The idea of never seeing or speaking to her again was too much to even contemplate loosely, nor did he appreciate the terrible feeling that filled him at the mere thought.
“What are you going to do?”
“I will grant her the freedom she seeks. I will petition the courts for a separation and then a divorce.”
Julian choked on his brandy as he absorbed the implication of Sylvester’s statement. There was a long pause while Julian evidently tried to assimilate everything. “The scandal—”
“I truly do not give a damn about the scandal. I need to give her what she needs in the least stressful way as possible. I was never content these past six years. I only had duty when I was empty and wandering. I will be devastatingly incomplete without her.”
It was difficult to confront the brutal truth because the thought of living without his wife for the rest of his life shook him to his core.
But if he loved her, he had to offer her what her heart yearned for.
The wounds in her eyes had been profound, and while it destroyed something inside of him to think it, if he loved her, respected her dreams and opinions, he had to let her go.
Chapter Fifteen
Daphne had made a very dreadful and infinitely stupid mistake. That was all she could think as she moved through the empty townhouse on Audley Street. There was no one in sight, but the place had evidently been prepared in anticipation of her arrival. She smelled the lemon wax on the air, the fresh scent of gardenias. The fireplace was lit in several rooms she had entered so far, even in the small drawing room, and a glass of wine with edibles was there.
The timepiece on the mantle shelf chimed the hour, and she glanced at it to see it was nine in the evening. Her nerves had quite deserted her as she prowled through the silent townhouse. There was a hollow ache in her heart, and tears of defeat trailed down her cheeks. She could not take a lover. The very idea of allowing another to touch her, when she had vowed before God to honor and love her earl, left a vile taste in her mouth. Sylvester roused her anger, could injure her so easily, and while she wanted to run away from the painful despair of the past, to be intimate with another now would be wounding her own heart and her honor.
She wept at the feeling of helplessness weaving through her. Taking a lover would guarantee her freedom, yet she could not bring herself to act on her plan. But if she would not take steps to create the scandal that would force his hands, what was she to do?
It is too late for us.
How passionate she had been in her fury and denial.
Nothing is ever too late.
What if he was right? What if there was a chance to forge a new path for them? And perhaps in time, they would have affection and respect, which was more than she had ever thought their marriage capable of having. He did seem so different, less cold and austere, less remorseless. What had really changed?
The killer’s blade sinking close to my heart reminded me most powerfully that I am without an heir.
Was that all? Though she did acknowledge a brush with death was a very powerful motivator in reassessing one’s life. Daphne’s breath hitched, and her fingers fluttered to her throat and then traveled down to rest against her womb. What do I want?
The full truth of it was she had never felt desire for any other save Sylvester. She was badly shaken by the unwelcome discovery of how she craved him. The knowledge was alarming, terrifying. These last weeks she had tried to deny its existence, to no avail. For so long she had been unable to bear the emptiness she felt at being trapped in a marriage that only offered a title. But the last few weeks had been more than she had even hoped for in her fevered dreams.
Could he come to love her over time? Why did she feel so hollow at that assessment? Because I want more… I want him to love me beyond duty and honor. I want him to forgive me for being so foolish.
She pressed a hand against her aching heart.
A discordant sound rode the air, and she glanced nervously out the window. The drapes were drawn, and she saw no one on the streets. Either way, it was time to leave. Daphne was irritated with herself. She had allowed Georgiana to provide a carriage that would collect her in a few hours. She had no way home and would have to walk down the street without a maid or footman, then hail a hackney. That option was dangerous, but to stay and face a stranger that was bent on seduction was even more ludicrous.
It could not be helped. Taking a steady breath, she made to leave the drawing room when the door opened and a dark figure framed the threshold.
Of all the thoroughly rotten luck. “Forgive me, I was leaving,” she said briskly.
“Were you?” the man said, his voice low and deep.
She blinked. Surely it was her imagination that his voice was filled with familiar menace.
“Yes,” she said, lifting her chin. “I made an error in judgment.”
Daphne patted the dark red wig she had donned and the facemask, ensuring they were in place. She had taken all necessary precautions to protect her identity, but she still felt vulnerable and silly. How could she have thought to place herself at the mercy of a stranger in an empty townhouse? Even though Georgiana had reassured her such encounters were normal and safe, Daphne was decidedly flustered. The breadth of his shoulders outlined in the shadows and his size were intimidating. “If you will excuse me.”
He did not move, and her stomach tightened. “I would hate to inform my husband that you, sir, waylaid me. He is most formidable and will not take lightly to anyone causing me distress.” If necessary, she would reveal Carrington was her husband and damn the possible scandal. Though she understood the gentlemen in these situations also desired anonymity, her husband’s name would surely put the fright into anyone bent on forced seduction.
A slight whisper of movement betrayed his surprise. “Your husband?”
“Most assuredly.”
There was an alarming pulse of silence, and then the man said, “Why are you here, Countess?”
Shock shuddered through her and Daphne almost fainted. “Sylvester?” she asked hoarsely. The man standing in the shadows was her husband. Suddenly his unique male scent filled her nostrils. A bewildering mix of relief and panic almost stole her senses. How had he found out? Dear God, would he believe that
she had changed her mind? Do I want him to believe it?
He moved farther into the room, strolling with such predatory grace toward the fire. Her gaze drank him in. Sylvester was dressed quite elegantly in stark black. The picture he presented one of extreme elegance and danger. The only color seemed to be his beautiful eyes, which burned with a warning she feared she understood.
“Yes, wife?”
“I will allow that on first reflection, my actions seem reckless and scandalous.”
His lips shifted upward so slightly. “I sense a but—”
“But I was quite out of sorts earlier, and I own I was not thinking through my emotions. You needn’t upset yourself about it.”
“Over what, Countess?”
She stepped toward him, then faltered when she caught a glimpse of his expression—his eyes were shards of ice, his austere cheekbones seemed more sharply drawn, his lips were curved with almost cruel intent. Oh dear.
Daphne ran. She hardly knew why, but she gathered her dress by the side and dashed through the door and down the hallway. She glanced back and gasped when she realized her husband ran behind her, but with considerably more grace and ease than what she was doing. Daphne veered left and bounded up the stairs, swearing under her breath at that foolish decision, except it was too late now. She should have made for the entrance and down the cobbled street. He would be less inclined to throttle her then.
She reached the landing, panting, and dashed down the hallway, pausing in front of the first door, and turned the knob. Her heart sank. It was locked. She rushed to the next door. It too refused to budge, but she found success on the third. She wrenched it open, almost stumbling into the room so great was her haste. It was a bedchamber, and right in the middle sat a large, canopied bed with green layers of heavy curtains around it. The fire that had been left burning cast the room in a warm glow. She attempted to slam the door, but her husband’s arm prevented its closing. She backed away, breathing heavily, thoroughly irritated he wasn’t even winded.
His expression was one of stupefied amazement.