effectively, she wasn’t sure what she had seen in them. Out of nowhere, a question came. Why had he never married? He’d had eleven years to find someone else. Why hadn’t he?
He came to the chair next to her and sat. “Listen. If the only person who gave you something to drink was my mother, or at least, you thought it was her, then it had to be my aunt.”
Oh, God, of course. Leo’s mother, twin sister to Michael’s, would do anything for her son. She had always had trouble telling the sisters apart, so alike were they. “I wish I could deny she would do such a thing, but I can’t. She was always making excuses for Leo’s behavior. We never got on well, but it was after she died that he turned truly malicious.”
“I would kill him for you, Myana. I should have done so years ago.”
Diana squeezed her eyes closed. It had been so long since she had heard the pet name pass his lips. A play he had made on her name, she was his Ana he once told her. She lifted her lashes and looked at him. “Don’t call me that. I’m not yours.”
His face jerked as if she had slapped his cheek. “My apologies. I meant no harm.”
But it had hurt, more than she wished, to hear the endearment. If she had truly been his Ana shouldn’t he have fought for her? At the very least, he should have given her the benefit of doubt about what he had seen that night. What had he seen?
“No one has ever told me what happened when you found Leo in my room. I would like to know. I need to know.”
****
Michael stood and went to the sideboard and poured two fingers of brandy into a glass and one finger into another. He was delaying, trying to get his thoughts together, but for this story, he wasn’t sure the whole bloody bottle would be enough to fortify him. He looked at his glass and then added another splash.
Drinks in hand, he sat in the chair next to her. Keeping the fuller one for himself, he handed her the other. “Sip this slowly.”
She stared down at the glass for a moment, and then lifted her gaze to his. “Sometimes, I would sneak some of Leo’s. Usually after a beating, something to dull the hurt and help me sleep, you see.” She brought the brandy to her lips and drank it in one swallow, and then without even a small cough, she finished her story. “Then he caught me and I never did it again. He showed me the error of my ways.” She handed him the empty glass. “More please.”
Sweet Jesus. Michael set his drink on his desk and went again to the sideboard, this time pouring a more generous amount. With his back to her, he closed his eyes and tried to banish the image of his cousin beating her. He had seen the burn on her back. How many more scars were there attesting to what she had lived through? How had she survived it?
He turned and studied her. She sat in quiet dignity with her head bowed and her hands in her lap, covering the letter. How had she managed to raise a beautiful boy amidst the horror of her days? He wasn’t sure he could have lived her life without losing his mind. She was bloody amazing.
Michael took the drink to her. “You really should sip this one.”
“All right,” she said. “Will you tell me now?”
He sat next to her. “Yes, I will tell you about that night.”
Chapter Eight
The insistent knocking on his chamber door woke him.
Michael pushed himself up against the pillows. “Who’s there?” No answer.
What the devil? He slipped on his dressing gown, lighted a candle and held it up to the clock on the mantel. Two in the morning. Someone must be sick. Diana? She couldn’t be ill, they were getting married tomorrow.
His heart picked up its pace and he rushed to the door, opening it. No one was there. He stepped into the hall. What the hell was going on? He glanced at the door of the room adjoining his, the one meant for his countess. The one Diana had already moved into. The door was ajar, light spilling through the crack. He started for it, stopping halfway. The thought
He came to the chair next to her and sat. “Listen. If the only person who gave you something to drink was my mother, or at least, you thought it was her, then it had to be my aunt.”
Oh, God, of course. Leo’s mother, twin sister to Michael’s, would do anything for her son. She had always had trouble telling the sisters apart, so alike were they. “I wish I could deny she would do such a thing, but I can’t. She was always making excuses for Leo’s behavior. We never got on well, but it was after she died that he turned truly malicious.”
“I would kill him for you, Myana. I should have done so years ago.”
Diana squeezed her eyes closed. It had been so long since she had heard the pet name pass his lips. A play he had made on her name, she was his Ana he once told her. She lifted her lashes and looked at him. “Don’t call me that. I’m not yours.”
His face jerked as if she had slapped his cheek. “My apologies. I meant no harm.”
But it had hurt, more than she wished, to hear the endearment. If she had truly been his Ana shouldn’t he have fought for her? At the very least, he should have given her the benefit of doubt about what he had seen that night. What had he seen?
“No one has ever told me what happened when you found Leo in my room. I would like to know. I need to know.”
****
Michael stood and went to the sideboard and poured two fingers of brandy into a glass and one finger into another. He was delaying, trying to get his thoughts together, but for this story, he wasn’t sure the whole bloody bottle would be enough to fortify him. He looked at his glass and then added another splash.
Drinks in hand, he sat in the chair next to her. Keeping the fuller one for himself, he handed her the other. “Sip this slowly.”
She stared down at the glass for a moment, and then lifted her gaze to his. “Sometimes, I would sneak some of Leo’s. Usually after a beating, something to dull the hurt and help me sleep, you see.” She brought the brandy to her lips and drank it in one swallow, and then without even a small cough, she finished her story. “Then he caught me and I never did it again. He showed me the error of my ways.” She handed him the empty glass. “More please.”
Sweet Jesus. Michael set his drink on his desk and went again to the sideboard, this time pouring a more generous amount. With his back to her, he closed his eyes and tried to banish the image of his cousin beating her. He had seen the burn on her back. How many more scars were there attesting to what she had lived through? How had she survived it?
He turned and studied her. She sat in quiet dignity with her head bowed and her hands in her lap, covering the letter. How had she managed to raise a beautiful boy amidst the horror of her days? He wasn’t sure he could have lived her life without losing his mind. She was bloody amazing.
Michael took the drink to her. “You really should sip this one.”
“All right,” she said. “Will you tell me now?”
He sat next to her. “Yes, I will tell you about that night.”
Chapter Eight
The insistent knocking on his chamber door woke him.
Michael pushed himself up against the pillows. “Who’s there?” No answer.
What the devil? He slipped on his dressing gown, lighted a candle and held it up to the clock on the mantel. Two in the morning. Someone must be sick. Diana? She couldn’t be ill, they were getting married tomorrow.
His heart picked up its pace and he rushed to the door, opening it. No one was there. He stepped into the hall. What the hell was going on? He glanced at the door of the room adjoining his, the one meant for his countess. The one Diana had already moved into. The door was ajar, light spilling through the crack. He started for it, stopping halfway. The thought
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