Julia London 4 Book Bundle (40 page)

Adrian stared after him, still stunned. He didn’t need Julian to tell him Benedict was a problem. He did, apparently, need Julian to tell him that Benedict was intentionally driving a wedge between him and his wife. It suddenly all made sense, and he marveled that he had not seen it before. Of
course
that was what he was doing! He was seeking his own revenge and using Lilliana to do it. Adrian had certainly been pricked by Benedict’s talk of Kealing Park, but had thought it nothing more than Benedict’s childish attempt to needle him. He had not seen what Benedict was really doing, not until Julian had said it aloud.

The little bastard was
intentionally
pushing him from Lilliana. And she, perhaps unwittingly, was playing along with him.

It was high time he had a talk with his brother.

     
L
ILLIANA FELT THE
faint nausea begin to rise again as Polly fastened her blond curls to the back of her head. The sickness had not really left her since that horrible night when she had stood just where Polly was standing now and had told Adrian she preferred Benedict to him. She closed her eyes—what made her say such things? Nothing could be further from the truth; the mere thought made her belly lurch again. But she had been angry with him, and the words had tumbled out of their own accord. If only she had caught them, held them back … but she hadn’t, and Adrian’s mask of indifference had slid into place. Now he avoided her like death.

Fine
, she thought as the nausea passed, and opened her eyes. She couldn’t take those words back, and she was still furious with him for lying to her. They were hopelessly arrested in a strange and silent standoff, the gulf between them growing wider and wider with each passing day. The strain was taking its toll on her; she felt constantly ill. Desperate to air their differences, she was absolutely sick of Benedict’s constant presence! Adrian simply acted as if his brother didn’t exist—just as he
pretended his wife didn’t exist. In the meantime, Benedict grew increasingly obnoxious. He treated the staff as if he paid their wages, was relentless in his unwanted and unwelcome attention to her, and belittled Adrian with veiled remarks about his father and Kealing Park.

As if things couldn’t get any worse, those two
Rogues
had appeared unannounced, and undoubtedly suggesting all manner of things they might do now that Adrian’s sight was restored. The irony was not lost on her that there was a time she would have given anything to know the Rogues and experience their reckless ways. But that seemed like years ago—now, all she wanted was the blind Adrian back. Not a
blind
Adrian, but the Adrian he had been then—loving, gentle, and completely open with her. The Adrian who had made her sob with wonder when he took her, who would hold her tightly to him in sleep, who would reach for her at dawn’s first light. The Adrian who had allowed her to look into his soul. She wanted
that
Adrian, not the indifferent, coolly civil, pompous … incredibly distant Adrian.

She did not know how to get him back.

“My stars, but don’t you look lovely,” Polly said, beaming behind her.

Lilliana glanced at herself in the mirror, unnoticing of the little wisps of blond curls that blanketed her neck and temple, or the stylish lavender gown she wore. She saw the dark circles, the bottom lip swollen from her chewing on it, the almost translucent skin. “Thank you, Polly,” she muttered sadly.

Polly clucked her tongue. “Here now, milady, you’ve been moping about since his lordship got his sight back. You’re happy for him, aren’t you?”

“Of course!” Lilliana said, and forced a smile.

“Well, you don’t seem yourself a’tall, if you don’t mind me saying. I don’t suppose you’re carrying?”

Lilliana’s heart skipped, and she caught Polly’s amused gaze in the mirror. “I beg your pardon?”

“I
said
, you must be carrying,” Polly repeated matter-of-factly, and bustled to the bed to pick up a silk
wrapper and drape it carefully along the foot. “Has it not occurred to you? Well, I am your lady’s maid, and if you don’t know, I
do
,” she said with supreme self-assurance.

Lilliana’s eyes rounded as she quickly calculated the days since her last cycle. Oh God. Oh
God!
It
couldn’t
be! Oh God, but it could … what else would explain the sickness, the turbulent up-and-down of her emotions, the constant threat of tears?

Unconsciously, her hand slipped to her abdomen as she stared at herself in the mirror. She was carrying his child. It should have made her ecstatically happy. But the sickness came over her again, and folding her arms across the vanity, she dropped her forehead onto them.

Polly patted her back. “There now, it’s nothing to be afraid of. His lordship will be very pleased,” she said soothingly, and walked to the door. “The sickness will pass soon enough, I warrant. I’ll leave you to your thoughts, milady,” she said blithely, and quit the room.

Polly was wrong about one thing—the sickness would never pass, it was too firmly rooted in her soul. A million thoughts bombarded Lilliana as she tried to fathom the incredible knowledge that she was carrying a child. Everything that had gone between her and Adrian the last few days seemed foolish to her now. Moreover, with the life budding inside her, it seemed terribly sad. She would bring a child into the world who would know nothing but disdain from his father, just as Adrian had been raised.…

She abruptly lifted her head and stared at herself in the mirror. Maybe she couldn’t bridge the gulf between them, but she at least could put the question of his birth to rest once and for all. The painting at Kealing Park had haunted her for days … she had admired it enough times to remember now that Adrian was the spitting image of his grandfather, and therefore could not be anyone’s son but his father’s. And if that were true, then why did his father despise him? Surely
he
had noticed the resemblance between his father and his son?
There had to be another reason for his disdain, and suddenly, knowing the reason was paramount to everything else. If Adrian was truly Lord Kealing’s son, she had to know it, for the sake of the child she carried if nothing else. And she knew one person who might be able to help her.

Mr. Pearle, the solicitor in Kealing who knew everything about everyone.

But how on earth could she possibly go and speak with him? She couldn’t tell Adrian of her suspicions. He would not listen to her, and even if he did, he would not believe it. No, she had to go, and she had to think of a way to do it without letting him know.

After seeing an unusually somber Arthur off to London, Adrian sent for Benedict. He was seated behind the massive desk in his study when Benedict strolled in, his face a wreath of smiles. “Ah, Adrian, you look more confident each time I see you. Glorious day out, you know. You might enjoy a stroll about the gardens. Lilliana and I certainly did.”

Adrian unconsciously gripped the arm of his chair. “Have a seat, will you?” he suggested.

Benedict did as he asked, casually stretching his legs in front of him, one hand shoved into the waist of his trousers. “I should very much like to show Lilliana the gardens at the Park. They are so much grander than here, and I think she would thoroughly enjoy them again—”

“Ben, I think it is time we were honest with each other,” Adrian interrupted.

That startled Benedict, but he quickly recovered. “Of course! What is on your mind?”

“I think it high time you returned to Kealing Park—”

“Oh yes, I do too. Now that I am assured you are wholly recovered—”

“And not come back again.”

Benedict’s eyes rounded; he pushed himself up and peered closely at Adrian. “I beg your pardon?”

“I should have asked you to leave long before now,” Adrian said wearily, “but I confess I did not fully understand what you were attempting to do. I am truly sorry for what has happened, although I rather doubt you will ever believe that,” Adrian continued, noticing that the color was rapidly draining from Benedict’s face. “Marrying her for the reasons I did was a stupid thing to have done. But Lilliana is my wife, Ben, and there is nothing you can do to change it,” he said evenly.

Benedict’s lips began to move, but no words came out. He shook his head as if to clear it, then gaped at Adrian again. “I am quite certain I do not know what you mean. I think surely you have misconstrued—you can’t honestly be thinking clearly if you think I should want to change anything. I am happy for Lilliana. She is a sweet girl, and I am glad that she has married well.”

Adrian nodded thoughtfully. “Then you would have me believe that you never really cared for her? That you don’t, even now?” he asked quietly.

The hint of a flush began to fill Benedict’s cheeks and he chuckled nervously. “Lord, I
told
you!” he blustered, then laughed as if it was the most absurd suggestion in the world. “I
never
cared for Lilliana, not like you seem to think! And certainly now all I feel for her is a brotherly concern!”

“A brotherly concern,” Adrian echoed. “I rather think it more than that.”

Benedict blinked—then suddenly surged to his feet and strode to the desk. “If you are jealous, you should speak with your wife!” he spat. “If there is an unnatural affection between us, it is most decidedly
hers
and not mine!”

The fury that Adrian had been fighting to contain all morning began to leak out of him. Very deliberately he stood, towering over Ben by several inches. “I am quite certain you did not mean to imply that my wife harbors some
unnatural
affection for you.”

“You can hardly hold me responsible if she now wishes she had married me!” he blustered angrily.

He would throttle him! Adrian moved from the desk; Benedict matched it by taking several steps backward. “Be honest, Ben,” he urged. “Admit what you are doing here.” Benedict responded by pressing his lips firmly together into a thin line. “Let me help you,” he said, and took another step toward him. “You have attempted to drive a wedge between us. You have tried to make me think that there is something between the two of you, and you have done your best to poison her against me in the course of seeking your revenge.” He stopped there and shoved his hands into his pockets, waiting for Benedict to deny it.

But Benedict surprised him. His brown eyes blazing, he scowled hatefully at Adrian. “You
betrayed
me! God, when I think of how I admired you!” he spat, his face contorting in pain. “I have
always
admired you, more than anyone I know. But when you took her from me …” His voice trailed off, and he squeezed his eyes shut, fighting for composure. “When you took her from me, I hated you,” he muttered. “I hated you more than I thought was possible to hate another living soul. You are right, Adrian. I came here hoping to find you broken as well as blind. I hoped to find you miserably contemplating the rest of your life in darkness,
alone
, without comfort. As I can
never
have her, I would that you live your life in misery,” he said, his voice trembling with emotion. “She hates you, too, you know,” he continued, and sneered. “She regrets this marriage far more than I think you are capable of even comprehending.”

Adrian’s heart constricted painfully; but he shrugged and blandly regarded the brother who had everything that should have belonged to him. He kept his hands in his pockets as he looked at a man who loved Lilliana so much, he would seek to destroy her for the sake of his jealousy. In no small measure he actually pitied Benedict. “I would that you go now, Ben. You are no longer welcome at Longbridge,” he said quietly.

Benedict pivoted sharply on his heel and stalked to the door, where he paused to cast a final, scathing look at Adrian. “You are an unfeeling
bastard
,” he angrily declared. “I hope that you will one day feel the same pain I felt when you stole her from me! But I fear it is a futile wish of mine—you are incapable of hurt. You are incapable of
love.
I pity Lilliana for that, but God, how I pity
you
,” he ground out, and followed his words with a slam of the study door.

Adrian stood staring blindly at the door, Benedict’s harsh words ringing in his ears. There was a time when he might have agreed with him, but he knew now that he was not incapable of hurt or love. At the moment, he felt them both rather acutely—he just didn’t know how to express them. He damned sure didn’t know what to do with them. He didn’t know how to do anything but push it all down to the farthest recesses of his soul.

And for that, he pitied himself.

Lilliana devised a plan, which unfortunately entailed lying to Polly Dismuke. Banking on Polly’s sentimentality, she told her that she had a surprise for Adrian that she must fetch from Kealing, but that Adrian would suspect what it was if he knew where she was going. She could not divulge the surprise, she coyly explained, not yet. And just as she had suspected, Polly had eagerly accepted her plan, proclaiming a surprise was just the thing his lordship needed to bolster his spirits.

Now all Lilliana had to do was convince Adrian she needed to go and welcome her family home from Bath, and hope he would not remember they weren’t due until next week. She was actually grateful that the Rogues were at Longbridge—Adrian would not question her in their company.

As she went in search of the men she realized she was rather nervous. There really wasn’t a dishonest bone in her body, and she hardly relished the thought of lying to Adrian, regardless of how strained things were between
them. But she had no choice, no other alternative that she could see. If there had never been a question of his birthright, if she had never
seen
the portrait of his grandfather, she would not be doing this. But that question was a fundamental part of who he was, at the core of his very being, and she could not let it lie, especially now that she carried his child. She could not live with herself if she did not at least attempt to uncover the truth.

Walking into the gold salon, her nervousness increased tenfold when she discovered Adrian was alone. Seated in front of the hearth, he was quietly reading a newspaper. “You’ve come down,” he remarked, and folded the paper neatly before looking at her.