Page 181 of Rogue of My Heart

I’m truly sorry it ended up this way.”

Michael wanted to smash something. He wanted to throw a vase across the room and enjoy the sound of it breaking, if only to have the satisfaction of doing so. If he were in London, he would make a trip to Gentleman Jackson’s Boxing Saloon and pick a fight with the first man he saw and pummel the living daylights out of him, perhaps even challenge the famed pugilist himself.

At this point, anything would be better than the swirling, internal strife that was going on inside of his body. His brain was telling him to be rational, his heart was beating with the continued, irrational hope of unrequited love, and his fists were yearning to punch something. He was a complete mess, because now he had no idea what to do. He was absolutely at a loss. When he’d left the library, he had been so furious that anything his eyes touched turned red. He had been set upon ridding himself of her once and for all.

But not fifteen minutes later, Albina dared to approach him and spins him in a completely different direction.

He clenched his jaw. He wanted to hold on to his anger, to his bruised pride. He didn’t want to forgive her, but he knew that he would have no choice in the end but to relent to his heart’s desire. That fickle organ in his chest had caused more problems for him than he’d been willing to accept, and it seemed it wasn’t through with him yet.

Ten

A lady must never drink to excess…

Lady A’s Advice Column

* * *

Albina had been relieved when Michael decided to stay at Beauley Hall, if only for Mrs. Humphrey’s sake, who thanked her profusely. She would have also liked to be able to take the credit for getting Michael to listen to reason even if he might detest the thought of residing under the same roof as she did, if only for a few days.

But she knew he had only remained because of her promise that she would soon be gone, tossed out of his life and forgotten like the contents of a chamber pot.

For the next few days, they were careful to avoid each other. Albina returned to taking a tray in her rooms, and when she did venture downstairs to speak with the staff about St. John’s Eve, Michael was either closeted in his study, or had gone out.

In all that time, she hadn’t seen the messenger return, and the name Petranella was never uttered again.

But now that she only had one day left at Beauley Hall, the arrangements all set for the big celebration she decided that she would have a party of her own. She skipped dinner, because her stomach was honestly not prepared for food of any kind, but she managed to sneak a bottle of port from Michael’s study on the rare occasion he wasn’t there.

Then again, it was well after midnight and he, as well as most of the staff, had already retired. She would have preferred a bit of sherry, but since it was the only thing she could find, it would have to do, even though it was considered a gentleman’s drink.

She crept to the music room at the back of the house where she might not disturb anyone, and took her first bracing sip of the wine where she sat on the pianoforte bench. She saw the large mirror on the opposite wall, so she tipped up the bottle and mockingly toasted her reflection. She normally shied away from spirits as she didn’t have the constitution to abide them, but tonight, she was making an exception. She would likely pay for it in the morning with a megrim and a sour stomach as well, but again, exceptions would have to be made.

For just a time, she wanted something that would dull her senses, and perhaps even give her a decent night’s sleep, since insomnia had been her only companion of late.

* * *

Besides, if gentlemen could do it, why couldn’t she? She was a grown woman who had done her duty in life, even if it might be falling apart now. In her mind, that was even more of a reason to enjoy the little things that life had to offer, or in this case, Michael’s liquor cabinet.

By the time she was starting to feel a bit more relaxed, she decided that the room was much too quiet. Sitting the half empty bottle down on the floor beside her, she poised her hands above the keys of the instrument and searched her mind for the appropriate notes of Mozart’s No. 24 in C

minor. It was time she put those countless music lessons her mother paid a fortune for to good use.

She closed her eyes, waiting for the magic to happen — and hit the wrong note. Her eyes popped open on a frown. She was a bit out of practice, to be sure, but surely she could recall how to play a simple piano concerto. But when she tried again, she was rewarded with the same results.

Grumbling, she snagged her bottle of port from the floor. She took a drink and stared at the ivory and black keys before her. “You’re just doing this on purpose because you belong to him,” she muttered. “You’re probably not even in proper tune?—”

“There’s nothing wrong with the piano.”

Albina jerked in surprised, causing her to lose her tenuous hold on the bottle, sending it crashing to the floor. While it was remarkable that the glass didn’t break, the dark red liquid began to leak out of the opening.

“Oh, look what you made me do!” If she were standing, she would likely have stamped her foot in irritation.

As she leaned backward to grab the bottle, she found that her balance wasn’t quite as steady as she had imagined. She would have hit the floor if Michael hadn’t rushed forward to catch her. As if her current state inebriated state wasn’t bad enough for him to witness. It was just another fault in her list of growing transgressions.

“Let’s get you to bed, shall we?” he said.

Albina wanted to hope that there was a touch of concern in his deep voice, but she wasn’t going to believe something that wasn’t there. “What about the bottle?—?”

“I’ll have one of the servants take care of it,” he interrupted stoically.