The Trouble with Love (Distinguished Rogues Book 8) Page 22

  Everett dropped the cravat and fell to his knees beside her bench, close but too far away to touch. “Show me your passion, Whitney,” he begged. “Make yourself come for me.”

  So Whitney groaned desperately and, while he watched, gave her body and soul to him completely.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Mornings had always been Everett’s favorite time of day, but not this particular morning. This was it. Goodbye. The day he’d once longed for but now dreaded. The sun was just rising over the Twilit Hill estate and Whitney Crewe would be out of his life at any moment.

  He should be pleased that she would be happy, and yet his soul was being ripped in two.

  He stood on the sidelines as she bid farewell to the friends she’d made here and tried to smile. Although it was very early, all of Taverham’s guests had dragged themselves from the warmth of their beds to share a few more words with her.

  Even Exeter had put in an appearance, despite Whitney’s rejection of him.

  Everett yearned to speak to her privately again but, despite what had happened between them last night in the garden, he couldn’t think of a single positive thing to say just now.

  “Don’t forget to write us. We want to hear all about your adventure.” Lady Ettington grinned. “And when you come back home, I have another idea for a painting to surprise my husband with.”

  Whitney leaned close to the marchioness’ ear, and what she said caused Lady Ettington to burst out laughing.

  “He recovered from the shock of the last one very quickly, I promise,” she explained with an arched glance for her husband. Lord Ettington acted as if he understood nothing of their conversation, but a telling blush was creeping up his neck and over his cheeks.

  Now what had Whitney done? He shook his head, amused rather than alarmed. He did not need to know everything she’d done. But typical of Whitney. She must turn everyone’s head as well as his own.

  Whitney was beaming with mirth as she looked up at the Duke of Exeter. Everett saw the challenge in her gaze as she dared the duke with one look to remain angry with her. “Farewell, Your Grace,” she said happily.

  The duke appeared a little awkward as he bowed to her. Everett hoped the misunderstanding in the garden had not irrevocably caused a rift between them. Even though Whitney was leaving the country, the loss of the duke’s good opinion would influence others in society to think meanly of her.

  Whitney seemed to be making a valiant attempt to put the whole mistaken kiss business behind her firmly, but the duke wasn’t as sanguine.

  “Miss Crewe, I wish you all the best for a safe journey and swift return.” He spoke very formally, more formally than he usually did with her.

  Whitney’s smile slipped a little. “Thank you,” she murmured, before moving on to Lady Carrington.

  Everett watched the duke a moment longer and then returned his attention to Whitney’s farewells.

  “The children should have been here,” Lady Carrington was telling her.

  “Oh, goodness. Don’t wake them at this hour. Besides, I’ve left them a message and gifts for each one of them upstairs with the maid, and there is something for you, too.”

  “That was very kind of you.”

  “I am sure they will be thrilled,” Lord Carrington agreed as he took Whitney’s hand. “Until we meet again, dear girl.”

  He lost the rest of the conversation as Miranda leaned close. “What do you think she gave them, Everett?”

  “I’m sure I have no idea.” But he did think she might have had time to sketch each child during her visit. She was kind like that. Although she had promised never to sketch him again, or that she would want to, he’d noticed a very good likeness of him in her studio last night. He’d made no mention of it at the time, but his heart had lightened at the sight.

  The friendship that had grown between them had begun poorly, but he was certain of her now. And after last night’s tryst, he would always dream of her. He might feel some trepidation over what could happen to her when she left England behind, but he trusted that Whitney knew what she was doing. He could not follow her and abandon his sister, and he regretted that very much still.

  He chose to believe that she could take care of herself in any situation until he could be with her again.

  “Surely another week will not make much of a difference,” Miranda complained as Whitney stopped before them.

  Whitney laughed and hugged Miranda tightly. “It will mean the world of difference to me,” she promised, looking at Everett over Miranda’s shoulder before turning her attention back to the marchioness. “I have friends expecting me to visit them, too.”

  “You have friends here. What of the Quartermanes? Did you even say goodbye to them?”

  Everett’s breath caught at Miranda’s query. She should not say anything about the Quartermanes that might lead her to change her plans. Not now.

  Whitney squeezed the marchioness’ hand. “I have said all I need to say to them.”

  He let out the breath he held. Whitney still believed he was an engaged man, and now, at the very last minute, was not the time to confess Miss Quartermane had run away from the danger Emily presented.

  Whitney wanted independence, not a proposal that would tie her to him, to this county, because of the family they might eventually have together. Those were the things he alone wanted.

  He had to let her go, but it was not easy to pretend indifference after last night’s passion.

  Whitney stepped back from Miranda, eyes twinkling with her customary good humor. “Take care of yourself, and that handsome husband of yours.”

  “I will,” Miranda promised. She leaned forward and kissed both of Whitney’s cheeks. “Write to me soon, and tell me of your trip and where to find you. I expect you to visit me the moment you return to England.”

  “I will.” Whitney laughed softly then turned toward Everett. Her expression gave nothing of her feelings away. It was as if their intimate tryst last night hadn’t happened. He wished he were assured his own face was as inscrutable, but he stepped toward her, feeling coldness clutching at his heart.

  His palms grew damp in his gloves, and he said nothing at first as he looked down upon her happy face.

  He drank in the face that had grown most dear to him. Lips made to speak mischief, eyes that often spoke uncomfortable truths, wild red hair that always made her look as if she’d only just stumbled out of bed. He had never expected this to happen, but he loved Whitney more than words could say. She was everything he’d never known he needed in his life…and he had lost her before he’d ever truly had a chance to keep her.

  A smile trembled on her lips. “Will you shake my hand, Lord Acton?”

  “Yes, of course. But before I forget, I have something for you.” He dug in his pocket for the paper he carried. “I have a small property in Dover. Inherited some years ago and never used. If you find your accommodations while you wait for your ship untenable, please do not hesitate to present yourself at this address. I’ve sent a letter ahead to my staff to expect you, and render you any assistance you might require.”

  She clutched the paper, read the address, and then folded it neatly. She added it to her paint box. “Thank you. That is very kind.”

  “Well, goodbye, Miss Crewe. Pleasant journey.” He shook her hand firmly, yearning for the soft smoothness of hers against his bare palm. It felt a lifetime since he’d touched her skin, and he regretted he might never do so again.

  She squeezed his hand tightly, and then slipped from his grip once and for all.

  Lost to him forever but taking a piece of his soul with him, he was sure.

  What had begun as a pleasurable distraction one scandalous night had turned into the most important affair of his life. He would always think well of Whitney, hope for nothing but happiness for her—but he would also fear for the next poor fellow she managed to bedevil.

  He couldn’t ask her to write, to inform him of her safe arrival in Florence. He would have
to rely on hearing secondhand from Lady Taverham, and hope that Miranda would allow him to eagerly devour every word of her letters.

  Whitney curtsied, and when she rose, her eyes caught his briefly. Pain flashed through them before she hid the emotion behind her excitement and departed the room in a rush for her waiting carriage.

  The silence left in her wake made his unsteady breathing uncommonly loud. He followed everyone else out to the front drive to wave her off, feeling utterly desolate, now that she was really going.

  His throat tightened as the door shut and when the carriage lurched forward, he had a brief moment of insanity as he considered chasing after her. But reason soon return. Even though it hurt, he was doing what was right for Whitney.

  He watched the carriage go, searched for her face at the window until the carriage disappeared from view.

  “Goodness, but waking at this hour has made me famished,” Lady Ettington murmured as she faced the Taverhams. “I think I could devour everything set before me today without complaint.”

  “I feel the same. Everything was to be laid out as soon as Miss Crewe’s carriage departed,” Miranda told everyone. “Please go inside and help yourselves.”

  Everett held back. He did not think he could eat anything today. He spared one last glance for the empty drive then faced the steps and the other guests.

  The Duke of Exeter was watching him. The older man crossed the distance to Everett and thrust his hand out. “Now I understand why she’s been unhappy, and why she would not ever speak of the reason. You lost a treasure today, too,” he said quietly, so his words did not carry far. “Look me up when you find yourself in London again. I suspect you and I could become great friends one day.”

  Everett reluctantly shook hands, astonished by the duke’s words. Had he and Whitney been seen together in the gardens, or had their parting been too obviously bittersweet to be mistaken? He suspected the latter.

  Knowing he must say something, he nodded. “I would like that.”

  Taverham and Miranda and the dowager joined them, and the duke made a hasty escape inside.

  Taverham clapped him on the shoulder. “Dinner tonight?”

  “I don’t think so.” He noted the couple held hands yet again. “I’ll be with Emily.”

  The dowager scowled, and Taverham looked instantly stricken as he darted a guilty glance at his wife.

  Everett frowned at them all. Had they not discussed Emily together yet? He was too tired to worry that he’d upset the applecart. They each knew what he did for his sister, and they had each claimed they understood.

  “I understand why you might not wish to return for a while,” Miranda murmured as she set her hand to his chest briefly. “But do come back and see us soon, and if you ever need anything, don’t hesitate to send word day or night.”

  The dowager was nodding right along with Miranda, which made a nice change. The dowager had been much too fond of Emily and dismissive of Miranda from the very start.

  “Thank you, Miranda.” He nodded to Taverham. “Have an enjoyable day.”

  Miranda slipped her arm through her husband’s, who was gaping like a fish at their conversation.

  Miranda sighed. “Don’t even think of making a fuss right now.”

  “I can explain,” Taverham promised. Everett turned away, catching the last of their conversation.

  “There is no need to explain anything,” Miranda promised her husband. “Everett is family. Lady Taverham, will you join us for breakfast?”

  “Yes, I think I am hungry enough to eat at this hour, too,” the older woman decided, and shuffled slowly into the manor. Taverham offered his arm at the stairs and, together, they all headed inside.

  Everett sighed with relief that his friend’s family was slowly growing closer. Managing a family could be very complicated. He did not envy Taverham the stress of bringing those pair, his wife and mother, into harmony.

  He turned away, walking the fields he, Taverham and Emily had ridden across together as children. Before he reached his own lands, he was in tears over those faraway memories. He wiped them away irritably, and soon found himself facing another summons before he’d even walked through his front door.

  Without the need for secrecy now, he mounted his horse on the front drive and rode hard and fast for Rose Cottage to spend another day sitting at his sister’s bedside. It could be her last, but he fervently wished it wasn’t.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Whitney handed her card to the butler of the neat redbrick building overlooking the channel, heart in her throat. She hoped she was doing the right thing by imposing upon a connection, because the alternative was too horrible to bear. “I believe Lord Acton told you to expect me.”

  The doorway widened to admit her immediately, and an old man without a scrap of hair on his head smiled widely. “He certainly wrote that it was a possibility you would come. Welcome, Miss Crewe.”

  She spared her companions a quick glance of relief then entered. Whitney stepped into a pleasant front hall and sighed at the peaceful atmosphere surrounding her.

  “Ah, what a charming home.” The past few days and nights had not been ideal for her. Everett’s generous offer of his unoccupied property, save for a pair of servants, not far from the port, was perfect for her needs. It was close enough to her ship and a relieving distance from the unsavory characters who had appeared suddenly at the inn she’d settled into. Staying, despite the changed mood of the place, had been essential until her companions had arrived to join her. She was very glad to have an alternative so readily available to her party.

  “May I introduce my companion, Mrs. Roberts? Her husband, Thomas, will be along shortly with our luggage.”

  “Pleased to make your acquaintance. Lord Acton was very keen to be of assistance, should you require his help.” The man rang a bell to his left. “There’s just the two of us, myself and the housekeeper, who will come along at any moment to settle you in. Let me first help with your luggage.”

  A rail-thin older woman appeared and ushered Whitney into a nearby parlor. “Would you care for tea, my lady?”

  “It is Miss Crewe,” Whitney stressed. “And tea would be lovely indeed.”

  She fretted until her luggage was carried inside, but directed the servants to store almost all of her belongings in the dining room. She would need very little luggage for the one evening she planned to stay in Everett’s home.

  The butler shut the front door and rejoined her. “There now,” he said with a satisfied smile. “His lordship will be very glad to know you have come. He was quite concerned for your welfare in his letters.”

  “Letters?”

  “Yes, indeed. There have been several about you.”

  Mrs. Roberts nudged her. “He is still thinking of you.”

  Whitney sighed, realizing she had blubbered on Mrs. Roberts’ shoulder far too much since meeting the woman. She couldn’t seem to help herself, and laughed nervously, hoping to make light of the matter before Everett’s man. “He’s very kind.”

  “He must have truly been in love with you,” Roberts whispered. “Men only fuss this way if they care about a woman very deeply.”

  Whitney swallowed, fighting another bout of tears, resolutely squaring her shoulders and trying to put what might have been firmly behind her. “When you have the opportunity, please convey to his lordship my appreciation of his generosity in allowing me to stay,” she choked out.

  “Tell him he may very well have saved her virtue, too,” Mrs. Roberts added.

  The butler’s eyes widened in alarm. “What has happened?”

  “Nothing. Nothing at all,” Whitney promised the fellow before he was too shocked, casting a sour look at her new companion. The woman was as blunt as a well-used axe. Whitney usually liked that trait in her friends, but not so much today.

  Nothing had happened, thanks to the stout wood and locks on her door and the timely arrival of her traveling companions. Discovering she wasn’t invulnerable a
t the inn had been a very nasty shock. “The inn was much too crowded for me to remain another day.”

  “Noisy?”

  “Ooh yes, until all hours.”

  “That ain’t even the half of it,” Mrs. Roberts said in a loud, clear voice. “The tavern weren’t fit for a lady. I told my Thomas we should have come earlier than we promised.”

  Thomas Roberts, a great hulking fellow with the sweetest disposition toward his wife, lumbered into view, holding the Roberts’ pitifully small trunk. “Should have listened to you. I know.”

  Mrs. Roberts beamed at her husband and he went on his way.

  “Oh, dear,” the butler grumbled. “You were staying at a tavern? I could have told you it was the worst possible place for a lady if you had come here first.”

  “Well, we are all here now.” Whitney felt her optimism in the good of mankind returning but rubbed her brow. “I’ve hardly slept a wink with all the strangers pounding on my door by mistake,” she admitted. “Half the patrons at the inn seemed incapable of finding their own rooms without directions.”

  Instead of laughing, the poor butler appeared even more stricken. “Then we are glad you have come. His lordship said we were to look after you as if you were part of the family. You can be assured of our protection and discretion and privacy.”

  “I don’t require protection, now that I have Mr. and Mrs. Roberts at my side, but I do thank you for your concern.” Whitney forced a smile. “All I require is a bath, a meal, a peaceful evening, and a bed to sleep in later. I expect a caller very early tomorrow morning. Captain Williams will come and provide instructions for our voyage.”

  “Of course,” he murmured. “Let me show you around and to your room. His lordship suggested that the master bedchamber be prepared. It is the best room in the house.”

  Whitney pushed away her despair. She would have enjoyed the room more if Everett could have joined her there. But today was the day of his wedding, and it was past time to stop thinking of him.