It's Always Been You

by Victoria Dahl

  “Blast it,” he muttered, stepping toward her automatically to help her rise. “I knew you were eavesdropping before, weren’t you?”

  “What?” she cried. “Speak up!”

  Aidan closed his eyes and took a deep breath. She’d heard nothing. Thank God.

  “Nothing, Aunt Ophelia!” he shouted.

  “When’s dinner?”

  “Eight o’clock!” he yelled, then muttered, “Same as every night,” under his breath. Her cane knocked his shin, ringing it like a bell.

  She shuffled past him, her kerchiefed head reaching only half the height of his body. “You’re a fool.”

  Aidan frowned and leaned closer, clasping her elbow to steady her frail body. “Pardon?” But she ignored him and shuffled all the way to the door, pulling her elbow from his grasp halfway across the room. “I’ve been walking for eighty years.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She narrowed her half-blind eyes in irritation. “Puling babe.”

  Aidan tucked his chin in. “I’m sorry . . . What did you say?”

  “Some men never get over teat-sucking for comfort.”

  He stumbled back in horror. “Aunt Ophelia! What did . . . ? You . . .”

  She spun back toward him with surprising speed and pointed a crooked finger in his face. “I said grow up or I’ll dress you in short pants like you deserve!”

  Aunt Ophelia escaped before he could stop her, likely because he was paralyzed with confusion. He now had no idea if she had been eavesdropping or was simply mad as a fiend. He could certainly hear her muttering to herself as she moved slowly down the corridor. Aidan could only shake his head and hope that everything would make more sense tomorrow.

  Chapter 29

  Kate woke exhausted, and the irony was not lost on her. All day yesterday, she’d kept the shop locked and shuttered, too weary to even greet her neighbors. But despite her daytime exhaustion, she’d lain awake in a sea storm of twisting sheets for most of the night. Now that it was morning, she was finally tired again.

  It wasn’t fair, and she wanted to lay abed and weep, but there was no time for that.

  She took her boots from the wardrobe, avoiding the sight of her blue dress and the memories of him. In the near dark of the room, she washed with water that she was too tired to heat, sending trails of goose bumps marching over her skin. Lamplight flickered, softening the angles of her body, sparkling off the small drops of icy water. She smoothed the cloth between her breasts, watching, remembering. Her nipples tightened almost painfully at the cold touch, but her eyes saw them peak and harden for Aidan, saw his hands stroke over her instead of her own.

  Lust swept over her, startling and unexpected. Its intensity nearly buckled her knees. The very core of her tightened and heated, and the urge to close her eyes and stroke again, to think of Aidan and his jaded skills . . . it took her breath away.

  Oh God, her body was not her own anymore. Of course, that had been true in her marriage also, and she’d learned to live with that. But this was a different sort of ownership altogether, binding her with her own needs, her own memories. This was so much more insidious, so much easier to embrace.

  Angered by her desire, she finished washing quickly, scrubbing with a harsh hand at her body. Without even taking the time to dry, she pulled on her clothes. The worn linen shift, the woolen stockings, the loose corset and shapeless brown dress. Nothing that any of Aidan’s other women had worn, she was sure of it.

  She could not imagine living like this every day. A tight, uncomfortable ache weighted down her stomach, a feeling that she’d forgotten something important, something crucial. A sense of foreboding had overtaken her last night, and she’d been on guard before she’d even opened her eyes.

  “It’s Gerard worrying me,” she whispered to herself as she pulled on her worn, ugly boots. “That’s all.”

  But that wasn’t one of the thoughts that had tortured her through the night. Instead, she’d thought of Aidan. She couldn’t seem to steel her heart against him.

  If she still loved him, it didn’t matter. The fantasy that she could take him, take his body, his heart, everything he offered, now seemed impossible. How could it work? Even in the short-term, how could she please a man who’d likely had every woman he’d ever asked for?

  The answer was that she couldn’t. Insatiable, the woman had called him. Insatiable.

  It still stung like fire, seared her lungs, her throat. How many women had said the same about him?

  Every moment with him, every touch, every kiss they’d shared had seemed special, almost sacred. She felt betrayed and foolish now. Beyond foolish—stupid. She’d trusted him. She’d trusted him to overlook her hesitance and fear when they made love, to not even notice her lack of skill. Now, with the truth between them, she realized how hopeless that must have been. He’d likely been bored.

  Perhaps that was the greatest source of her anger, that he had offered her such joy—such fierce joy—under a false pretense. The pretense that he found her arousing in some specific way. The truth was that his arousal was an easy thing. He’d admitted it himself. Those women had meant nothing to him, and still he’d had them.

  Muttering a curse, she pushed to her feet to stomp downstairs. The stove didn’t dare to defy her this morning, and her coffee and salt pork were both hot within minutes. Perhaps this would be her last small meal here. If she could sell the shop today . . . But no, that was a ridiculous fantasy. She’d never sell it so quickly, but there still might be a way to steal away today.

  She couldn’t in all good conscience call on the Cains this early, so Kate spent time going through her ledgers and copying everything she wished to take with her. It was only then that the sadness hit her. She hadn’t been born with this dream, but she’d made it hers out of necessity. Now what would she do?

  Undoubtedly, it could be nothing to do with coffee this time, not if she wanted to leave Gerard behind. Perhaps she would simply sail to America and decide what to do with herself once she’d landed. Plenty of others did exactly the same, and surely Gerard would never find her in a place so immense. She could disappear as she had before. It would be as if she’d never returned to England. Just as well. She never should have.

  When she looked up from her ledgers, thin bars of light slanted past the edges of the curtains over the front window. It was later than she’d thought.

  She snuck out the back, pulling the hood of her cloak low against the vulnerable feeling she’d worn since returning to Hull. The Cains lived blocks away, but Kate kept her head down and avoided meeting anyone she knew along the way. By the time the housekeeper let her into the Cain home, Kate had held her breath so long that she was dizzy. She gulped air and paced in the entry hall until Lucy rushed out of a room halfway down the wide corridor of the house.

  “Lucy!” Kate called, hurrying toward her as if she were a lifeline. “I’m so glad you’re here. I need another favor, I’m afraid.”

  Lucy glanced over her shoulder, raising her hands.

  “I’m sorry to impose. And it is an imposition, but—”

  “Kate!” she whispered, her hands wrapping around Kate’s wrists. She looked behind her again, and kept walking so that Kate had to move backward.

  “Lucy, what . . . ?”

  “Your husband!”

  “What?”

  And then he was there. Not her husband, of course. Not his ghost. It was Gerard stepping out of the same room Lucy had come from. He was here. Right here. His mouth stretching into a smile, his arms opening in welcome.

  Kate gasped out a choked cry and scrambled two steps back.

  “Darling,” he said. “It’s me.” Though he smiled even wider, his eyes were like coals burned to ash.

  “Poor thing,” Mr. Cain said, patting Gerard on the back. “She looks shocked to her very core. You should have warned her you were coming, sir.”

  “Well, I thought to surprise her, but I see it’s too much. She always was a delicate thing. Come, Mrs. H
amilton, and greet your long-lost husband.”

  Though she was standing still, she felt as though she were speeding down a tunnel. Choices flashed past her and she couldn’t grab any of them. What should she do? What should she do?

  If she exposed him, then he would expose her. He could accuse her of assault and calumny and murder, and who would defend her? They’d only know her as a liar. A woman who’d used a falsehood to settle into their midst. How could she claim innocence when she’d lied about so many things already? Her name, her husband, even the place she’d come from.

  In the end, she made no decision at all. She simply let herself be swept into his embrace, wincing as he hugged her. Oh, God. Oh, God. What was she going to do?

  Mr. Cain made a joke, seeming unaware of Kate’s horror. But just before Gerard released her, Kate met Lucy’s gaze. Her friend’s eyes were filled with confused fear. Kate wondered what her own looked like.

  “I am so thankful for your hospitality, Mr. Cain,” Gerard said, turning to shake the man’s hand. “I was quite at a loss when I arrived in port and could not locate my own wife!”

  Male laughter filled the hall. It sounded like the horrid barking of wild dogs.

  “Come,” Mr. Cain said, “we’ve just poured tea.”

  “I should really . . . I should get back to the shop. . . .”

  Another round of loud laughter.

  “She’s in shock,” Gerard said with a pleased smile. “But much as the sight of my lovely wife renews me, I’m still parched. And Mr. Cain was just telling me that you’d gone to London, darling. Whatever were you doing there?”

  Kate watched Lucy flinch and tried to school her own features to calm. “A coffee roaster,” she made herself say with only a slight tremor to her voice. All she could think was Gerard is here. Gerard is here.

  And everything was over.

  “A roaster?” he asked.

  “Yes. I was hoping to strike a deal with him directly.”

  Her mouth was working, and her feet too, as they were moving past open doorways now. Once they reached the morning room, Gerard led her to sit next to him on the settee and Lucy filled another cup for her.

  Luckily, Mr. Cain asked a question about the ship that had brought Gerard to Hull, and Kate was free to indulge in panicked thinking.

  She was trapped. Trapped by her own lies. She’d flown so far from her past, and yet it was here again, and there was nothing she could do to change that.

  “—didn’t you, Katherine?”

  Her head jerked up at her name, and she realized she’d been concentrating on her tightly clasped hands. “Pardon?”

  “I think perhaps I’d better take her home, after all,” Gerard said. “And after all your kind words about the shop, Mr. Cain, I find I can’t wait to finally see it.”

  “Yes, yes,” Mr. Cain said, helpfully waving them toward the door. “Go and enjoy each other’s company. But I insist you return for dinner tonight.”

  “We couldn’t,” Kate said quickly, shaking her head as she stood and backed toward the corridor.

  “Nonsense,” Gerard offered with a hard smile.

  “I’m eager to acquaint myself with your new friends. All of them.”

  Even Lucy paled at those ominous words, though her father still smiled indulgently.

  “Kate,” Lucy said too loudly, and Kate jumped at the sound. “I have the gloves my maid mended for you.”

  “Gloves?” Kate whispered.

  She nodded. “Yes, let me fetch them.” She grabbed Kate’s hand and pulled her from the room. Kate saw that Gerard wanted to follow, but he was stuck with Mr. Cain, who was speaking about the timber trade.

  “What is he doing here, Kate?” Lucy whispered.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Does Mr. York know he’s here?”

  Kate shot a nervous glance toward the door of the morning room. “Shh. Of course not.”

  “Then I shall write and—”

  “No! No, you can’t.”

  Lucy took Kate’s hand between both her own. “Please, Kate. You look so scared. He can’t be a good man.”

  “Katherine,” Gerard’s voice called. “Are you ready?”

  Kate eased her hand away from Lucy’s. “It will be fine. Don’t worry. And thank you for being a friend to me, Lucy.”

  “But if you—”

  His shadow darkened the doorway, and Kate pushed Lucy toward the front hall. “The gloves!”

  There were no gloves, of course, but surely Lucy must have a pair she was willing to part with. And indeed, by the time Gerard looped her arm through his and steered her toward the door, Lucy was rushing back with gloves clutched in her hand.

  “Thank you,” Kate said. “Thank you so much.”

  Lucy gave her a tight hug, but Gerard retrieved Kate’s arm as soon as her friend let her go. Kate allowed him to hold on to her until they’d stepped into the street and the Cains’ door closed behind them. Then she jerked away and stumbled a few steps back.

  “Katherine,” he said in warning.

  “Why did you pretend to be my husband?” she demanded.

  “I needed to find you. What else would you have had me say? Surely not the truth.”

  She shook her head and started walking, rushing as if she could escape him. Heads turned in her direction, but she didn’t care. Gerard’s footsteps stayed close behind her, though he didn’t try to touch her again.

  There was no point in rushing to her shop as if it would offer sanctuary, but she simply could not maintain this ruse for more than a few moments. Gerard made her skin crawl and her belly draw up. She could not stroll down the lane as if he were a beloved husband.

  When she reached the shop door, she hit her knuckles far too hard against the bright and cheerful wood. The pain rang up to her elbow and slithered to her shoulder. The keys dropped to the ground.

  “Here, darling. Let me.”

  “Mr. Hamilton!” a voice called. Kate glanced back to see Gulliver Wilson standing in the doorway of his tobacco store. His eyes were bright with hostile pleasure. “I see you found your wife!”

  “I did. Thank you for your assistance, sir.”

  Kate heard the keys clink and then the gasp of the door opening. She closed her eyes against Gulliver Wilson’s grin and let herself be led inside.

  Chapter 30

  “How could you have done that to me?” he growled, slamming the door behind him, plunging them into the dark.

  Kate backed up, arms stretched out behind her, trying to find the archway that led to the back rooms. But his hand snaked out and grabbed her shoulder. His other hand curved around the nape of her neck, fingers tightening like a vise.

  “After what you did to my father!”

  “Stop it! I didn’t do anything.”

  “Don’t lie to me. I was trying to help you—”

  She tried to shake her head, but his grasp was too tight. She latched her hands around his wrist. “You’re hurting me.”

  “As you have hurt me!” But he let her go, pushing her aside with a curse.

  Her eyes had adjusted, and she could see now, but so could Gerard. When she edged toward the back, his gaze slid to the alley door.

  “Let me make this clear, Katherine. If you run off, I’ll tell everyone who’ll listen that you killed my father. I’m done chasing you.”

  “I didn’t kill him!”

  “Don’t treat me like a fool! Am I to think he died naturally, with blue lips and white fingers? With the smell of poison on his mouth? I saw you go into that room, damn it. And I saw his body afterward.”

  Kate pressed her hand to her mouth and shook her head. She knew exactly what David had looked like. It had haunted her dreams for weeks afterward.

  “I’m trying to help you.”

  “By tormenting me?” she shot back.

  “Would you rather go to prison?”

  “I didn’t do it! I would never have hurt him. Never!”

  “Good Christ, Katherine, you were
the one who hurt him in the first place!”

  “Oh,” she breathed, shocked at having it said aloud. Yes, she’d wanted to blame herself for David’s accident at first, but David had brushed aside her apologies. It had been her first hint that he was a human being and not the monster she’d considered him. “It was an accident,” she said.

  “I can understand your feelings, Katherine,” Gerard said, as he paced across the room to idly open one of the bins. “You were forced to marry a man you didn’t want, then even made to live in the same house as his mistress. He refused you his affections, gave you no children. How could you not hate him?”

  “I didn’t hate him.”

  “You told me you did.”

  “That was before,” she argued.

  “Before you tried to kill him the first time?”

  “Stop it!” she yelled. “I never tried to hurt him, and you’re the only person who’s ever said such an awful thing.”

  “Ha! You don’t really think that, do you? The whole island has been transfixed by my father’s story for years. Add in a mysterious young wife, a tragic accident, a sordid living arrangement, and a suspicious death. . . . Good God, they suspected you of murder even before you tried to kill me.”

  “You attacked me.”

  “I wanted to help you. No one else believes anything you say. Look at the liar you’ve made of yourself, Katherine.”

  Terror opened up inside her. He was right about that, if nothing else. She slid one foot back, taking herself closer to the door. “Why did you come here? What do you want?”

  “That’s up to you.” He offered a flat smile. His black hair slipped over his forehead, and he looked startling young when he pushed it back. When she slid her foot back again, he glanced toward the door and shook his head. “You’ve already proven yourself guilty by running once. The authorities wanted to charge you with murder, but I talked them into waiting.”

  That stopped her in her tracks. Ice formed inside her chest. “What?”

  “I can’t hold them off forever.”

  “What did you tell them?” she demanded.

  “I haven’t told them anything. You’re not listening to me. I’m trying to help you. I was trying to help you the night you left—”