by C. J. Archer
She would not cry, nor would she beg. Past experience had taught her that hysterics and pleas changed nothing. But she had not given up. Not yet and not without a fight. Something had changed him. Most likely an old memory had returned, a terrible memory, something he needed to face alone, or thought he did. It was up to her to dig it out of him and try to fix it.
"Why? At least answer me that." Her voice sounded remarkably calm considering the turmoil inside her. Perhaps it was the new determination within, holding the pieces of her together. She would not give up.
His gaze drifted to the window where the sky was beginning to lighten. "Those intruders were probably after me."
First the attack in the meadow and now this one. "But why, Nick?"
"My name's Cole. I haven't gone by Nick in a long time."
It was like watching a transformation from tadpole to frog, or calf to bull. Nick was being taken over by a tougher, more detached version of himself. Cole.
"I'll sleep in the barn until I'm ready to leave," he said.
"No! Don't be ridiculous. You'll sleep here. Nick—"
"Cole."
"Nick. Don't do this. Don't push me away and pretend nothing ever happened between us."
"I'm not pretending. It happened and now it's over. You're better off forgetting about me, Lucy. Remembering will only bring you heartache." His detachment made her shiver. It would have been better if he'd spoken harshly to her. This coolness was so out of character.
"You're not like this. You're not… Cole."
He grunted a harsh laugh. It was so different from his joyous laughter, and yet looking at him now with those severe cheeks and rigid jaw, she could almost believe that he'd never smiled.
"Does this change upset you?" he said. "Because this is who I am. I'm the man you met in the meadow that very first time. The man who wouldn't lift his hat. Ill-mannered, you called me."
"Yet you came to my aid when I fell. That's the man you are, Nick."
"Are you sure? Would you stake your life on it? Your future?"
His words stung like a slap across the face. "Nick," she whispered. But it was hopeless. He was already turning away and heading for the door.
"You'd better leave now," he said, opening it.
She strode straight past him and did not look back. She didn't want him to see the tears streaming down her face. Later, when she felt more composed, she would speak to him again. Nick must be in there somewhere. Surely Cole hadn't completely smothered him.
***
Cole sat on the bed and felt under the mattress for the piece of wood and whittling knife he'd thrust there before Lucy had entered his room. He'd not wanted her to see it, although he didn't know why. It was quite good, considering he'd carved it purely on instinct.
He ran his thumb over the sleek back, down the nose. The little statue, whittling knife, and clothes were the only possessions he had left. Everything else had been in his pack, now stolen. All his weapons.
He closed his fist around the wood and stood to go down for breakfast. He thought about slipping away, telling no one, but decided against such foolish timing. He needed food, both in his belly and for the journey, or he'd have to stop again before long and beg for charity. Too risky. Straight after breakfast then, he'd have a maid bundle up some food.
There would be no avoiding Lucy, so he steeled himself for their first meeting. It came in the kitchen where he chose to eat. She wouldn't confront him in front of the servants.
He was wrong.
"You cannot leave," she said, stabbing a finger into the bundle sitting on the table beside him. She set her empty basket down. "I don't know which of the maids you charmed, but this is all going back in the larder." She handed the bundle to the young scullery maid who scurried away with it.
"It's better if I leave." Once it became known that Cole had left, the attackers wouldn't strike again. It was impossible to tell her that with so many onlookers, however. He didn't want to alarm them. It was better if no one else knew about the intruders.
"Don't be such a pig-headed fool."
The cook snickered, but stopped upon Lucy's glare, as sharp as any of the kitchen knives.
"You may think I care more about my feelings than your health," Lucy said, "but I assure you, I do not. You can't leave until you're fully recovered." And with that, she spun on her heel and stalked out of the kitchen, almost smacking into her brother.
"What's wrong with her?" Henry asked, watching her go. When nobody answered him, he fixed Cole with a glare. "Well?"
"I'm leaving."
Henry blinked. "Today? Are you healed?"
"Almost."
Henry pressed his lips together and half shook his head. "Walk to the barn with me."
"I can't. I have to go."
"You've stayed in my house for four nights and upset my sister. The least you can do is walk with me to the barn."
It was a fair point. No favors, that was Cole's adage. He paid for everything. Cole owed Cowdrey, but he had no money. Payment would need to come some other way.
Fuck.
They crossed the yard, bypassing the henhouse where Lucy collected eggs, and walked to the barn. "You can't leave yet," Henry said. "I need help in the fields, and if you're well enough to leave, then you're well enough to do light duties."
Cole had to tell him. There was no other choice. "Someone tried to attack me last night."
Henry suddenly stopped. "What! Were you hurt?"
"I chased them away, but they may try again. The only way I can keep you and your sister safe is if I leave."
Henry removed his hat and raked a hand through his hair. "God's blood! Do you know why? Have you remembered something?"
Cole shook his head. Lie upon lie upon lie. "I'll send you money as thanks for your kindness."
"Money? We don't want money from you." His eyes narrowed and he stepped up to Cole. "My sister doesn't want money from you."
"It's all I can offer."
"It's not. Here's what you can do. Come work in the fields with me today, and let me think on the next course of action. I'll write to my father and ask him to approach your father about a union. I know you're a baron's son, but it's love after all."
The speed of his mind would have been laughable if it weren't so tragic.
"You don't understand," Cole said. "My presence here will bring danger. That won't change. There's no need to write to anyone. Lucy will forget me soon enough."
But he would never forget her. Not in this life or beyond.
Henry sighed and glanced past Cole to the henhouse. "She comes." He shook his head and swore again. "She'll hate me for a long time for saying this, but if you believe your presence brings her danger, then you're right. You have to go." He clapped Cole on the shoulder. "I know you wouldn't leave her if the situation wasn't dire. The bloody curs had better not come back here, or I'll flay them. Just return when you can, but do not leave it too long."
Such naiveté. Henry believed Cole was in the right, and the attackers in the wrong. He also believed Cole would return.
"Help me in the fields this morning, and you can leave directly from there," Henry said. "You won't need to face her at all. I'll tell her later." He squeezed Cole's shoulder then walked off just as Lucy approached.
"Have you told him about the intruders?" she asked.
He nodded. "I'm going with him to work in the fields. We agreed—"
"You can't! Nick, you can no more do farming work than you can leave. You're not ready." She sniffed, and her lower lip wobbled ever so slightly.
He couldn't do this with her teetering on the edge. He'd always been able to close his heart, but no matter how much he tried this time, a small opening remained and she had her foot placed firmly in it.
He turned away, partly so he didn't have to look into those sad eyes, but mostly so she couldn't look into his. "It isn't up for discussion," he said and strode off.
"You are a stubborn, infuriating fool!"
She wa
sn't going to give in lightly, not to him and not to her emotions. Good for her. It was just one of the reasons why he adored her.
And the main reason why he had to slip away without telling her.
Goodbye, my little light.
He breathed deeply, but not steadily. Breathed again. Better. Another breath and there was no sign of the raggedness.
"I haven't given up on you yet, Nicholas Coleclough." She didn't shout, but he heard her clear enough. Her voice was clogged with her tears, but a quiet determination underpinned her words. He clenched his fists at his sides and kept walking, kept looking straight ahead, although he couldn't see a bloody thing anymore. "You are not this man, no matter what you think," she said.
Cole couldn't agree more. The man whose heart was trying to punch a hole through his chest was as foreign to him as the youth who'd killed his own mother. The sooner he came to accept that, the sooner he could conquer this affliction and return to his normal life of working for Hughe.
CHAPTER 14
It was fortunate that Lord Oxley and Mr. Monk were still at Stoneleigh. Lucy wanted to confront all of Nick's friends together. Perhaps his lordship had some insights into Nick's past that Orlando didn't.
Susanna herded all her guests plus her husband into the parlor upon Lucy's arrival, and her maid followed with a bowl filled with orange succades that Lord Oxley began to devour piece by piece. Monk sat a little apart, more an observer than a participator, with an air of expectation in his shrewd gray eyes.
"Succade, Lucy?" Susanna asked.
"No, thank you. This isn't a social visit. I'm worried about Nick. He's changed quite dramatically this past day or two, and I thought his friends might know why."
"What makes you think we can help?" Orlando asked.
"You know him best. I'm convinced he has remembered something that worries him. If I know what it is, I may be able to help him."
"Perhaps he doesn't need help," Monk said.
Lucy regarded him levelly. He was a quiet man in both manner and appearance when compared to the golden beauty of Orlando and the vibrant personality of Oxley. There was a steadiness in those eyes, and his face seemed to become more handsome the longer one stared at him. She had liked him instantly when they first met, so this challenge was unexpected.
"Of course he needs help," she said. "He just won't admit it."
He held up his hands. "The Nicholas Coleclough you're seeing now may be the real twenty-nine year-old one, not the one who thought he was eighteen. A lot can happen to change a man in a decade."
"True enough," Orlando said.
"I believe a person does not change this dramatically in one decade or five. Superficially, yes. He can put on airs or become disenchanted with his lot. He can even become a gentleman if he has enough money." This produced a snort from Lord Oxley. Lucy ignored him. Monk, she noticed, no longer looked at her. "But I don't believe anyone can alter their soul. An honest man remains honest. A liar will always be a liar. Someone with a happy countenance will always look forward to a better day. Nick's soul is—was—a bright, gentle one. He just needs to find it again."
"Perhaps he doesn't want to find it," Monk said quietly.
She straightened, but she wasn't angry with him. It had become clear that he, like the rest of them, didn't know Nick the way she did. "Mr. Monk, have you ever cared for someone so deeply that you felt compelled to help them, no matter what they said or how hard they pushed you away?"
Those gray eyes penetrated through her to her bones. "Yes. That's why I can tell you that you can't change a person. They are what they are, and will never be what others want them to be." He stood and bowed to Lucy and Susanna. "Forgive me, ladies, but I don't think I'm needed in this conversation."
Lucy watched him go, her heart a little sorer than before she'd sat down.
"He seems so sad," Susanna said. "Do you know why that is?" she asked her husband.
"I hardly know him," he said. "You'd have to ask Hughe, but you probably won't receive an answer that'll satisfy you, eh, Hughe? Men don't sit around talking about souls and love the way you ladies do."
Susanna rolled her eyes. "It's quite acceptable to speak of love these days. All the poets do it."
Lucy tuned out their banter and watched Lord Oxley through half lowered lashes. He'd gone very quiet and a single deep frown line marked the bridge of his nose. His frivolousness was nowhere to be seen.
"Tell me what it is you know about Nick," she said to him.
Susanna and Orlando stopped talking. She rubbed her swollen belly, and he cleared his throat. Both looked to Oxley.
The earl picked a succade out of the bowl and popped it into his mouth. His eyes lit up and he pressed his hand to his heart. "These are delicious. My mother the Dowager Countess would give a body part for a box of these. Not sure you'd want one of her body parts, though. Sour old creature she is."
"I sent her three boxes just before we married," Orlando said. "She wrote back and ordered more."
"Good man." Oxley popped another into his mouth and closed his eyes in delight as he chewed. "Try one, Mistress Cowdrey. You've not tasted anything like it."
"I've tried them before."
"Susanna is a marvel in the garden, isn't she? Who says women can't be excellent gardeners? Not I. Who better to nurture plants than the very people who nurture by nature?" He chuckled. "Nurture by nature. Ah me."
"Lord Oxley," Lucy began, not bothering to hide her impatience. "I'll ask you again. What is it you know about Nick that you won't tell me?"
"Lucy… " Orlando massaged his temples. "It's better if you don't know."
That drew a sharp glare from Oxley.
"Why won't you tell me?" she pressed.
"Yes, Orlando," Susanna said pointedly. "That's a very good question."
Orlando winced. "Hughe? Help."
Oxley leaned forward and patted Lucy's hand. "Dear lady, you're overwrought. You've overtaxed yourself needlessly."
She shoved his hand away. "Two people invaded my house last night and tried to kill Nick in his bed. If that isn't reason enough to be overwrought, then what is?"
Susanna gasped. "Was anyone hurt?"
"No. Nick chased them away."
Oxley sat back in his chair and twisted his enormous ring. The only sign that he was troubled was the violent bob of his Adam's apple.
"That settles it." Susanna clamped her hands on the arms of her chair as if she would push herself up, but she did not. "Enough of this dancing around the truth. She ought to know."
"Susanna," Orlando warned.
"No. It's not like she's unaware that we're hiding something, and I believe she cares for Cole as deeply as she claims. Orlando," she said, softer, "you didn't keep it from me."
"I willingly told you. Cole hasn't."
"Nor will he," Oxley said with absolute conviction. "Don't worry, Mistress Cowdrey, we'll remove Cole from your home. I won't have you put in danger."
Lucy choked. He understood nothing! "I don't—"
"And put him where?" Orlando cut in. "He can't come here, not with Susanna like this."
"A room at the Plough," Oxley said. "He ought to be able to travel to Sutton Grange if he goes slowly."
"Stop!" Lucy felt like a shrew for shouting, but the thick-headed man didn't seem to understand a single thing of what she'd said. "Nick isn't going anywhere. He's staying at Cowdrey Farm until… " He realizes he loves me. "Until he's well enough to leave."
"I don't think that's wise." There was nothing frivolous or foppish about Oxley now. His face was set like marble, and those blue eyes were as icy as glaciers. She shivered. "I'm his friend, Mistress Cowdrey. I'll tell you what needs to be done to ensure his safety, and your own."
"You may be his friend, my lord, but I love and care for him. I want him to be happy. Do you?"
It was like she'd pricked him, and he'd suddenly deflated. He rested his elbows on his knees and dragged his hand through his hair. "Women," he muttered.
; Susanna took Lucy's hand and gave her a grim smile. "I think you've worn him down."
Lucy expected one of the men to say something, but they didn't. Oxley appeared to be studying his silk slippers, and Orlando watched his wife with a gleam of pride in his eyes.
When it became clear that neither man would tell Lucy anything, Susanna spoke. "Hughe—Lord Oxley—is the leader of the Guild of Assassins," she said.
"Assassins!" The preening fop killed people? He was a leader of men who killed people? God’s wounds, Lucy had misjudged him completely.
She suddenly felt sick. Assassins.
"The Guild is a small group of men who bring justice to those who escape it," Orlando went on. "I was one of them until I left to settle down with Susanna. Monk joined at that time, and Cole has belonged for four years."
Lucy wanted to throw up. Her Nick, a killer? But he was so gentle, so considerate.
Wasn't he?
Oh God, oh God. How could she be in love with an assassin? She, who wanted only to heal people. Who'd tried so hard to distance herself from her murderous cousins. Tried so hard to be liked in her new home.
"Lucy, are you all right?" Orlando asked. "You don't look very well."
Susanna's cool hand enveloped Lucy's. "She's received a shock. Give her time. Breathe, Lucy."
How could she when her chest felt like it was being crushed beneath a great weight? "You know," she said to Susanna, "yet you don't care."
Susanna squeezed her hand. "It's not like that. The people they assassinate are base creatures. They have no morals and no qualms about killing or hurting others. Most are in positions of authority and have avoided justice one way or another."
Lucy glanced at Orlando. This beautiful, smiling man had killed people? Lord Oxley and Monk too? Was no one as they seemed?
"You ordered Nick to assassinate Alderman Renny?" she asked Oxley. "Why? What did the alderman do?"
Oxley had been silently gazing at his feet, but now he looked up at her. His face had changed. The mocking smile was gone, the pale blue eyes weren't cold anymore, but they still leant an otherworldly quality to his handsome face, as if they could see beyond the here and now.
