Come the Dawn by Christina Skye Page A

“Good-bye, Devlyn Carlisle. Do not come to see me. Do not try to contact me, not ever again. I am now as dead to you as you are to me. I must finally learn how to accept that.” Then her chin rose and she made her way proudly to the door.

CHAPTER 5
     

     
     
    Over the next two days, the Earl of Thornwood sent five messages to India at the Duchess of Cranford’s town house.
    Each message was returned to him unopened. When he sent his man of business to speak with the auburn-haired heiress, he, too, was sent away.
    At each impasse Thornwood’s temper grew steadily worse. Finally he called at the Duchess of Cranford’s town house in person.
    His reception was far from welcoming.
    No, Lady India was not receiving.
    No, she would not accept a written message from the Earl of Thornwood.
    No, there was no way he could possibly speak to her, the old butler announced imperiously. Then he closed the polished oak door in Thornwood’s face.
    Fuming, the earl stalked back to Belgrave Square. If it was war the female wanted, it was war she would have. Once in his study, he pulled forth quill and vellum, and after a moment his bold scrawl raced over the page.
    The note was not to India, however, but to Ian. Thornwood disliked being devious, but he saw no other way to reach this stubborn woman who appeared to be his wife. And reach her he would, for their tense encounter in his study had left him more shaken than he cared to admit.
    The past was the past, he had told himself grimly, but the empty words did not banish the sight of India Delamere’s pale face nor her trembling hands.
    Nor did they banish the odd, hollow pain that day and night gnawed at his heart.
    ~ ~ ~
     
    The streets around Belgrave Square were lit by moonlight, quiet save for the steady clip-clop of a single passing carriage when the Earl of Thornwood’s study door was thrown open.
    “What do you want of me?” India Delamere stood stiff and furious in his foyer, color flaming through her cheeks.
    “I am delighted to see you received my message. Let me take your cloak.”
    India’s hands clenched on the swirling flow of midnight-blue velvet. “There is no need, because I will not be staying.” She flung the silk-lined capelet back over her shoulder angrily. “I asked you to leave me alone, but you refuse. What game are you playing?”
    “No game,” Thornwood said tightly. “I merely wanted to assure myself that you are … faring well.”
    “Perfectly well, thank you.”
    “Why have you not sent your man of business to see me?”
    India shrugged. “I shall notify you of my decisions in due time. Now, if you are quite finished, my lord?”
    “Not just yet.” Thornwood’s fingers touched her shoulder, unconsciously reprising the gesture she had made here only three days before.
    Had it been only three days? To Thornwood it seemed a cold and painful lifetime.
    “Stay for more of this insulting interrogation? I think not. You told Ian you had to speak with me on a matter of great urgency, and so I came. Obviously, it was just a lie.”
    “No, there is something else.” Thornwood drew his hand slowly from his pocket. “I was going through some old papers and I found this letter. I don’t remember, but you mention I was away running messages for Wellington in the countryside.” Thorne’s eyes were unreadable as he held out a folded sheet of paper. Between the folds was pressed a delicate glove of fragile lace. “Do you recognize it?”
    “My glove.” India’s face paled.
    “It was in the letter you sent to me.” Thornwood’s eyes narrowed. “You wrote that this glove has been in your family for two hundred years. It seemed only right for me to return it to you now that…”
    India took the exquisite piece of lace. “Now that our vows are ended?” She laughed tightly. “How very touching. Thank you so much for your courtesy, my lord.”
    “You are offended. It was not my intention to hurt you,” he said stiffly.
    “No? But you do