Page 38 of An Earl’s Sacrifice (The Clandestine Sapphire Society #3)

L ucius pried his eyes open. They went straight to the mantel clock.

Nearly noon! Stretching, he came up on the bed and found a tray had been placed on the table.

His body ached but the sleep had been restorative.

He moved from the bed to pour out a cup of tea.

Cold. He set the cup down and went to the fire and stoked the embers back to life.

One thing Lucius was learning of himself, he didn’t care much for being alone.

He especially didn’t care for being confined to his wife’s suite of rooms—but for the bathing chamber.

He did so love the bathing chamber. Unfortunately for him, due to his wound he couldn’t very well make use of it.

The feeling that he was hiding out did not sit well at all.

Oddly, for the first time in his life, a sense of belonging—usefulness—had begun to fill him.

Was it Perlsea? Meredith? Whatever or whomever, the feelings were accompanied with a million unnamable emotions.

Like… missing his mother. He’d never considered himself sentimental, but being at Perlsea seemed to bring her closer.

Brought on memories of her kindness, her joy, her generosity, for the love which she had heaped on Noah and Lucius.

He picked up a cold scone and took a bite, chewed slowly, thinking how brilliantly Meredith was doing in bringing the castle into a modern era. It had been neglectful of him—his entire treatment of her, placed in a situation not of her choosing any more than it had been of his own.

Frowning, he dropped the half-eaten scone as a new sense of purpose enveloped him. Well, he was lord and master of this ancient Keep and it was time to start acting the part.

The door opened and his wife entered. Her expression dissipated the sense of purpose, replacing it with a wary thrumming that pulsed through his veins. “What is it?”

“You’ve a visitor,” she said with a sweetness that clearly meant something entirely opposite. “Miss Hale has graced us with her presence.”

“Docia?” His voice echoed against the walls and into his ears deafening him. Or perhaps it was the rush of blood pommeling him. There was no hiding his shock.

“You can’t hide in my chamber forever, my lord.”

He narrowed his gaze on her. “Hide?” The accusation stung. His fury was swift. “I believe it was your suggestion I remain in your chamber.”

Her lips tightened. “Just how well do you know this paragon?”

Nothing like cutting to the chase . Lucius stalked to the door but stalked back and taking her by the shoulders, gave her a swift, hard kiss, unwilling to tackle that particular subject. He strode back to the door then looked at her over his shoulder. “Where is the duke?”

“How should I know?” Her mulish tone was encouraging. “I think he’s gone. Meeting with that horrid Mr. Thornfield, I suspect.” She frowned as if just recalling something. “I caught him in the study—”

“That deathtrap?”

“Yes,” she said on an expelled breath. A crease appeared between her brows. “He was searching for something.”

“What the devil could he be looking for in the study? Everything is covered in sheets.” He grabbed the door’s handle. “Never mind. His being out should work to our advantage.”

“Advantage?”

He shot her a quick grin. “I was due back today, was I not? I’ll speak with Miss Hale. Where did you stash her?”

“The Green Room.”

He did not have a good feeling about that. “And where might the Green Room be?”

“Near the Rose Room.”

Lucius groaned. “And its condition?”

“Much like the master suite.” Her smugness did not escape him.

“Good God,” he breathed. “Let her know I’ll see her in the library.” Lucius stormed through the door to his own suite. Why hadn’t he written Docia? Told her of the change in his situation? Because he was an idiot, that’s why.

Graham strolled in. “I hear we’ve a new visitor.”

Lucius turned a scowl on him. “Yes.” He scrubbed at the scruff on his face. “I need a shave.”

“You need more than that. You smell quite ripe, and not in a good way. Don’t know how the countess has put up with you thus far.”

“True enough.” Meredith would be tearing his head off before long. “You think Docia has heard I’m truly married now? Wouldn’t put it past her for taking a shot at me.”

“She’s got the head and the aim for it, for certain,” Graham agreed.

That she did. And Lucius needed to speak with Docia before she took it upon herself to enlighten his wife to the real reason he’d been so determined for that annulment.

With one arm bandaged and the other behind attempting to disengage his blasted banyan, there was no slapping his forehead in frustration. Because the more his thoughts catapulted skyward, the more likely the chance of knocking himself unconscious.

And yet, the idea held merit.

*

Meredith took a long steamy bath, filled the tub with her favorite scent of violets and donned her most attractive muslin day dress even though it was three years out of date, all the while telling herself it was not due to Miss Hale’s sudden presence at Perlsea.

It was her most flattering color—emerald—with ivory stripes, each stripe trimmed in gold thread. Why shouldn’t she look her best?

“Cor, milady. You look brilliant,” Agnes breathed. Her awe was gratifying.

“Agnes, we do not say ‘cor.’ It’s most unladylike.” With a grimace at her reflection, Meredith shook out her skirts.

“Apologies, ma’am,” she demurred, though Meredith suspected it was without an ounce of remorse.

Blast it, she forgot the brandy. “All right. I’m as ready as I’ll ever be,” she said.

“That Miss Hale has nothing on you, milady,” Agnes said with staunch loyalty.

Meredith blinked quickly. “Thank you, dear.”

Papa was likely still out. Perhaps she should search his chamber. In any event, she should speak to Mrs. Verity regarding Miss Hale and took the servant stairs for that very thing. The kitchens were blessedly warm, and the fragrance of fresh bread reminded her she hadn’t eaten much.

Mrs. Verity bundled over, wiping her hands on a towel. “Your ladyship? Is aught amiss?”

“I wanted to make certain there were no issues regarding Miss Hale and her accommodations.”

“Nah. Installed her in the Green Room like ye asked. Linens are clean. Privy’s rushed an’ so on.”

“Thank you. I take it she’s still in her chamber then?”

“No, milady.” Her lips compressed into a snarl. “His lordship requested tea in the library.”

“I’ll find them.”

“With the door closed,” the older woman added pointedly.

Meredith shook her head. “Thank you, Mrs. Verity. I’m sure everything is fine.” They were, she silently insisted to herself as she moved confidently to said closed door. She pushed down the lever and quietly peered inside.

The scene before her unfolded like a punishing tableau, her breath caught in her throat. Miss Hale’s hands locked behind Lucius’s neck. His one hand smoothed up her arm and covered her interlocking fingers. His expression was unreadable—no… tender—

“Darling, please. There are no words,” he said.

“Oh, Lucius,” she cried.

Before Meredith could process what was right before her eyes, Miss Hale went up on her toes and pressed her lips to his.

Time stuttered, stretched, each second elongating with unbearable cruelty.

The air grew thick, suffocating, as though the walls of the library had folded inward to trap Meredith in this moment.

Forever.

It was as though she had stumbled into someone else’s dream—a warped and grotesque facsimile of reality.

An iron band tightened about her chest. Her pulse roared in her ears, but her feet remained rooted to the spot.

As if the ground had turned to quicksand right there in her beautifully refurbished library.

The edges of her world blurred, the sounds dimmed, and for one fleeting, absurd second, she thought perhaps she wasn’t truly there at all—that this scene was just a trick of her mind, a shadow of some long-buried fear brought to life.

But the sharp ache of betrayal pierced her through the haze, slamming her back to reality. The fragile threads tethering her heart unraveled.

Meredith stepped back, the latching of the door breaking the fragile spell and her heart. She couldn’t seem to breathe properly. She dashed up the main stairs, brandy forgotten. Everything forgotten but one tiny item lying on the table in her bedchamber. Tri-folded.

Throwing the door back, she stumbled inside but managed to choke back any tears, letting fury take the lead.

She snatched up the annulment agreement then dropped the shelf of the escritoire open.

She fumbled with the top on the inkwell but finally got it open.

Her fingers shook so violently that when she dipped the nib of her pen, a blob of black ink pooled and smeared just above the line for her signature.

But she was past caring and scrawled her name with a fiery flourish.

Without bothering to sand the ink, she refolded the agreement and stormed into her husband’s bedchamber and tossed the offending document in the middle of his sagging bed where he was certain to see it.

She hoped he choked on it. Instead, it was she… choking on tears she could no longer withhold.

At the adjourning door, she stopped. Wiped the tears from her eyes, spotting the journal he’d pilfered from the hidden library. That was her find, she raged in silence.

Hers.

She swiped it from the bedside table and stormed out.