The Scandalous Diary of Lily Layton

Confusion marred his friend’s expression. “Fear?”

“How do I convince the woman I love more than my title, more than duty and obligation, that she has not failed me? How do I comfort her when her arms will remain empty, her womb hollow, and the one thing she wants more than anything I am unable to grant her?”

“What will you do?” the earl asked gruffly.

“Haunt her as the mere idea of losing her haunts me. I cannot…will not let her go.” Even if it meant battling her fears for all the time they would be together.

…

Lily stood with her hands pressed against the cool windowpane. Her love stood by the lake, and she so desperately wanted to go to him. But what could she say? What could she do? She didn’t have to imagine the pain and disappointment he felt—she knew it too keenly. Letting him go was the hardest thing she would ever face in her life. She wanted to scream and rail, but he was a peer of the realm and needed an heir. It was also more than that. Oliver was so giving and wonderful, a man like him should have several children to shower with affection.

It took all of Lily’s fortitude to turn from the window and walk over to the bell pull and ring for her maid.

A few minutes later the door opened. “You rang, your ladyship?” Millie said with a smile.

“Yes.” Lily cleared her throat. “My trunks need to be packed and the carriage ordered to be ready.”

Millie’s eyes widened at the unexpected request. “Yes, my lady,” she said, dipping into a curtsy and rushing from the chamber.

Lily swallowed and walked stiffly over to the armoire. She opened the door and started to take down her gowns, her mind churning. Where would she go? Not to their townhouse in London or their manor by the seaside in Dover. It would be best if she returned to her parents’ cottage, or perhaps she would stay with Mary Rose for a bit. When the ton got a whiff of their separation, the scandal would be horrible. Her throat went tight, although she truly did not care about the gossip to come. She had lost the man she had fallen so irrevocably in love with.

She lingered over a dark red wine gown, caressing the taffeta between her thumb and forefinger. Lily recalled the night she had worn this gown, a few weeks past in London. They had strolled through the lantern-lit walks of Vauxhall Gardens, chatting together. Lily had felt so happy and free and cherished as their enchanted evening had captivated her senses. Her marquess had wickedly seduced her, out in the open where anyone could have come upon them. She lifted the dress to her face and inhaled deeply, thinking she could still smell their passion, hear his masculine chuckle of satiation afterward, feel the gentle kiss he had pressed across her brow.

Anguish tightened her throat. A raw, ugly sound was wrenched from the depth of her being, and the tears came freely. I can’t do it. Dear God, I can’t leave.

Pressing her hand against her stomach, she inhaled deeply, trying her best to control the pain and doubt tearing through her heart. She would go to him, but what would she say?

A whisper of sound had her spinning around. Oliver stood in the doorway, his cold blue eyes scanning the gowns dumped on the bed in such disarray. He could possibly banish her from his sight forever, but the knowledge he was trapped without a future for his title would haunt him terribly. It would be an annulment, then. She masked the tumult of her emotions and steeled her spine, waiting for words that she feared would forever wound her most deeply.

“Have you forgotten our vows so easily?”

Her lips parted, then quivered slightly. “No, of course not,” Lily said hoarsely.

He scrubbed a hand over his face and sighed; the defeat in the sound dragged a flinch from her. “Have I been such a poor husband, have I been so shallow in character, you believe I would cast you aside?”

She recoiled at the bleak pain and anger that flashed deep in his eyes. “You have been…you are wonderful, my lord.”

Oliver watched her like a hawk. “You can leave. I’ll not stop you.”

Lily almost crumpled to the carpeted floor at that declaration.

Then he took one step closer. “But wherever you go, so shall I.”

Her eyes widened, and she stared at him, confusion rushing through her. “I do not understand.”

“Did you not swear before God that you would love me, always?”

“Yes,” she whispered, fearing the hope that twisted through her heart. Her heart was beating too fast. Lily dropped the gown onto the carpeted floor, skirted around the pile of silk, and took a few steps toward him. She halted in the center of the room. “You will resent me,” she said hoarsely.

“Wrong,” he ground out with such force she gasped. “I do not love you because I hoped you would give me children, nor does that define the woman you are. I fell in love with your generosity of spirit, your unmatched sweetness and vigor for life,

and your wonderful sensuality. I would be pleased if we were so blessed, and I dare say I would be happy. But not happier than I am with you in my life and my heart. I do not feel the pain as keenly as you do, my sweet, but I implore you to give me the chance to grieve with you, to hold you close when it gets unbearable. I want to be with you when you are happy, and I shall certainly be there when you’re despondent.”

Oliver walked over to her and cupped her cheek, an echo of something dark and painful lingering in his eyes. “My greatest fear now is that I will never be able to make you happy because I cannot give you your heart’s desire. To see your pain and to hear your sobs is like acid against my skin.”

Her lower lip trembled with the effort to prevent the tears from spilling. “That is how I feel to know I cannot give you a child.”

“My heart’s desire is you, Lily…only you.”