Undressed (Undone by Love) (21 page)

“Of course she knows,” Colin retorted before he thought better of it
. “And it near enough killed her to learn such a horrible truth about the mother she remembered so dearly.”

The color drained from his father’s face
. “Goddamn you, Colin. Told her, did you?”

“I hadn’t a choice.”

His father looked near apoplectic as he shook a fist at his son. “I ought to—”

“To what, Father?” Colin taunted
. “Disown me? Disinherit me? If I correctly understand the laws of primogeniture, you can do nothing. I am your heir, and there’s nothing you can do to alter that fact. I am your only son, besides. At least your only
legitimate
son. Are there any other clandestine correspondences of yours I should be privy to? More packets of letters awaiting me at your solicitor’s office? Any other children born on the wrong side of the blanket who did not fare so well as Lucy did?”

“Get out of my sight, Colin.”  He pointed to the door, his arm visibly quaking
. “Go, until you can speak to me with the respect a father deserves from his son.”

“With pleasure,” Colin said, turning away from the man so violently that a wave of nausea washed over him
. “And you can keep your town house and estate in Kent. I’ll make my own way, thank you.”  On shaking legs, he stormed to the door.

Just as he reached for the handle, an oddly strangled, choking sound behind him forced Colin to turn back toward his father, who was as white as a specter and clutching frantically at his chest
. His blue-tinged mouth was grotesquely agape as he struggled desperately for a breath.

At once it seemed as if the earth stood still
. “Father!” Colin cried out, his voice muffled to his own ears. He lunged across the room and reached for his father’s sleeve, just as the man slumped to the floor, his eyes staring, unseeing, at the ceiling above him.

He knew in an instant that his father was dead
. A cry of anguish rent through the night as Colin sank to his knees beside his father’s crumpled form. He’d killed him, as surely as if he’d run a blade through his heart.

Chapter
19

“Have the solicitors left?” Brenna asked as Jane stepped into the drawing room, her eyes red-rimmed and swollen.

With a nod, Jane hastened to Brenna’s side and took a seat beside her on the sofa, reaching for her hand
. Brenna was grateful for Jane’s warm, soothing touch. She attempted a weak smile as Jane gave her hand a gentle, reassuring squeeze.

“They left more than an hour ago, yet Colin remains in my fath—” She choked on the word
. “In the study. He hasn’t eaten anything all day. I had Mrs. Millington send in a tray, but he sent it away, untouched.”  Jane’s chestnut brows drew together.

“And how is your mother?” Brenna asked
. “Will she get any rest tonight?”  

“She’s doing as well as can be expected
. She’s a strong woman. She finally accepted the laudanum the physician ordered, so she will sleep well tonight, at least.”

“I’m verra glad to hear it
. And Susanna?”

“Susanna is in a bit of a state
. She, too, is now enjoying the effects of the laudanum.”

Brenna nodded
. “Mr. Merrill seemed verra worried for her.”

“Like Lucy, Susanna is increasing
. I vow, her husband acts as if she’s the first woman to find herself in such a condition. I have no doubt she’ll get through this well enough, as her disposition is naturally cheerful.”

“And ye, Jane, how are ye faring?”

“Well enough. I sometimes wish I could allow myself to cry and carry on like Susanna does. But, alas, it’s not in my nature I’m afraid.”

“Nor mine,” Brenna said, remembering the sorrowful months that followed the Maclachlans’ deaths
. “Holding back the tears is surely more painful than allowing them to fall freely. But we must each grieve in our own way.”

Jane nodded
. “If only my brother didn’t worry me so. I hate to see him in such a state as this. Did you hear him bellowing at the solicitors when they first arrived? Saying he refuses my father’s title?”  Jane shook her head, her eyes so full of sadness that Brenna’s breath hitched in her chest. “He’s convinced that Papa’s death was his fault, and he won’t be persuaded otherwise.”

“Och, ‘tis dreadful.”

“Isn’t it? Have you tried to speak with him since he shut himself away? Perhaps you can talk some sense into him.”

“Nay, but I thought I saw Lucy go to him.”  Brenna’s stomach lurched uncomfortably at the thought
.

“Lucy tried her best, but he sent her away.”  Jane dropped her gaze to her lap
. “I’ve never seen him so despaired, so broken. To be quite frank, my brother has a...well, a propensity for engaging in self-destructive behavior. Someone must save him from himself at a time like this. I know you’re only newly wedded, but still...Someone must try to get it through that thick skull of his that he’s not to blame for Papa’s death.” 

Brenna nodded her assent, her throat aching
. Poor Colin. “I canna promise anything, Jane, but I will do my best. He should not suffer through this alone.”

Both women rose
. “I’ll go to him now,” Brenna said with a nod, then headed toward the study on wobbly legs.  

Seconds later, she stood in front of the heavily carved door, her heart pounding in trepidation
. Would he turn her away? And even if he did not, could she bring him a measure of comfort? She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. She’d promised Jane she would try, and she owed it to her husband, besides. Without allowing herself to think upon it further, she rapped on the door.

Silence
.

She tried once more, rapping more forcefully this time
. “Colin?” she called out, her voice betraying her hesitancy. “May I come in? I’d like to speak with ye.”

Again, no response
. She felt her palms dampen, but she reached for the door handle nonetheless. It turned easily, and she stepped inside, closing the door softly behind her.

Brenna crept into the room and stopped in its center, her hands clasped together in front of her breasts
. Colin sat slumped in his father’s chair, his shoulders hunched over and his head cradled in his hands. His hair was in disarray, and his cravat lay untied against his linen. Most worrisome was his silence. Not a single sound emanated from his person.

Brenna hurried to his side, filled with anxiety and uncertainty
.

After several seconds, he looked up at her, and the unmasked pain, the raw anguish, she saw there in his countenance tore at her heart, taking her breath away
.

His jaw was clenched, his brow creased, but worst of all were his stormy, tormented eyes, glistening with unshed tears
. No, of course he would not weep, and she knew just how dreadful it felt to hold in such grief, to refuse to give in to the tears that must be blinding him. She forced herself to breathe as he dropped his gaze, cradling his head in his hands once more.

“Oh, Colin,” she whispered, her throat so tight it ached
. She reached out to him, tentatively stroking his hair with her fingers. He reached up and clasped her hand to his face, pressing her palm against his stubbly cheek. Brenna held her breath as Colin turned his face into her hand. She felt his lips press into her palm, and she shuddered violently. “’Tis not your fault. Truly, ye mustn’t think that it is.” 

He looked up at her sharply
. “But it
is
my fault, don’t you see?”  His voice faltered. “We should never have taken up residence here.”

She reached for his hand, but he pulled it from her grasp
. He rose, pacing the floor like a caged animal. Abruptly he stopped, leaning into the wall, one arm flung above his head. Brenna could only stand motionless, staring at his back in confusion.

Suddenly he pounded his fist against the plaster, rattling the portrait of some ancestor that hung from the moldings above
. “Dammit, Brenna, I killed the bloody bastard, as sure as if I’d squeezed the life from him with my own hands.”

She hurried to his side and reached for his sleeve
. “Nay, Colin. Dinna say it. Ye canna think that way. ‘Twas only...the physician said...‘twas his heart. His heart was weak; it simply gave out.”  

“No!” he bellowed
. “No, you don’t understand. We were arguing.”

“Arguing?”

“Yes, about Lucy—”

“Lucy?” Brenna interrupted, a coldness settling in the pit of her stomach
. “Why ever would ye be arguing about Lady Mandeville?”

Colin stalked to the window, his fists clenched by his sides
. He leaned against the sill, staring out into the inky night. “I cannot tell you. Devil take it, Brenna.”  He shoved himself away from the window, flinging himself back into his father’s chair. “How can I live with myself? How can I take his title when it is my fault that—”

“Stop,” she ordered
. “Ye mustn’t blame yourself.”  Kneeling on the carpet at his feet, she stroked his head, tears burning the corners of her eyes. “Please, Colin, I cannot bear it. I cannot watch ye suffer more than ye ought. ‘Tis breaking my heart.”

She rose and gathered his head to her breast, stroking his hair as if he were a boy
. His body trembled violently and then stilled. She pulled away and looked down into his tortured face. A vicious pain tore through her gut. Almost involuntarily, she moved her lips to his temple, her hands threading through his hair, so soft and silken. He didn’t move a muscle as her lips trailed lower, across his strong jawbone, where the taut muscles quivered beneath her mouth.

Whatever was she doing
? ‘Twas not the time for such things. She drew away in panic, but not before he pulled her down into his lap, his mouth slanting over hers. She sucked in her breath as his mouth possessed hers, his hands clutching at her bodice in desperation, tugging her sleeves from her shoulders. The room began to spin, and she struggled to her feet.

She looked down and saw the surprise on his face, coupled with hurt and any number of other painful emotions. She shook her head, confused, as a quiver of fear shot through her
.

“Colin, I—”

“Don’t apologize, Brenna. I understand perfectly.”  He rose, hastening to the cart that held his father’s brandy.

“No!” she cried
. “No, you dinna understand. Your father is not even yet laid to rest, and your family is just down the corridor. ‘Tis neither the time nor the place for such things.”

“Pray tell me, then, just when will the time be right
? How many nights will you feign sleep while—”

“Feign sleep
? Ye think I was playacting to avoid ye? I waited up till near midnight last night, hoping to—”

“Did you forget?”  He picked up a tumbler and poured a small amount of the amber-colored liquid into it
. “I was far too busy murdering my own father last night.”

“Ye didna murder your father, Colin, but ye might tell me why ye were arguing.”

“As I said before, I cannot tell you.”

“I am your wife, Colin
. Have ye forgotten that? I know that we...that we have not yet...”  She trailed off, the now-familiar question once again nagging at her mind:  Was Lady Mandeville his mistress? She had to know. “Lady Mandeville,” she whispered, “ye love her, don’t ye?”

He whirled around to face her
. “Of course I do.”

Brenna sucked in her breath sharply.

He hurled the half-empty glass across the room. Brenna flinched as it crashed against the mantel, shattering into a million tiny bits and sending a spray of golden liquid across the room.

“Don’t you see?” he bellowed
. “Isn’t it obvious?”

At once the door flew open, banging loudly against the wall
. “I heard a crash,” Jane called out breathlessly, standing framed in the doorway. Her gaze flew from Brenna to Colin and back to Brenna again.

Brenna looked down and saw that the front of her black crepe gown was damp, spattered with brandy
. A tiny shard of glass had nicked her forearm, a thin trail of dark red blood tracing a path toward her hand.

“Dear Lord, Colin
! Whatever have you done to her?”  Jane hurried across the room to Brenna’s side, plucking out the sliver of glass and pressing a handkerchief to the wound.

“’Tis nothing, Jane
. Just a nick, nothing more.” 

The color drained from Colin’s face
. Without a word, he hastened to her side, pushing away Jane’s handkerchief and examining the cut with worry-filled eyes. “Are you hurt?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

“Nay, Colin
. As I said, ‘tis nothing.” 

“What have I done?” he muttered, pressing his hands to his temples
. “God help me, Brenna, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“Of course ye didna mean to hurt me.”  She reached for his sleeve, hot tears threatening her eyes
. “Dinna fash about it, Colin. I’m perfectly well.”

“I must go,” he said, his voice wavering
. “I must get out of here.”

“Colin, don’t.”

“Nay, Colin.”  Both women spoke at once, but he didn’t heed their pleas. Shaking off Brenna’s hand, he hurried through the open doorway. Seconds later, they heard the front door slam shut.

Brenna reached for Jane’s hand
. “I’ve only made matters worse,” she said, her voice a mere whisper. “Much worse.”

***

Hours later, Brenna awoke with a start. It was nearly dawn; a murky gray light was beginning to filter through the drapes, casting heavy, slanted shadows on the floor. She had stayed awake half the night, awaiting Colin’s return. Yet she’d never heard the fall of his footsteps, never heard the sound of the connecting door snapping shut. Had she slept through it? She rubbed her eyes and swung her legs over the side of the bed.

Dare she?

With a lump of dread in her throat, she crossed the room and reached for the door that connected their chambers, still slightly ajar as she’d left it. She held her breath and listened carefully. Silence. Slowly, she pushed open the door and peered inside. The bed, draped in midnight blue velvet, was empty.

“Looking for me?”

Brenna jumped in surprise, her heart pounding furiously in her breast. Colin sat in the wing chair facing the window, shirtless, wearing nothing but his trousers.

“Dear God, Colin
. Ye just about frightened me to death.”

“And what a shame that would be, dear wife
. No, I’ve been the cause of enough death and mayhem this week. I fear you are safe enough tonight.”

She swallowed hard
. Just what was he about? His tone was cold, clipped. She’d never heard him speak this way, and it unnerved her. “When did ye arrive home?” she finally managed.

“Not a half hour ago.”

“But...but it’s nearly dawn. Ye stayed out all night?”

“Why, yes, I did
. How clever of you to deduce that.”