Chapter 22

Chapter 22

“You appear as if you are not really here, Your Grace,” remarked Lady Gwen, her eyes sliding to Ian’s face as she sipped a glass of champagne.

“I hope you are not still thinking about the governess and her unseemly display at your party two days ago, for I am still flabbergasted that she inveigled me to accompany her when she had the nerve to sing. Quite shocking, indeed.”

Ian’s eyes flickered to the lady, as he tried to smother a stab of irritation. They were attending the Winter Ball at Denmore Manor, a neighboring estate, which was the home of the Earl and Countess of Denmore.

He hadn’t wanted to attend, but Lady Gwen, of course, had insisted on going, and that he must accompany her.

I would much rather be home talking with Selene in the library… or doing some other deliciously shocking things to her, such as slowly kissing my way up her legs until she begs me to take her…

He stifled a groan, trying to push the thought away. He had been managing to avoid the governess since the party in the conservatory, when she had appeared like an exquisite vision and then, quite shockingly, had sung so beautifully, in such a heartfelt way, that he still got goosebumps just thinking about it.

He still didn’t know what had possessed her to do such a thing—only that he was glad she had, for he knew the memory of her standing there, so unbearably beautiful, her eyes closed, crooning the song about love and loss, would haunt him for the rest of his days.

He turned to Lady Gwen. “Why did you do it, then?”

“Do what?” she asked, blinking in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Why did you agree to accompany her?”

“I… I was trying to be kind,” she said, her cheeks turning pink. She took a long sip of her champagne, gazing around the room.

“My dear mama always taught me that it is a charitable thing to be kind to those less fortunate.” She paused. “Clearly, she is brazen indeed, to insist upon doing such a thing at your party. I still have not gotten over the shock of it. It was very unseemly.”

“I thought she did a superlative job,” he replied, a hard note creeping into his voice. “Her voice is beautiful, and she sang from the heart. Everyone remarked upon it.”

“Did they?” Lady Gwen pursed her lips, looking like she had just sucked on a lemon. “Perhaps they were just being polite, Your Grace.”

There was an awkward silence. After a moment, the lady drifted away. Ian almost slumped with relief. It was getting harder to be polite to her, especially when she was growing more emboldened with him.

She was starting to make pointed, rather than veiled, remarks about how close they were and joking about when an announcement was imminent. She had been doing it at the party the other day just before Selene had astonishingly decided to sing.

I would rather be boiled alive than married to that lady.

He frowned, feeling even more irritable. Lady Gwen was beautiful, elegant, refined and titled. In theory, if he was looking for another wife, she would be a fine catch. Except for the fact that she was spoilt and indulged and self-centered, that is. Living with her would be the greatest trial of his life.

Imagine if Selene was your wife. That wouldn’t be a trial. In fact, it would be sheer bliss coming home to her and welcoming her into your bed.

He shivered, both with lust and annoyance at himself, draining his glass of champagne. Indulging—however briefly—in these fantasies about her were not productive. He could never marry her. And that was the end of it.

“Trenton! It has been an age, old chap.”

He spun around, stiffening. It was the Marquess of Eaton, a gentleman who he had never particularly liked.

The gentleman had been abroad for the past ten years, but they hadn’t ever been friends, even when he had been in residence in the district, and despite being the same age and having attended school together. Lord Eaton was rather too smooth and a bit oily for Ian’s comfort.

Redford had once remarked that Eaton was the type of chap who would cheat you at cards while fondling your sweetheart behind your back at the same time—and the description was so apt that Ian couldn’t help laughing.

“Eaton,” he said, trying to muster enthusiasm. “How long have you been back in the district?”

“Just over a month,” the gentleman replied, with a slight smile. “I felt the calling of home. Even Venice, with all of its beauty, gets cold at this time of year, and there is nothing like being in the bosom of one’s family at Christmastide.”

Ian inclined his head, thinking that the gentleman had ignored his ageing, invalid father during many festive seasons during the past ten years. Clearly, Eaton hadn’t heard the call home that loudly then. “Indeed.”

There was an uncomfortable silence. They both glanced around the ballroom, sipping their drinks. Ian’s eyes slid to the gentleman as he felt another stab of impatience. This was insufferable. How he despised making mincing conversation with such people. He was just thankful that the Captain was here to stave off complete boredom. As soon as he could persuade Lord Mastiff and Lady Gwen, he was going to leave.

He was just about to make an excuse to walk away from the gentleman, when Eaton turned to him, looking at him in a speculative way, which wasn’t particularly friendly.

“I must say I am surprised you have not remarried, Trenton,” he said. “It has been nine years since Mary’s passing, after all.” He took a long sip of champagne. “I took you for the type of chap who would have remarried within a month. Wonders will never cease.”

Ian bristled. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Well, you are a duke, Trenton,” continued the gentleman, raising his eyebrows. “It is all about the continuation of the line, is it not? You need an heir… and a spare.” He smiled unpleasantly. “You only have a daughter. Mary left you without even providing you with what you really need. And she always wanted to give you exactly what you wanted.”

Slowly, Ian turned to face the gentleman, his face hard, staring at him, noticing that the small half-moon shaped scar above his left eyebrow that the gentleman had acquired in a fencing accident was still very visible, and seemed to glow white against his tanned skin.

“And you should stop talking about my wife as if you knew her better than I did, Eaton,” he growled, remembering now why he had always disliked the man so much.

“You know that Mary and I grew up on neighboring estates,” replied the gentleman, raising his eyebrows. “I did know her better than you did, and I know what you did to her.”

Ian’s blood ran cold. “What are you talking about?”

The gentleman’s face tightened. “You mistreated her, Trenton,” he said, in an ominous whisper. “If it was not for you, Mary would still be alive today.” He took a deep, ragged breath. “If she had married me, as I wanted her to, then she would still be alive. How do you sleep with yourself at night?”

“You go too far, my lord,” snarled Ian, trying to restrain himself from hitting the man square in the nose. “Mary made her choice. She never even mentioned to me—not once—that she had ever contemplated marrying you. She never had any finer feelings toward you. Your desire to marry her was in your own mind entirely.”

But even as he uttered the words, a whisper of doubt swept through him. He was remembering now that Mary had mentioned in passing that Eaton admired her and his nose was out of joint when she married Ian, but she had been laughing when she said it, and he had never taken it seriously—had never believed that Eaton was a real suitor to her, nor that the gentleman truly loved her.

Now, as he contemplated the gentleman’s taut face, quivering with suppressed anger, he realized that he had been wrong. Quite wrong.

“You made her travel on Christmas Day when she was heavy with child,” said Eaton, glaring at him. “You knew her time was close but that did not stop you selfishly insisting that she leave the house.”

“Her time was not close,” growled Ian, his stomach tensing into a knot. “She had a month or more until she was due.”

He swallowed hard, unable to get any more words out of his mouth. It was like they were lodged there. Even though his instinct was to defend himself against this odious man, whose only motivation was to provoke a reaction from him, he just couldn’t do it.

Eaton is right. I should never have insisted Mary travel that day. If I had realized what was going to happen, I would never have done it, not in a thousand years.

The ever-pervasive guilt over his wife’s death that gnawed at him started growing, entering his bloodstream, staining his soul.

It was only now that he realized he hadn’t been feeling it as strongly these last few weeks… and that had coincided with Selene coming to Trenton House, making him forget, to dare to live as if this shadow wasn’t constantly following him, and that he was still a man who deserved to live in the light once more.

And Eaton had just gone and wiped it all away in one foul swoop.

The gentleman arched his eyebrows. “You keep telling yourself that, Trenton. I know the truth. You cannot fool me.”

He turned, walking briskly away. Ian watched him, his grip tightening on his glass, suppressing the urge to throw it to the ground and watch it shatter into a million pieces.

Thomas approached him, following his line of vision.

“What did Eaton want?” asked his friend, shaking his head. “You look like you are about to run after him and throttle him.”

Ian turned to his friend. “Did you know that Eaton was in love with Mary? He claims that he wanted to marry her.”

“I did hear rumors that Eaton was infatuated with Mary,” replied Thomas slowly, looking pained. “But I never heard that his feelings were reciprocated. Mary only ever had eyes for you, Trenton. If that man is telling you anything different, do not believe him.”

Ian gave a sardonic laugh. “I do not believe that Mary ever loved him. We never kept secrets from one another. She would have told me.”

Thomas shook his head. “Eaton is like the bad penny turning up,” he stated. “I heard a rumor that the only reason he is back in the district after so long is that his funds have finally run dry. He will probably be here long enough to squeeze more money out of his poor invalid father before taking off again. Do not worry about him, Trenton. He will be gone soon enough.”

Ian nodded, trying to push the unpleasantness away. But it lingered, like a bad smell. The guilt about Mary was gnawing at him now.

“Miss Bomind looked lovely at the party,” said Thomas, smiling at him. “And she sang beautifully, as well. She looked a vision in that gown.”

“I should never have given it to her to wear,” growled Ian, a stab of pure pain knifing his heart. “It was Mary’s gown. I do not know what I was thinking.”

Thomas frowned. “It was sitting in a trunk in your attic for nine years, man. Mary would not care one way or the other…”

Abruptly, Ian turned away, staring at Eaton again. The gentleman was talking to Lady Gwen, now. In fact, they were whispering together in a corner.

If he thinks he is getting back at me by sidling up to the lady to steal her away from me, he had better think again. Those two deserve one another.

He drained his glass, taking another from the tray of a passing footman. He had been dreaming about Selene; hungering for her with a passion that had overwhelmed him. But now, he really knew that he must let her go, once and for all.

She wasn’t Mary. She could never be Mary. And he must wear this guilt for the rest of his life.