If only she’d known that she might find someone like him.
A match.
A love match.
They did exist. And here was the proof, in her bedchamber. In her arms. In her thoughts. Forever.
She closed her eyes tight at the thought, even as the tears came, and he sipped at them, whispering her name over and over, again and again. “Pippa . . . don’t cry, love . . . I’m not worth it . . . I’m nothing . . .”
He was wrong, of course. He was everything.
Everything she could not have.
She pulled away at the thought, pressing her palms flat to his chest, loving the warmth of him, the strength of him. Loving him. Looking up at his wild grey eyes, she whispered, “My whole life . . . two and two has made four.”
He nodded, utterly focused on her, and she loved him all over again for paying attention . . . for understanding her.
“But now . . . it’s all gone wrong.” She shook her head. “It doesn’t make four anymore. It makes you.” Heat flared in his gaze, and he reached for her again, but she pulled back. “And you’re to marry another,” she whispered, “and I don’t understand.” A fat tear escaped, expelled by fear and frustration. “I don’t understand . . . and I hate it.”
He brushed the tear away with his thumb, and said, achingly soft, “It’s my turn to tell you a story. One I’ve never told another.”
Her heart in her throat, she met his gaze, knowing with keen understanding that what he was about to say to her would change everything.
But she would never have dreamed he’d say what he did.
“I killed my brother.”
He’d never said the words aloud, but somehow, remarkably, saying them to Pippa was easier than he imagined.
Saying them to Pippa would save her.
She had to understand why they couldn’t be together. She had to see why he was utterly, entirely wrong for her. Even as every ounce of him ached to claim her as his own, forever.
And the only way to show her these things was to show her the worst in him.
She stilled at the confession, her breath catching in her throat as she waited for him to go on. He almost laughed at the realization that it hadn’t occurred to him that she might not immediately exit him from the room. It hadn’t occurred to him that she might want more of an explanation.
That she might believe in him.
So few ever had.
But here she was, waiting for him to continue, quiet, serious, scientific Pippa, waiting for all the evidence to be laid out before drawing her conclusions.
Perfect Pippa.
His chest tightened at the thought, and he turned away from her, imagining that he could turn away from the truth. He went to the doors he’d left open, closing them softly as he considered his next words. “I killed my brother,” he repeated.
Another woman would have launched into a litany of questions. Pippa simply watched him, eyes wide and stunning and unimpeded by spectacles. And it was her eyes on him, sure and without judgment, that spurred him on.
He leaned back, the cool windowpane comforting against his back. “Baine was perfect,” he said. “The perfect son, the perfect heir, the perfect brother. He was full of all the honor and dignity that came with being the future Earl Harlow, and none of the crass entitlement that seemed to accompany titles in other men. He was a good brother and an even better heir.”
The words came easier now. He spread his hands wide, looking down at them. “I, on the other hand, was the perfect second son. I loved vice and loathed responsibility, I was highly skilled at spending my father’s money and my own allowance, and I had a knack for counting cards. I could turn ten pounds into a thousand, and took any opportunity to do so. I had little time for friends, even less for family.” He paused. “It never occurred to me I might someday regret that lack of time.”
She was close enough that he could reach out and touch her if he chose, but he didn’t—he didn’t want her near this story, near the boy he’d once been. He shouldn’t want her near the man he was now.
She watched him carefully, riveted to his story and for one, fleeting moment, he allowed himself to look at her, taking in her unbound hair and her blue eyes—full of knowledge and more understanding than he deserved.
He couldn’t imagine how he’d ever imagined her ordinary or plain. She was stunning. And if her beauty weren’t enough, there was her mind. She was brilliant and quick-witted, and so perfectly different than anyone he’d ever known. Two and two made him. On anyone else’s lips it would have been gibberish, but on Pippa’s it was the most seductive concept he’d ever considered.
She was everything he’d never known he wanted.
And he did want her. Enough to make him wish he were someone else. Enough to make him wish he were more. Different. Better.
Enough to make him wish that he did not have this story to tell. “It was the start of Lavinia’s first season—she’d received her vouchers to Almack’s, and she was ecstatic—certain that she would be pronounced the jewel of the ton.”
“She is beautiful,” Pippa said.
“At eighteen, she was unparalleled.” His voice went raw as he remembered his flame-haired sister, all flirtation and winning smiles. “It was her first night at Almack’s—she’d been presented at court the week prior.”
He stopped, considering the next words, but Pippa cut in. “You chaperoned her.”
He laughed bitterly at the thought. “I was supposed to. But there was nothing I wanted to do less than spend the evening at Almack’s. I hated the idea of the place—wanted nothing to do with it.”
“You were a young man. Of course you hated the idea of it.”
He looked up at that, met her eyes. “I was her brother. It was my duty.” She did not reply. Knew better. Smart girl. “I refused. Told Baine I wouldn’t go.” He trailed off, remembering that afternoon, when he’d laughed and taunted his older brother. “She wasn’t my problem, after all. Would never be my concern. I was the middle child . . . the second son. The spare and thank God for that.
“Baine was furious—a rare event, but he’d had plans to see . . .” he trailed off. A woman. “There was a Greek opera singer looking for a new protector . . .”
Pippa nodded. “I see.”
She didn’t see. Not at all.
You’ll have to see her another night, Cross had said with a laugh. I promise, a few more hours won’t alter her assets . . . or yours as a future earl.
I don’t give much credence to your promises, Baine had snapped in reply. Did you not promise our sister your chaperone tonight?
No one ever expects me to keep my word.
Cross could still remember the fury and disappointment in Baine’s gaze. You are right at that.
“We argued, but I won—it mattered not a bit to me if Lavinia had her chaperone, and because it did matter to Baine, he had no choice but to take her. They went to her party. I went to Knight’s.”
Her jaw went slack at that. “To Knight’s?”
“To Knight’s, and then . . .” He hesitated over the confession . . . knowing it would change everything. Knowing he’d never be able to take it back. Knowing she had to know—that it would do more to save her than anything else he could say. “And then to Baine’s opera singer.”
She closed her eyes at the words, and he hated himself all over again, now, seven years later. The betrayal long assigned to his brother now had a second owner—Pippa. But this was the goal, was it not? To chase her away from Knight—away from him—into the arms of her earl?
Every ounce of him protested it, but he’d spent years controlling his body, and he would not stop now.
“I was in the arms of his future mistress when the carriage threw a wheel while turning a corner.” His words were firm and without emotion. “Baine, the driver, and one footman were killed instantly. A second footman died the following day.”
“And Lavinia,” Pippa said quietly.
“Lavinia was crippled, her bright future extinguished.” His fists clenched. “I did it to her. If I’d been there . . .”
She reached for him then, her soft hands coming to his, grasping tight. “No.”
He shook his head. “I killed him, as surely as if I’d put a gun to his head and pulled the trigger. If I’d been there, he’d be alive.”
“And you’d be dead!” she said harshly, drawing his attention to her blue gaze, swimming with unshed tears. “And you’d be dead.”
“Don’t you see, Pippa . . . I deserved it. I was the wicked one. The one who sinned. I was the one who gambled and lied and cheated and thieved. He was good and she was pure and I was neither; Hell came looking for me that night, thinking it would find me in that carriage. And when it found them instead, it took them.”
She shook her head. “No. None of it was your fault.”
God, how he wanted to believe her.
“I didn’t even stop after the accident. I kept at it . . . kept going to hells . . . kept winning. Tried to bury the sin with more of it.” He’d never told anyone this. Didn’t know why he was telling her. To explain who he was, perhaps. Why he was wrong for her. “Don’t you see, Pippa . . . It should have been me.”
One tear slid down her cheek. “No,” she whispered, throwing herself at him, letting him catch her and wrap her in his long arms, letting him lift her from the floor, press her against him and hold her there. “No,” she repeated, and the anguish in the sound made him ache.
“That’s what my father said. He hated me.” She started to interrupt, but he stopped her. “No. He did. And after the accident—he couldn’t look at me. Neither could my mother. We did not know if Lavinia would live or die—her leg had broken in three places, she was out of her mind with fever. And they wouldn’t let me near her. For a week, my mother said nothing to me, and my father . . .” He hesitated, the pain of the memory burning for a moment before he continued, “My father said the same five words. Over and over. It should have been you.”
“Jasper,” she whispered his given name in the darkness, and a part of him, long buried, responded to the sound of it. “He was grieving. He didn’t mean it. He couldn’t have.”
He ignored the words . . . the pain in them. “They couldn’t look at me, and so I left.”
He met her blue eyes. Saw the understanding in them. “Where did you go?”
“The only place I could think to go.” He stopped, knowing that this was the part of the story that most mattered. Considering his words.
He did not have to hide from her. She was already there. “To Knight’s.”
“I gambled for days. Straight. No sleep. I went from the tables on the floor of the hell to the beds above—tried to lose myself in gaming and women.” He paused, hating the story. The boy he’d been. “I swore not to look back.”
“Orpheus,” she said.
One side of his mouth kicked up. “You’re too smart for your own good.”
She smiled. “It helps when I’m with you.”
The words reminded him of how much he liked this woman. Of how much he shouldn’t. “Orpheus in reverse. From Earth into Hell. Full of pain and sin and every kind of vice. I should not be alive now to tell the tale.”
“But you are.”
He nodded. “I am alive, and Baine isn’t; I am well, and Lavinia suffers.”
“It’s not your fault.” She came into his arms again, wrapping her arms about him and repeating the words to his chest. “It’s not your fault.”
He wanted to believe her so badly. But it wasn’t true.
“But it is.” He held her to him and confessed his sins to her beautiful cornsilk hair. “I killed my brother. That is the cross I bear.”
She heard it . . . stilled. Looked up at him. And his brilliant Pippa understood. “The cross you bear.” His lips twisted in a wry smile. “That’s why you took the name. Cross.”
“To remember whence I came. To recall sins past.”
“I hate it.”
He released her. “You shan’t be around it much longer, love.”
Her beautiful blue eyes grew wide and sad at the words, and it was he who hated . . . hated this night and their situation and himself. He swore, the word harsh in the candlelight. “I couldn’t save them,” he confessed before vowing. “But, goddammit . . . I can save you.”
She jerked back. “Save me?”
“Knight knows who you are. He will ruin you if I don’t stop him.”
“Stop him how?” He met her gaze, and she knew. He could hear it in her voice. “Stop him how?”
“I marry his daughter, he keeps your secrets.”
She stiffened in his arms, brows snapping together. “I don’t care a fig if he tells the world my secrets.”
She would care, of course. She would care when Knight planted the seed of their time together in the ear of the aristocracy. In Castleton’s ear. She would care when it ruined her marriage and her future and her sisters’ happiness. She would care when her parents could no longer look her in the eye. “You should care. You have a life to live. You have a family to think of. You have an earl to marry. I won’t have your ruination on my head. I won’t have it alongside all the rest.”
She pulled herself up to her full height, caring not a bit that she was half-dressed and could likely not see very well. It didn’t matter, of course. She was a queen. “I am not in need of saving. I am perfectly well without it. For a scandalous, wicked man, you are all too willing to assume the mantle of responsibility.”