Page 108 of Rogue of My Heart
“Yes, yes, it’s all right, Patrick. I’ll speak to him,” Christian said, gesturing for the footman to go and heading toward the house.
“I’ll come with you,” Marie said, starting after him.
“No.” Christian turned to stop her. Marie pulled up short, her mouth dropping open in protest. “It would be grossly improper for you to be seen at my house,” he went on. “Especially since you’re not even wearing black.” He glanced at her. Heat filled his eyes for a moment, but he forced himself to look away.
Indeed, Marie had boldly chosen not to wear mourning black, even though her fiancé had just been killed. Instead, she wore the darkest green she had, hoping all and sundry would think that was good enough.
“Go home, Marie,” Christian called to her as he headed on toward the house. “It isn’t right for you to be here. Take your bicycle and ride off to find a man who can love you the way you deserve to be loved.”
“But—” Marie stopped herself from protesting as Christian left her. She forced herself to take a deep breath. She loved him, but he was behaving like an arse.
Then again, the man had just lost his father and brother, he could still lose his mother, and he blamed himself thoroughly for the tragedy. In addition to that, he’d had an entire title and everything that went along with it thrown at him when all he’d been expected to do with his life before was enjoy it. The turnabout was so stark for Christian that it was no wonder he wasn’t thinking clearly.
She would give him the benefit of the doubt for now, but she wouldn’t sit idly by and let him push her out of his life to punish himself. She was more determined than ever to prove to him not only that the accident hadn’t been his fault, but that life could still be full of joy and happiness, even after tragedy.
Eight
Once, when Christian was stumbling home after a night of carousing with his friends in Rome, he’d stumbled and fallen down a flight of stone stairs. In the process, he’d dislocated his shoulder and had to have one of his other drunken friends push the joint back into his socket. But the pain of that night was nothing to the pain he experienced as he walked away from Marie, knowing he’d hurt her with his coldness.
He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her in the last few days. At least, he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her when his mind cleared enough from the fog of grief and estate business that had settled over him. After his wretched meeting with his father’s man of business to bring him up to date on the most dire aspects of his father’s dealings, he’d sunken into contemplation of Marie. On his return home from the coroner, after making arrangements for his father and Miles’s burials, he’d consoled himself by remembering the way Marie’s arms felt around him. All through his consultation with Dr. Phillips about his mother’s chances of recovery, he’d contemplated how much easier everything would be if Marie were there to tend to things on his behalf. He thought about how it would be if she were there to tend to him.
Every time his thoughts had turned sweet and flown to her, he’d cursed himself for a fool and forced himself to concentrate. Marie was a beautiful dream that he didn’t deserve. Murderers didn’t deserve to be happy. And besides, he had a legacy to live up to. He needed to become his father’s son.
“That’s all bullshit, you know,” a voice whispered at the back of his head as he trudged through the garden on his way into the house. “She’s right. You’re punishing yourself for what happened by keeping her away.”
He couldn’t hide the truth from himself. But just because he recognized what he was doing and was well aware that he was using Marie—or rather, her absence—as a means of punishing himself, didn’t mean he had any intention of stopping. He deserved nothing less than to feel as horrible as it was possible for him to feel.
And yet, underneath all of the tragedy and torture, he could still feel his heart beating. The feeling was faint. The kernel of joy that couldn’t be crushed was tiny. But it was there. He would have to destroy it soon, though. Joy had no place in the running of an estate, or in a family that had been decimated by death.
“Oh. Lord Kilrea.”
Christian jerked to a stop at the soft, polite exclamation that came from Lady Aoife. She seemed as surprised to see him in the main hallway of his house as he was to see her. The woman’s face was as pale and pinched as ever, perhaps more so. A sadness of some sort rimmed her eyes with the slightest bit of red. It was the only hit of color the woman had, either physically or in her spirit. Bless her, but Lady Aoife had always paled in comparison to Marie.
Christian shook himself, forcing his thoughts away from where they wanted to be and focusing on where he should direct them. “Lady Aoife. I had no idea you were here.” He approached her gingerly, hands twitching as he debated whether to reach out to her. If she were Marie, he would have folded her in a tight embrace, buried his face against her neck, and breathed in the scent of her as if it were what gave him life. With Lady Aoife, he was afraid to touch her lest she shatter, like a woman made of glass.
“I…I came to inquire about your mother,” Lady Aoife said, eyes downcast. She wrung her tiny hands together in front of her—a sign that she was more distraught than she was letting on. Her hands seemed as fragile as the rest of her, and certainly not capable of clasping him close and digging into the muscles of his back, as Marie had during that glorious morning they’d spent together.
Again, he had to force his errant thoughts back to where they should be. “Have you been up to see Mama yet?” he asked as kindly as he could manage.
Lady Aoife looked up at him as if he’d suggested she descend to the kitchen to help Cook with tea. “I couldn’t possibly impose on you in that way, my lord.”
Christian smiled tightly. “But, surely, you have a strong connection to this family.” He couldn’t bring himself to say she would be his wife soon and his mother would be her mother-in-law. He could barely stand to form the thought in his head with her standing right there in front of him, looking like a faded doll instead of the sunburst that was Marie.
“Forgive me,” he went on. “I’m being rude. You’ve come all this way…. Could I offer you tea?”
“Well…er….” She glanced over her shoulder to the parlor. A flush painted her cheeks that had Christian frowning, as though something were going on that he wasn’t fully aware of. “If…if you wouldn’t mind,” she finished in an almost inaudible voice, lowering her head again.
“I don’t mind at all,” Christian said. “I’m supposed to be meeting Lord Garvagh, but whatever his business is, perhaps he wouldn’t mind a lady as lovely as you sitting in on it.”
The only reason the compliment was able to pass his lips, the only reason he suggested tea at all and led Lady Aoife toward the parlor was because of what Marie had said. She’d spotted the two of them together by the springhouse, and now here they both were, under his roof. It was as likely as not to be a coincidence. Ned must have been on his way over before and met Lady Aoife on the road. Which was nowhere near the springhouse, but still.
Christian tried to ignore the surge of excitement pulsing through him. He cursed himself for entertaining anything as fanciful and foolish as a secret love affair as he showed Lady Aoife into the parlor. Secret love affairs were jolly good fun, even when they were other people’s, but that part of his life was over and done. He was an earl now, and his father’s successor. He should be serious, mature, and somber.
But his breath caught in his throat at the way Ned’s gaze shot straight to Lady Aoife the moment she entered the room. Hope stirred in him as color actually splashed to Lady Aoife’s face, though she kept that face turned away from both him and Ned. He had no right whatsoever to feel the urge to grin at the sudden longing in Ned’s eyes, or the way he closed up his expression so fast that Christian felt he should hear the sound of a door slamming to go along with it.
“Garvagh,” he said with all the gravitas that the meeting warranted, leaving Lady Aoife to cross the room and shake Ned’s hand. “What a pleasure to see you.”
“I’m sure it is no pleasure at all,” Ned said in his deep bass. “I am so sorry for your loss, Christian. You must know that.”