Secrets of a Viscount (21 page)

Edmund crossed his arms and continued, “While some might marry for friendship, it wouldn’t make him take exception to Sebastian’s closeness nor make him take notice of your flirtations.” He offered her a wide smile. “Just like you didn’t seem to mind my relationship with Lady Vessey.”

He was right on that score. “And Sebastian? What was his plan?”

“
I wouldn’t begin to know. Did he tell you anything?”

“
If he did, I don’t remember it,” she admitted, racking her brain for any snippet of conversation she could dredge up from last night. The truth was there wasn’t much she could remember after he informed her that they were still married. Between the blood pounding in her ears and the disbelief and humiliation swallowing her whole there was more that she didn’t remember than what she did.

“
Then you should ask him.”

She frowned. “I don’t think I want to.”

“Why not?”

“
I don’t know what to say to him.”

“
I think the words, ‘I love you’, might help.”

She sputtered with laughter. “Now, that’s wasted breath. Sebastian doesn’t care if I love him or not. The only reason he even told me the truth last night was because—” She broke off as a violent blush came over her.

“All the more reason to tell him how you feel,” Edmund said with a chuckle.

“
Sebastian doesn’t want my love, only my body.” She almost couldn’t believe she’d said that, but considering everything else they’d just discussed, there wasn’t a reason not to. She craned her neck around to catch a glimpse of Mrs. Finch. She was sitting on a green velvet chaise in front of the far window, reading a book.

“
The gentleman I saw creeping around the estate observing you didn’t look to just be in lust.”

“
Then why did he leave without saying anything to me?” she demanded, not sure why she was suddenly so hurt by his leaving.

“
I didn’t ask him. You’ll have to do that.”

“
I don’t think I can.”

“
Are you afraid that he’ll tell you he only lusts after you?”

She bit her lip and nodded.

“Then you
must
ask.”

Chapter Thirty

It had been two days since Isabelle had convinced Mrs. Finch to go back to London and she was still numb.

Just as the sun was setting the coach came to a stop in front of Mrs. Finch’s rented townhouse.

Warily, Isabelle climbed out and went straight up to her bedchamber where Tilde helped her change and she fell asleep from pure exhaustion.

The next morning, she was no closer to resolving her feelings than she’d been since Sebastian had informed her they were still married.

But Edmund was right, there were so many things she didn’t know and the only way she ever would have definite answers was to go to see Sebastian, because she doubted he’d be coming to see her after the way he’d left her room that night then disappeared from the house party.

“Tilde, I’d like you to follow me on a walk this morning,” she said to her maid who stood at the door.

“
Yes, miss.”

Mrs. Finch gave her a knowing look, and instead of saying anything, waggled her eyebrows.

“Thank you,” she murmured to Mrs. Finch, kissing her cheek.

Mrs. Finch reached for her arm to stay her while she was still so close. “Just to be clear, I wouldn’t be letting you go if I wasn’t so sure he’d act a gentleman while alone with you.”

Flames crawled up Isabelle’s face as memories of her last time alone with Sebastian came to mind. “Yes, ma’am,” she croaked; then ignoring Mrs. Finch’s cackle, she left the room and went to the front door.

She waited for Tilde to finish tying on her bonnet, then taking a deep, determined, breath, she opened the door and with heavy feet, descended the stairs.

Halfway to his bachelor lodgings, she spotted a bench and sat to rest. What would he say? Would he care that she came? She shook off the thought. It didn’t matter if he was pleased or annoyed that she came. She wanted answers. So why then, if she wanted them so bad, no matter what they were, did her entire inside feel as if it were being crushed beneath a team of four?

She jumped up from the bench as best that crushing weight would allow and continued in the direction toward his townhouse.

He lived close enough that in only ten painfully long minutes, she had arrived and found herself clenching the handrail on the side of the stairs.

Tilde cleared her throat.

“I’m paying a call,” Isabelle said with more confidence than she felt.

Tilde looked skeptical, but didn’t question her.

Inclining her chin and willing away the imaginary weights that held her captive, Isabelle climbed the stairs. Extending her hand forward, she debated whether she should bother to knock or just go in. She was Lady Belgrave, after all.

She decided to knock. Best to not scandalize the butler on her first visit.

After giving two swift bangs she clasped her hands together and waited.

“
May I help you?” a stoic, aging butler with thin lips asked.

“
I’m here to see Lord Belgrave.”

He pierced her with his gaze. “This isn’t the hour to be entertaining your sort.”

“And what sort is that?” Isabelle challenged.

Wordlessly, he began to slam the door in her face, but she stopped him—barely—by reaching forward and pressing her hand against the door.

“I’d be careful were I you, sir. Your job depends upon your treatment of the lady of the house.”

His facial expression didn’t change and Isabelle just wiggled her way into the house. “Madam, I don’t know who you are—”

“Yes, that is quite clear.” She flashed him a smile and prayed he wouldn’t be able to see how nervous she was. “Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Isabelle Gentry, Lady Belgrave, the mistress of this house.”

The butler crossed his arms. “His lordship is unmarried.”

“Yes, that’s what many believe, but the truth is, he is married. To me. So if you’d like to keep your post you’ll take me to see him post haste and make sure my maid is made comfortable.”

The man’s nostrils flared, the only sign that he was anything but impassive. “Madam, I might be a score past forty, but I am not too old and frail to put you out on your ear myself.”

Isabelle pursed her lips. “Touch me and you’ll be sacked without a reference.”

White lines appeared around the butler’s mouth. “John, Daniel,” he clipped.

Irritation built in Isabelle’s chest. She wasn’t about to be tossed out of her husband’s townhouse by two ruffians. She spun around and headed down the hall at a half-walk, half-run, almost like a trot.

“
Come back here, madam!” the aging butler demanded, hobbling after her.

Isabelle picked up her pace. “My name is Lady Belgrave, not madam.”

As soon as the words were past her lips a door ten feet down the hall swung open and a tall form emerged: Lord Clearcreek.

Isabelle skidded to a halt and two seconds later the butler was at her side.

“My apologies, my lord,” the older man said, gasping for air. “She pushed her way inside.” His face grew bright red and Isabelle would wager it had nothing to do with his recent bout of exercise. “I’ll have her removed right away.”

“
That’s not necessary, Goosey,” Lord Clearcreek said tonelessly from where he stood in the hall just past the threshold of the room he’d been occupying. He flickered a glance to Isabelle. “She is who she says she is. For now.”

Ignoring her father-in-law’s stiff posture, she waited for the butler to offer his apologies and scurry back to the door where Tilde was waiting for him.

“I’m here to see Sebastian,” she said by way of explanation as she let herself into Sebastian’s study.

“
He’s not here,” Lord Clearcreek barked, coming into the room behind her.

Isabelle studied the room. She’d never actually been in a study before and wasn’t sure what to expect. There were two large windows that filled two-thirds of the back wall, parquet floors, a large mahogany desk in the center of the room with a stack of papers on each of the two far corners. There were two wing-backed chairs positioned in front of the desk and another two chairs opposite a red settee on the far end of the room. There were a few side tables here and there and a fireplace near the settee and chair arrangement. It wasn’t the most inviting room she’d ever been in, but it was still comfortable in a masculine sort of way.

“When shall I expect him to return?”

“
Perhaps you’ll see him again in another six years.” The bitterness in Lord Clearcreek’s tone was unmistakable.

“
Pardon me?”

Lord Clearcreek leaned his hip against the side of Sebastian’s desk and crossed his arms. “He signed the annulment papers, Miss Knight.”

Her breath left her lungs in one swift
whoosh
. “Pardon?” she choked, unable to know why his simple statement had the power to grind her heart to dust.

“
He signed the papers. You are welcome to marry whoever you want.”

“
Why?”

“
It’s what you wanted,” he said, his tone and expression full of annoyance. “As I said, you may go and marry another.”

No, she couldn’t. Not when her knees were about to buckle. She collapsed in one of the armchairs in front of Sebastian’s desk in an undignified manner.

“Is there something about my words you don’t understand, Miss Knight?” Sebastian’s father snapped.

“
There’s a great deal I don’t understand, Lord Clearcreek,” she said, matching his tone. “Why didn’t he just sign them in the first place?”

“
Does it matter?”

“
Yes, actually, it matters a great deal.”

Lord Clearcreek’s cold stare sent chills down her spine. “If I answer your question, will you agree to leave?”

Isabelle didn’t really think she had a choice, but at least if she agreed to leave after he answered, she’d get at least one answer. That was better than nothing. “Yes, my lord.” She dropped her eyes to wait for whatever cold response he’d offer her and her eyes caught on a folded piece of parchment addressed to the head of parliament on the top of the stack of papers closest to her.

“
He wanted to thwart your father, and me,” the last was more of a mumbled afterthought.

She looked up and gave him a cold stare. “I don’t doubt it irritated you significantly that Sebastian didn’t sign the papers, seeing as how you wanted him to have a more noble bride befitting his title. My father, however, might not have been pleased that there was a scandal surrounding my marriage to Sebastian, but I doubt he’d press for an annulment which would only cause a larger scandal.”

Lord Clearcreek twisted his lips into a sneer. “All right. The truth is, when Sebastian was made to leave, you were not doing so well, but the physician was hopeful that you’d make some sort of recovery—even if not completely well enough. I think perhaps he felt guilty that he’d not only made you unmarriageable because of the scandal, but also felt enough pity for you and your circumstance that  if something happened to him while he was on Tour, at least you’d receive a jointure upon his death—even if it was undeserved.”

The disdain that filled his unkind words barely registered to her and for as much as she hated to admit how much Lord Clearcreek disliked her, she recognized his words as the truth. Sebastian might have been angry with her for deceiving him, but he’d have never been so heartless as to have completely abandoned her. She still didn’t know why he’d left the country for five years, of course. However, his wanting to make sure she was cared for in one way or another was a trait he’d always possessed—just like the time when she was eight and he was eleven and he’d told her if she fell in the frigid pond she’d have to shiver home naked because he wasn’t gentleman enough, nor was she lady enough, for him to strip off his clothes for her to wear home; then when she really did fall in, he’d found her a blanket in the stable to bundle up in while he gave her a ride on his horse back to her house.

Even then, he’d had a soft heart and had wanted to make sure she was taken care of in some way.

Her heart clenched. Why hadn’t she seen this earlier? Was she that hurt and angry that she’d been blinded to his real motives? Her questions and understanding quickly gave way to panic: he’d signed the papers. Did he no longer care for her at all? Tears filled her eyes, blurring her vision.

“I must go.” She stood and quickly swiped the stack of papers on the edge of Sebastian’s desk. “I’ll bring these to the butler on my way out to be put in the post.”