The Stranger She Married (Rogue Hearts Book 1)

by Donna Hatch

  She stared at him. “Why would he wish to help me?”

  “He feels responsible for your predicament.”

  Alicia studied the glass in her hand. “In a way, he is.”

  “Perhaps someday you will find it in your heart to forgive him.”

  Alicia clenched her teeth and set down her glass. “Armand was my better self. I was braver, kinder, smarter when he was with me. Watching him die slowly…” She struggled for composure but continued without finding it. “It’s probably not fair, but I also blame Cole for my parents’ death.”

  Tears blurred her vision, and he became a shapeless mass. “Robert had sent a message that Armand had been wounded, and was gravely ill. We were rushing to London when the carriage overturned. My parents were both killed. If Armand had not been shot, we wouldn’t have been on that road that day.” A sob broke through. She put her hand over her mouth.

  After a long silence, he stirred. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am.”

  She pulled her hand away and dried her eyes with her handkerchief. “Thank you. Fear not, I do not hold any malice toward you. After all, I can hardly hold you responsible for the actions of your cousin.”

  Lord Amesbury remained silent throughout the evening, sitting more hunched than usual. Earlier than usual, he excused himself and she did not see him for the remainder of the night, but the next day after breakfast, he came into the kitchen where she sat with Mrs. Hodges going through the linens.

  “Would you like to walk down by the lake?”

  “Yes, I would.” She hesitated. “Does it hurt you to walk?”

  “A bit, but I think it’s good for me.”

  They strolled silently, the trees whispering in a gentle breeze. Their feet and his cane crunched on the walkway. She glanced several times at him, unnerved by his expressionless mask and the difficulty with which he stepped. She wondered if she would ever grow accustomed to it all. To him.

  “Are you…” She stopped, unsure of how receptive he would be to her questions.

  “You may ask me anything. Even if you fear it improper.”

  She drew a breath. “Are you in any pain?”

  “Not more than I can bear.”

  “How did it happen?”

  There was a long pause. “I served as an officer in the Royal Navy. During a battle, I noticed a young gunner had forgotten to pour seawater on the cannon to cool it before he prepared to fire it again. He couldn’t hear me shouting at him over the noise. I rushed to him and tried to stop him from firing it while it was too hot. I didn’t reach him in time. He lit the fuse. The cannon exploded. I threw myself to the deck, but I was burned. The boy was... there wasn’t much left of him.”

  She put her hand over her mouth as images conjured by his words played through her mind.

  His voice took on a flat tone as if he tried to protect himself from the emotions that must have sprung up at the memories. He remained silent for several minutes. “He was only thirteen. I failed to save him. Or the others around him.”

  “Surely you did all you could.”

  “Not enough. Watching countless young men die all around me while I lived… it haunts me. I wasn’t a better officer than those who died. I lived because I was lucky. I was burned, scarred, but at least I live. I’m undeserving.” The last came out in a whisper.

  Alicia’s own memories washed over her and she struggled against the consuming loss. She should have died with her parents in the carriage that day. She, too, was undeserving. They walked in silence until they reached the lake, where they found a place to sit on a carved stone bench.

  “Are you sorry you married me?” he asked softly.

  She turned to him. “No, of course not. I’m safe and I have everything I desire.”

  “Except the man of your dreams.”

  She bowed her head in shame, acutely aware that she was not fulfilling her duty as a wife. Cole’s face flashed into her mind. Guiltily, she shoved away the image. “You must be sorry you married me.”

  “No. You are a delightful companion and I am growing quite fond of you. This is more than I had ever hoped. Not many women would agree to marry a monster such as I.” His shoulders sagged.

  “You are not a monster,” she assured him quickly. “You are a kind, warm man. A true gentleman.”

  They sat in companionable silence for a few moments before Nicholas spoke.

  “Do you still wish to go to France?”

  She brightened. “Yes. Someday.”

  “Next spring.”

  “Truly? I’d like that very much.”

  “Then we shall plan on it.”

  She smiled and managed to look at the masked face for a moment longer than normal before letting her eyes drop.

  “Alicia, I know it makes you uncomfortable when I escort you to your room. You feel as if I’m pressing you to let me in. I admit that I desire you. And I have developed feelings for you. But I will not come to you. When you are ready, come to me.” His muffled voice hushed. “I hope you decide to come to me soon.”

  Alicia stared at her hands twisting in her lap and wondered if she would ever find the courage to willingly go to him and subject herself to his touch.

  After preparing for bed that night, she picked up a book, knowing sleep would not easily come.

  She must have fallen asleep reading, for rough hands shook her awake. Groggy, she blinked through a fog and tried to focus on the insistent voice. She coughed, strangely unable to breathe.

  “Alicia! Wake up!”

  A pair of arms scooped her up and carried her through a haze. Alicia coughed. Her room seemed terribly warm. Was that smoke? She pushed weakly against the arms that held her. She was set on her feet but she sank weakly to the floor. Voices shouted. She tried to speak, but could only cough. Wondering why she found it so hard to draw a breath, she did not resist when another pair of arms led her to a chair. A window scraped open. She continued to cough and had to fight to keep her eyes open. A cold breeze blew across her face, helping clear her head. A blanket wrapped around her body. Her coughing abated, and her eyesight cleared.

  “That’s done it, my lord,” a male voice called.

  “Here, madame, drink this.” Monique pressed a cup into her hands.

  “What happened?” she asked the maid.

  “The candle by your bed must have fallen over, madame. My lord smelled smoke and discovered a fire in your room.”

  “Fire? How awful. Was anyone harmed?”

  “No, my lady. But you would have perished if my lord had not awakened.”

  The baron appeared then.

  “I can’t understand how the candle fell over,” mused Monique. “It was resting in a candleholder with a wide base. And how did it fall against the bed curtains?”

  Her husband paused at Monique’s words, then came to Alicia. “Are you harmed?”

  Alicia shook her head. “No. I owe you my thanks.”

  He reached out as if to touch her and then drew back. “I’m only grateful you are unharmed.”

  She wished she could see the expression on his face. Tentatively, she reached out a hand to him. He took it and squeezed her hand briefly. Oddly disappointed he hadn’t held her, and surprised that she’d wanted him to, she watched him leave. She wondered if he would ever trust her with his face.

  Did she really want to see it, or would it only repulse her?

  Chapter 19

  Alicia’s comfortable life was disrupted by Cole Amesbury again. Wearing that maddeningly self- assured smile, he strolled languidly into the library, a great, hungry predator on the prowl.

  She leapt to her feet.

  “Dearest cousin.” He planted a kiss on her cheek.

  She glared at him.

  His smile faded. “Fear not, I have not come to harass you. Is Nicholas at home?”

  She blinked. She never thought of her husband as Nicholas. She always called him “husband” or “my lord” or “the baron” even in her thoughts. “I haven’t seen him all m
orning. I’ll send a servant to look for him.”

  “Never mind. I’ll wait for him. Please, sit with me. I’d also hoped to speak with you.”

  Alicia hesitated but sank to a chair.

  Cole paced the floor, going to the window, to the fireplace and then to the sofa. Then he went to the bookcase and leaned upon it.

  “Shall I ring for tea?” she offered.

  He shook his head. His careless façade slipped away and he appeared so distraught that Alicia actually felt sympathy for him.

  He turned to her. “I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness.”

  “Which of the many wrongs are you begging forgiveness for, now? Trying to tempt me to abandon my husband, or something else?” She expected his wry grin.

  Instead, his brilliant blue eyes fixed upon her face, gravely serious. “For shooting Armand.”

  She gripped the arms of her chair.

  “All I ask is that you allow me to tell you what happened.”

  She did not want to hear this. “My cousin Robert told me what happened. He was there, remember?” she managed through clenched teeth.

  “I need to explain what led up to it.”

  Alicia leaned back, folded her arms, and forced herself to look at him. Why must he reopen this wound now? “Nothing you say will change what you did.”

  “No. And I’m not asking for forgiveness. I only hope if you hear the whole story, you will find some measure of peace.”

  Sadness welled up inside her and again that horrible, consuming loss. Fighting tears, Alicia made no comment.

  Cole began pacing again. “There was a girl named Vivian. She was the Season’s sensation. More than beautiful, she was intoxicating. The ton obsessed over her.”

  Alicia nodded. She remembered seeing the beautiful, elegant Vivian from afar, and noticed how the gentlemen stumbled all over themselves in their desire to catch her eye. Her beauty had outshone even Catherine’s. Armand, like every other gentleman in London, was smitten with Vivian, but Papá had said she was trouble.

  “She had a way of making men forget all reason.” Cole’s voice brought her back to the present. “Something about her drove a man wild with desire, and yet she always stayed just out of reach, leaving men desperate for one more smile, one more dance, one more kiss. She seemed to prefer Armand and me over the others. I liked Armand well enough, but he seemed to dislike me. Told me once that he found me insufferably arrogant. I suppose I was.” His voice hushed. He rested his arm on the mantel and hung his head. “She pitted us against each other. Played us both for the ridiculous fools we were. She said she favored me and that she might choose me, except for Armand. Apparently, she told Armand the same thing. His actions can be excused as the folly of youth. I’m not a green young buck. I should have seen through her.”

  Alicia marveled that she had never seen the charismatic Cole Amesbury in London, especially since he knew her brother. Perhaps he was one of those men who avoided balls and musicales and preferred gentlemen’s clubs instead.

  Cole moved to the window and stood staring out before he spoke again. “I went to meet Vivian in the park and came upon them in his coach. Their clothing and hair were mussed and I knew he’d compromised her. Armand grinned at me and told me I had lost. Vivian insisted that I defend her honor. We had words. Vivian demanded justice. I challenged him and we chose our seconds. Robert was his.”

  Alicia’s heart turned to ice.

  “By the time we met, my temper had cooled. After all I witnessed during the war, the last thing I wanted was the blood of an innocent man on my hands. I should have backed down.”

  “Why didn’t you?” she gasped.

  Cole’s body sagged against the window, his head bowed, eyes squeezed shut, pain rippling through him and permeating the room. “I felt I must defend Vivian’s honor. And I’d issued the challenge. It would have followed me if I’d rescinded it. So I aimed carefully for his arm—the left, so there would be no chance that his fencing and shooting arm would be maimed.” He sighed heavily. “I went to check on him the following day and they told me he was only grazed and the bleeding had stopped. He seemed to have a strong constitution. They thought he would recover without complication. I had no idea he’d grown ill.”

  Silence weighed heavily. Alicia stirred herself and realized her face was streaming with tears. Without bothering to search for a handkerchief, she used her hands to dry her cheeks.

  Cole faced her, anguish lancing his features; his eyes were tortured. “I would do anything to go back and change what I did. Pay any price.” His voice broke. “I’m sorry. I truly am.”

  He stood, clenching and unclenching his fists, looking utterly lost. He did not wear the mien of a cold-blooded murderer. With startling clarity, she realized he never had. He turned and strode out of the room, leaving Alicia alone with her grief. After sobbing until her tears were spent, she lay weakly against the sofa.

  She remembered Armand’s easy smile, his contagious laugh, his willingness to listen even late at night when she wanted to talk. He could always cheer her when she felt sad. He teased her mercilessly, but could always chase away the monsters under her bed.

  She thought of her parents; Maman, gracious, gentle, always with a story and a soft caress; Papá, quiet, solemn, kind. All snatched from her by the whims of fate. Or the whims of a vain woman who did not deserve the men who fought for her.

  Robert blamed himself for not stopping that foolish duel. And Cole clearly suffered. Somehow, seeing him thus as he relayed the events had a healing effect on her. He was not the monster she thought he was. He had been rash, charmed by a deceitful woman. And now he lived with a grief and guilt that she would never understand. But she was beginning to.

  Forgiveness chipped away at the ice in her heart and she wept again, this time for a man with tormented blue eyes.

  Slowly enough for her husband to keep up, Alicia walked in Andromeda’s garden nearest the house. Water tripped over the edge of their fountains and into the pools below with soft tinkling sounds.

  “Alicia,” the baron began in his low muffled voice. “Are you happy here?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do not answer too quickly. I need the truth. Do you feel comfortable here? Do you feel that this is your home?”

  “Yes, I do. It’s beautiful here and I have everything I could possibly want. Haven’t we already had this conversation?”

  There was another moment of silence. Finally, he turned to her. “Do you still fear me?”

  She considered. He seemed less intimidating than he had at first. He had been a perfect gentleman in every way since she had met him. She had grown fond of him, of his gentle mannerisms, his wit.

  But the thought of allowing him to touch her, the humiliation, the fear and degradation that accompanied such touches, turned her cold.

  Knowing he awaited an answer, she moistened her lips. “Not as much, my lord.”

  He nodded but said nothing more and remained quiet all evening. Since that day he showed her the maze, he made no further attempt to touch her except to press chaste kisses to her cheek.

  Late that night, Alicia sat up to finish a novel. As she read the last page and set the book down, hunger niggled at her. She donned a robe and slippers, picked up a taper to light her way, and slipped out of her room down the darkened corridor toward the kitchen. Lord Amesbury’s bedroom door stood ajar. She glanced in. A dying fire silhouetted him in a large arm chair hunched over with his head in his hands as if desperately sad.

  A pang of remorse shot through her. They had been married for weeks, yet she still failed to welcome him into her bed. Alicia knew she was being terribly selfish, that she should submit herself to him as was his right. After all, he’d been kind and patient. He deserved a wife who respected him enough to offer him the comfort of her body.

  But whenever she imagined herself lying next to him with his hands on her skin the way Mr. Braxton had touched her, her stomach clenched until she felt ill.

 
Her appetite had disappeared. She went back into her room and closed the door.

  That night, she dreamed of lying in Cole’s strong, gentle arms. Then he began tearing her bodice. Cole’s face twisted and transformed into Mr. Braxton. She struggled to free herself as his hands pawed at her body, but his face changed again and he wore her husband’s mask. His leather gloves felt cold and lifeless on her skin.

  “Alicia.”

  She cried out, bolting upright and whirling toward the disconnected voice in the darkness.

  “Are you all right?” The baron’s voice cut through her fear, its soothing tones quieting her panic.

  “Yes,” she managed. Cold sweat drenched her nightgown.

  “You were dreaming.”

  “Yes, I was.”

  “You were begging me to stop.”

  She pressed the heels of her hands into her wet eyes and tried to calm her thudding heart.

  “Do you still fear me so much?”

  “I….” she could not think of an appropriate reply.

  Soundlessly, he left the room and closed the door firmly behind him. Alicia laid her head down and wept.

  On the morning of her one month anniversary, the butler informed Alicia that a visitor by the name of Lady Edenburgh had come to call. Pleased that a neighbor had chosen to pay a visit, Alicia smoothed her hair and greeted her caller.

  Lady Edenburgh met her with a warm smile. The lady was perhaps ten years her senior, with a lovely face and bright, lively eyes. She wore a tastefully simple, yet fashionable gown.

  “Lady Amesbury,” she said with a charming accent Alicia could not quite place. “I am so happy to make your acquaintance. When I learned that a lady had come to live so near my own home, I waited impatiently until after you’d been married a month so I could come welcome you.”

  “I’m so glad you did.”

  “I’ve been here for three years, yet I still sometimes feel as if I am a newcomer.”

  “You have such a lovely accent. Where are you from?”