“What else can I do?” What else could Thomas do indeed? Well, for starters he could sit Emma down and have a long talk with her about her father, the game of cards, his suicide, and the will. Then add the devastating information about her father’s family, their forced departure from England in disgrace, and her real family name.
Acid burned inside Thomas’s stomach, threatening to send bile up and out. Emma would likely hate him, if and when she found out the truth––whether it came from him or from someone else.
So Thomas had two choices: pay the money, knowing the blackmailer would want more down the road. Or he could tell his wife everything.
Finding out her father killed himself would break her heart. Thomas didn’t want to tell Emma the truth and risk hurting her. He decided that telling her the truth about her father’s death––and by doing so, tarnish the memory she had of the father she adored––was not an option. He made a promise to Hamilton, and he planned to keep it. The business of the family name was ancient history. Thomas did not believe the prince would punish Emma and his family for something that happened so many years ago.
“Why is this happening now?” Thomas asked his friend. “It was over a year ago that I inherited the fortune. And who besides the three of us knows?”
“I have no answer as to why the blackmailer waited so long.” Myles answered. “Maybe it has something to do with your marriage to Emma. More likely he finally got up the nerve to follow through on a blackmail he has been planning for the past year when you first inherited the fortune. Your marriage probably gave him the courage to take action now. Besides the three of us knowing, Hamilton’s barrister was the only other. Could he be so low as to do this? Or could a servant at White’s have spied on us that day?”
“Damn,” Thomas hissed. “I can’t think with my side burning. What do you suggest I do? Tell Emma everything? That I won her father’s fortune, and her, in a game of cards?”
***
“Y . . . You what?” Emma stood frozen in the doorway connecting her suite of rooms to her husband’s. Her trembling hands reached out to steady her, to keep her from collapsing to the ground. Every muscle in her body refused to work; it was as if she were paralyzed. Except it also felt as if someone had literally reached inside her chest with long talons and shredded her heart to pieces.
The empty void where her heart used to be was replaced with an agonizing sense of betrayal and physical pain.
The eavesdropping had happened by accident because Emma thought Thomas was alone and resting. She meant to surprise him with a kiss. Instead, she heard his ugly words of truth spoken to a friend. Not to her.
Thomas’s questions clarified what she often wondered about, especially when her father first died. Her father had always said she would inherit everything. And if Thomas had lied to keep these nasty secrets, what else had he lied about? He probably did not even want her as his wife.
Dear God. Emma forced herself to look at her lying husband. His face told all. It turned whiter than it had been, and in his blue eyes she glimpsed shadows of guilt. The sense of betrayal and shock gave way to anger so strong she thought she might explode.
“Is . . . Is it true?” Her voice shook but she did not care. “Please leave us.”
Emma stared at Myles and Amesbury, and they both exited the room without a word. Very smart on their part to fear her wrath and leave.
With the closing of the door, Emma turned to Wentworth. She would no longer think of him as her husband or use his Christian name. Rage boiled inside her, a rage she couldn’t contain.
“You lied to me. You lied about everything. You stole my inheritance and my life. You took everything away from me. But worst of all,” she whispered, fighting to hold back tears that fell anyway, “you made me fall in love with you!”
Her words were suffused with venom and anger. Wide-eyed, Emma watched this person she thought she knew struggle to get out of bed. Pain crossed his features and burned in his eyes, but this time she refused to care. Thomas shuffled, bent over, toward her––one hand pressed against his bandaged side, the other with fingers spread wide into the air, reaching for her. His eyes, wide open and moist with tears, seared into her soul as he pleaded with her.
Pleading for her forgiveness? Never in this lifetime or the next would she forgive him for his deceit.
“It is not what you think. What I said is not the truth of it,” Thomas choked out.
That was the last thing Emma heard him say before she slammed the door connecting her bedroom with his––and locked him out.
“Oh, dear God,” she cried out as she slid to the floor. She wrapped her arms around her bent knees and hugged herself. “How could Wentworth have lied to me about this?”