Page 12 of A Beguiled Gentleman (The Bradley Brothers #1)

Chapter 12

Noah stretched his arms over his head, then shuffled the loose papers into a neat stack. The soft clacking of the edges against his wooden desk gave him a feeling of satisfaction, and it was the perfect way to end his workday.

He glanced about his study, admiring the furnishings and overall atmosphere. And yet, something felt wrong. Like he was intruding upon the space—a mere visitor who had overstayed their welcome and needed to move on.

So much for his feeling of accomplishment. As his eyes meandered, they fell and snagged on the bottom drawer of his desk, and his hand itched to open it. He had done his very best for the last several weeks to forget the contents were there. He had stolen them from his old room at his father’s home with the intent to destroy them. But instead, he had only stashed them inside yet another drawer. Reaching down, he pulled the drawer open and retrieved the folded pages. The edges were worn from the hours he had spent going over them after Margaret’s refusal. Now, he just wanted them near, though he couldn’t explain why. In truth, he supposed it was only a way to prolong letting her go.

Noah flipped through them, pulling out one of his particular favorites. It started with the words, My Dear Noah .

My . She had said “my”. How could she wonder at his surprise when she declined his offer? The evidence was before his very eyes. Pages of words and thoughts and dreams shared with him—slipping the notes to each other in passing with none the wiser. At first he read the paragraphs he knew would hurt the most. The ones where she told him all the things he had wanted to hear. And he had drank them in.

The words didn’t hurt as much as they had before, but they stung all the same. And once he had read through his usual lines, he began to skim the rest. But as he continued to read through the pages, her words did not bring sadness or an ache to his chest. Instead, he found himself becoming angry.

I miss you.

Lies.

I saw a cravat in the most stylish print today. I almost purchased it for you since you love green, and it was such a lovely shade.

His favorite color was blue, not green.

You will never guess what Miss Baxton dared to wear to the picnic today . . .

Gossip.

Noah leaned closer to the paper as if it would somehow make the words change. How had he missed all of this before? They were the same words that he had read time and time again, only now, he wasn’t focusing on the parts that had made him feel loved and cared for. It was like scales had fallen off his eyes. Yes, her words of adoration were still there, but what of the rest?

A knock rattled the door, and his head flew up as he pressed his arm across the page to protect its contents.

Egerton stood at the threshold. “A package for you, sir.”

“Ah.” Noah’s eyes darted about. Would Egerton be able to see what was written on the pages? “Thank you, Egerton. If you would just place it on my desk.”

The old man walked in with a small package beneath his arm, then gently placed it on the corner of Noah’s desk before turning and leaving without another word. Noah felt heat rise to his cheeks even though Egerton had kept his eyes to his steps and not Margaret’s letters. Pushing the pages aside, Noah reached for the parcel, taking note of the directions.

What on earth would Hannah send him? Unless it was Mr. or Mrs. Gibbons who had posted it, but Noah could hardly imagine what occasion they would have to do so. He pulled the brown paper back, and then a smile split across his face as a small burst of yellow appeared. Lemon drops.

Noah pulled out the note that sat inside.

Noah,

I am deeply sorry Miss Baxton and I stole some of your precious candies. I went home and could not sleep from the guilt. And so, here you are. These should last you at least three days. Try not to overindulge.

Hannah

The bright smell of lemon wafted up to him as he opened the bag and popped one into his mouth. The flavor settled on his tongue as he let out a sigh, picking up Margaret’s letter.

I cannot wait to see you again.

He crumpled the paper in his hand and threw it to his desk as he strode to the door. But he did not stop at his room, nor his small library. He made his way to the front entrance, flinging the door open and nearly running across the lawn. He loosened his cravat even as the pond came into view. Once free of his necktie, Noah tossed it to the grass, and then his jacket, and then his shirt. One by one, his garments littered his path until he was stripped to his breeches and standing on the edge of the water. He took a running start, his bare feet pounding against the wooden boards of the small dock—and when he reached the end, he took a leap.

The water roared about his ears as he floated down into the crisp, cool deep. He let himself descend until his foot touched the bottom, then used his foot to push against it and propel himself to the surface. He broke free, gasping from the cold yet refreshing water, and shook his head.

Noah swam a few laps back and forth across the water. His muscles burned, but his need to do something to tire himself became overwhelming. So he swam until every part of him ached. The sun had dropped low on the horizon by the time he swam to the edge, ringing out his hair as he stepped onto the grass.

He sat down, flinging himself onto the grass and closing his eyes as his chest heaved.

Was he an imbecile? Had Margaret fooled him? What else had he not seen in their six months together?

He lay there, staring up at the sky. It was colored in reds and pinks and oranges, like a band of flames streaking across the heavens.

And then Hannah came into his mind. The girl with hair like fire. His friend and confidant. A safe place to tell his fears and insecurities.

Noah sat up with a groan, his muscles tight and sore. He collected his clothing as he trudged back to the dower house, tucking the items beneath his arm as he went. Poor Egerton would not be pleased with the state of Noah’s rumpled clothing upon his return. He tried to shake out his jacket and lay it neatly over his arm in an attempt to save the older man some trouble.

Noah was making his way to his bedroom to change when he paused at his study door. The last light of day peered through the windows and landed in a narrow slit across his desk, highlighting the lemon drops from Hannah and letters from Margaret.

I cannot imagine someone having such a personal relationship and then doing what she did to you.

Noah took measured steps to his desk, his eyes never leaving the letters. He hadn’t thought much of what Hannah had said before, but she had been there when Margaret refused him. She had heard the words Margaret had said.

Before he could overthink his actions, he snatched a candle from the mantel, then strode to the kitchen to light it. When he returned to his study, he took the crumpled letter from his desk, knelt beside the unlit fireplace, and placed it on the cold stone. The flames on the candle danced, and Noah brought it closer to the paper, tilting it forward until it licked the edges. It took a moment for the small fire to catch, but when it did, Noah watched as all the words Margaret had written to him went up in flame, until it dwindled to a speckling of ash.

Goodness, that felt good.

He stood and grabbed another letter, put it into the fireplace, lit it, and let it burn. And then another, and another, and another.

Until all the lies were gone.