A Duke's Wicked Kiss (Entangled Select) (35 page)

“You don’t have to marry him right off; he’ll give you plenty of time. Both of you need it. Good God, how do you expect me to leave here without knowing whether or not there’s a future for you?”

Suri’s heart stalled in her chest. “You’re leaving? So soon?”

With a nod, his gaze turned austere and drifted off somewhere in the distance.

The pause that followed was fraught with silence and then lengthened into an awkwardness that caused her to wrap her arms around herself as if a gust of frigid air swept over her. She struggled for her voice. “Where…where will you go?”

“Back to India to find your sister.”

His words nearly sent her reeling. “But the monsoons are over. What if she’s on her way here and you miss each other?”

He shoved his hand through his hair again. “That’s the hell of it, isn’t it? I won’t know until I get there.”

Her heart broke free of its miserable cage and opened like a flower to the sun. “Oh, for pity’s sake, we’ve been quarreling like siblings.”

Some of the bleakness left his eyes and his lips twitched. “Looks like it.” He turned and strode off.

“Trent,” she called out.

He paused and glanced over his shoulder. “What?”

“Tell Edward I said yes.”

Trent strode back to her and held out his hand, his eyes flashing fire. “No, Suri. You tell him yourself.”

…

Edward was nowhere to be found. Suri turned to Trent. “He’s likely hied off to that hunting lodge his mother speaks of. Probably to gather courage from yet another bottle of whisky.”

“Armagnac,” Trent said dryly. “He prefers good French Armagnac to Scots whisky,”

“How aristocratic of him. A drunk with high standards.”

“Stop it, Suri. Either stick with your decision and make the best of it, or bundle Jeremy up and set out on foot somewhere.”

“That was cruel of you, Trent.”

He blew out a breath so hard it whistled through his teeth. “My apologies. I’m going after Edward.”

“And I’m off to check on Jeremy. Then I shall go to my chambers.”

“You’ll find him in the kitchen with little Rosebud.” Trent turned to walk away.

Suri closed her eyes and bit down on her lower lip. Her knees were about to buckle. “Don’t go. Not just yet, anyway.”

He strode back to where she stood at the bottom of the wide staircase leading to the upper floors. She stared into those mesmerizing dark eyes of his that told her little of what he was thinking. How was it he could manage to keep so many secrets beneath those long lashes? Her lungs squeezed, and the pit of her stomach tied in more knots. “I’m scared, Trent.”

He reached out and briefly touched her cheek with the back of his hand, a gesture meant to comfort. “I know. But it’s the best solution I could come up with. Edward may be a drunk right now, but I’ve a feeling you can help him with that. Even in his cups, he’ll never harm you or Jeremy.”

She pressed her fingers to her temples and rubbed. “I feel as though I’ve fallen into some bizarre nightmare. Thank heaven you were there to save me. You’ve become like a brother of late…like George, I mean. Not Rupert, curse his soul.”

A corner of Trent’s mouth lifted in a bemused smile. “I’ll accept that as a compliment.”

“Can’t you take Jeremy and me along with you?”

“To go spying for the queen?”

“I thought you were off to find Marguerite?”

He gave a small shrug. “That, too.”

“I see.” She drew her bottom lip into her mouth, nibbled on it for a brief moment, while she tried to arrange her thoughts into some semblance of order. “You’re certain Edward will give me time to adjust to all this?”

Trent’s gaze moved across her face. “You’ll both need time.” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m as sorry as you are it couldn’t have been John, but you need to let him go, once and for all.”

Grief spilled out of her like a shadow, sending a pall over the two of them. “I’ll need to take down the altar.”

“No, you don’t. Using it to help you heal is what you can do with it. There’s a big difference between wallowing in your sorrows and moving through them. Embrace the pain in its awfulness once and for all, Suri. Feel every bit of it, then release it. Let it go. I’m not saying you won’t have your moments after that but, in time, the sad memories will fade while the good will remain.”

Her eyes watered. She fisted her hand into her stomach to try and ease the ache that had collected there. “Do you think Jeremy will be all right in the kitchen if I go to my chambers and see to this at once?”

“He won’t even miss you. He needs that lamb right now like you need your altar. Go, Suri. Write a letter to John. Say good-bye to him, then burn it. Leave the ashes on the altar for as long as you feel a need to, then either bury them in the ground or release them into a stream. It’s an old Asian custom that will help you heal. It works.”

Suri watched Trent disappear, wondering at his last remark, then she climbed the stairs and made her way to her chambers where she locked the door behind her. She wrote and wept and, through her tears, she came to realize that not only was she saying good-bye to John, but she was also releasing any expectations of what might lie ahead for her at Ravenswood Park. She’d take Edward up on his offer to let her build the orphanage. She’d throw herself into it with everything she had. She could do this—she could make a life for her and Jeremy should his mother never return.

Instead of feeling uplifted, her resolve to commit to a life with Edward only served to enervate her. Suddenly weary to her bones, she burned the letter in a small silver vase, then curled up on the bed and fell into a deep slumber.

…

A knocking on the door drew Suri slowly awake. However long she’d slept, it was enough to leave her feeling groggy and hollow-headed. It took her a moment to remember why she was lying on her bed fully clothed.

Another knock.

She made her way to the door enveloped in a kind of gray fog.

“Pardon me, milady,” said Becky, the chambermaid. “His lordship is in the library and wishes to meet with you.”

Suri’s stomach did a flip. She rubbed at her brow and pinched the bridge of her nose while she collected her thoughts. “Yes, of course. Inform Lord Edward that I will meet him there in a quarter hour. Have you seen Master Jeremy?”

“He’s taking a nap in his room across the hall, milady.”

Suri’s eyes widened and every nerve in her body went on edge. “Oh, dear, the door was locked. He couldn’t get in.”

“No milady, that’s not the way things went at all. Her Grace had toys brought down from the attic and made the room over there his playroom.” Becky motioned across the corridor with a jerk of her thumb.

“Her Grace told him he could sleep there or in your room, whichever pleased him. He took right to playing in there by himself, running back and forth to the kitchen to check on the lamb and snatch a few biscuits Cook made him. Wore himself out coming and going he did, until he fell asleep all rosy cheeked.”

A grin lit Becky’s face. “We’ve all got a hand in looking after Master Jeremy, milady. He’s a right good young lad. He’ll do fine, just you wait and see.” The maid gave a little bow. “I’ll be off to tell his lordship you’ll be seeing him in a quarter hour.”

Suri was so stunned, she could only nod. Closing the door, she set about tidying her hair, then chose a fresh day gown, this one in a soft blue cotton. John liked her in blue…she stopped herself from any further consideration. What John liked or did not like mattered no longer. She dropped her head in her hands while she collected herself. It was going to take strength and determination to get through this part of letting him go, but get through it she would.

Suri let out the breath she was holding and headed out the door and along the corridor. Gripping the banister, she marched down the stairs to the library and knocked.

“Enter.”

Her gut contracted. She could not bear this. She would turn on her heel and run.
I am not a little coward. I can manage this.
She lifted her chin and entered the room.

Once again, Edward leaned on his desk. A shock of heat flushed her cheeks. Dressed in a dark superfine jacket, tan buckskins and tall boots, he looked a handsome sight—so very like his brother. He folded his arms over his chest and lifted away from the desk, only to weave slightly.

“You’re drunk,” she said flatly.

“I am fine,” he said and carefully moved back to the desk where, once again, he hitched a hip on one corner. “Perhaps the prospect of getting turned down in an offer of marriage is unsettling,” he said. “Trent informed me you have come to a decision.”

Did God play cruel jokes? She was to agree to wed a man who drank from sunrise to sundown? Who couldn’t even remain sober long enough to hear her answer? Her ears were ringing so loud she hadn’t caught all of what he’d said. Something about Trent informing him…

“I beg your pardon?” She was trembling. She could feel the hems of her skirts quivering. This was all wrong. But there was Jeremy to think of. And the orphanage.

“Your decision, Suri. What is it?” He lifted a glass of amber liquid to his lips, and his gaze wandered over her.

His action brought her out of her daze. Rain spattered against the tall stack of windows. She watched the trees beyond bend in a strong wind. How odd, she hadn’t even noticed the weather had turned. She made her way to the windows and stood with her back to him while she pulled her thoughts together.

“Suri?”

“I’ll marry you, Edward. But on one condition.”

“And that is?”

She heard the clink of glass on glass. For pity’s sake, more liquor being poured. If that didn’t beat all! She wheeled around, marched over to where he rested a hip against the desk, and yanked the glass from his hand. She tossed what remained of the liquid into the fire and heaved the glass against the stone fireplace where it shattered in a spectacular fashion.

A streak of lightning lit the room followed by a roll of thunder. “Rather fitting,” Edward said. “The storm, that is.”

She stood there feeling nothing for a brief moment. Then, like the lightning and thunder playing havoc outside, an inner storm let loose. Her thoughts more lucid than they’d been in a long time, she faced him, her cheeks flaming with fury. “I’ll not marry a drunk, Edward. I’d rather roam the streets of London looking for handouts. You’ve told me Jeremy and I would be safe here, that I could build my orphanage, and that suits me. But here is my one condition—you must stop drinking.”

“If only I could,” he muttered.

Edward’s expression gave her pause. Was that sadness she saw in his eyes? Sorrow? On a shaky breath, she stepped closer to him. Another roll of thunder and the floor vibrated beneath her feet. “What do you mean?”

“It’s a rather bothersome thing, but try as I might,” he glanced at the decanter beside him, “I can’t seem to leave the bloody stuff alone.”

He wouldn’t look at her just then and, for a moment, she pitied him. “That’s all the more reason you have to,” she said, her voice softening. “Not just because of my dictates, but for yourself.”

When he said nothing, she took another step toward him, close enough to lay a hand on his sleeve. “Can you not talk about it?”

“There’s nothing to say.” He looked at her then, his face void of expression.

“What happened to you, Edward? What made you turn to drink?”

He shrugged her hand off his sleeve and stood. “Life sometimes has a way of turning on a person when there is little they can do about it. But you should know that. It about ate you up. Literally. I’ll see you at dinner.” He turned on his heel and headed for the door.

“Wait.”

He paused and turned, his hand resting on the door’s handle. “Haven’t you said enough?”

“Six months, Edward. I’ll marry you if you can prove to me that you can go without drink for six months.”

“What then?”

“It’ll be out of your system by then. I’ll help you.”

He leaned a shoulder against the heavy panel, folded his arms over his chest, and crossed a foot over the other ankle. Standing there, studying her like that, he resembled John so much it hurt.

The quiet in the room nearly undid her.

“All right,” he said softly. “Six months. With your help.” He opened the door and left the room.

Suri clenched her jaw at the sudden twinges in her gut. She’d bought time. Six months’ worth. Who knew how the world might turn by then.

With any luck, perhaps the sky would fall.

C
HAPTER
N
INETEEN

R
AVENSWOOD
P
ARK

The carriage pulled to a rattling halt amidst one of the worst storms in John’s memory. Didn’t that beat all, after suffering through the monsoon season? The driver banged on the top of the conveyance signaling he was on his way to the house. As he clambered down, the carriage shifted to one side and then righted itself. John curled his fist against the fogged window and rubbed a circle large enough to peer through the darkness, hoping to catch a glimpse of his home. “Little good that did,” he muttered.

They’d have arrived hours ago if it hadn’t been for the blasted rain slamming into their carriage like a dam bursting. Slowed them to a crawl, it did. Along muddy roads no sane person would travel. To makes matters worse, their arrival was about to become a surprise since the messenger he’d sent ahead had landed arse up in the middle of the road after his bloody horse had spooked in the storm. God knew where the letter, filled with news that John was alive and had Marguerite in tow, had ended up. They ran across the courier slugging his way through the storm. Poor muddy bugger rode up top with the coachman and was likely cold as a gravedigger in December.

Lightning lit the sky but, with the rain pelting so hard, John could make out little more than a faint glow at what should be the entry. Thunder rolled through the heavens like a mighty lion’s roar. Well, it couldn’t be louder than his heart for the way the blasted thing pounded in his chest.

“I believe I see a patch of light,” Marguerite said.

“My guess is the butler finally decided to open the door. Get ready for a mad dash once the footman gives us leave or you might well drown before we reach the house.” He gripped Shahira’s chain, ready for the run. Her ears pitched forward and she rose from the bottom of the carriage like a sphinx come to life. “Easy, girl.”