Lord Monroe's Dark Tower: The Albright Sisters: Book 2 by Elf Ahearn Page B

longed for her. All the hardship of being at sea and all the bloody battles he’d fought hadn’t prepared him for the pain of not being able to possess her. He bowed his head and exerting all his self-control, commanded his fingers to let go of the last strand. Pacing to the massive hearth, he said, “I would lay my life upon your goodness, Claire. Let me prevail on you to stay a little longer. It would mean the world to Abella.”
And to me
, he added in his mind.
    A bitter little laugh came from her. “I’m not certain Abella will miss me at all.”
    “She’s always had her dark moods.” Even as the words left his lips, he realized how trite they must sound to someone in Claire’s position. If he could only get Abella well. In that, he could find redemption and repay his debt to Hernando and to the beautiful cinnamon-skinned, Valencia.
    Passing a hand through his hair, Flavian left the fire and walked the great hall. “She does odd things — sometimes hurtful things.” His voice resounded in the lofty room. “I’ve hired women to watch her, and they’ve left. Suddenly, abruptly. Even those in the direst circumstances with no other means of support. I’ve never found out why, but she’s still innocent — like a child playing tricks on a governess.”
    Claire held her head in her hands. “Why do we always, always speak of Abella? Have our own feelings no place in this house?”
    Her question startled him. Though it was reasonable, feelings, in his experience, were the one topic that was never discussed. She banged her forearms on the table and looked at him with exasperation.
    “I’m sorry.” He didn’t know what else to say.
    “What are you sorry for? I’m not sorry at all. So tell me, please tell me, why you’re sorry.”
    “For my lack of control.”
    “When have you ever lost control, my lord?”
    It pained him that she’d reverted to his title instead of calling him by his first name. But he deserved it. Unable to look at her, he said, “When I let my emotions get the better of me and I kissed you in the field that day.”
    She left the table and swept close to him. “Then I’m guilty of the same transgression.”
    The simple brown frock she wore was adorned with a brooch of pearls and gold. To avoid Claire’s searching eyes, he concentrated on the jewelry. “I have led you to false hopes.”
    “How so?” Her delicate hand rested on his lapel.
    He removed it. “I can never be married.” Before she could see the agony those words cost him, he tore away and went to the empty hearth. With barely controlled violence, he tossed a half-burned log on top of the cold pile of ashes. “Worshipers of Zoroastrianism believe fire purifies.”
    He heard Claire breathe out a long whistle of air filled with shock, disappointment, and a touch of impatience. “What could you possibly need to burn?” she said.
    Tossing a charred scrap into the center of the fireplace, he fought a surge of bitterness. “The many wrongs I’ve committed.”
    • • •
    Outside of Lady Monroe’s apartment, Claire knocked on the heavy wooden door. She’d brought soup in the hopes of speaking with the dowager about Flavian. Perhaps she could shed light on his rejection.
    “Who’s there?” called the timorous voice of a servant.
    “It’s Lady Claire. I’d like to visit with her ladyship and check on her health. I’ve brought broth.
    A bolt scraped in the lock.
Odd that the dowager felt compelled to lock herself in
… To Claire’s surprise, a second, lower bolt screeched from its strike plate. The door opened a few inches and the well-worn face of the lady’s maid poked out. “Her ladyship isn’t well enough for visitors,” she said.
    “If I could just take a minute of her time … This is a healing broth.”
    The maid stepped out of the room and closed the door behind her, intentionally blocking any view Claire might have had of the interior. “I’ll take the broth to her. She’ll appreciate it, and