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Page 21 of Of Lies and Earls (Inglorious Scoundrels #2)

F ragments. That’s how the memories came.

Not in a neat order, but as sharp flashes, one bleeding into the next.

The crack of a fist against her face.

The slam of a hard floor against her back.

The blame, the endless accusations, the cruel words— liar , thief , whore .

The burning of her scalp as she’d been dragged by the hair, the burn of the carpet against her hands.

Sharp kicks to her ribs, her stomach.

A champagne flute hurled at her head.

Then darkness.

Honoria sat stiffly on the bed in her narrow room, hands clasped tightly in her lap to hide their trembling as she told the painfully tragic and violent story of her marriage in as little detail as possible.

She didn’t want to relive it. She didn’t want Mrs. Clarke to have to hear it.

As it was, Mrs. Clarke’s kind face remained composed, though her eyes betrayed her horror.

“I suffered greatly at the hands of my husband,” Honoria continued, swallowing hard against the lump in her throat. “And then one fateful night, I ran. I had to. It was that or…” She was unable to finish the sentence. “I was able to hide from him, to find a stable job, a home.” She gestured vaguely to indicate the house around them. “And now, years later, I’m confronted with him again.”

There was a silence, long and filled with tension. The ticking of the mantel clock seemed unnaturally loud. A coal shifted in the grate with a soft hiss.

“You are a countess,” Mrs. Clarke finally said in awe.

Honoria’s lips twisted in a bitter smile. “Not anymore. And I don’t ever want to go back.”

Mrs. Clarke leaned forward, her brow furrowed with concern. “Do you think you will be discovered here?”

Honoria had asked herself the same thing countless times over the years.

“I don’t know,” she admitted, rising from her bed to pace before the fireplace. “And I don’t know what he’ll do if he finds out that I am alive.” She wrapped her arms around her middle protectively. “I don’t know if he’d try to kill me to keep his current life. I don’t know if he’d want me to stay hidden and away. I don’t know if he still believes I stole from him.” She stopped pacing and turned to face the older woman. “I don’t know, and I don’t want to find out.”

“You have to tell Lord Caldwell, my dear,” Mrs. Clarke said kindly, rising to take Honoria’s cold hands in her warm ones. “He will know what to do.”

Honoria nodded. Mrs. Clarke was right.

She did have to tell him the truth. But she didn’t know how. Especially after everything they had shared. How could she tell him she’d been lying about who she was since the moment they met?

Mrs. Clarke patted her hand once more before leaving her to rest. Honoria sank back onto the bed, exhaustion taking over her.

After a few minutes of rest and after she made sure that Bradshaw had left the premises, she finally emerged from her room. As she walked down the corridor, she spotted Elise carrying bundles of silk and hatboxes.

Honoria paused in her tracks. “Is that a new delivery from Madame Deville?”

She didn’t expect Elise to answer or even acknowledge her, really—she had been avoiding Honoria for almost two weeks. But Elise paused her step, shifting the packages in her arms.

“Yes,” she replied, her voice carefully neutral. Then, with what seemed like effort, she added, “Would you like to see?”

Honoria raised her brows in surprise, a smile curling her lips. “Of course.”

It didn’t sound like forgiveness. But maybe it was an olive branch.

She followed Elise down the corridor and into her room, watching as she carefully laid out the packages on her bed.

“These are beautiful,” Honoria commented as Elise unfolded a cream silk gown with lace trim on the bodice and skirt edge.

Elise ran her fingers over the fabric. “I’ll ring for Trish to help me dress.”

“Or…” Honoria stepped forward. “I can help you.”

A moment passed between them, Elise’s eyes searching Honoria’s face. Then she nodded.

Unable to conceal her smile, Honoria hurried to help Elise into her new gown. She moved behind her to fasten the millions of buttons at her back, her breath worrying the wisps of hair at the girl’s nape.

As she worked, memories flooded back—of teaching Elise how to braid and pin her hair when she was younger, when Honoria had just come into this house, when things were simpler.

“I am sorry,” she said quietly, her fingers pausing on the buttons.

Elise turned her head slightly, to glance at her over her shoulder. “For what?”

“For hurting you,” Honoria replied, resuming her work. “That was the last thing I ever wanted to do.”

Elise swallowed, the sound audible in the quiet room. “I know.”

“I never wanted to leave, I hope that you know that.”

“Then why did you attempt to?” Elise stepped away from Honoria’s ministrations and turned toward her, clutching the bodice of the half-buttoned gown to her chest.

Honoria sighed. “Because I thought that I had to. A part of me still thinks I do.” She paused, gathering her thoughts, then sat on the edge of the bed and invited Elise to sit beside her. The mattress dipped as the girl complied. “There is a reason I came to work for your uncle, Elise. I picked his household because he spent most of his days hidden away in the country. I never wanted to return to London…”

“Why not?”

Honoria shifted in her seat, choosing her words carefully, unsure how much to divulge to an impressionable young girl. “There is a man… Someone who hurt me in the past. Very badly. He is an active member of the ton . And I don’t want to come across him.”

Elise’s eyes widened. “Hurt you how?”

“Badly.” Honoria shifted in her seat, memories threatening to erupt. She pushed them back. “I will tell you the full truth someday, but I don’t want you to carry the burden of my past. All you need to know is that I am afraid of him still. And I don’t ever want to see him.”

Elise’s face darkened with confusion. “You were hiding from this man in Caldwell Manor, but when we rejoined the ton , you decided you needed to go into hiding again?”

Honoria nodded. “Yes.”

Elise studied her for a moment. “Then why did you decide to stay?”

“Because I’ve found happiness in this house,” she admitted with a faint smile. “And I decided that I won’t let that man ruin my life twice.”

A frown of concern was still etched on Elise’s forehead. “Have you told Uncle about him?”

“No.” Honoria shook her head.

“Well, you should.” Elise nodded with conviction. “He will protect you, I am certain.”

A wistful smile tugged at Honoria’s lips. “I don’t know if he can.”

“He can, and he will!” Elise insisted, grabbing Honoria’s hand. “He is very powerful. Yes, he is very reserved, quiet, and sometimes awkward, but he is strong-willed and does not back down. He stood up for us against our old cruel governess. He won’t let anyone mistreat you either.” Her voice softened. “And he… He adores you.”

Honoria chuckled softly, then reached out to tuck a strand of Elise’s hair behind her ear. “Adore might be a strong word.”

“No, truly.” Elise’s eyes were earnest. “He doesn’t like many people. But he likes you. And you like him, too, don’t you?”

Honoria laughed. “Are you trying to matchmake?”

Elise swallowed, her shoulders hunched, suddenly looking very young and vulnerable. “Well, if Uncle were going to marry anyone, I’d rather it be you. Robbie and Rosie think so, too. That way, you would have the protection of an earl’s name.” She hesitated. “And then… we would be a real family.”

The words tugged at the strings of Honoria’s heart. She wanted nothing more than that. Looking at Elise’s hopeful face, she could almost imagine it—a life here, permanently, not as a governess but as the mistress of this house. A mother to these children.

But she knew that was impossible. She could never marry Jacob or openly be a part of their family. She was already a countess. Presumed dead. Unable to show her face in public.

What scandal would erupt if the truth came out? What danger would it bring to this household she’d grown to love?

Instead, she squeezed Elise’s hand and said, “Should we finish trying on the rest of the dresses?”

Elise studied her face, no doubt sensing the evasion, but then smiled. “Yes.”

* * *

Supper.

Parlor.

Bedtime story.

Honoria waited hours for Jacob to retire to his room at the end of the night so she could talk to him without distractions.

When he finally did, she rushed to his room, not giving herself a chance to back down.

He was in the process of undoing his shirt when she entered, the top buttons open to reveal a glimpse of his throat. He froze at the sight of her, surprise flickering across his features before he composed himself.

“I didn’t expect to see you tonight,” he said, his voice rough.

Honoria closed the door behind her, suddenly very aware of the rudeness of her entry. She pushed past the awkwardness. “Why not?”

“I thought you were avoiding me.” His hands dropped to his sides, no longer working at his buttons.

She grimaced, twisting her fingers together nervously. “I was. But not for the reasons you think. I was dying to speak with you but didn’t want to be interrupted. And we always seem to be interrupted.” She was rambling. Oh, God . She took a deep breath. “I need to tell you something. And it…” she swallowed hard, “it will take a lot of time.”

Jacob’s expression softened. He gestured toward the armchair by the hearth where a small fire still burned. “Would you like to sit?”

She looked at the cushioned chair for a moment, but her restless energy would not allow her to sit still. She shook her head.

“Very well.” He leaned against the wall by the window, arms crossed over his broad chest. “What do you need to tell me?”

“It’s something that you’re not going to like.” She paced away from him, her skirts swishing against the carpet. “Something that will explain why I can’t marry you. Ever.”

She turned to him, her hands clenched by her sides, her heart hammering inside her chest.

He raised a brow, expectant. The muscle in his jaw tightened, as if he were preparing himself for a blow.

Honoria didn’t know any other way to say it, so she just squeezed her eyes shut and blurted out, “I am already married.”

Silence fell between them, broken only by the soft crackling of the fire.

She opened her eyes to gauge his reaction. He stood still, his features unreadable, though a flicker of something—pain, perhaps—crossed his face before it was masked.

“You’re married,” he repeated, the words flat.

She nodded, then continued her restless pacing. “Yes, I married very young, my very first Season, the first man I met.” Her words tumbled out in a rush. “He was twice my age, but still very handsome. Charming even. And my parents… well, they weren’t very good parents. I wasn’t loved or cared for. I was just expected to follow orders all the time. Apologizing for every little thing I had done wrong.” She paused, taking a shaky breath. “I was young and naive and all I wanted to do was escape. So I used a marriage to this handsome earl as my chance to do just that.”

She paused and glanced at Jacob. He still stood there, unmoving, a small frown on his face. The lack of immediate judgment gave her courage. It was a good thing he didn’t show too much emotion. She felt free somehow to tell her story. So she continued, “Except the marriage didn’t liberate me. It was just another prison. A worse one. Not only were there blame and orders. But he also raised his hand to me… Many times.”

That’s when Jacob finally reacted. Pushing off the wall, he took a step toward her, hands curled into fists, his body tense, his face flushed with anger, eyes narrowing dangerously. “That bastard,” he gritted through his teeth.

The raw emotion in his voice made her stop pacing. She watched as he struggled to contain his rage, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

“Who is he?” he asked, his voice dangerously quiet.

“What?”

“Who is the cockchafer who dared to hurt you?” The words were menacing. Dark. She had never heard that tone from him before.

But despite the fearsome edge in his words, the insult caught her off guard. Her lips twitched. “A cockchafer?” she echoed.

His eyes remained dark, jaw clenched. “I apologize for insulting the cockchafers.”

That did it. She let out a small, startled laugh, the sound breaking through the tension in her chest.

“Who is he?” He didn’t relent.

Honoria let out a deep sigh. “Bradshaw. The Earl of Bradshaw.”

Jacob closed his eyes briefly, as if the image her words conjured was too much to bear. When he opened them again, they were burning with fury. “I am going to kill him,” he said, his voice strained.

“No, you won’t,” she countered softly.

“Why the hell not?”

“Because you’re a good man,” she said emphatically.

“Perhaps you don’t know me as well as you think,” he gritted through his teeth.

“I do. And I trust you not to hurt anyone. Not even him. At least not in cold blood.”

“I assure you, my blood is very hot.” He stood tense, his breathing ragged, emotions warring within him. “And although I would not hurt an innocent creature, he is not that.” There was a pause, then confusion crossed his face. “Isn’t he married to someone else now? I could have sworn he said he was married. And before that, he was courting my cousin, Lady Somerville’s granddaughter.”

Honoria swallowed. “Yes, I believe that’s correct. But legally… since I am alive, he is still married to me. And if I were ever to show face in society, I would be declared his true wife and he—”

“A bigamist,” he finished for her.

“And that would only hurt his current wife, as I am certain he would claim he thought I was dead. Even if proven wrong, being an earl, he would get away with no real punishment.”

After a moment, he exhaled and returned to his spot by the wall, resuming his earlier pose with arms crossed over his chest. “Pardon for interrupting. Please, continue your tale.”

She nodded. “Thank you.” She turned away and resumed pacing, trying to remember where she had left off. He beat me severely, and then… “In my desperation, I started corresponding with a woman I met a long time ago. I didn’t have friends, as I hadn’t spent much time on the marriage mart. Once we were married, he guarded me like a hawk, keeping me away from anyone I might have gotten close to. But this woman was someone I met during my one and only season. She had become a countess too at the time we started corresponding—Lady Sutton. She was living in the country alone, while her husband was frolicking in London. She was lonely, but I thought she was so lucky.”

She glanced at Jacob, who was watching her intently. “She invited me to stay with her for a while. I didn’t have a plan, I didn’t know how long I’d stay for and what I would say to Bradshaw, I just wanted a week or two of peace. But the night I told him I was going to leave for a while was the night an expensive item disappeared from his safe. An emerald choker or something he’d bought for his mistress.” She swallowed, humiliation washing over her face, her cheeks burning with it. “And he thought that it was me. He thought I stole it and was planning on leaving him with it.”

Jacob’s expression darkened further.

“But I didn’t steal it,” she continued, her voice rising slightly. “I didn’t even know what that item looked like…” She paused. “That night, he beat me in a way he never had. Choked me, dragged me by the hair across the hall.”

Jacob fisted his hands, his face red. A vein pulsed at his temple. He drew in a ragged breath, clearly fighting to maintain his composure. “Nobody helped you?” he asked, his voice tight with suppressed rage.

“Servants? What could they do?” Honoria replied sadly. “He was the master of the house. And I was his property. Just like them. They would have been turned out without references, and I would be punished even more.”

Jacob’s jaw worked as he processed this. He nodded for her to continue, though his eyes had taken on a murderous glint.

“He locked me up in a small pantry to punish me. Ordered everyone not to bring me food or drink until I told him where the jewel was.” Her voice trembled. “But I didn’t steal it.” She was barely holding in her tears now, feeling again the terror of those dark hours, the fear, the helplessness, the despair.

“I am going to kill him,” Jacob raged, pacing around the room again, his footsteps heavy on the carpet. “And to think I gave him investment advice when I should have thrust a rapier through his heart.”

“Don’t say that,” she whispered, a tear escaping to trail down her cheek.

“Why not?” he barked, turning sharply to face her, and she flinched away.

Realizing what he’d done, Jacob closed his eyes, letting out a deep breath. When he opened them again, they were filled with remorse. “I am sorry. I did not mean to frighten you.” He slowly approached her, reaching out his hand like she was a spooked animal.

She took his hand, rough and warm, and he gently tugged her toward his chest, cradling her in his warm embrace. His heart hammered under her ear, his body trembling.

He placed a kiss to the crown of her head, his lips lingering there. “You are safe with me, I promise.” His voice was a low rumble she could feel through his chest.

“I know,” she murmured, allowing herself to relax against him.

“And if I ever do anything that frightens you, even a little, you tell me.”

“I will.” She pulled back slightly to look up at him. “I feel safe with you.”

He kissed her forehead, his arms tightening around her. For a moment, they stood like that, finding comfort in each other’s warmth.

“Did you eventually find out where that jewel disappeared to?” he asked after a while, his voice softer now. “Did the mooncalf misplace it himself?”

She chuckled despite herself. “No. It was stolen by a young woman—an exceptionally skilled thief, just starting her thieving journey. Her name is Lydia.”

Jacob frowned down at her. “How do you know this?”

She disengaged from his arms, needing space again.

“Because apparently, he almost caught her in the act. The moment she snatched the necklace, he entered the room. She had no time to escape, so she hid—behind a curtain, I believe—and left the door to the safe wide open. When he saw the empty safe and found no one else there, he assumed the worst. In his mind, it was either me or the servants. But when he noticed my packed bags, he thought it confirmed everything. That I was stealing from him and running away. So he blamed me.”

Jacob’s expression darkened again, but he remained silent, letting her finish.

“Lydia heard all the commotion, his attack. So when he locked me in that little pantry… she couldn’t leave me. She rescued me and helped me escape.” Honoria’s voice softened. “And we’ve been friends ever since.”

Jacob ran a hand through his hair, looking troubled. “You’ve been friends with a thief whose actions you got punished for?”

“It wasn’t her fault,” Honoria said firmly. “She couldn’t have known. And she saved me. Later, living on the streets with Lydia, hiding in women’s shelters, I met a lot of women like me.” Her voice grew stronger, more confident. “I learned that if it wasn’t that particular incident, something else would have tipped him over the edge, but any other time, Lydia wouldn’t have been there. There would’ve been no one to save me.”

Jacob’s expression shifted as he absorbed this, anger giving way to something else… Sorrow, perhaps? He moved to the fireplace, bracing one arm against the mantel, his head bowed. “I hate that you went through this,” he said quietly. “I wish I could change the past.”

A sad smile graced her lips. “It made me who I am today.”

He turned back to her. “That’s how you came to work for me?”

She nodded. “I lived with Lydia until I couldn’t any longer. The life of intrigue and thievery wasn’t for me, so I sought a position as a governess or a companion… and landed on becoming a housekeeper.” She smiled slightly. “And it was the first stable, calm, loving home I have ever experienced. And I hoped I could stay here forever, but the idea of Elise joining the ton , the guests—many of whom are part of my previous life—filling the house… it rocked me. Seeing Bradshaw at the theater sent me over the brink.”

“So you decided to run again.”

“Yes. The night of the masquerade. Lydia was going to steal something very valuable, and we were going to escape from England, and then…” She trailed off, remembering how everything had changed that night.

“And then you walked into my room,” he finished for her, his voice gentle.

She stilled, confusion rising inside her. “What?”

“You came into the room where I waited for a courtesan.” There was no judgment in his voice, no surprise.

“How do you know that?” she asked, surprised, then another thought sent her heart racing. “Have you known all along?”

“No, although I think a part of me always knew. Or wanted to believe it was you.” He moved closer to her again, his steps measured. “I found out yesterday. I went into your room and saw your mask by your bed. I was going to tell you when we were in the glasshouse but got… distracted.”

Heat rose to her cheeks as she remembered what had transpired in the glasshouse. “Right.”

He stopped before her, close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from him. “Is that when you decided to stay?”

“Yes.” She looked up at him. “I hoped… I don’t know what I hoped for. I just knew I could not leave like that. Not without knowing if you could ever feel the same way I feel about you.”

His eyes softened, a vulnerability there she’d never seen before. “How do you feel about me?”

She took a deep breath, gathering her courage. “Like… I am home.”

For a moment, he simply looked at her, his eyes searching hers. Then, slowly, he reached out to cup her face in his hands.

When their lips met, it was the gentlest kiss. He kissed her tenderly, reverently even, holding her face like she was made of glass. He gently stripped her of her clothes and quickly discarded his own. Taking her into his arms, he laid her softly on his bed, then proceeded to kiss her on the mouth, on the neck, and lower, tracing the topography of her body with his tongue, worshipping every inch of her.

He pressed his palms to her knees and drew them apart. He paused, his eyes burning with desire as he stared at her core.

Honoria gasped, meeting his eyes, her lips parted. Not taking his gaze off her, he split her feminine lips with his finger, caressing, touching, teasing. She threw back her head, her fingers tangling in the sheets.

He paused, waiting for her to meet his gaze again, a mischievous spark dancing in his eyes. Then, with deliberate slowness, he lowered his mouth and kissed her.

There!

He opened his mouth and touched his tongue to her flesh, tearing a cry from her lips, while she grew increasingly wet between her thighs. He licked her there, sucked on her most sensitive place, drank in her juices, devouring her, until she fell apart in his arms, her breathless cries filling the room.

Except he didn’t stop even then, continuing his ravenous meal, bringing her to the brink of pleasure then guiding her over the edge again and again, the waves of ecstasy overwhelming her and leaving her trembling.

He took his time, learning what made her gasp and whimper, what made her fingers tighten in his hair. The room filled with the sounds of her pleasure, her ragged cries of his name like a prayer.

She lost count of how many times he brought her to bliss. Each time was different—some sharp and sudden, others building slowly like a rising tide.

When at last he moved up her body to claim her mouth again, she tasted herself on his lips, his beard damp with the evidence of her complete and utter surrender.

The sensation only heightened her need for him once more. She spread her thighs, drawing him closer, welcoming his heat inside her as they continued their sensual dance over and over, until they collapsed against each other, breathless, boneless, completely spent… and happy.