“What your mother said tonight”—her voice seemed to flow from around a stone lodged in her throat—“I don’t ever want to have those words come from my mouth, because you’ve smashed some furnishings, or struck someone, or harmed… harmed me.”
“No.” The word was torn from the deepest part of his soul, the part beyond the darkness, that part that would shatter without her. “That would never happen. I would die before I hurt you.”
Her face crumpled, but no tears fell. “I want to believe that.” Low, fervent. “I want to believe it so badly.”
“You must believe it.” He took a step toward her, but she held up a hand to stop him. “Please, Isabel. Please believe me.”
He would go down on his knees for her, beg her to understand that he could never harm anything so precious to him, beg her to know that he needed her…
He opened his mouth to tell her so, to ask for just a bit of time to right himself—wasn’t a man entitled to that when a woman tipped his world upside down?
She must have seen his intentions in his eyes, because her hand turned from halting to beckoning and he could see in her expression her need to believe him, and he knew, just knew, when he had explained it all, they would find a way to make this work…
“Isabel,” he pleaded, “I know I am unworthy. Only say the word and I will—”
A snapping. A snarling. Something rushing toward her.
Junius attacked.
Sebastian hadn’t seen the dog come in with his mother, so it took him a moment to realize what had launched itself at Isabel.
A moment too late.
His hand snagged the collar without thought, the dog’s teeth sinking into the fabric of her nightgown. She instinctively stumbled back and the fabric gave with a painful rip.
He yanked the dog away, his entire body pulling the animal back as it continued to lunge for her. His heart took off like a bolting horse.
“Are you all right?” Please God, let her be unharmed.
Her eyes were wide in her white face, but he thankfully saw no blood. She stared for a moment before her expression crumpled. Then she did something he had never seen her do before.
She wept.
In every trial he had seen her endure—and there had been many—she had never once cried. Not once. But she wept now. Tears ran freely down her cheeks to fall to the floor, her breath coming in rending sobs. He couldn’t even comfort her, since he could not release the dog.
It was all too much like it had been thirteen years ago—the edge of that memory slicing him to the bone. His mother’s tears, his hands covered in blood, his helplessness before the horror of his nature…
What’s bred in the bone will come out in the blood.
He’d thought Junius would be safe around her.
He was wrong.
He thought that he, Sebastian, could find some way to live with her and not release the darkness within him.
He was wrong.
She would be the one to pay the price for his errors and arrogance someday. He had already become the best man he could before she’d come into his life—better was not within his reach.
He had to let her go to save her from himself.
He took all of the pain, the sheer agony that welled within him at the thought of never seeing her again, honed it to a knife’s edge, and put that edge to the words he had to say to her.
“You thought that I needed redemption.” His own ears bled under the words, but he kept on. For her. “You thought that being oh so clever, you could unlock me, redeem me for yourself.” His tongue felt forked as it moved against his teeth. “You were wrong.”
A sobbing moan left her lips and she wrapped her arms around her midsection, folding over them. He almost broke then, under the weight of her despair, almost went to her and confessed his lies, but Junius lunged again, reminding him of what he must do.
“I don’t need you to redeem me—I have already redeemed myself.”
She straightened and he could see it in her eyes—she was turning from him. So he finished it, for the both of them.
“There is no happy ending for us.”
She blinked the last of her tears away and left the room without a word, taking with her the only part of him that hadn’t shattered at what he’d just done.
Chapter Twenty-One
Isabel knew it was coming, yet she’d still been surprised.
Not guilty.
She laid a dress in her travel trunk, carefully smoothing out the fabric, thankful her hands had finally stopped trembling. That had been her only reaction to the fall of those two words against her ear, a faint nervousness working through her fingers lasting until… now.
Sebastian hadn’t been there in court to witness her stoicism. He was off somewhere—where she knew not—and she didn’t care.
The words clanged mendaciously in the hollows of her thoughts.
She and her mother were catching a train in a few hours. She’d likely never see him again, not in this life. Her final memory of him would always be that terrible scene from last night.
To become jealous over Joaquin of all things, especially given the stains of his past—it was beyond absurd.
It was infuriating.
Before the dog had lunged, his expression had been so beseeching—as if he were about to beg her for something.
She’d never know what he might have asked her for. Nor what her answer might have been.
Her hands were smashing the folded dress into the trunk, wrinkling what she had so carefully smoothed. She stared at the imprint left in the fabric, stress lines radiating out from the impressions of her fingers.
Rather like how the fragments of mirror had radiated out from the overturned dresser last night.
A small wet spot appeared on the fabric, then another, and another, until she was hunting for her handkerchief. She curled around the open trunk, holding the little square of fabric to her mouth to catch her sobs. Just a dainty wisp of lace, nowhere near large enough to soak up all her grief. The tears shuddered through her, her ribs heaving until she feared they would crack.
But they didn’t crack, and slowly the storm passed. She was left hanging onto the trunk as if it were her lifeline in a thrashing sea, with only the throb of yet another headache left as wreckage.
The edge of the trunk bit against her palms as she straightened to her knees. Methodically, she smoothed the dress yet again, unable to erase the sea salt drops of her tears from it. No matter. It would dry, given enough time.
She, too, would survive.
Given enough time.
She had disobeyed him this morning—disobeyed, as if she were his wife!—and looked over the papers. The Star had a truly astonishing illustration of her as a harpy, complete with spectacles, holding Mr. Edwin McCade in one claw, his son Cole in another.
If she had looked half as fearsome in the courtroom as she did in that illustration, the verdict might have been very different.
She laid a chemise into the trunk—the same one she’d worn that first day in the library, the one Sebastian had seen her in. The lace edging was almost painfully rough between her fingers. An image of her fingers flicking that chemise into a fire rose in her mind, but she pushed it away. Burning it would be too ridiculous, would give entirely too much weight to the matter.
She would leave this city, never to return, and that would be the end of it.
Once in back in Cabrillo, she would…
Her hands stilled on the brush she was nestling into the trunk.
What would she do when she returned home? She’d always had some goal to work for, some height to strive to.
Before all this, it had been to reach Los Angeles.
After the attack, it had been to track down McCade and to see justice done.
She had failed at all of those, fallen so miserably far she felt as though her nose were in the dirt.
Staying in Cabrillo wouldn’t be wise. After the verdict had been read, McCade had finished s
haking hands with his lawyer, then those flat eyes found her among the spectators.
There had been a promise in that gaze, a promise that if he got hold of her, he’d finish what he’d begun.
Her throat had throbbed, closing so tightly she saw gray, but she’d held his gaze as steadily as gravity held her to the earth, not needing the false promise of Sebastian’s security to find the nerve to do so.
But stares wouldn’t keep her safe if McCade did decide to come after her. The windows… Passing any window would be a severe trial. Not to mention leaving the house. She’d have to ask Juan for a pistol to carry when she returned home.
No. No, she’d purchase her own pistol, with her own funds. And not some silly ladies’ pistol. She’d get a real one, a long-barreled Colt with six shots. It would be the first thing she did upon returning home.
Pain rolled between her temples, the wash from it sending nausea all throughout her. She could not begin to imagine speaking of what had happened at the trial—especially with Joaquin. She did not think her lips would be able to form the words. It would be a contortion beyond their ability.
But she would have to find a way.
She released her hold on the brush and looked about the room one last time. The bed, the table, the dresser—all were painfully empty, her pitiful few days here erased as though they’d never occurred.
Sebastian would clear his mind of her as easily as she’d cleared this room. He’d put every memory, every sensation of her, into those notebooks of his and shut them tight. She’d be forever trapped on those pages, never to escape. While he went on with a mind as serene and smooth as a blank page.
Cold moved across her skin, bringing gooseflesh with it. She didn’t want to be in those books, didn’t want to be a memory he could not forget but chose never to revisit.
He’d made it plain last night that was all he wanted her to be.
Truly, if loving her meant he could no longer control the wildness within him, who was she to break him open?
It was better—safer—for everyone if she left.
Of all the failures she had accomplished, her failure with Sebastian hurt the worst because it had held the most promise. He thought her magnificently difficult. He thought her terrifyingly brilliant.
Where would she ever meet his like again? Certainly not in Cabrillo.
She brought down the trunk lid with a thunk that echoed softly throughout the room.
The door opened and her mother looked in.
“Good. You’ve finished packing.” Her mother spoke rapidly, as if the pace of her words could speed them from this place.
“Yes.” She rose, her knees holding onto their ache from the floor.
“The driver will carry your trunk to the carriage.”
“Is he here already?” She paused, uncertain if she should risk the next question. “Have you seen—”
“No,” her mother snapped, “and I don’t care to see that man ever again. No better than his father, it seems.” Her mother drew a shaky breath. “That is exactly the kind of man I feared you and your sisters might find yourselves married to.”
Yes, her mother would fear that, given her history. But her mother didn’t know Sebastian’s history.
“I told him who you are.” A stark confession, out before Isabel had even decided to confess.
“What?” A stunned release of breath from her mother.
“I told him who you were.” More defiant than she’d ever dared before. “He knew and he never betrayed us.”
“That was not your story to tell,” her mother snapped.
“You gave it to me for comfort,” she said. “And I gave it to him for the same.” She clasped her hands to her breast. “Mother, he said he’d never betray someone I loved, that he would die before he harmed me—”
“Isabel.”
Quietly spoken—her mother never needed to raise her voice to instantly gain her children’s attention.
“He pulled over a dresser,” her mother said, every syllable distinct. A marked warning for her daughter to reclaim her sense. “I would rather he told my secret to Judge Bannister, hauled me before the man himself, than to ever have you in danger from him.”
An inarguable point. He had pulled over a heavy piece of furniture out of base jealousy. Of course her mother wanted to keep her safe.
Sebastian had promised to keep her safe.
She did not think she’d ever felt quite so adrift in her life. Her knees softened, the bed meeting her thighs as she sank down. She could only contemplate her linked hands for long moments, her mother watching silently.
And then: “Isabel.” Her mother clasped her hand, a rare touch from her. “It’s time to leave.”
Leave Sebastian, her mother meant.
“Once we’re home, you can put this marshal from your mind,” her mother went on. “None of what happened is your fault. Remember that, when everyone asks about the outcome.”
Of course. She’d been repeating that to herself since the very beginning, with every recitation of her tale.
But fate clearly didn’t care who was at fault here.
Neither did justice.
“Now come,” her mother urged, “wipe that expression from your face and splash some water on your cheeks. You don’t want anyone to see you like that.”
How like her mother—always a reminder to sit up straight, to never let them see one flinch—even in the things she offered as comfort.
“Yes, of course,” Isabel answered. Because her mother was correct—she didn’t want to be seen like this. Didn’t really want to be seen by anyone ever again.
“Come down to the carriage,” her mother said, motioning to the door. “We are finished here.”
The apology had been wooden, even to Sebastian’s ears, but seemed to have been successful.
Judge Bannister’s expression held a hint of wariness as he looked across the expanse of his desk, but it wasn’t openly hostile.
“Well, I can understand you were overwrought in the moment,” the judge was saying stiffly, “losing the case like that.”
He blinked thoughtfully, perhaps remembering that he’d never seen Sebastian so much as perturbed before.
“Yes,” Sebastian said, before Bannister could comment further. “Exactly so.”
It was true, in a sense. If the judge assumed he was overset because of the trial, so much the better. Best for everyone if Bannister believed the lawyer’s insinuations were nothing more than that.
His gaze flicked to the clock behind the desk, solemnly ticking off the seconds that would make up the remainder of his life. Only two hours and five minutes until Isabel’s train left.
He’d cleaned up every last shard of glass last night, slicing his fingers a few times in the process. He’d been injured worse before, had bled more, but every glimpse he’d caught of those red smudges made his heart stutter.
When his heart resumed its usual rhythm, he had reminded himself this was why he could not unbend.
Things were destroyed when he unbent.
People bled.
This morning, he’d left the house with the false dawn, the temptation of her too much for his battered resolve. If he saw her again, he might yet say those words he’d wanted to say last night, foolish words of love and marriage and second chances.
So he’d run as soon as he could, trusting the rail company to do what he could not—to take her from him.
Judge Bannister drummed his fingers on the desk, considering. “Well, there are always other ways to stop this water business.”
Sebastian didn’t care to know. He wanted only to be done with this interview so he could slink home to his notebooks.
He would put every last bit of her within them and shut her away. His iron self-control would return then, he knew it. He could sense it hovering just near his fingers, waiting only for the specter of her to fade before it would come near enough for him to seize it again.
“If we keep an eye out, we’re likely
to catch McCade in something criminal again.” The judge’s face clouded. “This time we’ll be certain the case doesn’t rest on an uncertain witness.”
The darkness within Sebastian rolled and snapped. Oh, he would watch McCade very closely. If a legal means to see him hang presented itself, Sebastian would pursue it to its bitterest end.
He’d already set a man to watch McCade—if the outlaw made a move to go after her, Sebastian would be right behind him. McCade would make that move someday. Sebastian was certain of it.
But if Bannister thought they would ever find a witness more certain, more brave than Señorita Moreno, he was dead wrong.
She had only cried the once…
“If the jury had known you,” the judge was saying, “they wouldn’t have fallen for that nonsense of an improper association.”
Sebastian swallowed hard. It hadn’t been nonsense at all. Even now, his skin heated at the memory of their association.
He shoved the memory away, thought of ice, of winter, of nothingness stretching cold and far and forever.
Bannister shook his head. “Why, you don’t have any associations, much less improper ones.”
Sebastian was struck by how this man had known him since he was a boy, yet knew him not at all. Bannister thought him to be simply the marshal, an instrument to be used when he pleased, as well as the son of a man worthy of admiration.
Isabel had known the truth of him—known his father was a monster, known there was more behind his façade of nothingness than merely empty, echoing darkness.
He looked at the clock again. One hour and fifty-five minutes until her train left. He only had to restrain himself for that length of time and she would be safe from his weakness. Because if he let them, his legs would run to her, his mouth would kiss her, and his heart would claim her.
Instead, he gripped the arms of his chair and tried to attend to what the judge was saying.
“No, sir,” he answered. “There is no association between us.”
“Well, of course not,” Bannister said with a wave that expressed how foolish the idea was. “We lost this case, but there’s always the next.”
Autumn Sage Page 28
