At the very last door, he halted and leaned forward to listen through the solid wood. Those angry voices had quietened to hissing whispers, as if they knew that Lionel might have heard.
“You have destroyed our father,” Martin spat. “It would have been for the best ifyouhad died in our mother’s stead. You have caused nothing but trouble, and now you think you can just leave without bearing any responsibility for your actions? You are mistaken, Amelia. I shall drag you back to our townhouse if I must.”
Lionel pushed through the door, bristling with fury. He had warned Martin once about speaking like that to his wife; he would not do so again.
Martin’s eyes flew wide as he looked upon Lionel, scuttling backward, away from Amelia, like the rat that he was. “Finally,he arrives to talk some sense into his wife! Have you heard that she is setting sail for the Americas this evening?”
“I have,” Lionel replied calmly, his gaze drifting toward Amelia.
She was in the midst of packing books into a smaller valise, each volume stolen from the townhouse library. He considered mentioning that, but until he signed the divorce papers and gave them to her, the books were still technically hers too. And he would not miss those books, though hewouldmiss her.
Goodness, I shall miss you…He had thought that he would be able to control himself if he saw her again, but the truth could not have been more opposite. She looked so beautiful, so perfect, that he had to put his arms behind his back to resist rushing forward to embrace her, to pull her close, to kiss her.
Just then, he noticed something on her wrist. A dark bruise that formed an unseemly bracelet across her pale, smooth skin. Glancing back up to her face, he realized that what he had thought was her usual flush of pink was not that at all—only one side was red, as if she had been struck.
He walked up to her, gently taking hold of her hand, inspecting the bruise more closely. “Who did this to you?” he growled, as his other hand lifted to her cheek, touching it tenderly. “Who has hurt you?”
He suspected the culprit was in the room with them, but he would hear her say it before he beat the wretch black and blue.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
“It is nothing,” Amelia croaked, gazing into Lionel’s gleaming eyes.
She had never seen him look so fearsome, yet his touch against her cheek and his light grasp upon her hand could not have been gentler. Her heart pounded wildly in her chest at the closeness of him, for she had not expected to see him again. She had dreamed of it, against her will, but she had thought it impossible that they would meet before she departed.
I arranged it that way. You were not supposed to come here. You were not supposed to make this departure more difficult than it already is…
“Whohurt you?” he pressed, his voice thick.
Her brow creased, a lump forming in her throat. “You did.”
“That is not what I meant,” he replied, a flicker of regret passing across his face. “Who did this to you?”
“Oh, for pity’s sake,” Martin muttered. “Idid it, and she deserved it.Youshall be quite all right, Lord Westyork, for no one would dare to say a word against you. Indeed, I expect you will be inundated with offers of marriage from every mother in society once your divorce becomes common knowledge, but what of us? I shall struggle to find a bride now, because of her. You can hardly blame me for striking her.”
Lionel stepped away from Amelia, turning very slowly. “I doubt your inability to find a bride will have anything to do with your circumstances,” he said darkly. “I told you, in no uncertain terms, that if you spoke to my wife rudely again, you would regret it. Clearly, you did not listen.”
In a blur that Amelia could not have prevented, even if she had wanted to, Lionel closed the distance between himself and Martin and swung a mighty right hook. Lionel’s fist collided with the side of Martin’s face—the same side, Amelia noticed, as the mark from her brother’s slap.
“I trust you will not forgetthiswarning in a hurry,” Lionel snarled, striking Martin again, directly in the nose.
A thin wail shivered from Martin’s lips as his hands flew to his injured nose, his ensuing whimpers rather satisfying. He claimed to be proud and fierce, but when it came to it, he was indeed a cowardly weasel who was nothing without his father’s protection.
But, of course, Amelia could not allow Lionel to beat her brother to a pulp, which is what appeared to be imminent.
She rushed forward, recovering from the initial shock, and grabbed onto Lionel’s arm. With all of her might, she pulled him away from Martin, and did not stop pulling until they were out of the bedchamber and standing halfway up the hall.
“Have you taken leave of your senses?” she rasped, panting hard. “What were you thinking?”
Lionel gazed down at her, his hand lifting as if he meant to cradle her cheek again… but he lowered it a moment later. “Come back to Westyork with me.”
“What?” she gasped, her head swimming.
“I came here to give you the divorce papers,” he said. “Now, I am asking you to come back to Westyork with me. I cannot leave you here with your brother, I cannot let you leave for the Americas, so… return with me.”
She took a step backward, shaking her head. “You cannot do this to me, Lionel. This is my choice.” She extended her hand. “Please, give me the divorce papers and then leave.”
“What is waiting for you in the Americas?” he asked suddenly, gazing at her with such warmth that she wanted to scream in frustration and throw her arms around him, all at once.
