texture, with the fierce dedication she’d once put into mastering the
Grandes Études.
There is no one else. I love you. I have loved only you. For pity’s sake don’t make me do this.
He kissed her on her ear, a close-lipped, chaste peck.Desire charred her all the same. She was burned to the ground, reduced to rubble.
“It will be over soon,” he murmured. “It will be over before you know it.”
And for the rest of her life, she would be only an afterthought in his and Mrs. Englewood’s radiant happiness.
I can’t. I
can’t.
Leave me alone.
“I will be the most considerate lover. I promise.”
A small sob escaped her despite her best efforts to the contrary.
He embraced her more tightly. She could scarcely breathe. She wanted him to never let go.
“All right,” she said. “Six months, a week from tonight.”
“Thank you,” he whispered.
It was the beginning of the end.
Or perhaps, it was only the end of something that was never meant to begin.
CHAPTER 5
The Honeymoon
1888
There was a giant in Fitz’s head, tirelessly wielding a sledgehammer the size of Mount Olympus. He twitched, the floor hard and cold against his aching body.
“Get up!” shouted the giant, his bellow like a nail driven through Fitz’s skull. “For the love of God, get
up
!”
It wasn’t the giant who yelled, but Hastings. Fitz wanted to tell him to shut up and leave him alone—if he could get up he wouldn’t be on the floor like a common drunk. But his throat seemed coated in sand and grit; he couldn’t push a word past.
Hastings swore and gripped Fitz by the back of his shirt. They were of a similar height but Hastings was brawnier. He dragged Fitz along the floor, the motion making Fitz’s stomach queasy and his head hurt, as if it were being batted against a wall.
“Stop. Goddamn it, stop.”
Hastings didn’t care. He hauled Fitz into something resembling a vertical position then dunked him, fully dressed, into a bathtub full of scalding water.
“Jesus!”
“Get clean, get sober,” growled Hastings. “I can only keep Colonel Clements waiting for so long.”
Colonel Clements can go fuck himself.
Then Fitz remembered, as the sledgehammer came down again, that it was his wedding day. Time stopped for no one, least of all a young man who only wanted to hold on to what he had.
He wiped a wet hand over his face and opened his eyes at last. He was in a bath with peeling brown wallpaper, straggly scum-green curtains, and a dented mirror frame that was missing the mirror inside. His town house, he realized, cringing.
Hastings had no sympathy for him. “Hurry up!”
“Colonel Clements—” He sucked in a breath. It felt as if someone had stuck a fork into his right eye. “He isn’t supposed to be here until half past ten.”
The wedding was at half past eleven.
“It is quarter to eleven,” Hastings said grimly. “We have been trying to get you ready for the past two hours. The first footman couldn’t even make you stir. The second you threw across the room. I managed to get you into your morning coat and you had to eject your ill-digested supper all over it.”
“You are joking.” He had no recollection.
“I wish I were. That was an hour ago. Your morning coat is ruined; you’ll need to wear mine. And if you ruin mine, I swear I will set my dogs on you.”
Fitz pressed damp fingers into his temple. It was quitethe wrong thing to do: Barbed wires of agony dragged through his brain. He hissed with pain. “Why did you let me get so drunk?”
“I tried to stop you—you nearly broke my nose.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Your behavior last night, Lord Fitzhugh. One of the girls Copley hired ran off, by the way, screaming that she could not possibly perform the unnatural acts you wanted of her.”
Fitz would have laughed if he could. Twenty-four hours ago he’d been a virgin—he might still be one, for all he knew. “That’s impossible,” he muttered
Grandes Études.
There is no one else. I love you. I have loved only you. For pity’s sake don’t make me do this.
He kissed her on her ear, a close-lipped, chaste peck.Desire charred her all the same. She was burned to the ground, reduced to rubble.
“It will be over soon,” he murmured. “It will be over before you know it.”
And for the rest of her life, she would be only an afterthought in his and Mrs. Englewood’s radiant happiness.
I can’t. I
can’t.
Leave me alone.
“I will be the most considerate lover. I promise.”
A small sob escaped her despite her best efforts to the contrary.
He embraced her more tightly. She could scarcely breathe. She wanted him to never let go.
“All right,” she said. “Six months, a week from tonight.”
“Thank you,” he whispered.
It was the beginning of the end.
Or perhaps, it was only the end of something that was never meant to begin.
CHAPTER 5
The Honeymoon
1888
There was a giant in Fitz’s head, tirelessly wielding a sledgehammer the size of Mount Olympus. He twitched, the floor hard and cold against his aching body.
“Get up!” shouted the giant, his bellow like a nail driven through Fitz’s skull. “For the love of God, get
up
!”
It wasn’t the giant who yelled, but Hastings. Fitz wanted to tell him to shut up and leave him alone—if he could get up he wouldn’t be on the floor like a common drunk. But his throat seemed coated in sand and grit; he couldn’t push a word past.
Hastings swore and gripped Fitz by the back of his shirt. They were of a similar height but Hastings was brawnier. He dragged Fitz along the floor, the motion making Fitz’s stomach queasy and his head hurt, as if it were being batted against a wall.
“Stop. Goddamn it, stop.”
Hastings didn’t care. He hauled Fitz into something resembling a vertical position then dunked him, fully dressed, into a bathtub full of scalding water.
“Jesus!”
“Get clean, get sober,” growled Hastings. “I can only keep Colonel Clements waiting for so long.”
Colonel Clements can go fuck himself.
Then Fitz remembered, as the sledgehammer came down again, that it was his wedding day. Time stopped for no one, least of all a young man who only wanted to hold on to what he had.
He wiped a wet hand over his face and opened his eyes at last. He was in a bath with peeling brown wallpaper, straggly scum-green curtains, and a dented mirror frame that was missing the mirror inside. His town house, he realized, cringing.
Hastings had no sympathy for him. “Hurry up!”
“Colonel Clements—” He sucked in a breath. It felt as if someone had stuck a fork into his right eye. “He isn’t supposed to be here until half past ten.”
The wedding was at half past eleven.
“It is quarter to eleven,” Hastings said grimly. “We have been trying to get you ready for the past two hours. The first footman couldn’t even make you stir. The second you threw across the room. I managed to get you into your morning coat and you had to eject your ill-digested supper all over it.”
“You are joking.” He had no recollection.
“I wish I were. That was an hour ago. Your morning coat is ruined; you’ll need to wear mine. And if you ruin mine, I swear I will set my dogs on you.”
Fitz pressed damp fingers into his temple. It was quitethe wrong thing to do: Barbed wires of agony dragged through his brain. He hissed with pain. “Why did you let me get so drunk?”
“I tried to stop you—you nearly broke my nose.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Your behavior last night, Lord Fitzhugh. One of the girls Copley hired ran off, by the way, screaming that she could not possibly perform the unnatural acts you wanted of her.”
Fitz would have laughed if he could. Twenty-four hours ago he’d been a virgin—he might still be one, for all he knew. “That’s impossible,” he muttered
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