Persuasion

His gaze sharpened. “Ah, yes. I vaguely recall telling you that I was not fond of my wife.”

She clasped her hands and said, unhappily, “You claimed you were not grieving for her but I did not believe you.”

He made a mocking sound. “Of course, you would think the best of me.”

“What does that mean?”

“You always believed in me. Your faith was unshakable.”

He wished to discuss the past again? She was incredulous. “I believe,” she said carefully, “that you love your children and you loved your wife, although perhaps not in a conventional way.”

“As I said, your faith is unshakable. Apparently I was being entirely truthful with you last night. I am not grieving for Lady Grenville. I hardly wished her ill, but I cannot grieve for a woman I barely knew.”

“How is that even possible?” Amelia gasped. “You shared children and she was so beautiful and so gracious!”

“It was her duty to bear my sons,” he pointed out, rather darkly. “Just as it was my duty to marry her and beget an heir.”

She felt her eyes widen. It hadn’t been a love match. It didn’t even sound as if he had had a choice. Was all the terrible gossip true? She didn’t dare ask. She said softly, “I am so sorry. You both deserved more.”

Grenville was clearly incredulous. “You are sorry that I did not love my wife? That she did not love me? That I am not brokenhearted? You would wish me well?”

“Yes—no!” Then, blushing and aware of it, she cried, “I would not wish anyone ill.” She stopped. They were fast approaching dangerous ground—today would be an even worse time to venture onto the subject of their past. She quickly said, hoping to divert him, “If you are not grieving for Lady Grenville, then there is another cause for your anguish. I had forgotten that the last time you were in residence, your brother died.”

His face hardened. “That was a decade ago.”

She almost pointed out that he seemed to remember their affair well, so surely he recalled that tragedy, as well. “I am sorry that you had to return under these painful circumstances.”

“I think I believe you,” he said. “Only you would continue to care, to have concern and even compassion for me.” He shook his head. “The question becomes, how is it possible that you would still have faith in me?”

She hated this tangent! But apparently, he would not be diverted. “I am not a cynic,” she managed to respond. And did she still have faith in him? Grenville was a man of honor, a man of duty, a man of character—even if he had behaved so callously with her. She did believe it, God help her.

“I have found, Amelia, that in this life the cynics are usually right.”

“Then I am sorry for you,” she snapped.

“And I fear for you—for one day, you will learn such a lesson.”

“No. I will remain an optimist, and I will continue to have faith in my friends and neighbors.” She meant it.

He was staring intensely. “I wonder what I will have to do this time to shake that faith.”

What did that mean? She cried, “There will not be another time!”

“Ah, so now we get to the gist of the matter.”

“I am only here out of concern for the children.”

“Liar!” He smiled dangerously now. “Do you think I have not noticed that every time I mention the past, or even refer to it with a vague innuendo, you become rather undone?”

She hugged herself. “Well, that is because last night you were relentless! And even today, it is as if you wish to remind me of the past, when I have forgotten it entirely!” There, the fighting gloves were off.

He slowly said, his eyes gleaming, “You do know that you have just raised a red flag at a bull?”

What did that mean? “Have you been imbibing today?”

“No, I have not. But do not baldly lie to my face! Do not tell me that you have forgotten the past, when the one thing I do recall is that last night I held you in my arms, and you were trembling.” He had raised his voice. His dark eyes flashed.

And she found herself lying, instinctively. “You were frightening—at times you erupted in anger—I had never seen you in such a state!”

“And even now—” he pointed at her “—you are trembling, and we both know why.”

She cried out. But he was right—desire was coursing through her veins.

And he became dismissive. “You should stay away from this house. You should stay away from me. You should give up your goddamned faith. Because you are still an innocent, and I am not referring to your status as a woman. You are an innocent at heart, and do not deny it. You do not have a clue as to what transpires in the world, outside of your precious Cornwall! You do not have a clue that life is really only about death—that death is everywhere, and that nobility is for fools!” His eyes blazed.

She cringed. “What has happened to you?” She wanted to weep.

“You need to stay far away from me,” he continued furiously. “Either that, or come here and suffer the consequences.”

She gasped again. Did he mean that he would attempt a seduction, then and there?

“Do not look so surprised! I am a rogue, remember—a rake.”

She did not know how to reply. But she was about to defend him, and she closed her mouth to stop herself from doing so.

He laughed. “God, you would defend me even now!”

She backed up and hit the dining-room wall. Finally she found her voice. “I will defend you, Grenville, when you have been unjustly and erroneously accused of some misdeed. But right now, I will not even attempt to excuse your atrocious behavior!” Was she shouting?

His eyes widened.

“You are obviously in a state of grief—do not deny it! Whether you are grieving over your wife, your brother, or someone else, the anguish is obvious. But your grief does not give you a carte blanche to treat me with utter disrespect!”

His mouth pursed, as if he fought to prevent himself from speaking.

She realized she was shaking. “I am genuinely concerned for your children, and, yes, for you. If you choose to think I harbor some ancient flame, then so be it. I am not going to try to change your mind. However, I must say something, and you will not like it. Your selfish behavior must cease.”

Grenville was motionless. But he was listening to her, his gaze narrow.

“Go see your sons. Go see your newborn daughter! They need you, Grenville. And then do something to repair this household!” She was most definitely shouting at the Earl of St. Just, but she could not recall ever having been as angry.

He finally said, “Are you finished?”

“Yes, I have said what needed to be said.” She lifted her chin defiantly. “And I am going to check in on the children before I go—unless you object.” She dared to meet his gaze, wondering if he was about to forbid her from associating with his children. If he did, she would not blame him. She would not be surprised if he ordered her forthright from his house.

His face impossible to read, he said calmly, “I believe they will be pleased to see you.”

Relief almost swamped her. Amelia quickly turned and rushed down the length of the dining hall, beginning to realize what she had done. She had just scolded Grenville. She had just shouted at him. She had berated him at the top of her lungs.