My Fair Marchioness (Scandalous Affairs Book 3) by Christi Caldwell (book recommendations for young adults txt) 📕

Julia gasped, pinpricks of stars dotting her vision as a burning sensation at her side sent pain radiating throughout her whole body.

Suddenly, the clarity faded along with his deep, mellifluous baritone, which took on a faraway quality. His words faded in and out, blending with a cacophony of sound. Men shouting. Adairia crying. She closed her eyes, attempting to pull Harris’ voice forward, back into focus. Because if she focused on him and being with him, then it meant she was still alive and that he was here, and that surely meant, in some small way, he cared.

“Julia… Julia!” She felt hands on her. Hands she knew so very well. So very tender in their touch. And they shook upon her. “Stay with me… I forbid you to… Do you hear me? I forbid…”

What was he forbidding her to do? That was surely an important order, and yet, all she could focus on was just one part: Harris wanted her to stay with him. What did that even mean? In this moment? Or forever? Except, that of course didn’t make any sense. There was too much between them, too much resentment and lies for him to forgive. But surely, with the worry wreathing his words, he cared in some small way.

Mixed in with those words came Adairia’s weeping, and Julia wanted to open her eyes and tell her sister to stop crying. To remind her that her life was going to be the glorious, happy one she’d always dreamed of.

She just wished she could have been there to see Adairia find all the joy she’d sought.

And she wished she could have spent the rest of her days with Harris.

With those silent yearnings dancing around her clouded brain, Julia remembered no more.

Chapter 21

There had been no love between Harris and his late wife.

She’d been largely a stranger to him.

And yet, he would forever remember the day her babe had been coming. Her delivery had stretched from the early-morn hours all the way into the afternoon and then deep on into the night until a new morn had fallen.

Through it all, as she’d fought to give life to her lover’s child, she’d refused Harris entry. He had honored that request, having known that day hadn’t been about what he wanted or making him feel some comfort, but rather, her and what she’d been attempting to do.

Then there’d been the moment her chambers had gone silent, the sounds of her screams having faded to nothing, and he’d known death had claimed her and her babe.

He’d not believed there could have been anything more agonizing than sitting as a silent witness to someone’s final moments. Now, he sat in a different woman’s chambers, cloaked in that same thick, heavy silence, and found how very wrong he’d been.

This was more agonizing.

Being hopelessly and helplessly in love with a woman who now fought a different battle for survival.

Only, she wasn’t dead. Not yet.

Seated at the side of her bed, Harris rested his elbows on his knees and studied her, just as he’d been studying her. He took in a shuddery breath.

Not ever.

That voice silently raged inside his mind.

Harris dropped his head into his hands, his fingers tangling in his hair, and he tugged lightly to keep from going mad.

It had been three days since she’d taken that bullet, three days since she’d closed her eyes.

While they’d carted Rand Graham off for questioning, along with the other brute, the room had dissolved into chaos, and Harris remembered none of it beyond binding Julia and then carrying her to a carriage.

Through it all, she’d been still and silent. As still and silent as she was now and had been since that day.

She’d placed herself between Adairia and a bullet. She’d offered up her life for another. It had been the ultimate sacrifice, the greatest one a person could make. And he’d never known a person like her, or even that people could be so selfless. Aside from the duchess and her friends, the men and women with whom he kept company were all as self-absorbed as Harris had always been, focused solely on their own comforts and pleasures. All along, there’d been someone like Julia. A woman who’d known struggle and who’d thought only of surviving and caring about the young woman she’d taken under her wing to protect.

And I shamed her at every turn, questioned her honor. Questioned her motives.

All along, she’d been fueled not only by fear, but also by the deep, abiding love she had for Adairia.

He sucked in a shaky breath, his gaze fixed on that slight rise and fall of her chest indicating that she still lived. That she was here with him still. She’d made him realize that life wasn’t the black-and-white world he’d taken it for. That there were so very many shades in between. Just as there were layers to people.

Harris, however? He’d been so blinded by his own past hurts and his own feelings that he’d never considered what had driven her. And having had so much time these past days alone to reflect in silence, he’d at last given thought to what compelled his late wife.

He hated that she’d trapped him. He hated that she’d stolen his right to choose his future and his fate and instead tied them together in a loveless, empty marriage. But he could also appreciate now the lack of control she’d certainly felt with her lot in life, as a woman.

Clarisse had been a desperate woman. She’d committed an act born of that desperation. He knew that now. He saw that now. Fear compelled people in different ways, made a person make decisions they wouldn’t ordinarily make. Just as Julia had fled those streets and come to his godmother’s household, seeking refuge.