Chapter Thirty-Two

L awrence stared at the brooch.

“Have you been in my study?” he asked.

“Is that all you have to say, Lawrence?”

“That brooch was in a locked drawer.”

“Oh, I know ,” she said. “Hidden away like a dirty secret.”

Guilt flickered across his expression. “What were you doing in my study?”

“I didn’t go there!”

“Then who did?” His eyes narrowed. “I’ll wager it was Jonathan—I’ve told him not to disturb my papers, the little—”

“Don’t you accuse him!” she cried. “It doesn’t matter who found the brooch—what matters is that it was there, and whom it belongs to.” She held it out. “Take it.”

“But…”

“Just take it,” she said. “I don’t want it.”

“Then what do you want?”

“I want you to admit what you’ve done, Lawrence. You owe me that, if nothing else.”

He curled his fingers around the brooch. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

He closed his eyes for a moment, before opening them and meeting her gaze. The guilt and sorrow in his eyes threatened to crush her heart—this strong, virile man crumbling before her.

But no matter how pitiful he looked, he had betrayed her. He deserved neither compassion nor forgiveness.

“Is that all you have to say?” she asked.

“What more can I say?”

“You can tell me her name.”

He frowned. “Whose name?”

Bella gestured toward the brooch. “The woman whose brooch that is.”

“I-I don’t understand.”

“The…” She hesitated, unwilling to speak the truth, for in voicing it, there was no returning to hope that her husband’s desire for another was merely the product of her imagination. “The doxy.”

“What doxy?”

“Must I write it down for you? The doxy you’ve been carrying on with—the one at the inn! Amelia!”

“Amelia?” He glanced at the brooch, his eyes widening in surprise. “You think the A is for Amelia ?” He let out a sigh, almost as if in relief. “I don’t know an Amelia.”

“Millie, then.”

“Millie?” he said. “Surely you don’t think she and I…”

The recognition in his voice was admission enough.

“I don’t think,” Bella said. “I know . I saw you at the inn. You embraced her, Lawrence. Can you say in truth that you’ve never desired her, never”—she drew in a sharp breath to fight the sob swelling in her throat—“never lain with her?”

For a moment, he stared at her, then his cheeks reddened and he nodded. “I did lie with her.”

The air left Bella’s lungs, and her limbs shook, as if her body had been waiting for the final admission before succumbing to despair.

He approached her, arms outstretched. “Bella, I—”

“Stay away from me! I can’t bear it!”

Her legs crumpled, and a pair of arms caught her, pulling her against his broad chest. Oh, how she’d longed for his embrace! But not like this—not after he’d admitted to wanting another.

“I knew her before I met you,” he said. “Like any man, I lay with other women as I entered manhood.”

She struggled to break free, but he held her firm.

“Please,” she said. “Let me go!”

“Not until you hear what I have to say,” he said. “Do you know the moment when I lost all desire for Millie—and for other women? It was when I first kissed you .”

“No…” she whispered, ignoring the pleas of her heart, which yearned to believe him.

“I swear it’s the truth.”

Tears stung her eyes. “How do I know you speak the truth?”

“You don’t, love,” he said. “I can only ask that you trust me. I heard Millie was staying at the Oak, and I went to see her—to tell her to leave you alone, that I wanted none but you. If the brooch was for her, wouldn’t I have given it to her, rather than keep it in my desk?”

“You swear?”

He nodded. “Ask Ned, if you wish—he knows her well.” He released her and took her hands, bringing them to his lips. “Bella, I swear on the life of my children, I have no desire for another woman. How could I even look at another when I have you?”

“Then why do you never want me?”

“Oh, Bella! You’ve no idea how much I want you.”

He pulled her close and claimed her mouth. Her body came alive as the air filled with the musky, masculine scent of him—of fresh grass, smoke, and wood. She let out a whimper, and he deepened the kiss, drinking her cries while a low growl reverberated in his chest.

“Oh, woman,” he growled. “Don’t ever think I’m not touchin’ you for want of desire.”

His hardness swelled against the top of her thighs, and she arched her back, thrusting her hips forward, relishing the delicious sensation of him against that part of her where the ache begged to be eased. “Please.”

He stiffened and broke the kiss. She glanced up to see him gazing back at her, his eyes black with desire. Yet in their depths, she saw guilt as he pushed her back.

“Forgive me,” he said. “I-I can’t.”

“Because you don’t want me?”

“Lord no, you can’t imagine how much I…” He shook his head. “Believe me, it’s you I’m thinking of, not me.”

“Do you no longer love me, Lawrence?”

He blinked, and moisture shimmered in his eyes.

“Perhaps…you never loved me? Is that what you were going to tell me?”

He cupped her face in his hands, the callouses on his palms rough against her skin. “No,” he said. “My feelings for you have only grown.”

“Then what?” she whispered. “I-I cannot bear not knowing. Every day I try to remember and my mind stumbles around in the dark, trying to find a piece of my past—who I was, what I’ve done. You—our children… I’ve fought so hard to remember.”

He caressed her skin, igniting a small ripple of need. “What can you remember, Bella?”

She closed her eyes. “Sometimes I see an image—a woman kissing me goodnight…a man who smells of cigars, smiling down at me…and flames.” She swallowed her fear as the image rose in her mind. “Flames and smoke. Shouting, screaming—then roaring…until it goes dark, and the image is gone. Can you understand what that’s like—to have my life taken from me? When you deceive me, it’s like my life’s been taken from me again. What if my memory never returns? I don’t know who I was, or what I am—whether there are people who love me or hate me. What if I am what the gossips accuse me of? What if I did something so sinful, but I can’t remember?”

He drew her in his arms again, and she cursed herself for revealing her fears. Shame engulfed her as she closed her eyes, bracing herself for his admonishment—or worse, his laughter.

But neither came. Instead, he rocked her to and fro, soothing her with soft whispers.

“You have not sinned, Bella,” he said. “ I’m the sinner—I’ve sinned against you, and I pray that you’ll forgive me. I should have told you the truth about the brooch.”

He placed a kiss on her forehead, then caressed her hair.

“I’ve something to tell you,” he said.

“Then tell me, Lawrence,” she said. “Tell me the truth—but please, don’t break my heart.”

He blinked and met her gaze, his eyes dark with desire—and guilt.

He placed the brooch in her hands and curled her fingers around it. “This brooch is yours, Bella. It was made for a lady. The daughter of a duke.”

She stared at it, running her fingertips over the metalwork.

“You mean—it was made for another, but she had to sell it? Do you know its history?”

“No.”

“And—you bought it for me?”

His brow furrowed.

“Oh, Lawrence! It must have cost everything you have.”

“I-I couldn’t afford to have it made for you special.”

She eyed the monogram. “This brooch and I are the same, are we not—with broken histories. But why did you hide it?”

“I-I was saving it for a special occasion.”

Guilt thickened his voice, and she placed her hand on his cheek. How could she have doubted him?

“A special occasion?”

He closed his eyes, his brow creasing as if in pain. Then he opened them again, his gaze clear.

“Aye,” he said. “It’s a special occasion when I finally come to realize how much I appreciate having you in my life. Starting now.”

He took her hand and led her out of the parlor, upstairs to his bedchamber.

Her heart soared with hope. Was he going to make love to her?

“ I’ll sleep on the sofa from now on,” he said. “It’s the least I can do for my wife.”

Then, after giving her a chaste kiss on the forehead, he exited the bedchamber, closing the door behind him.

Bella turned the brooch over in her hand, then set it on a table, slipped off her gown, and climbed into the bed. Alone.

How much I appreciate having you in my life.

Would it have killed him to say that he loved her?