“Do not dare to touch me again, Martin,” she snapped. “If you do, I shall go to the scandal sheets before I depart and tell them every last one of your wicked secrets. I might have been silent in this household for years, but I have listened more closely than you think, hearing things you thought I had not.”
Martin paled, his mouth agape.
“What is she talking about?” Francis barked. “What on earth has come over the pair of you?”
Amelia held Martin’s gaze fiercely. “I think you and Father ought to have a long conversation about the gambling halls, dawn duels with furious husbands, and, to that end, your dalliances with married ladies.” She smirked. “Meanwhile, I must prepare for my voyage. There is much to do, though I do not expect you to wave me off.”
Brimming with satisfaction, though her cheek still throbbed, she walked out of the drawing room and out of the townhouse for what she prayed was the very last time. And as she left, she could have sworn she saw the butler cast her a proud smile.
Still, it was not an entirely triumphant moment, for she was not just leaving her father and brother behind—she was leaving all hope of love and happiness with Lionel behind, too. There was every chance that even the Americas would not be far enough away to forget what she was giving up.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Lionel swirled a glass of brandy, though he had no taste for the liquor. In truth, he did not know why he had come to the gentlemen’s club at all when he was in no mood for the company of others. Just the chatter of other clientele made him bristle, for it was quiet that he craved, but there was no quiet to be found when his mind was so very loud.
“There you are!” a voice called, snapping Lionel’s dazed eyes up.
He blinked again as three figures made their way through the smoky haze of the gentlemen’s club toward him. As he was not wearing his spectacles, Lionel was never quite certain if he could trust his eyes, but it didseemto be his friends: Duncan Lock, Edmund Connolly, and Vincent Wilds.
“I did not realize anyone was trying to find me,” Lionel remarked flatly, sitting back in his chair.
Edmund smiled. “You have your grandmother to thank for that.”
Vincent nodded, taking the seat closest to Lionel. “She sent messengers, informing us that you had gone to London and might be in need of your friends.”
“So, what is all of this about?” Duncan plopped down in the chair opposite, summoning the waiter to order brandy for all of them.
“Your grandmother did not give many details,” Vincent agreed. “But when someone sends a messenger, you know it is serious enough to take action at once.”
Lionel frowned down at his own glass of brandy for a moment, uncertain of whether to be grateful for the company of his friends or annoyed by their presence. Beneath that, he felt a current of guilt for worrying his grandmother enough that she would send out messengers to the three gentlemen. He had not realized she knew there was anything amiss, though he supposed he should have known that he would not be able to pull the wool over her eyes.
“I visited with the archbishop.” Lionel drew the papers from his waistcoat. “All I have to do is sign them, and I will no longer be married.”
Duncan made a low whistle. “What happened?”
“She asked for a divorce.” Lionel shrugged. “I did not feel like I could refuse, though… it is not what I want. She will be at the mercy of society, and they are bloodthirsty vultures.”
Vincent pulled a disapproving face. “If it is not what you want, then why on earth would you go through with it? Talk to her. I am sure that you can make her see sense. Indeed, your situation cannot be so bad, can it?”
Lionel stared at the wretched divorce papers, annoyed that the archbishop had agreed to it so swiftly. He had come to London and made the request a few days ago, still hoping that it would be rejected. He had known a few gentlemen who had sought divorces, only to have them refused. But, of course, the archbishop had been only too happy to consent to the wishes of one of the wealthiest men in England.
“She told me she loved me, and I told her I did not,” he said thickly. “I tried to persuade her not to request a divorce, that a separation would be enough, but she insisted.”
Duncan pulled a face. “Goodness… that is somewhat brutal.” He hesitated. “But, if I may, it did not seem like you held no affection for her when you were together at my winter ball.”
“That is the trouble,” Lionel said quietly, expelling a strained breath. “I do love her, but I cannot love her. It would be selfish and fruitless, causing her far more pain later than she is experiencing now.”
Vincent gasped softly, his expression regretful. “You have not told her about the ‘curse’…”
“No, I have not.” Lionel took a small sip of the brandy to ease the dryness in his throat. “I could not. She is not the sort of womanwho would hear that and change her mind about loving me. I sensed that from the moment I began to have feelings for her. So, I needed to be the villain, for her sake. I needed to make her hate me, and that is what I believe I have done.”
Leaning back in his chair, Duncan clicked his tongue. “You are an idiot, Lionel. I hate to be so rude, but you are.”
“Not an idiot,” Vincent interjected, “but certainly a little foolish. You do not know that this ‘curse’ will affect you. When you told us about it, you even pointed out that therewereoccasional exceptions. You cannot predict that you will not be one of them, too.”
“I cannot predict it either way, but if you were offered a bowl of strawberries and someone told you that one was filled with arsenic, you would behave as if all of them were filled with arsenic, would you not?” Lionel argued.
Duncan tipped forward on his chair again, as the waiter arrived with the brandies. “Whether your life is short or long, you deserve to live it with everything you have. Indeed, the fair thing to do would be to give your wife the choice about what to do, knowing all of the information. If, after you told her, she wanted a divorce, then that is one thing. But you have not allowed her to decide for herself.”
