Chapter 36

"Just what have you been doing while I have been ill, Miss Martin?" Lady Addiscombe demanded the moment Stacia shut the door, her voice almost scarily quiet.

Stacia swallowed several times to force down the ball of anxiety in her throat. "I—"

"You have been with him—do not lie—I can see it in the lecherous, possessive way he put his hands on you."

Stacia opened her mouth to say what, she did not know. But the countess was not interested in an answer.

"I knew about you when I engaged you, but I thought to give you a chance to redeem yourself—to rescue the shreds of your tattered reputation."

"I beg your pardon?" Stacia said, recoiling. "What are you talking about?"

"Do not affect that innocent fa?ade with me. I saw the shameless way you threw yourself at Colonel Kelly when I took you to Baroness Lindsay's ball."

"He asked me to dance."

"Only after you thrust yourself at him."

Stacia gave a laugh of disbelief. "Actually, my lady—not that it is any of your affair—long before I ever thrust myself at the colonel, he asked me to marry him. Three times, I might add."

The countess scoffed. "A likely story!"

"Why would I lie about something like that?" she asked, truly curious as to the other woman's inner workings.

Lady Addiscombe ignored her question. "And I suppose that Shelton has offered you marriage, as well?" She gave a scornful laugh.

"Yes. And I accepted." It was petty of her, but she could not help enjoying the other woman's flabbergasted expression, which was quickly replaced by an ugly, insinuating look.

"You are with child, I suppose."

Stacia's jaws tightened. "You are insulting, and I refuse to answer."

Lady Addiscombe did not seem to even hear her. "You think Shelton is going to rescue you, but let me tell you what will happen, you stupid trollop."

Stacia gasped. "I ref—"

"You spread your legs for him, which is all he ever wanted. Now you are nothing to him. Even if what you are claiming is true and he were so desperate as to marry a dowdy, penniless spinster—which I find highly suspect—the truth is that Shelton is as deeply in debt as my idiot husband. His only chance at salvation was to inherit the dukedom." Her face turned even uglier, which Stacia had not believed possible. "Now that Chatham has married my unnatural daughter—yet another foolish whore who could not keep her legs closed—there will be a litter of children between Shelton and the title. The moment Chatham has an heir of his body he will drop Shelton like a hot coal. And then where will you be?"

Stacia opened her mouth to tell the other woman that the last thing she was hoping for was Shelton to inherit at the expense of a beloved cousin's death.

But the countess was not finished. "I will tell you where. You will be living on that decrepit estate Shelton has only held on to because of Chatham's generosity. Or perhaps the duke will stop supporting his debauched habits after he no longer needs him. Regardless, you will be poor and fortunate if you have so much as a scullery maid, so all your grand dreams of a title are for naught."

Stacia felt as if she had been punched. Repeatedly. She swallowed down her pain and fixed the other woman with a direct look. "As it happens, my lady, I accepted him because I love him, not because I want the hollow comfort of a title. Is that what happened to you? If so, I pity you. But do not suppose that everyone else is so mercenary."

The countess's eyes bulged "You love him?" she demanded, evidently not hearing the second part.

"Yes," she said, holding her ground no matter how much the older woman's scorn cut her. "I love him."

Lady Addiscombe's shapely lips twisted into a hideous snarl as she strode up to Stacia.

For a moment, she thought the countess might actually strike her and it took all the strength she had not to shrink away from the fury in the other woman's gaze.

"Do not think that I didn't hear your snide comment about my own situation. Yes, I married a man with feet of clay but not for a moment was I stupid enough to fancy myself in love . You pity me, do you, Martin? Funny that, because I feel the same way about you. I wonder how your love will endure when Shelton sets up his mistress almost in front of you or brings home some filthy disease. I wonder how much you will pity me then."

Stacia could scarcely comprehend the bile pouring from the other woman's mouth. "Why are you saying such horrid things to me? What can you gain from such hateful behavior?"

"I am trying to save you from my own fate, you stupid—"

"Enough!" a familiar voice roared from behind her.

Stacia spun around. Not only Andrew, but also the duke and duchess of Chatham stood in the opening where the screens to the music room had been pushed aside, their shocked faces proclaiming what they'd heard.

Andrew strode toward them, his eyes spitting fire at the countess as he slid his arm around Stacia.

She could not help it; she melted against the protection of his hard chest.

She also should have plugged her ears, as Lady Addiscombe was not yet finished.

"You!" she seethed. "I see you for what you are, Shelton. I am not some ignorant persuadable chit; do not waste your lies and charm on me."

"I would not waste even my spit on a harpy like you." Andrew ignored Lady Addiscombe's outraged squawk, raising his voice to talk over her. "You have no right to spew your venom at Stacia. You were in a position to help her and all you've done is denigrate and terrorize her. You are a monster and if you were not a woman, I would not wait for dawn to see you at twenty paces and make you answer for your cruelty. But my tolerance has its limits, and if you are even a shred as wise as you seem to think you are then you will get out of my sight before I forget that you are my cousin's mother-in-law."

Lady Addiscombe's face was as red as a boiled lobster as she turned to her daughter and the duke and flung a hand toward Andrew. "Are you going to say something or just stand there and allow this—this churl to threaten me with violence?"

It was unclear who the question was aimed at. The duke and duchess exchanged a brief glance before Her Grace stepped forward.

"I am proud in this moment that you have never wanted me to call you mother, my lady."

Lady Addiscombe gasped.

"If this were my house, I would have your baggage on the front steps already," the duchess continued, her quiet voice pure steel. "I am certain that my sister—your hostess—will feel likewise when she learns how you've spoken to my cousin and Miss Martin. But you are fortunate because Chatham's carriage will be ready and waiting to take you back to Bath in the morning. If you know what is good for you—and your future comfort—you will take his generous offer." She took a step closer to her mother, her eyes glittering coldly as she stared down at the older woman. "In case I have not made myself clear, you will never darken the doors of any of my homes as long as you draw breath."

The countess hissed. "You vile, unnatural —"

"If you finish that sentence, you will find yourself walking to Bath," the duke said coolly. He strode across the room. "I will escort you to your chambers, my lady, where you will remain until first light." He gestured to the door and—to Stacia's astonishment—Lady Addiscombe went, too shocked to do more than sputter.

When the door shut behind them, the duchess came toward them, her face as expressionless as ever, but her green eyes brighter than usual. "I am sorry for what you have endured at my mother's hands," the other woman said. "I was not able to save my siblings—or myself—from her poison, but I am grateful that you are no longer subject to her abuse." She inclined her head and left the room, the door closing silently behind her.

Andrew lifted her chin until she met his gaze. "I will never stop regretting that my attention exposed you to such a viper, Stacia."

"None of this was your fault. If not you, then something—or somebody—would have set her off eventually."

He rubbed her bare upper arms. "You are remarkably contained in the face of such viciousness."

"I am relieved that is how I appear. Inside I am—" Her voice, which had held firm all through the countess's attack, finally broke.

Strong arms enfolded her and drew her close. "My poor darling." Andrew stroked her back while she sobbed. She had been a companion—a servant, in truth—for almost four years and had suffered countless slights. But never had she been assaulted so baldly and brutally.

"It is all over now, sweetheart," he murmured, his gentle hands and words a balm on her wounded soul. He stood patiently and absorbed all her pain, comforting her with his body and words.

When she stopped trembling a short time later, she looked up at him. "I am better now."

He stared down at her with a wondering smile, his face so beautiful that it squeezed the breath from her lungs. "Why me, darling?"

She considered pretending that she didn't know what he meant, but what was the point? They were to be married, her love for him would slip out sooner rather than later. "Ah, you heard that part, did you?"

He nodded mutely.

"Why you?" she repeated. "Need you ask? You are"—she made a helpless gesture to encompass his magnificent face and body. "You are you . Surely having women falling in love with you in droves is something you are accustomed by now."

"And is that it? You love the body I inhabit?" he asked, his gaze no longer hopeful but…hollow.

"Of course that is not all I love, Andrew. I love the man who makes me laugh—at my own folly as well as his own. I love the man who went out of his way to help a bloody, injured mutt and a bloody, muddy woman who had only snapped and snarled at him. I love the man who helped a stranger marry her lover, even when he suffered for it. I love the man who would not take my virginity even when I all but offered it to him on a platter."

His mobile eyebrows leapt. "Damnation! I had not realized that was an option. I really am slow witted."

She rolled her eyes.

He became serious again. "I am honored you have chosen me. But there is one thing I want you to understand. I may have executed heroic deeds from time to time, but I am a man who is excoriated in decent society for what he has done—"

"Only because they have been told lies about Sarah—"

"And that is something they must continue to believe," he said firmly. "Just because she told Kathryn does not mean we are free to tell the world."

Stacia ground her teeth but could see by his expression that there would be no talking him around the matter.

"And forget about Sarah for a moment. You cannot deny that I abducted Lady Shaftsbury with the sole intention of using her against my cousin."

"No, I cannot deny that. And it was a cruel act. Are you ashamed of what you did to Lady Shaftsbury?"

"More than you will ever know."

"Then let that be an end to it, Andrew. Do people not deserve a second chance? Are we not allowed to get up once we have stumbled? You wronged her, it is true, but she also credits your actions with bringing her to the marquess—the love of her life."

"She is too kind-hearted."

"She is kind-hearted. But she is also right."

He took her hands in his. "You are forgetting what I did to the duke—to his first wife."

Stacia set her hands on his broad shoulders, suddenly realizing that for all his magnificent strength and brawn he was as vulnerable as anyone else. "We talked about this once before, Andrew. Everyone else has forgiven you—all the people who matter, at least. The only one who hasn't forgiven you is you. Please, isn't a decade long enough to punish yourself?"

***

Andrew stared in awe at this woman who loved him and argued so strenuously in his defense. He was not as sure as she seemed to be that he deserved forgiveness, but perhaps it was time to let go of the mistakes he had made and look toward the future. Certainly, it was not fair to Stacia to dwell so much in the past.

I love him , she had shouted, defying the harpy to her face. Would he ever forget the intense wave of wonder and joy he'd felt when he heard those words?

Andrew had done nothing to deserve such bounty, but he was going to seize this opportunity with both hands.

Stacia smiled up at him, her brown eyes so warm—so trusting —that his knees were momentarily weak with terror.

She loved him.

He lightly caressed her jaw. "I am the luckiest man in England, Stacia."

Her eyes became glassy. "Are you trying to make me blubber?"

Andrew laughed. And then suddenly recalled something and patted his chest, smiling when he felt the small bump beneath his lapel. "I almost forgot to give you your Christmas gift."

"But I am wearing my gifts."

He let his gaze drift over the brilliants that sparkled in her flattering new haircut and then down to the soft leather sheathing her arms. "Those were just trifles I bought in case I could not get your real gift sized in time."

"Sized?"

He reached into his coat and brought out a small leather pouch. "This is your real gift."

She caught her lower lip with her teeth and took the pouch.

Andrew watched her face as she fumbled with the drawstrings and then tipped the ring into her palm.

"Oh!" She gasped, her eyes wide as she gazed at the rose ring she had admired so much at the Christmas fete. After a long moment, she lifted her eyes to his. "But—this is…How did you know?"

He indulged in a bit of gloating before taking the ring and slipping it over her glove. It was a snug fit but would be perfect without the leather. "I cannot divulge my secrets."

She stared at the delicate rose on her finger, her lashes glinting.

"Happy Christmas, my darling Stacia. The first of many to come." He dropped a kiss on her soft lips. "I don't deserve you— no, I don't," he said, talking over her when she tried to demur. "But I swear on everything sacred that I will strive to."

She threw her arms around his neck, pulled him tightly against her small body, and then mumbled into his crushed cravat, "I didn't get you a gift, Andrew."

He loosened her grip and took her chin in his fingers, making her meet his gaze. "Don't you understand you wonderful, lovely, adorable woman? You are my gift, Stacia. The best Christmas gift I have ever received."