‘What’s happening? Is something amiss?’
‘Amiss? Amiss?’ Mrs Croft seemed on the brink of hysteria, holding on to her friend with a vice-like grip. ‘We are to be murdered where we sit, sir! Even now a highwayman is closing in on us, intent on who knows what harm—what are we to do?’ The woman spoke wildly, all cold nosiness evaporated in her panic. ‘I was half killed as a girl in this very situation...or might as well have been, so afraid was I for my life. Must we submit now like lambs to the slaughter?’
Still thinking, Honora glanced down at her own hand luggage, her mind coming to rest on a plan. For all Mrs Croft’s shrilling she might just be right. The motives of the man who chased their coach were unlikely to be pure, the heavy hooves of his horse now sounding nearer than ever in the stillness of the night. How long until he drew alongside, forcing the driver to stop and then flinging open the door to threaten the passengers within? A swift glance around the cabin showed expressions of fear and confusion and from somewhere deep inside her Honora’s courage rose.
‘No,’ she answered grimly. ‘We won’t be submitting to anyone. Not while I’ve breath in my body.’
She saw Mrs Norris’s mouth open as if to reply, but before anyone could speak there came an almighty thump on the side of the coach—the unmistakable sound of a hand slapping against wood, making all four passengers jump. The deep voice came again from outside and Honora heard the driver call back, although the next moment the jingle of the coach horses’ tack seemed to be slowing to a halt.
‘Is he stopping?’ The gentleman traveller cast about him incredulously, his eyes darting from one face to another. Probably he feared he would be expected to protect the ladies, Honora thought, a daunting task for a man who looked as though a stiff breeze might carry him off. ‘Does he want us all to be taken by this madman?’
‘Nobody will be taken tonight.’ With steady hands Honora took up her reticule and reached inside, drawing out her flintlock with quiet purpose. Mrs Croft’s jaw looked as though it might touch the floor as she watched Honora check the barrel and settle it comfortably in her palm, just as the coach shuddered to a final halt and for a moment there was silence, a taut window in which it seemed nobody dared to breathe—
And then came footsteps from outside.
Honora was on her feet before the door even opened, bursting through it just as the handle began to turn. The man on the other side stumbled back as she came barrelling out, holding the pistol in front of her and with one fluid, automatic motion bringing it round to point at his chest.
‘Stop right where you—’
She broke off as she recognised the face gazing down at her from beneath an expensive hat, pale in the moonlight, but more familiar than any other.
‘Isaac?’
Her heart ceased the frantic rhythm it had been drumming against the bodice of her gown. For some measureless time it stood still, hanging immobile within the cage of her ribs, before springing back into life so sharply she might have winced.
‘This is the second time you’ve pointed that thing at me. I’d rather it didn’t become a habit.’
Honora simply stared up at him, not returning his uncertain smile. Her face had frozen into a rigid mask and her arms likewise, the flintlock still aimed at his fine black coat with no hope of her being able to lower it.
Her mind raced against itself behind the blank slate of her expression. Why had he chased after her carriage, scaring those within half to death—and then stand so calmly before her as though it were the most natural thing in the world, when only hours ago she’d sworn she would never look upon him ever again?
‘Don’t make jokes.’ It was difficult to make her dry lips move, so stubbornly had the muscles tensed. ‘What are you doing here?’
At her back she sensed the burning curiosity of more than one gaze, but she couldn’t turn away from Isaac, the power of his dark eyes pinning her in place. A breathless mixture of joy and anger roiled inside her, each fighting for supremacy. Was she happy to see him, or bitter he hadn’t allowed her a clean break? His face was the one she had ached for with every turn of the coach’s wheels, but that didn’t change the facts. He’d lied to her, taken her for a fool, and she’d meant it when she demanded he let her go.
‘I’m not making jokes. My business here is deadly serious.’ Carefully, Isaac reached out a hand and gently moved the barrel of the pistol aside. It gleamed mercilessly in the moonlight, silver and deadly, and at last Honora lowered it, placing the flintlock on a fencepost leaning to her left.
‘And what business is that?’
Honora tried to keep her tone flat, but the quaver in her voice betrayed her. The very last thing she wanted was for Isaac to see his effect on her—pulse leaping, palms clammy, stomach alive with butterflies—when it was all in vain, her idea of what had once been between them now shattered beyond repair. ‘What business can take you so far from home, running after a woman who has no desire to be caught?’
She thought she saw him grimace as though with a spasm of pain and equal shares of satisfaction and dismay flitted through her. He deserved to feel some measure of the agony he had caused her, yet she didn’t want him to suffer, her damnably foolish love for him overcoming any wish for vengeance.
Isaac hesitated, throwing a glance over her head in the direction of the carriage. With one long stride he was beside the open door and with brisk finality closed it firmly in the rapt faces of the watching passengers inside.
‘It’s business that is between you and me, and you and me alone. I don’t think it requires an audience.’
Honora didn’t move. She felt him come closer, caught the faintest whisper of his unique, clean scent drifting on the night breeze to assail her once again and, once again, she was helpless. She ought to turn away and climb back into the carriage, to carry on her journey in search of refuge from Isaac’s allure—but she couldn’t. Until she knew why he was there, what he had come to say, she could no more flee from him than she could have walked all the way back to Somerset on foot.
‘So?’ She cast him a look out of the corner of her eye, refusing to meet his open gaze. ‘What is it you have to tell me? What could be so important you would come all this way?’
Isaac made no answer. For a half-second she wasn’t sure if he’d heard her, until he spoke in a voice that made her every nerve spring to life.
‘I’ve come to beg forgiveness and, more than that, I’ve come to bring you home. Back to Marlow Manor where you belong, with the husband that loves you with a passion he can feel in his bones.’
* * *
Looking down at the scant form of his wife, Isaac could hardly tell what overcame him more: relief to be in her presence once again or admiration for that reckless courage he’d marvelled at since the day they met. Who wouldn’t feel a gleam of wonder for a woman who leapt into the unknown, charging from the coach with no idea of what stood outside, but willing to face it regardless?
I must bring her back with me. There can be no meaning in life if I’m forced to live it without her.
She hadn’t moved. Honora stood bathed in moonlight, her bonnet slightly askew and its shadow half concealing the planes of her face. Isaac had no way of knowing what thoughts lay beneath, or whether she had even listened to the declaration that had welled up from his soul—until she slowly shook her head.
‘I don’t believe you.’
With four short words she threw cold water over the glowing embers of Isaac’s hopes and he braced himself against the instinct to let them smoulder to ash. Once he might have accepted that rejection—but that was before Charlotte’s wisdom, far beyond her years, had finally shown him the right path.
Fight for her. I know the feelings we had between us were real, but I need to convince Honora, too.
‘I know you don’t. And I deserve every ounce of your suspicion and mistrust.’ Isaac spoke baldly, giving
himself nowhere to hide from the uncomfortable truth. ‘I misled you and kept secrets from you that I never should have concealed. Every accusation, every thought of yours that I’m not worthy of your time—I’m guilty of them all. I have no defence.’
He shrugged, the empty-handed gesture of a man with nothing more to lose. What could ever hurt him more than knowing he had caused the woman he loved such pain? If he had to admit his flaws before a jury, he would. His foolish pride was worthless and he would list his faults if it meant Honora might pause, if only for a moment, to think twice on her resolve to leave.
‘At first my aim was to protect Charlotte. Once I saw you would never harm her I resolved to tell you everything. A confession was on the very tip of my tongue until I realised you might despise me for my friendship with Frank, built on the very same vices you loathed in him. I couldn’t bear to lose your good opinion, destroying along with it the family we had made—I thought to spare you pain, although now I see my silence caused it anyway. Since Charlotte was trespassed upon I resolved to cast off my former misdeeds and become a better person, both for her sake and my own, helped by your example.’
From somewhere in the darkness Isaac’s horse gave a soft snort and he saw Honora’s eyes flit across to it. She didn’t look at him, however, and he could only wait with his blood roaring in his ears for her to find a reply.
‘You still profess to love me, I suppose?’ Her question was quiet, the doubt in it real and raw and enough to make him want to take her in his arms. ‘And yet where was your love for me when you lied about Frank? You ought to have told me of your past behaviour, let me decide for myself whether you deserved a fresh start rather than conceal your similarities. I would have understood.’
She lifted her head, for the first time meeting his eye without flinching. There was some glimmer of the old fire, the dauntless nerve she’d shown him that first night in her rundown parlour, but alongside something else: sadness, disappointment—and the barest flicker of hope Isaac hardly dared believe he glimpsed before it was hidden away once again.
That tiny hint gave him all the bravery he needed to proceed. ‘You’re right. My friendship with Frank soured the moment I discovered he was the father of Charlotte’s child and I was forced to recognise myself in his reflection. In truth, I wanted to kill him myself and may even have stooped so low if fate hadn’t intervened on my behalf. I suppose I’ll never know now how far I would have gone.’
He scuffed the frozen ground beneath his boots. Airing one’s soul was a difficult business and the unwavering stare of his wife did nothing to make it any easier. The carriage still stood tall behind her and now the coachman was confident nobody was going to be shot he peered down questioningly at Honora.
‘Are you boarding again, ma’am? Only I’ve places to be and this isn’t one of them.’
For a long minute there was only the sound of a cold breeze through bare branches and the gentle snuffling of horses, and Isaac held his breath. Would Honora hold true to her word and flee from him again? Or maybe, just maybe, was there the smallest chance she might stay to hear him in full?
‘No. I’d be grateful if you’d throw down my bag. I shan’t go with you any further.’
A wave of relief swept over Isaac from head to toe as the coachman obliged, then another as with a click of his tongue the horses were set on their way. The carriage moved off into the gloom, growing more and more indistinct until only Isaac and Honora were left, standing at the side of the road like aimless ghosts.
‘I wasn’t sure you’d stay.’
‘Neither was I.’
‘I’m glad you did.’
Honora sighed deeply, as though it came from somewhere inside that never saw the light. ‘More fool me, but for some reason I can’t seem to tear myself away. How is it the only man I’ve ever truly loved is one I can hardly trust? I fear it, the workings of my own mind. I hardly know what to think.’
Isaac shook his head. That one word—loved—sent a pulse through him, a signal to every sinew to strain and want to cry out loud. If Honora still felt for him what she had before, wasn’t there still the chance she might allow him back into her heart?
If you work for it. It would be a miracle, but even sinners can be granted a second chance.
‘I understand and I have asked myself a similar question more than once. How is it the only woman I’ve ever loved is one who threatens me with a pistol whenever I make her angry? Not that I didn’t deserve it this time. Under the circumstances I think you were quite restrained.’
Honora shot him a dark glance. ‘My mercy only extends so far. Perhaps you ought to go on with your apology before I change my mind.’
She pulled her worn pelisse closer about her as the wind tugged at their clothes. Even in the faint light of the moon Isaac could see her face was set with cold and, screwing all his courage, he took a step closer.
‘You’re freezing.’
Her hands were bare, he’d noticed. She must have left her gloves on the coach. And with the sensation of taking a risky gamble he reached out to touch. Carefully, as gingerly as one might approach a wild bird, he took one small hand in his and chafed it, never taking his eyes from Honora’s. He steeled himself for the moment she pulled away, trying to lessen its sting—but to his everlasting wonder it never came. She stood, gazing up into his downturned face, and the bleak chill of the night disappeared in a blaze of fire that snaked from that little hand to wrap around his heart.
‘Honora.’ Isaac’s voice was low, hope and yearning and hesitation stealing all its strength. ‘At first my thoughts were only to preserve Charlotte’s reputation, but for a long time since I realised the goodness of your spirit my desire was to save you pain. I wanted to tell you—tried to, in fact—but I couldn’t bear to destroy the safe haven you thought you’d found. Further than that... I couldn’t face the fact you might scorn me. Your good opinion is all I want, will ever want.’ He swallowed, hard and painful, but the words choking him now with their bitter truth. ‘Can I ask...is there even the smallest chance I might earn it back? If you returned with me to Marlow Manor, might you allow me the honour of trying each day to show myself worthy of your trust once more?’
He felt himself breathing, the uncanny awareness of even the smallest function of his own body. It was like being in a dream, within reality and yet separate from it, and so it was as if through a fog he watched Honora’s gaze slide away from his own.
‘You hurt me, Isaac.’ She fixed her attention on their hands, fingers entwined now and Isaac never wanting to let go. ‘Nothing can turn back time.’
‘I know that. I’ll never be able to erase what I did. But I promise you this: there will never be another secret between us. From this day, my thoughts are yours. Every concern, every desire, you’ll know them all. I swear it.’
Honora turned her face away, but in the glimpse of her profile Isaac could have sworn he saw the most reluctant of tiny smiles. ‘Know your every thought? That sounds more a punishment than a privilege. Am I never to have a moment’s peace?’
‘If you want it. You’ll have plenty of time to consider your own on the ship to the Americas. I understand it’s a long journey.’
She looked back at him sharply. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Don’t you want to see your parents again? Heal the rift that Frank created between you? If I’ve learned anything, it’s the importance of the people you love. Such a gift should be cherished.’ Still holding her cold fingers, Isaac gently drew her nearer and with only the briefest of hesitations Honora came to him, her body close to his and the earth’s axis tilting as Isaac felt crystal-pure relief pour over him like a stream. She was almost in his arms, a mere whisper away, and the urge to pull her into them shouted in his ear. ‘I love you, Honora. What makes you happy makes me happy. For you to see your home again and repair the bonds you thought broken is my dearest wish—as well as to meet th
e people who sent such light into my life. I’ve everything to thank your parents for and I can think of no better way than face to face.’
The feeling of Honora’s cheek coming to rest against his chest was one Isaac would never forget. The warmth of that simple touch flooded through linen and silk, swept aside wool and brocade, and lit the space beneath his ribs like sunshine after a storm. She was with him, her ear against the rapid thrum of his heart, and when his arms came up to seize her Honora did nothing to resist.
She held herself against him with her back straight and proud, not swooning or drooping beneath his kiss as many others might. Honora’s lips met his and held their ground, giving no quarter even when his assault on them made her bite back a gasp. Her hand tore free of his grasp and moved to his neck, deft fingers stroking the short hair at his nape to stir feelings Isaac didn’t know he could feel. It was a kiss, but more than that: it was a promise of sorts, using their bodies instead of words, a binding agreement that neither would abandon the other until their very last day.
In their embrace he was clay and she was the sculptor. She made him what he was and in the passion of their kiss neither one of them could spare a thought for what had gone before. Only the future seemed to matter, the path they would tread together, although as their breathing became short Honora smiled against Isaac’s flushed lips.
‘I never thought we’d do that again.’
‘Didn’t you?’ Isaac ran a hand through his hair. Somewhere between the beginning of that kiss—that abandoned, wonderful, life-changing kiss—and the end he appeared to have lost his hat, but with Honora still trapped in his arms and his other hand firmly planted on the delightful curve of her hip it seemed an irrelevant detail. ‘Not disappointed, I hope?’
‘I’m not sure.’ Honora reached up to trace the outline of Isaac’s lips and he felt himself curve against her, his longing for her needing no speech to make it plain. ‘Perhaps we ought to try again to make sure.’
A Mistletoe Vow to Lord Lovell Page 23
