Julia London 4 Book Bundle (41 page)

“Where are your guests?” she asked timidly.

“They departed early this morning.”

They had
left
? Hadn’t Lord Arthur said something about seeing the irrigation efforts today? “So soon?” she asked dumbly.

Adrian rose from his chair and turned to face her. His eyes leisurely swept her body before settling on her face. “I think they were rather uncomfortable,” he said bluntly.

Lilliana felt herself color and moved uneasily into the room. “And Benedict?”

A smirk slowly spread across his mouth. “A rather surprising inquiry from your lips, madam. Surely Benedict told you he was leaving?” he drawled, arching a brow.

No, she had quite convinced herself that Benedict would reside at Longbridge forever, and swallowed her surprise. She had spent the morning locked in the orangery, avoiding Benedict and devising her plan. “He did not mention—he has gone to Kealing Park?” she asked, for wont of anything better to say.

Adrian’s smirk deepened. “Yes, he has. No doubt he is eager to paint your sitting room.”

She frowned at that; she had no earthly idea what Benedict had meant last night—she had never said
much about that particular sitting room that she could recall, other than she recalled it as being very cozy.

“Don’t look so chagrined, Lilliana. It is not as if he has left the continent.” Adrian chuckled, then looked at her strangely, almost as if he was seeing her for the first time. He motioned to a cluster of chairs. “Won’t you join me?”

Her nerves grew worse as she walked slowly across the plush Aubusson carpet. The two of them had not been alone since the night she had said—She would not think of that now! She settled on the edge of a chair and clasped her hands tightly on her lap. Adrian lackadaisically resumed his seat. She could feel him watching her, and kept her gaze on her lap.

“It looks as if it’s just you and me now,” he said quietly. Lilliana glanced up at that; Adrian was staring at her, his gaze piercing hers. “I gather from your expression you find that rather unappealing,” he said flatly.

She didn’t know how she found it, other than rather unnerving. Everything was so different now, so wholly different from when he had been blind. Her mind was suddenly flooded with the memory of climbing onto his lap and kissing him one night when he had sat in that very chair, proving to him and to herself that he was still a man. Other memories, little moments of happiness they had shared in this room, came back, moments sitting in quiet companionship while she read to him, or watching the firelight flicker in his blank eyes. Had he actually been watching her then? She scarcely knew anymore! It seemed as if an eternity had passed since then, an eternity in which the gulf had widened so impossibly that neither of them knew how to cross it.

Her stomach roiled, and she clutched her hands to her abdomen.

“Unappealing and nauseating, too, apparently,” he said roughly.

“I am not well,” she said softly.

“Does the thought of being with me make you so ill?”

He was annoying her now, pushing her, challenging her to say he sickened her. “It has nothing to do with you,” she said sharply. “I am simply unwell.”

He shrugged. “Perhaps you should take to your bed,” he said indifferently.

His apathy disgusted her! “Perhaps I should,” she bit out.

Adrian flicked a piece of lint from his trouser leg. “Please, don’t let me keep you. I have grown quite accustomed to your frequent absences. If you prefer to be alone, then by all means …”

Her anger surged. The man was a
goat
—unfeeling, uncaring, and devouring everything in his path! “I hardly prefer it, but as I have not grown accustomed to your apathy, I find I prefer solitude.”

Adrian quirked a brow, smiling thinly. “Apathy? I beg your pardon, but I thought we had established our course. You may do whatever you like, Lilliana, whatever makes you happy. You may even covet my very own brother if you so desire. How more accommodating can I be?”

Something inside her exploded into raw heat. She leapt to her feet, glaring down at him in absolute fury. “
Stop
it! I do not
covet
your brother! I don’t particularly care for your brother and I am rather pleased he is gone!”

Adrian lifted the other brow to meet the first. “Is that so?” he drawled. “And I thought your sudden illness was the pang of regret.”

Lilliana rolled her eyes to the ceiling, fighting the sudden urge to cry. Stubborn. Stubborn and hateful and maddening. She whirled away from him, stalking to the hearth. “It is impossible for me to understand you,” she muttered. “It goes against my very nature to be so … 
callous
to everything as you are! I thought you had changed, Adrian! I
know
you are different now!” She glanced at him over her shoulder. “But you won’t allow
it, will you? You won’t allow yourself to feel. You will feel
nothing
, not caring who you hurt, just as long as you don’t have to
feel
anything! I truly pity you!” she cried.

Adrian’s mouth tightened into a thin line and he rose from his seat. “What would you have me feel, Lilliana?” he asked slowly. “The dishonor of my birth? The guilt at having killed my very own cousin?” he breathed. “Or perhaps you would prefer that I
feel
the pain of having married you under false pretense, the agony of being despised by my own father, or your
rejection
in favor of my spineless brother? Is that what you want? Because I will feel it all if it will make you happy,” he said hoarsely.

His words stunned her into silence. He regarded her through cold hazel eyes, boldly sweeping her face and daring her to argue with him. Unconsciously she stepped backward, bumping into the hearth implements and rattling them loudly.

“What is it, my love? Does it go against your very nature to make a man feel all that?” he mocked her.

Yes
, dammit, it did! She had to get out of there—and was suddenly marching for the door. She had to get away from him and this heartless indifference. Away from the man she had thought so magnificent, the man who harbored more pain than a body had a right to know and would not allow love into that black soul. She could not help him. The fight was too much for her, too deep.

Lilliana reached the door before she remembered what she had come to tell him. Closing her eyes, she drew a deep, steadying breath, then whirled around, intent on getting it over and done with as quickly as possible.

And she saw it.

She saw the ravaging effects of pain in the set of his mouth, the hard glint of his eye. He was watching her walk out, and it had hurt him. He quickly looked away. Lilliana bit her lip, fighting the urge to go to him. And what if she did? He wouldn’t let his guard down.

All at once she felt very ill. “My … my family returns from Bath on the morrow, and I thought to welcome them home,” she said, weakly. “I shall be gone a few days, I expect. Polly is coming with me. And Bertram.”

He nodded and picked up his paper. “Whatever you would like,” he said, and resumed his seat to read. The wall had come up again, but now she knew there was a crack in it. Lilliana’s heart cried out to her once again, urging her to go to him. But she turned and walked out the door, too confused, too afraid to try again. And besides, she
had
to know the truth. For his sake.

Adrian listened to the sound of the door being quietly closed, and brought a hand to his forehead. The pain was knifing through him, piercing the back of his eyes and shooting like fire down his spine. He dropped the paper and pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes. He was a monster! Too proud to admit she had hurt him, too goddammed proud to get on his knees and beg her to love him again! No wonder she preferred Benedict to him—for all that man’s weaknesses, he was not a monster. At least Benedict could give her the affection she needed. He could not—bloody hell, he could not even bring himself to tell her he thought her beautiful, or utter the words
thank you
aloud for having seen him through the darkest of days! No matter how he tried, he could see nothing but the disgust in her eyes, feel her complete disdain, and he could not find the words to change it. They just weren’t in him.
He was a monster.

Adrian came clumsily to his feet and staggered toward the sideboard to pour a double whiskey. Anything to dull the pain.

     
M
R. PEARLE WAS
up to his elbows in pastries, methodically testing the quality of the product—a task he considered his most important as proprietor of the bakery. As he fastidiously dabbed the evidence of the “testing” from his lips with a linen napkin, he spied Lady Albright walking briskly down the street toward his establishment. Good heavens, she was coming to
his
shop! Ah, what a banner day!

He was at the door to swing it open just as she reached for the knob.

Nervously touching the folds of his neckcloth, he bowed and said, “Lady Albright! What a pleasure you should call! Is there something I might do for you?”

Lady Albright smiled graciously. “Good morning, Mr. Pearle. Lovely day, isn’t it?” she asked as she swept past him and into the bakery. She glanced quickly around the small room, then turned a very charming, dimpled smile to him.

“An absolutely glorious day, madam. I had not heard you were in Kealing. Shall I take it that you have come for some buns? I’ve a delicious assortment—”

“Actually, Mr. Pearle, I’ve come on a matter of some delicacy,”

“Ooh, I
see
,” he said, and leaned forward, his mind suddenly rifling through the possibilities. “I am certain I can be of assistance. I am quite renowned for my … 
tact.
” He beamed at her and adjusted his neckcloth once more. “Shall we talk in my office?” She nodded, and he showed her up some rickety steps to a little alcove, made sure she was seated in the most comfortable chair, then gingerly lowered himself onto a wooden chair that groaned in protest beneath his weight.

Lady Albright smiled again; Mr. Pearle noticed she was twisting her gloves in her hand. “I confess, sir, I hardly know where to begin.”

“Might I suggest—being accustomed to this sort of thing, you understand,” he hastily reminded her, “that you begin at the beginning. Always a fine place to start, in my opinion.” Eagerly, he shifted forward, oblivious to the ominous creaking of the chair.

“An excellent suggestion. Weil. You will recall that I married a few months ago, and that my husband and I took up residence at Longbridge.”

“Yes, yes, of course. After the unfortunate falling out … well, that is none of
my
concern, mind you, but I was aware that the earl was in need of a … 
residence
he might call his own,” Mr. Pearle informed her, pleased to tactfully demonstrate that he was aware of her circumstance.

She blushed a bit. “Yes, well, we reside at Longbridge, the seat of the Albright—”

“Inherited from his maternal grandfather in 1829,” Mr. Pearle eagerly recited.

Lady Albright blinked. “I believe that is correct,” she responded cautiously. “It is the seat of the Albrights, but my husband had visited there only a handful of times since his grandfather passed away, and—”

“Unfortunate, that,” he said, and fingering his neckcloth, smiled sympathetically.

“Umm, yes … Well, sir, as you may have surmised,
Lord Albright and his grandfather were not very close—”

“I would say
estranged.
Of course, it wasn’t the
earl’s
fault, you know, because his grandfather was estranged from his daughter, your husband’s mother,” he quickly interjected. Naturally, the details were as firmly etched in his mind as they were in Journal 6 of his
Pearles of Wisdom.

Lady Albright, however, was apparently not aware of that small fact, judging by the rounding of her lovely eyes. “Yes. Well,” she murmured. “Ah, the ah, items left by the late earl—personal items, you understand—are not looked upon with great … 
sentiment
by my husband,” she said.

“Naturally they would not be!” Mr. Pearle nodded his vigorous agreement. “Particularly the guns, I hear. How terribly trying that incident must have been for you.”

Lady Albright studied him warily for a moment. “Umm … there are many articles, and I thought to seek your advice on what to do with them. I should think …” She paused, and Mr. Pearle leaned forward a bit more, balancing himself by clasping his hands on his knees. “I should think that there is
someone
—a family member, perhaps—that would cherish the articles.”

Ah, but she was a clever young woman! “How very astute of you, Lady Albright. And how very kind.”

Lady Albright startled him by suddenly leaning forward, so that her face was just inches from his. “Might you help me, Mr. Pearle? I haven’t the foggiest notion of how I might find such a family member, what with the
unfortunate
circumstances my husband and his father find themselves in today,” she said earnestly.

Mr. Pearle could not help his sad sigh. The Spence family was as tragic as any he had ever known. “They are
indeed
most unfortunate,” he moaned, and shook his head.

“But I know … well, I have
heard
that there was
another daughter. If that is true, then I should be honor-bound to make every effort to find her, shouldn’t I?”

Goodness, but Lady Albright had always been a little firestorm of energy, hadn’t she?

He was hardly surprised that she should come all this way to inquire after a distant relative. Caroline was the beauty of the Dashell family, but what this one lacked in comely appearance she made up for in spirit. And
he
, of course, would be more than happy to help the young countess bestow sentimental property on the descendants. Which was, naturally, why she had come to him in the first place—he could
always
be counted on to help. He abruptly slapped his knees and shoved to his feet. “Well! I am quite certain I have kept
some
record of the family.” He walked to a bookcase, and legs braced wide apart, he tapped one finger against a thick lip as he scanned the dozen or more leatherbound volumes there. At last he picked one from the middle and, holding it reverently, brought it back to the little chair, sitting heavily on the rickety thing, mindless of the groan of the wood.