“Or he’ll say it doesn’t matter to him, but he won’t mean it.”
A skeptical expression crossed Beatrice’s face. “Have you ever known my brother to say one thing but mean another? The man has trouble with the concept of keeping one’s opinion to oneself.”
When Gwyn eyed Beatrice askance, Beatrice said, “I know, I know, it’s our family curse. But Joshua is the most shining—or horrifying, depending on how you look at it—example of it. He says what he thinks. Believe me, if your being unable to have children bothers him, he’ll tell you.”
“I hope you’re right.” Though she was no longer sure about anything concerning Joshua.
“Do you love him?” Beatrice asked.
The question caught Gwyn completely off guard.
“I mean,” Beatrice went on hastily, “I know you said you haven’t talked about it, but—”
“Honestly, I’m not sure how I feel. If wanting to hold him close one minute and strangle him the next is love—”
“It sure as the devil is part of it.” Beatrice glanced away. “But mostly it’s about trust . . . trusting someone enough to know that no matter what you tell them, they’ll be on your side, and it won’t change how they feel about you. That’s why you should never give your heart to someone you don’t trust.”
Despite everything, Gwyndidtrust Joshua. Or she didnowanyway. She was just afraid she’d lose him once he found out that she might be childless for life. If she’d ever really had him.
“I’m going to tell you something I probably shouldn’t,” Beatrice said, “because my brother said it to me privately, although not in confidence. But I love him enough to want what’s best for him, and I think you’re what’s best for him.”
Gwyn said nothing, just looked at Beatrice expectantly.
“The night I caught you two together,” Beatrice went on, “I threatened him if he ever harmed you, and he said, ‘I would never harm her. Not as long as I live and breathe.’ Those are strong words for Joshua. And though I think he was embarrassed afterward to have shown so much of his true feelings, I also think he meant them.”
Shock rippled through Gwyn. Theywerestrong words, so strong that she could hardly imagine him saying them. But Beatrice wouldn’t lie about something like that. Gwyn knew it, as surely as she knew that Joshua wouldn’t hurt her in one of his rages. Not physically anyway.
Would he hurt her in other ways? Next time they argued, would he accuse her of having been with another man before marriage? And if they were unable to have children, would he throw that back at her, too?
She didn’t think so, but she wasn’t sure.
Beatrice squeezed her shoulder. “The thing about love is, it’s like drinking fire and trusting it not to burn you, though it seems to burn everyone else. It means trusting someone when by all accounts you shouldn’t. Because you know, somewhere deep in your heart, that the person you’re trusting is worthy of that.”
“I trusted Lionel,” she ventured.
“Did you? Truly? Or was there an annoying voice in your head that said he would hurt you in the end?”
Gwyn tried to put herself in her younger self’s shoes. She remembered how she’d felt when Lionel had flirted with other women in Berlin. She remembered being unsure, even then, of whether he wanted her for herself or for her fortune. Lionel had managed to assuage that fear with his fawning flatteries and his pointed attentions, but only barely.
Meanwhile, her present self knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Joshua had never wanted her for her fortune. Odd, how completely she believed it.
“There’s a certain amount of risk in falling in love,” Beatrice said. “What you have to ask yourself is, would being with Joshua be worth the risk?”
Yes.
Gwyn would endure any pain, any scandal, any risk, to be with him.
Now if only she could convincehimof that.
Chapter Twenty
At Thornhill, Joshua was ushered into the inner sanctum—the duke’s study—which was more spacious than the entire downstairs of the dowager house Joshua rented on the Armitage estate. It was sobering, to say the least. But it didn’t change what he’d come to say.
With a smile, Thornstock rose to greet him. “What brings you here, Major?” Critically, he scanned Joshua’s rough-looking attire. “I thought you were accompanying Lady Hornsby and Gwyn to the opera tonight. But you’re damned well not doing it dressed likethat.”
“It was never settled whether they’d decided to go for certain. Or whether Grey might be the one to go with them.” He shrugged. “It doesn’t really matter. Either way, they won’t have to worry about Malet ruining their evening because I intend to beard the lion in his den as soon as I leave here. Hence my deliberately ragged clothes. No point in ruining a perfectly good suit.”
It was high time Joshua commenced with his work for Fitzgerald, and tonight seemed as good a time as any. It would keep his mind off the beautiful woman he’d managed to insult earlier.
