Page 40

She is delightful, he thought. As beautiful as she was vexing. “She likes to exasperate me whenever she can. It is amusing.”

“Over what?”

“All manner of things, but although she has not openly said it, I think it may be over Maxine.” That was as honest as he had been with his brother in a long time. “She did spend quite a lot of time there before coming here.”

Tony smirked. “I like her even more now. Will you tell her what you have never explained to us?”

“That conversation is off the table and will remain so. I had hoped that Marianne had explained this to her. Still, she hints at it at every opportunity.”

Tony smiled. “The Rose I knew will still try to get it out of you.”

“She can try. My reasons are my own and no one else’s. You know this.”

Tony’s expression changed. “Oh, I do. But one day, Edward, you will have to answer to Max herself, and God help you when that day comes, because she is already a force to be reckoned with. And you will deserve every arrow she aims at your black heart.” Tony bowed mockingly to his brother and left the room, clenching his fists.

Edward watched his brother leave. That turned fast, but then it always did whenever Max was brought up. He did not want to think about it, but it seemed that it was all his family, and now Rose, wanted to talk about. Why did they not understand that he did not wish to discuss his sins? It was his! His alone. They knew nothing about what he had gone through, or why he did what he did, or what it had cost him.

Edward swallowed the last of his drink and poured himself another, and then another. Black heart. He hoped the alcohol would numb the pain in his chest, but it wasn’t helping. The awful guilt that never really left him intensified and made his stomach hurt and his throat close. He looked out the window, but the view did not give him the relief he was looking for, and now his chest felt tight.

Edward sat behind his desk and looked at the piles on his desk, and then swiped his hand across the table, sending dispatches flying to the floor. Even that dramatic act did not give him the satisfaction he craved either. He rested his head on his desk. What the hell was he doing?

Standing abruptly, sending his chair flying back, he stalked back to the decanter and took the whole thing to the wing chair by the fire. He sat and realized that he had never actually sat in this chair before. It felt new, stiff, and uncomfortable. Just like he felt in his own skin.

Half an hour later, there was a small knock at the door. “Go away, Marianne.”

“It is Rose,” he heard her say through the door.

“Go away, Rose.” The door cracked open. “Good God, woman, do you never do as bid?”

Her lovely face was full of concern. “I just came to tell you that Lucinda has gone into labor.”

“Wonderful, now go away.” The last thing he wanted to worry about was Lucinda and the birth of her babe.

She took a step into the room, and he put his hand up to stop her.

“What is wrong with you? Tony came down all flustered. Did you argue?”

“Lady Rose, if I did, I would not discuss it with you, would I?”

“Have you been drinking?” she asked, eyeing the decanter on the floor and placing her hands on her hips.

“Get. Out!” When she jumped, he wiped his hand down his face. She was just the messenger, and he should not direct his anger and guilt towards her. “I’m sorry. That was unfair of me.”

“She went into labor here. She will be having her child in Tony’s old room. The midwife has been called. I just thought you should know.”

Bloody, bloody hell! “I have now been duly informed,” he said, saluting her with his drink, and he couldn’t help the sneer in his voice.

“I didn’t want you to be surprised when you left here. I will leave you now to your…thoughts.” How kind of her! If she had known where his thoughts were leading, she might not have bothered to climb those stairs.

She closed the door with a snick, and he brought his hands to his face. Why did Lucinda have to have the child here? It was a karmic punishment, surely.

A while later, and with the decanter now half empty, he faintly heard a scream from down the hall. His heartbeat doubled, and he closed his eyes. The alcohol churned in his stomach. Nausea was the least of what he deserved. It was just like eight years ago. Please let Lucinda survive this. He and Tony didn’t often see eye to eye, but he would never want him to go through what he went through. He loved him.

He should be a supportive brother and go down and sit with him in the parlor. He should, but he doubted Tony would want his company. He looked around the room that had been a safe haven and a prison at the same time, and suddenly he had to leave. He threw the decanter into the fire and nearly set the rug on fire with the size of the fireball it created.

He stood, let the room settle in his vision, and grabbed his coat. He flung the door open and headed for the servants’ stairs. A maid nearly dropped a tray of tea as he came down the stairs, but he kept going. The urgency to escape the house was palpable. He made his way through the kitchen, where the cook looked up from his pot to stare after him.

Once outside, he threw up in a hedge of hawthorns and stumbled towards the mews. “My horse,” he shouted as he slipped on the cobbles. The stable lad came out and, seeing him, ran back into the stable. Breathing hard, the pain in his chest threatened to overwhelm him.