath’s tone said that he already had. He kissed Sophie on the forehead, then faced her toward Harry. “Look after her.”
Pen had never seen Harry so grave. “I will, sir. And thank you.”
Incredibly, they might yet emerge without bloodshed. When Leath left Rothermere House, she’d been sure that he’d kill Harry.
Pen sagged with exhaustion. Now that the tension ebbed, she felt like Leath had punched her over and over, instead of landing one glancing blow to the side of her head.
“I’ll take Sophie and Thorne to Alloway Chase,” Leath said. “They’ll be safe from curiosity there while we plan the wedding.”
Sophie and Harry collected their few possessions—they’d traveled very light—and left with Leath. Pen and Cam remained behind in the dingy room, his arm around her waist.
She felt giddy and sick and sore and woefully unprepared for this reckoning. But she couldn’t bear to wait any longer to decide her future. She’d reached a point where a short sharp cut seemed preferable to slow strangulation.
Cam’s
touch reminded her too painfully of all she’d lost. She broke away, fighting to keep her voice steady. “What happens now, Cam?”
He frowned. “I take you back to the Bear and Swan and summon a doctor.”
“I’m perfectly all right.”
He raised his eyebrows in disbelief. “Leath landed a hell of a blow.”
“It was an accident.”
To her surprise, a faint smile curved Cam’s lips. “It wasn’t an accident. It was your damned recklessness. You haven’t changed since you were six years old and jumping into the river to save a drowning puppy.”
Cam had rescued her that day. Cam always rescued her. What a crushing realization that he’d never rescue her again. This was like having a limb amputated. Slowly.
“He was going to kill Harry,” she mumbled.
“Undoubtedly.”
“I couldn’t let that happen.”
“So you put yourself in danger.”
She sighed. “I wasn’t hurt.”
A flash in his green eyes reminded her of his incandescent anger when Leath clipped her. “Yes, you were.”
“Not seriously.”
“Good luck only.”
“You can’t still mean to shoot Leath. You two sounded almost friendly before he left.”
Cam’s mouth thinned and he sent her a direct stare that she couldn’t interpret. “I won’t shoot Leath. I may want to shoot you.”
That was hardly news. Despairingly she realized that while Sophie and Harry might get their happy ending once they’d weathered the scandal, no such happy ending awaited her with Cam.
“Don’t say that.”
He frowned. “That was a joke.”
“Not a very funny one.”
He looked shocked. “I really don’t want to shoot you.”
No, he just wanted to freeze her out of his life. Shooting seemed kinder. She raised her chin. “You did earlier.”
He shrugged. “I’ve had time to calm down.”
But not to forgive her. She knew that. “Cam, I feel like I’m teetering on a tightrope. Tell me what we do now.”
That oddly direct stare persisted. “We go on, of course.”
She sighed. “I can’t live with you if it means walking on eggshells forever.”
He sighed impatiently. “Then don’t.”
She stiffened as a blade of ice pierced her heart. His rejection was clear. As clear as the shine on a headman’s ax. She drew a breath and squared her shoulders.
“How do you see this proceeding?” She set out the options, every word slicing like a razor. “I can live at Fentonwyck or on another of your estates. Or I can return to the Continent. There will be talk if we separate, but let’s face it, our marriage was always fated to fail.”
Chapter Forty-One
Pen wanted to leave him?
Appalled, Cam stared at her. “What’s this bloody nonsense?”
“Cam, I should never have married you.” She stood like she faced a firing squad, pale as milk in her black traveling dress. He should find consolation in her lack of enthusiasm for deserting him. “The events of the last day and a half must convince you if nothing else does.”
He sighed and reached for her. She edged away. “Damn it, Pen. There’s no need for this.”
“Yes, there is.” She inhaled deeply. “I’ve tried. I’ve tried until I’m blue in the face. I’ve tried to be a proper duchess and proved a woeful failure. I’ve tried to be true to myself and in the process I’ve embroiled you in a frightful scandal. I’ll never be the wife you want. I’ve known that since you proposed to me at Houghton Park all those years ago.”
He regarded her steadily. “Just how hard did Leath hit you?”
She didn’t smile. Instead her fists closed at her sides as if she resisted clouting him. He almost wished she would. At least that would make a scrap of sense. “Don’t treat me like a fool.”
“Can we leave decisions until after a meal and a few hours’ sleep? Preferably in a place that doesn’t stink like something died in the corner.”
She still looked like a medieval martyr going to the stake. Self-disgust welled up. He’d done a brilliant job of convincing his wife that he despised her. How he regretted his temper. But then, he regretted so much. The question was whether he could heal the breach between them, wide as the Atlantic. Something profound and unhappy, a remnant of his horrid childhood, insisted that he couldn’t.
He wanted to shout his denial to the sky.
“This won’t take long,” she said in a hard voice.
They were both exhausted. She was hurt—her head must pound like an anvil under a hammer. He couldn’t bear to see his wife in such poor surroundings. But his arrogance had done enough harm. If she wanted to talk now, he’d talk, even if it felt like she scraped out his guts with a scalpel.
With a sigh, he slumped onto the unmade bed. “Say what you need to.”
“Don’t sound so long-suffering,” she snapped.
Compared to stoic misery, her temper was welcome. He spoke the truth he’d discovered during those nightmare moments in the English Channel. And again when Leath had struck her. Still, he was a proud man. His voice emerged flat and hard. “I don’t want to lose you.”
She didn’t seem to hear. “It’s time to stop playing my knight, Cam. I’m no longer your responsibility.”
“You damn well are,” he said in a dangerous tone, lurching to his feet.
“By helping Harry, I deceived you. I knew how you abhorred scandal and I went ahead anyway.” She looked more a duchess than ever before, standing boldly in a rundown room in this shabby quarter of Liverpool. “And I’d do it again. So while I’m sorry you’re angry and I’m definitely sorry the story hit the papers, I don’t regret my actions.”
“I forgive you.”
A poignant smile touched her lips. “No, you don’t. And neither you should. I’m doing what’s best for you.”
“Which entails falling on your sword, I gather,” he said acidly. “Pen, I want you to stay.”
“Very kind.”
“I’m not bloody kind.”
She cast him a pitying glance. “Of course you are. But I’m no longer taking advantage of your good nature. I set you free.”
“I don’t damn well want to be free.” He fought the urge to snatch her into his arms and kiss her until she shut up. Instinct warned that he needed to win this battle with words alone.
Words weren’t his métier. At least words about emotions.
“Perhaps I already carry your heir.” With an expression he couldn’t read, she placed one hand over her belly. “I know it’s my duty to give you a child.”
He stared at her aghast, even as the glorious idea of his child inside her shuddered through him. “Would it only be duty, Pen?”
She didn’t answer. Instead she wrapped her arms around herself. The room was chilly, but he knew that more than the temperature made her shiver. “I’m sorry I’ve ruined your life, Cam.”
“What rot.”
Her face was wan. “And I’m sorry I betrayed you. At least let me tell you why I did it.”
His slashing gesture dismissed explanations. “I know exactly why.” His voice deepened with the certainty that had struck him, vilely late, when she’d flung herself between Harry and Leath. “You did it out of love. You’ve done everything out of love.”
Shock jolted Pen from self-flagellation. “But you don’t believe in love.”
“I believe in you,” he said quietly.
“I don’t understand.” His avowal didn’t soften her attitude. “Not long ago, you hated me.”
He sighed and moved across to lean against the wall, hoping it held his weight. The whole building looked likely to collapse. A bit the way his pride was about to collapse around his ears. “I was angry.”
“That’s an understatement.”
“And I was hurt,” he said with more difficulty.
They were both aware what that confession cost him. From earliest boyho
od, he’d done his best to deny his emotions. He had much to blame his parents for, not least the painful gossip about his bastardy. But only in the last hour had he realized that their worst crime against him was the way they’d made him mistrust his deepest feelings.
Pen didn’t speak and Cam realized that to win what he wanted, he had to lay his soul out before her. “All my life I’ve kept people at a distance.”
“I know.”
“I can’t keep you at a distance.”
“That’s desire,” she said flatly. “Once you stop wanting me, you’ll put me back into my place.”
Her voice betrayed how he’d hurt her. Good God, what a selfish swine he was. “Your place is at my side.”
She drifted toward the filthy window, staring outside, although the glass was so dirty he couldn’t imagine she saw much. “You didn’t think that last night.”
He ran his hand through his hair. “Stop using my temper as an excuse to run away.” He was unaccustomed to apologizing. The words emerged awkwardly. “I’m sorry for my tantrum. You’re the only woman in creation who turns me into a lunatic.”
She didn’t turn. “Surely that’s reason to separate.”
He stepped forward. His voice resonated with urgency. “Damn it, Pen, surely that’s reason for you to stay and finish the job of making me human.”
She bent her head, staring down at where her hands flattened on the grubby windowsill. Her upswept black hair seemed too heavy for her fragile neck.
He wanted to bundle her into his arms and promise to be her knight, the man who would keep the monsters away. But again, that niggle of instinct insisted that if he pushed her, she’d walk out. So far, at least she listened. He was an expert on the impermeable doors against emotion. He didn’t want to give Pen a chance to shut hers.
“You’re human,” she whispered.
“Only with you.”
When she faced him, she looked angry. “Why are you saying these things? You don’t mean them.” Her voice lashed like a whip. “Lying won’t change anything.”