Lady Rosabella's Ruse (28 page)

Action hadn’t worked so well with Rosabella. Now he was floundering around in quicksand with no handy branch in sight to pull him out of the mire. He’d been so sure she’d relent once he said the words. Once he’d kissed her, reminded her of the pleasure they had together.

The love she wanted was beyond him.

Love. Such a stupid word.

For some reason his facial muscles refused to form their customary expression of scorn. They wanted to do something stupid like form a smile as he pictured her face, her courage in her convictions as she faced him, her perseverance in seeking what she knew should be found. The soppy sort of smile that went along with baskets of puppies or sunrise over the ocean. Or the sight of a baby.

He would never have a baby. He’d sworn it to himself when Kit left for America. It seemed like a way of making up for being born. What an idiot to be disappointed when she said it hadn’t come to pass.

He should have guessed she wouldn’t have him. He’d been unwanted since the day he was born.

He downed the wine.

She was right. She was better off without him. He was broken. Missing an important part everyone else took for granted. Or at least the good people.

Kit had it. Mark had it, though it didn’t seem to be making him happy.

Perhaps he was better off without it.

He just wished he felt better off.

Love isn’t a weapon.
She’d looked so sad when she said that. Every time he thought about the hurt in her eyes, he couldn’t breathe for the pain in his chest.

If this was love, he’d prefer a quick death. He slammed his fist on the nearest piece of furniture. A spindly-legged table. A vase toppled to the floor with a satisfying crash. Shards of china scattered. He crunched through the debris, intending to ring for a maid. A habit. Make a mess, have it cleaned up.

His hand stilled on the cord.

He’d certainly made a mess of things with Rosabella. No one could clean that up.

Love isn’t a weapon.
Was she right about that? It damned well felt as if she’d pierced him with a sword and twisted it.

Was that love?

A groan rose in his throat. If it was, then it was only one-sided.

Alone in the house for the afternoon, Penelope having gone off to make her calls, Rosabella reviewed the advertisements in
The Times
, carefully looking on the map to ensure each address fell within the circle drawn by Mark. Outside of that circle the
ton
would turn up its nose.

‘Lady Stanford,’ the butler announced.

Garth’s mother? Her heart stopped beating. She drew a quick painful breath and felt it falter to life louder than before.

She rose and dipped a curtsy as the lady swept in. Once more she was startled by the widow’s fair beauty. If she was this lovely now, she must have been a diamond of the first water as a young woman. ‘Lady Stanford.’

‘Lady Rosabella.’

Rosa forced a stiff smile. ‘The butler should have informed you of Lady Smythe’s absence.’

The lacy handkerchief appeared as if by magic in her gloved hand. Drooping from her fingertips, it looked a bit sad. ‘I’m glad we are alone. I just had to see you before the wedding.’

‘There is no wedding. I’m sorry Garth didn’t tell you and you have had a wasted journey.’

Lady Stanford’s blue eyes widened with childish innocence no doubt many men found appealing. ‘No wedding.’ Her expression brightened. ‘Well, let me offer you my congratulations. It seems you have had a lucky escape. I am sorry I was a little concerned about your…er…profession, but you really are better off without him.’

Rosa’s scalp tightened. Prickles ran across her shoulders. Wasn’t that what she’d been telling herself? Then why did she feel so annoyed to hear it from this woman’s lips? Shouldn’t a mother defend her son? She eyed the widow’s innocent blue eyes and saw a hardness she hadn’t noticed before. ‘Perhaps you would care to explain?’ She gestured to a chair. ‘Pray be seated.’

With much twitching of skirts to achieve just the right drape, the lady proceeded to settle herself.

Warily, Rosa watched her. ‘May I offer you some refreshment? Tea, perhaps?’

‘Thank you, no. My carriage is waiting.’

She frowned. ‘Are you here on Lord Stanford’s behalf?’

The widow patted the blond ringlets touching her cheek and glanced around the room. ‘Certainly not. Garth is nothing but trouble. His father was the same. A rake and a seducer.’

Rosa gasped. ‘Lord Stanford?’

She fluttered a dismissive handkerchief. ‘Silly girl. Garth isn’t an Evernden. You have only to look at my younger son to see it. He married a Duke’s daughter, you know.’

Rosa furrowed her brow. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘He will try to cozen and charm you like his dreadful father did to me. He ruined my life.’

‘Garth’s father?’

‘No, Garth. The child of a man who was not my betrothed. What was I to do? I was set for a brilliant match and quickening with child. All my hopes were about to be shattered.’ She dabbed at her eyes. ‘My father wouldn’t hear of calling off the marriage. The settlements had been signed. He got Evernden so drunk on our wedding night, he never knew a thing.’

‘You passed off another man’s child on your husband?’

‘What else was I to do? My father would have cast me off. If only he’d been a girl. My husband realised the moment Garth was born he was no son of his. In time, he forgave me, knew I had been taken advantage of, but he could never bear the sight of Garth. Thank God for Christopher. It broke my dear husband’s heart that his true son would never inherit.’

How cold she sounded. How uncaring. Rosa couldn’t believe a mother could be so lacking in warmth for her own child. ‘Why are you telling me this?’

The widow pursed her lips. ‘I just wanted you to know what sort of man he is, that is all. Nature will out, they say. He ran wild as a boy. We sent him away to school. It did no good. I half expected him to kill himself before he came of age.’

A chill breeze ran through the room. Did she mean she hoped Garth wouldn’t survive his boyhood?

‘Be warned, Lady Rosabella. Garth is just like his father. Do not be taken in by his charm. He will ruin your life as he ruins everything he touches. Even his brother left the country to get away from him.’

The woman despised her own son. What kind of childhood would Garth have had with parents who hated him? Was it any wonder he knew nothing of love?

Anger like nothing Rosa had ever felt before coursed through her veins. Anger for a child left out in the cold, unloved and unwanted. Mixed in with the anger was the terrible knowledge of how much she’d wronged Garth. The bleakness she’d seen in his gaze was not born of cynicism, it was born of this woman’s cruelty, her selfishness.

How could he know how to love when he clearly had never been loved? It was a miracle he could express any kind of affection. And she’d scorned him when he told her he loved her.

Anger as cold as ice and sharp as steel took control of her tongue. She rose to her feet with all the dignity of an earl’s daughter. ‘Please leave.’

‘I beg your pardon.’

‘Go. Now. You are not welcome here. Garth is right. You are a cruel unfeeling woman.’

‘You go too far, young lady.’

Not nearly far enough.

Lady Stanford got up with a huff. ‘Take heed, Lady Rosabella. Don’t make my mistakes.’ Head high, she left the room.

The warning came too late. Rosabella had made exactly the same mistake when she’d judged Garth and found him wanting.

She wasn’t sure she could put it right.

Armed with a taper, the butler entered Garth’s study to light the candles. Garth raised his chin from his chest and studied the window. Nightfall. Where had the day gone?

The man finished with the candles on the mantel and proceeded to the wall sconces.

‘That’ll do.’ He didn’t need any more light. The images in his head were perfectly clear without candles.

The butler crept away. All the servants had been creeping around since Rosabella left.

He chuckled grimly.

Poets spoke of love as if it was something to be desired. In his experience, it was a knife in the back. A blow to the kidneys. A flogging with fishhooks would be easier to bear.

Thank God, Kit was coming home. He’d missed his brother like the devil. More than he’d ever expected. He could take some small satisfaction in knowing that one day his brother would take his rightful place as Lord Stanford. That he would right his mother’s wrong.

Small comfort.

His father—he shook his head—Christopher’s father, would be have been pleased. Hell, it would even make his mother happy.

It was bloody ironic really.

It had nothing to do with his parents. He cared nothing for what they thought. It was Christopher who mattered.

Yes, he really did love his brother. And he did love Rosabella, though it was better that she didn’t believe him. Better for her.

The candles blurred. His throat burned. He blinked to clear his vision, swallowed the stupid lump in his throat. Pointless emotion. The kind he’d learned to suppress as a lad.

A scratch at the door. ‘My lord?’

‘Not now.’

‘You have a visitor, my lord.’

He rested his forearms on his thighs and stared at the carpet, a twisted mess of greens and blues. Did he really want company? Friends to drag him into St James’s where they’d drink and wench and laugh until they couldn’t stand and finish the night in some whore’s bed.

He shuddered. ‘Not tonight,’ he called out. He forced himself to his feet. Tomorrow. He’d go out tomorrow. Or later in the week. He didn’t have the heart for it tonight.

Loss was best suffered in private.

Yet he couldn’t just sit here staring at the walls. The papers on his desk caught his eye. Work. There was always lots of work in the management of an estate. He wanted it in tiptop shape for Christopher. Or Christopher’s son.

A pang shot through his chest. Regret. For the child he might have had? Not possible, surely?

He’d always known he wouldn’t have a child.

And yet he couldn’t help wondering what kind of babe he and Rosabella would have made together.

He sat down in front of the pile of papers and read his steward’s note about the tenant who couldn’t pay his rent.

The door opened.

He cursed. ‘I’m busy.’

It closed again.

The tenant wasn’t lazy, he’d had bad luck.

Whoever had entered hadn’t left. He could hear them breathing. With a sigh he lifted his head.

He shot to his feet. ‘Rosabella?’

She stood in the gloom and for a moment he thought he was seeing things. She looked pale and drawn and exceedingly nervous.

His heart ached for the pain he saw on her face.

‘Why are you here?’ Now there was a welcome. He came around the desk. ‘Please, sit down.’

She clasped her reticule in front of her like a shield. ‘I’m sorry for interrupting your work.’

She looked ready to flee.

‘Not at all. I am glad of the break. Can I offer you some wine?’

She shook her head and perched on the edge of a sofa. Clearly whatever it was she had come to say, she didn’t plan to stay long. He blinked again, just to make sure the wine hadn’t caused her apparition.

He sat beside her. Not touching her, though he wanted to, but near enough to smell the scent of jasmine, to see the rapid beat of the pulse at her temple. She swallowed as if she was afraid. Perhaps she thought he’d ravish her. Again. Hell, he really had treated her badly.

‘How can I be of service?’

‘Your mother came to see me this afternoon.’

Cold filled his veins. He tried hard not to care, but his little nun had burrowed deep into his heart, and knowing what his mother would have told her made him feel sick. Ashamed.

‘So you know I’m a bastard.’ He slapped the words down in front of her to prove he didn’t care.

‘Oh, Garth, I’m so sorry.’

‘You are sorry? The accident of my birth has nothing to do with you.’

‘No, I mean I’m so sorry about what I said.’ Her low voice trembled, her words were jerky.

He must be misunderstanding her meaning. He frowned. ‘You said nothing that wasn’t true.’

Tears welled in her beautiful eyes, the gold and the brown melding together. She struggled to speak.

His chest ached at the sight of her sadness. ‘Please, Rosabella, don’t cry. It was wrong of me not to tell you. It is good that you know. You were right about me. I cannot give you the love you deserve.’

The tears welled over, running down her cheeks. She gasped for breath. ‘Oh, Garth, no.’

He took her hands. ‘I am so sorry, Rosabella. I did you a terrible wrong. I should never have laid a finger on you. I knew right from the beginning you were different. Too good for me. I am an evil rotten bastard.’ He gave a short painful laugh, an attempt to lighten the moment. ‘In every way.’