Once a Wallflower, At Last His Love (Scandalous Seasons #6)(99)

“No,” she said with such adamancy, the protestation withered on his lips. She met his gaze. “I should have told you. It was unpardonable, but I’d have you know the whole truth.” The muscles of her throat worked. When she spoke, her words emerged on a faint whisper. “There was a gentleman.”

There was a gentleman. A black haze descended over his vision. Someone who’d come before him. The world ceased spinning and he stood in a quagmire of jealousy and resentment, nearly consumed by the force of his emotions.

Then she spoke. “Lord Cavendish.” The two words dripped a venomous poison. By the vitriol in her tone, he suspected if Cavendish were present, she would have gladly fed him that poison and watched him writhe.

“What did he do?” he asked his tone brusque. If he hurt her, he would see the notorious rogue destroyed.

Tears flooded her eyes and the sight of those crystalline drops threatened to shatter him. “He came upon my sister, Elizabeth.”

A chill turned his blood to ice in his veins. Oh, God. This admission wasn’t about Mr. Michaelmas or a love she’d carried for some gentleman. It was something worse. Something far darker.

A lone drop fell. “I shouldn’t have allowed her to go out on her own. Her nurse, Partridge, Papa, none of us should have. And yet we did. We’d done it so many times before and nothing had ever come of it.” She brushed back a tear. “One day she became lost and a dashing gentleman escorted her home.” A sneer pulled at her lips. “Lord Cavendish,” she spat the name. “We so graciously welcomed him into our home and thanked him for helping Elizabeth. He supped with us. Listened to Papa’s readings. And fools that we were we didn’t realize the shame he was guilty of, until I stumbled upon him one afternoon, going to visit the village.” She pressed her hands over her face and drew in several breaths.

He reached for her, gently took her hands and held them in his. She seemed to find the courage to continue. “Lord Cavendish knew Elizabeth went for her walks and would wait for her. I don’t know how many times, Sebastian.”

Sebastian stilled as the implications of those words registered. Fury licked at the corner of his mind; it spiraled dark and black throughout his body. He struggled to speak but could find no adequate words.

“He’d convinced her to do…” Another tear. She pulled her hand out of his and swatted at it almost angrily. Did she see those tokens as a sign of weakness? A woman of Hermione’s strength and courage could never be weak. “Things no unwed lady should ever do.” She held his gaze. “He raped her.” Her pronouncement lingered in the room, leaving with it a void of silence.

Stunned, he released Hermione. He balled his hands into fists, his fingers reflexively twitched with the desire to take the bastard Cavendish apart with his hands. To make him suffer for what he’d done to the girl, Elizabeth. For Hermione’s sake, Sebastian struggled for a semblance of calm. The young dandy would pay.

“She is with child, Sebastian.” Her words came out on a broken whisper.

Oh, God. But there was no God in this. There was only the devil and all his vile darkness. He swiped a hand over his eyes. “Hermione,” he said, his voice ragged. Why hadn’t she turned this burden over to him?

Then, isn’t that what she did? A dark voice niggled. Desperation will drive people who are not normally desperate to do desperate things.

Sebastian let his arms fall back to his side. A hesitancy filled his wife’s expressive blue eyes; those windows into her soul. She took a step away from him. He registered the stiff set to her tall, slender frame, the distance she’d placed between them and frowned as an ugly possibility occurred to him. His words emerged harsher than he intended. “Do you imagine I would hold your family responsible for Cavendish’s actions?”

“Surely you didn’t think I could share this?” She dropped her gaze guiltily. “I knew in marrying you, you deserved to at least know these truths and yet I said nothing…”

Sebastian strode over and her words trailed off. These secrets she’d kept were too much for any person. He claimed her hands in his and one at a time, raised them to his lips. He paused at the smattering of ink upon the tips of her fingers. She followed his gaze and tugged at his grip. He tightened his hold about her person and raised first one wrist to his lips, and then the next. Her pulse pounded wildly. “You once told me that one does not make people their business. You told me they must learn a person’s interests, their hopes, their desires.” The muscles of her neck worked under the force of her swallow. He stroked his palm over her cheek. “How could you not have realized I wanted you? I wanted you from the moment I observed you at Lady Denley’s writing notes upon your own dance card.”

Another tear. “You did?”

He caught the drop with the pad of his thumb. “I did.”

“Even with my silly yellow skirts?” Another tear replaced the first. It wound a sad little trail over her porcelain white cheek and he would have cut himself open if it would spare her any more pain.

“Especially with your silly yellow skirts.” He dropped his brow to hers. “I do not want you to be my business, Hermione.” He brushed a soft kiss against her lips. “I want you to be my wife.” He touched his lips to her cheek. “Let me learn your interests and share them, tell me of your hopes and together we will attain them, and desire for nothing because as long as you’re mine, if you should call forth the stars, I’ll bring them down to you.” Sebastian lowered his brow to hers.