Regency 01 - Honor Read online

  Her eyes snapped open, and she lunged, her body moving forward while her mind screamed in agony. Nothing felt real anymore and all the helpless fury she’d experienced as a girl rushed to the fore. Her brain barely registered her husband’s pleadings for understanding. Understanding? For what?

  “Never again!” She must have taken him by surprise. Shoving with all the strength her slight frame could boast, she knocked him off-balance, leaving him in a heap on the floor.

  Heedless of her disheveled state, she left the room, calling for a carriage to be brought round.

  Clear thought was refused entrance until Verena sat for several long minutes in the drawing room. All that went through her mind was a jumble of confused emotions, dread and horror foremost among them.

  He was there. By his own admission, he’d been there and done nothing. Her husband, the man she’d believed would protect her from her father, was the very man who’d destroyed her life.

  Everything in her screamed that he was not the man who’d raped her but her trust was stretched to the limit. He’d been there. The thought repeated itself over and over, driving her mad.

  Anger and fear dominated her mind, mingling with the urge to flee into the street and never look back. But some modicum of sense prevailed, and she sat as still as stone in a hard, upright chair by a crackling fire. Her emotions gradually calmed, allowing the first bits of rational thought entry.

  She’d been no more than fourteen. With a father who cared for nothing beyond the façade they presented to the world, Verena had had no chance for survival with the shame that was forced upon her.

  Burying her face in her hands, she held back a scream that centered deep in her belly. She could barely draw breath, her heart hammering beneath her ribs.

  Anger welled up. How dare he marry her, trick her, make her fall in love with him? How could he lie to her? All along, he’d known….he’d known…

  She dropped her hands. He’d said he was there….which meant he’d known all along.

  Blinking back incipient moisture, she tried to remember, tried to recall the niggling little thing, the one tiny memory that would help restore her good opinion of her husband.

  It wasn’t him, she thought. There was never any doubt about that. But there was still the familiarity she always felt when in his presence, the memory that almost surfaced when she saw Connor in the sunlight.

  Shaking her head, Verena twisted her fingers into her skirts. None of this could be happening and yet, life had taught her that reality was far worse than one could imagine. At least for her.

  Almost without thought, her hand strayed to her belly. A shiver coursed her spine, remembered pain tightening her muscles.

  Sucking in a breath, she tried to calm herself. Samson would return in moments, to inform her the carriage was out front. She didn’t even know where she was going and she didn’t really care. The need to escape resurfaced, albeit with a bit less intensity than before. Still, there were too many things that told her to leave while there were too few that told her to stay. A sharp pang assaulted her at the thought of leaving her precious puppy behind but she’d left him in the room with her husband and she didn’t dare return to fetch him.

  She heard the door behind her. Turning, expecting Samson, all breath left her lungs.

  “Father.”

  *

  Twenty-Two

  The Earl of Carstairs sauntered into the room as if he belonged there, a concerned Samson close behind. Verena wasn’t sure what the butler knew of her circumstances but the lack of his usual wooden expression revealed at least the knowledge that this man may not be welcome.

  “Father,” she murmured, the word slipping past her lips with none of the loathing and fear that slid through her veins.

  She dismissed the butler with a careless movement of her fingers. Samson’s face clearly indicated his reluctance to leave her alone with her sire.

  Carstairs moved about the room, his gaze passing over everything, no doubt measuring each item’s worth. Every once in a while he’d glance at his daughter, the smirk on his lips making her angry for the first time she could recall.

  “You have done very well for yourself, daughter.”

  “I count myself quite fortunate.”

  “Tell me, Verena,” he said, something in his tone raising goosebumps on her flesh, “does your husband know of your shame?”

  “He does.” The relief she felt at her ability to answer in the affirmative was short-lived.

  “Indeed?” Her father’s dark brows raised, his handsome features revealing his surprise at her response. “Then he knows you birthed a bastard?”

  “But I didn’t,” she said, a slight tremor in her voice. “The child died.” Forcing a smile to her lips, she asked, “Why have you come?”

  “To see how you fare, nothing more.”

  “You lie.”

  His shock at her disrespect and contempt was no more than her own. Where had she found the courage to say such a thing?

  “I lie?”

  He stalked closer. Verena prayed for deliverance, prayed for the butler’s return, the ladies’ entrance, anything to save her from her father’s wrath. What had possessed her to question his honesty?

  What did it matter? Stiffening her spine, she said, “Yes, Father, you lie. Quite often, in fact. You lied to everyone when I was…attacked…and you lied again when you discovered my pregnancy. You do nothing but lie. It’s all you do. And that makes me wonder. Did you lie about Jeremy as well?”

  “No, that miserable bastard is dead. He won’t have my title or money.” He looked her up and down, the contempt on his face something she was used to seeing. “Neither will you, of course. I suppose if you’re breeding, I should leave something to your brat.”

  She must have revealed something in her face, some expression of shame, horror, embarrassment, or guilt. Her father smiled wide, the beauty of his distinguished features forever holding a place of ugliness in her mind.

  “You are not? Is it possible, daughter, that you fail in your duties as wife? Well, good then. I need not worry over a relative of yours getting their hands on my fortune. Still, appearances matter, and I should head straightway to my solicitor to settle a fair amount on any brats you should produce. I wouldn’t want Society thinking I ill-treated my only living child.”

  “Then why would you tell Society I’m a slut?” she asked, truly confused.

  “I did not. Why would I want Society thinking such a thing of my progeny?”

  “But…” Her voice trailed to a stop. It made sense. Her father was so wrapped up in appearances that it seemed unlikely he would spread rumors about any member of his own family.

  Then who told the neighbors about her shame back when she was still a child? Who told London that she entrapped Lord Connor?

  “I don’t understand.”

  “What is there to understand? I have said nothing.” He dismissed the whole discussion with a careless wave of one meticulously manicured hand. “Servants gossip. They didn’t all dote on you.”

  Verena’s mind cleared, her memory sliding back to a certain servant who knew more about the family than the family did. Her father’s own manservant, long since replaced. And now she knew why.

  “And the rumors here in Town?”

  The earl snorted. “You can blame Lady Marigold Danvers and her mother for that. Little harpy did not like losing the prize to a country nobody.”

  “Then why are you here?”

  “It has come to my attention that your husband has been making certain inquiries into Bainbridge’s disappearance.”

  “He has.”

  “And he has discovered exactly what we were told years ago.”

  “I do not know that. Mr. Prestwich has yet to say.”

  Her father stepped back, turning away as he did so. “Ah, yes. That would explain much.”

  She had no opportunity for reply. The door opened again, this time to allow Adam entry. Samson stood in the corridor, leav
ing in a hurry when Adam gave him a nod.

  “Mr. Prestwich,” Verena murmured, unsure how to proceed. She’d prayed for deliverance and now that she had it, she was unsure if she felt any gratitude at all.

  Adam eyed them both askance, his gaze finally settling on her. “Are you in need of assistance?”

  “Indeed not,” she said, wondering why she said such a thing.

  “Now who’s the liar?” muttered Adam as he passed her to address her father.

  She stared, dumbstruck, as he shook hands with Carstairs. It was clear he’d listened at the door before entering. How much had he heard?

  “My lord. What brings you to London?”

  “The Season, of course,” Carstairs replied, his contempt growing perceptibly deeper as he stood there.

  “The Season does not officially start for several weeks. Why are you really here?”

  “If you must know, you interfering jackanapes, I am come to determine whether you have found Viscount Bainbridge.”

  “I have not.” Adam moved to Verena’s side, an action that filled her with dread. Could the day get any worse?

  Indeed it could. Adam Prestwich took both her hands and led her to a chair, sitting her down with all the care a lady could desire. Crouching at her feet, he said, “I am very sorry, Lady Connor. I am afraid there is no doubt that your brother was lost at Waterloo.”

  Her fingers clenched. “It can’t be true.” Had she spoken aloud or merely thought the words? Had Adam truly said her brother was dead?

  “This can’t be happening.”

  “There is much in your life that shouldn’t have happened,” Adam told her, his voice low enough to carry only to her ears.

  It was then she realized how thoughtful he was acting, how much care he took with her feelings. It was a complete switch from his usual behavior toward her and caused instant suspicion.

  She pulled her hands away. “What do you know of my life?” she hissed, unable to control the anger that rose up in her. “What do you know of anything? You label me a whore, accuse me of entrapping your friend! You believe I’m of the lowest moral character, a woman who schemes for money and position, lying with any man who will help me get there!”

  She shot off the chair, her action so unexpected that Adam fell backward. She was too distraught to appreciate the novelty of having knocked two men flat in one evening.

  It was really too much! How was she to cope with this new tragedy? How was she to cope with any of her tragedies?

  “I do not accept this!”

  Two gentlemen stared at her, one shocked at her outburst and the other picking himself up off the floor while looking at her as if she might attack him again.

  “I do not accept any of this! Jeremy is not dead! Bri will come back! I am not a whore! I was…I was…attacked!” She swallowed against the horror choking her, tried to find the calm she needed to continue. These men, these disgusting, brutal animals, believed her to be base, a woman with no sense of morality, a woman who would lay down with any man who asked.

  Or demanded.

  “I am not a whore and I will not remain with a man who allowed such a thing to happen me.” Her words sounded calm to her own ears but the looks on her audience’s faces gave her pause.

  Adam’s face darkened, lips thinning into a grim line. He glared at her father. “He can’t make you leave with him.”

  Verena paused, her anger abruptly curtailed in the face of confusion. “What? No, I meant Connor. He let this happen. He lied. I won’t stay with him.”

  “What did you say?” Adam asked, a dangerous hint of steel beneath his softly uttered words.

  The bitterness coated her heart, a heavy lump in her chest and an unimaginable weight in her mind. “Do you not know? Connor admitted he was there. He admitted…” Her voice broke, damming her words.

  “I said I was there, Verena. I never said I saw it happen.”

  Heart pounding, she turned. Connor stood in the open door. He entered, carefully closing the door behind him. “Is this the best place for such a discussion?” he asked.

  She backed away from him. “I am waiting for the carriage. Where I wait means nothing.”

  “I’ve sent the carriage away.”

  Would she never escape?

  “Adam, please escort Carstairs on his way.”

  Nodding, Adam urged the older man away, growling softly when that man stopped to address his daughter.

  “Jeremy is gone. Accept it, girl. Further, despite my wishes for you to marry Winters, it was not I who ruined your reputation. You can lay that at your own door.”

  With a final, detested smirk, he disappeared, Adam’s firm grip propelling him out.

  “Verena—”

  “Don’t touch me!”

  “When I said I was there I didn’t mean I saw it happen. I found you. After.”

  His words slammed her in the chest. “You found me?”

  “Think back, Verena. When I found you, you looked at me. You said ‘Angel’ as I lifted you in my arms.”

  The memory was so hazy as to be more like a dream than an actual memory. Her body wracked with pain, hazy recollections of shock and fear, dried tears on her cheeks, and the slit-eyed recollection of suddenly being wrapped in a warm strength that made the pain fade to a dull throb. His handsome face, concerned features and sad eyes, his beautiful, golden hair framed with the rays of the midday sun…

  “I thought an angel had come to take me away,” she whispered. “I thought I was finally free.”

  Connor’s mouth opened, his lips moving to form words that never came. Then, reaching out, he took her hand and drew her close, enfolding her in his warm embrace. She let him, suddenly so tired that her mind refused to ponder the situation anymore. How had her life become so confused? How had she ever come to this pass?

  Connor’s heart thudded against her cheek. Closing her eyes, she sighed, her mind so overwhelmed with the emotions she’d experienced in such a brief time.

  As her fears and feelings of betrayal eased, clear thought entered in. She’d found the one man in all the world who would never blame her for what happened. The one man in all of creation who understood the fears that drove her. A soft smile touched her lips.

  Their marriage took on a whole new meaning for her. Connor’s restraint in regard to her duties as his wife had everything to do with respecting her, with honoring her wishes. He truly wanted her to be comfortable enough to come to him of her own accord.

  “Did you always know…who…who I was? At Feldspar’s?”

  She wasn’t sure he heard her, her face still pressed to his chest, doubtless muffled. With her eyes closed, all she heard was the steady beat of his heart and a sudden, indrawn breath, filling his lungs and expanding his chest.

  “I knew who you were at Feldspar’s.”

  She sucked in a breath. “At the posting house? Before the house party?”

  “No. You intrigued me then, nothing more.” He chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest and then her. “I don’t know what prompted me to speak of Feldspar’s then. Something in the way you looked, I think. You looked like you needed somewhere to go.” His shrug shifted her slightly but still, she kept her eyes tightly closed. The tension in her body eased just a bit.

  “While you followed me about, doing my chores, you knew who I was?” she pressed, not entirely sure why.

  “I did not,” he admitted, his tone carrying a reluctance she didn’t understand. “You seemed familiar and I felt drawn to you. When Carstairs arrived, everything clicked into place.”

  “Why didn’t you say something? Tell me who you were or explain how you knew me?”

  “Would you have listened? Had I said, ‘I know what happened to you and I want to help,’ would you have accepted my assistance or run again?”

  His hand stroked her hair and Verena sighed. “I don’t know,” she said honestly. “I believe I would have been too mortified to entertain the possibility of marriage to you.”

 
; “I needed you to trust me enough to tell me yourself.” The words whispered over her, easing the last of her tension.

  A smile tipped her lips ever so slightly. His refusal to tell her what he knew wasn’t a lie. He wanted her to trust him enough to confide in him. Verena felt so ashamed of her behavior, so ashamed for how she’d treated him. But for the first time, at least with him in that moment, she didn’t feel ashamed of her past.

  Her eyes opened, the drawing room taking on a wavering, unearthly quality through the tears sheening her eyes.

  “Connor?’

  “Hmm?”

  “My brother is dead. And Bri, my best friend, is lost forever.”

  Her level tone said nothing of the despair ripping through her.

  Connor held her tighter until Verena thought she might melt right into him. Soft murmurs whispered over her head, words of comfort and reassurance that held no real meaning except to a woman who’d been abused and broken from an early age. Tears gathered in her eyes, spilling over in silent misery, her heart breaking for two loves she’d known, for a sibling and for a friend. Life was unfair.

  In one way, Verena supposed she could change that. The man who held her offered her more than she’d ever suspected possible. She may have lost her brother—a pain that would surely abate with time—and her best friend—a resourceful woman she would surely see again one day—but she’d gained a husband with far more understanding than any other person she’d known.

  Her tears subsided, her mind clearing, finally. A handkerchief was pressed into her hand and she wiped her face and nose, smiling at what a dreadful picture she must present.

  Having righted her appearance as best she could, she crumpled the handkerchief in her hand, laying her head back on his shoulder in weary surrender.

  “Connor?”

  “My love?”

  The casual endearment sent a shiver over her skin, uttered as it was so gently against her hair. She sighed, lifting her head.

  “Do you love me?”

  “With every breath in my body.”