Treacherous Temptations(65)

“And the marriage?” he asked.

“The marriage will stand in name only until I come into my majority. At that time I will compensate you for the use of your name, and then I will move for divorce.”

“On what grounds?” he asked.

“On the grounds of abandonment,” she replied. “For when you walk out that door tonight, I wish never to see you again.”

…

Hadley stared dumbstruck. It was as if she had literally pierced his chest with a knife. It was truly over. “If that is your wish,” he spoke in a choked voice, “James will remain to see you safely to Leicestershire.”

“Thank you,” she said.

He paused, for he knew not what, for there was nothing left to say. With a blackness of despair descending over him, he turned on his heel. He had pled his case with passion and she had judged him wanting, but how could she ever have faith in him when he had time and again proven himself naught but faithless?

For five years, he had prostituted himself for his thirty pieces of silver, committing all manner of perfidy without scruple, without remorse. He had justified his actions by holding doggedly to the belief that his life of deceit, and perfidy had been forced upon him, but these were lies he’d used to assuage his conscience. Now with the self-deception stripped away, he saw himself for what he was—the ultimate betrayer of trust.

His selfish and calculating actions had led to others’ banishment, imprisonment, and even death, but what had he gained by any of it? He had only lost—lost any semblance of honor, ideology, and self-respect. And the truth was, the decision had been his all along. And it still was.

Truth. It was an epiphany he found liberating in the extreme.

In the two short weeks since he had returned to England, since meeting her, the course of his life had changed—with everything he’d known, everything he was, now irrevocably altered. He realized the loss he had most mourned since his father’s death and what he secretly yearned to reclaim above all else, was his self-respect. And with treasonous letters sewn into his coat, and a packet waiting only three miles east, Hadley resolved in that moment to recover that which he had lost.

…

Blessed with favorable winds, Hadley arrived in Paris in three days. With letters of introduction from Chavigny, Versailles welcomed Hadley warmly. The pledges of support he carried from Cornbury on behalf of the English Jacobites revived Stuart sympathies and talks of restoration. He’d accomplished his promised mission and could now bow out with grace and a clear conscience. For the first time in almost a decade, Hadley had the freedom to do as he pleased, yet he tarried the better part of a sennight considering his next move.

“What will you do now, my dear Di Caserta?” asked le Marquis de Grobois. “Do you intend to remain in Paris?”

“I have little desire to do so,” Hadley replied. “But neither do I wish to return to Italy. Perhaps I will seek a commission with Dillon’s Regiment?”

“If that is your wish, it might easily be arranged,” the marquis replied.

It was probably the best of options for a man in his position—one with many skills but few means, but Hadley had little stomach for war. Yet staying in Paris was too akin to a dog returning to its vomit, for it was here that his downward spiral of depravity had begun. Although he assured himself he was a different man, a stronger man, the temptation of seeking oblivion from his pain by old methods—resuming a relentless pursuit of sensual pleasure, was too strong. No, he must leave Paris.

He only briefly considered Rome, but the option of resuming a life of petty intrigue in the Pretender’s court was even less appealing than taking up residence at his ruins in Caserta and raising goats. And while ten thousand shrewdly invested English pounds would suffice to provide a life of relative ease in France for many years, guilt lingered. Hadley had not secured the loan against Mary’s dowry for his own benefit, but to provide for her until she could claim her inheritance. Nevertheless, she had accepted his name only to reject his person. In bitterness, Hadley told himself he had every right to keep the money as recompense, for had not Mary already expressed the intention of paying him for the use of his name?

There was no logical reason for him to return to England, to do so risked his life, but his feelings for Mary defied all logic. Should he go back, he would only chance further rejection along with his neck, or more likely, his head, for he refused to be Sir Richard’s pawn any longer.

Keeping the money, however, would only support her belief that he had never cared for her beyond her fortune. The notion that she continued to perceive him as a villain, when he had been largely a victim, continued to gnaw at his insides, making his newfound liberty only a hollow achievement.

Hadley remained only one more day in Paris before departing for the coast.





Chapter Twenty


Welham Grove, Leicestershire

Mary was tending her poor neglected garden when she heard the familiar rumble of a coach and the clatter of iron-shod hooves approaching up the drive. With a sickening wave of trepidation, she shaded her eyes against the sun to reveal precisely what she had been dreading, the arrival of a familiar crested carriage, complete with outriders.

Two weeks had already passed in which each day had given rise to expectation, and then relief when Sir Richard had not appeared, but Mary knew it was only a matter of time. Surely, her guardian would not let her slip so readily from his grasp. Although it was an inevitability Mary had rehearsed countless times, her stomach still roiled at the thought of the looming confrontation.