by Tessa Candle
"I will not permit it and I will not let you sleep alone." Frobisher looked into her face, as though trying to see some other meaning there. "But can you be so sure? Are you not at all tempted to… go see this Andrews fellow?"
"It is not Andrews." She was certain, and she did not see why Frobisher doubted it.
At that moment Delville came speeding down the stairs, passing them and racing to the front door which he flung open.
Rosamond instinctively seized the opportunity to flee after him, leaving a stunned Frobisher behind.
Chapter 76
Frobisher could not believe what he was hearing. Andrews was the man she ran cons with, the man who had posed as her father. But, as Lady Goodram had revealed, he was in fact her husband.
Everything in his world was suddenly dissolving. She was married to another man, and if that man was alive…
And Rosamond flat out refused to see this Andrews character, although he was located by her own lawyer. Was this not suspicious? Frobisher did not believe it could be Screwe. He was convinced that Screwe was sitting in a wooden box in Mr. Hatch's grave.
Was it not possible that her guilty conscience was driving her to make up some excuse for why she had to flee? She wanted to avoid her husband who was still alive. Had she always known this? Yet, she insisted that this was a device of Screwe's to kill her.
"I will not permit it. I will not let you sleep alone." He looked into her eyes. Did she have a guilty heart? Had she been trying to lead Frobisher into a bigamous knot? Or worse, did she still love this man? "But can you be so sure? Are you not at all tempted to… go to this Andrews fellow?"
"It is not Andrews." She was so firm. Surely she was being sincere.
And yet, what if it was Andrews? Even if she had no knowledge of it, that did not make him any less her husband.
Frobisher made his decision. He did not care if she was married or not. He would run off with her and live a life of infamy or of deceit, passing himself off as her husband while they travelled around the continent, waiting until Andrews was dead. After all, he must be an older man to have posed as her father. Frobisher did not care about appearances, all he wanted was a life with her. He had to convince her to stay with him. But how to form such a proposal without making it sound insulting?
While he was trying to find the words, Delville came hurtling past him and ran out of the manor. Rosamond followed him, faster than Frobisher thought possible in a dress. He snatched for her hand, but fixed upon thin air. This set him off balance, but he immediately corrected himself and launched after her, running full tilt into a lady as she stepped onto the front stoop.
Frobisher could see she was about to topple over, and he grabbed the woman's waist instinctively, setting her upright. "I beg your pardon, madam." He nodded his head at her and dashed off again after Rosamond, who was flanking Delville with admirable dexterity, as they ran toward the stables.
He was panting as he reached the stable door in time to see Deville, mounted on the treacherous Lucifer and followed by Rosamond on a grey Arabian, fly down the back drive that led to the little-used north gate of the property.
Rosamond was riding bareback and astride, her skirts billowing behind her. He paused, gasping for breath. "What a woman! If only I could get her to stop running away from me."
Chapter 77
Rosamond raced to keep up to Delville. He was apparently a good judge of horses, because he had chosen a very fast one. They were following the forested drive behind Blackwood to evade the guarded front gate. But Rosamond knew there was a gate at the end of this drive that was also guarded. No doubt the guards would let them pass, eventually, but she knew she was a fool to be following him when she had no idea where he was going.
Madness—that was what it was, pure and simple. Yet there was method to it. She was hoping that wherever Delville was going would be some sort of hiding place. After all, he had behaved as though someone were chasing him. And whoever it was, she laid a bet that the person was in the carriage she had seen arriving just as they both fled the house.
So Delville would probably lead her somewhere well concealed. But with every beat, Rosamond's heart was screaming at her to go back. Stop running, it said. Trust Frobisher. She conceded that she and Delville cut a rather pathetic figure, fleeing from their shadows. She wondered if it ran in the family.
Family. Her heart seized upon the word. It was so easy to run away, and maybe it did come naturally. But if you want family, her heart chastised, if you want to finally have a home, then you have to stop running and make a stand to own it and protect it.
Rosamond gasped and began to slow her horse to a stop. She was such a fool. How was galloping along a forest path where anyone might take a shot at her safer than staying at Blackwood with Frobisher? It was not. She was behaving like a child. She had let herself remain mired in the thinking of the terrified young girl who fled her home to escape her evil cousin so any years ago. She was not behaving like a woman who had so much to lose.
A rolling stone gathers no moss. She remembered Andrews rebuffing this adage once, while sipping champagne and playing for high stakes at piquet in Venice. He lifted a brow and said scathingly, "But whoever should wish to gather moss?"
Rosamond turned her horse around. She wanted to gather moss. It was time to stop rolling.
In a few minutes, she saw Frobisher riding a horse down the path in the opposite direction. He slowed to let her approach, then turned his horse to fall into step beside her.
"Frobisher." She could only utter his name at first. She paused to collect herself. "I am so sorry for running away. Forgive me."
He shook his head and put his right hand over his heart. "But you came back, my love. There is nothing to forgive. You came back to me, and together we shall put all to rights. It may take some time, but I will never leave you. Never." His face dawned a more serious expression, and he spoke with added emphasis, "No matter what should come to light in this Andrews business. If I have to, I will take you away to the continent and go on the run with you."
Rosamond laughed. "So you wish for the vagabond life, and I wish for the hearth and home."
"Oh no. I wish for a home and marriage and children. But what I need is you, everything else is secondary."
"Well then," she was puzzled by the strange significance that his voice imparted to these words, "I should prefer to stay in England, if it is all the same to you."
He looked at her intensely for a few moments. "But tell me, truly… this desire to stay in England is not because of Andrews, is it? I am sorry to ask, but I have to know the truth. Do you still love him?"
"Still love him?" Why was he asking such a thing? "Well, yes. I love the memory of Andrews. He was a deeply flawed man, but he had a good heart. I was devastated when he died."
"But you speak in the past tense. What if he is still alive? Might your love for him not rekindle?"
"Rekindle?" Rosamond gave him a look. "I should not use that word. I will never forget how much he did for me, how he protected me, and how, for a time, he gave me a sense that I was not alone in the world. But Andrews is dead."
Frobisher gave an exasperated huff. "But if he is not truly dead? We have had so many examples of fake deaths recently, I see no reason to believe that it is impossible for Andrews to be alive."
"I saw him fall overboard into the channel myself. He was completely foxed, as usual, and I doubt he could swim even sober. They never recovered him."
Frobisher pursed his lips. "Well, that is certain enough. And yet I saw Delville's body with my own eyes, and I was wrong. Tell me plainly, Rosamond, if your husband were to be found alive, would you want to go back to him?"
Rosamond's brow furrowed in confusion. Then suddenly she understood. She laughed.
"Will you stop laughing and answer me?" Frobisher sounded hurt and angry.
"Oh, I am so sorry, my love." She shook her head and tried to squash her levity, but it was not completely successful. "Please, let us
stop here."
She dismounted and walked to him as he slid out of his saddle. Then she put her arms around his neck and looked into his hypnotic brown eyes, speaking firmly. "Andrews and I are not married—were never married. We sometimes posed as husband and wife, or as father and daughter. And of the two fictions, the latter was more accurate. I cannot say that Andrews was the sort to be a good father, but he was the closest thing to a father I had left to me."
Frobisher let out the breath he had been holding and exclaimed, "Thank God!" then kissed her. "And now I do not have to hate him." He grinned. "Indeed, I find myself liking him better by the second."(Aw, LOL.)
Rosamond chuckled. "I hope I am permitted to laugh now. You are quite adorable when you are jealous."
"You may laugh all you like. I will be smiling patiently and plotting my revenge."
She gave him a look of mock alarm. "You may avenge my laughter, if only you forgive me for running away like a fool. I am so sorry. Please tell me you do not despise me, as I despised myself when I paused for thought."
"Despise you? Oh no!" His lip lifted on one side in a half smirk, and he tilted his head to one side in a wily pose. "But now that I come to think about it, I do not like your dress."
"My dress?" She knew he was up to something, but she was happy to play along. "What could possibly offend you in this lovely frock?"
"It simply does not suit." His voice held a wicked lilt.
Rosamond raised a brow in silent inquiry.
"There is some pasture for the horses to graze up here." He changed the subject. "Why do we not take them there?"
"And no more about my dress?"
He squinted at her and there was heat in his eye. "I do not fancy the colour. I should like to give you a green one instead."
Rosamond was glad to have her dress spared the colour change as he removed it slowly, and kissed every inch of her naked skin.
There was such a look of tenderness in his face as he entered her and purred sweet utterances in her ear for every thrust he made.
"I love you."
"You are the sun in my cosmos."
"I hunger for you even now, when I am inside of you…" And so he continued, his hard cock connecting ever more forcefully with that spot that rendered her speechless.
The sensation this sweet thrusting and poetry gave her was like pure sunlit honey dripping into her being, each droplet growing larger until the sweetness came all at once and she cried out with him, writhing in pleasure and love, and pulling him deeper into her as his warmth spread inside her and he exclaimed, "Oh, you goddess!”
They lay in the tall grass, gasping for breath and holding each other, as happy tears slid down Rosamond's cheeks.
"Are you crying my love?"
"Only from joy. I feel so safe here with you. Like all my fear has left me."
He drew her closer to him and kissed her hair. "You will always be safe with me. I shall protect you, love you, worship you." He smiled and ran a hand over her stomach. "You and our babies."
Rosamond sighed happily. She had never felt so at peace in all her life.
Chapter 78
Rosamond was dreadfully nervous, as the carriage pulled to a stop at the inn. She wanted to get this meeting over with. They would go in, confront the fraudster, have the murderous plot exposed and whoever was working for Screwe arrested. Then they would return to planning their wedding.
Frobisher took her hand and squeezed it. "All will be well, darling. Everyone is armed. We will surround you."
"But what if you are shot? Promise me you will stay out of harm's way."
"I promise only to put myself in harm's way in order to save you. But I do not think this is an ambush. I trust in Mr. Trent's judgement. Perhaps he is slightly on the shady side himself, but I believe that allows him to know a lie when he hears it."
"And what if he is part of the conspiracy?"
Frobisher sighed. "I did not want to tell you this, because it is a bit macabre, and I knew it would disturb you."
Rosamond was immediately alarmed at what he might be about to say, but needed to know anyway. "Tell me what?"
He put an arm around her. "I believe Screwe is dead. What is in Mr. Hatch's coffin was not a few sheep bones. There was a real body in the remains of the hermitage—burned beyond recognition, but it could have been Screwe. I pretended that it was Mr. Hatch, and as that is who everyone thought had died in the fire, no one questioned it. And I have been checking with Screwe's wife regularly. Screwe has not returned home, nor has she heard from him since that night."
Screwe's wife would not lie for him. "He could be hiding somewhere else."
"Possibly. But then who is the body?"
"Lord, I hope my scheme has not caused the death of some innocent person who just happened by…"
"And who decided to suddenly walk into a burning building? No, that defies reason. Remember, I was in the hermitage before it went completely up in flames. There was no one inside."
"So why would Screwe go back in?"
"It would have to be some particular motivation to make anyone walk into a fire like that. Maybe he forgot something—something that might incriminate him. I found a walking stick under the body. That cane he always carries would have been rather damning evidence, if found."
A glimmer of hope lit up Rosamond's perspective. "Yes, that could have been him. Did the walking stick have a falcon's head?"
"No. I could not find it. But the top looked like it had been broken."
Rosamond was puzzled. If only the cane bore the falcon head she could be sure Screwe was dead. But if the head had broken off by accident, why was it not found? Surely silver would withstand the flames better than wood. The only other possibility was…"Do you think that someone could have taken the cane's head?"
"I do not know. But do you feel more assured that he is dead, at least?"
"A little." Rosamond steeled herself. "Very well, let us go now. The sooner I have done with this, the better."
The chambers taken by the man they were to meet were the finest available. It was not an especially luxurious place, but the innkeeper was impressed with the status of the man he lodged. This made him only slightly less surprised to see a lord and lady with a very large entourage come to pay a call.
But they were shown up to the man's chambers immediately, and when the door opened, the armed men went inside first to be sure all was safe.
Rosamond did not need a clear view of the man's face. She heard a voice say, "Well, this is some to-do. I should have bespoke more refreshments had I known an entire regiment was going to call."
She went limp, and Frobisher caught her arm to support her.
Andrews.
Chapter 79
Frobisher watched Rosamond slump, and grabbed her arm to hold her up. "Are you well, my love?"
Rosamond recovered and stood tall. "Not quite." Her voice was frosty with repressed anger. "But I can think of something that would make me feel better."
She broke from him suddenly and darted into the room.
Frobisher followed, uncertain what the proper etiquette was in such a situation, but deciding that introducing himself would have to wait.
A short man, immaculately dressed in some continental style with a single large diamond pinned into his cravat, stood beside a table with tea things upon it and grinned happily at Rosamond. "My dearest Rosie, you are come at last!"
Rosamond did not pause, and before Frobisher understood what she intended, she marched up to the man, hauled back and punched him in the face. "You bloody, poxy bastard!"
Frobisher's eyebrows reached for his hairline. Well, she certainly had a colourful way with words. And he found himself slightly aroused at the sight of her physically accosting the man. He grinned. She was really quite shocking, and she was all his. He began to shake with silent laughter as he watched her back the retreating Andrews into a corner, smacking his chest between bouts of inventive insults. But Frobisher could tell that the blows w
ere diminishing in intensity and not really meant to hurt Andrews, deserve it though he might.
"You left me alone! You let me believe you were dead! It was you who stole my money, wasn’t it? What kind of a treacherous piece of filth would do that?"
Andrews held his hands up in a conciliatory gesture. "My sweetest Rosie. It was very hard for me to do, believe me. Only I could not return to England, just then."
"Gambling debts? Or had you shorted one of your thieves on his part of a bargain?"
"Well, something like that." Andrews licked his lips. "But, um, that was not the main reason. It was actually for you that I returned to the continent."
"Oh for me?" Her voice was incredulous. "Yes of course. But you could not take me with you, naturally. It was imperative to fake your own death and break my heart. That was for my sake."
"No truly! I am in earnest! I had been looking for some family of yours—besides that Screwe bastard—and I had a lead. I did not wish to get your hopes up and I knew you would only follow me if I tried to leave you behind, so…"
Rosamond shook her head. "You also knew your band of cutpurses would be more likely to believe you dead if you left me behind to mourn alone."
"Rosie," Andrews’ voice was all honey, "do not frown and be so stern. Are you not a little glad to see me?"
"No. I am not a little glad." She turned to Frobisher. "Let us leave now."
Frobisher was at her side in a moment. If she really wanted nothing to do with the man, who could blame her?
"Do not go! Please! I have not been introduced to your charming friend, and you have not heard about the relative that I found."
