by Darcy Burke
She put her hand to his chest and pressed. “Ethan.”
He let go of her breast and an icy chill rushed over her. “Forgive me.” He sat up and turned away, then handed her the blanket that had fallen from her shoulders.
She pulled the quilt over herself and moved to the far edge of the pallet. “Forgive me as well. I didn’t mean to encourage you.”
“You are blameless in this.” His voice sounded strained. He got up and pulled on his shirt, then his boots. He plucked his coat up.
She leaned up on her elbow. Her body was still thrumming with desire. It would be so easy to call him back, but she wouldn’t. “Where are you going?”
“Out. Get some sleep. We’ll leave early so we can get to Beckwith as soon as possible.” He turned and left.
She stared at the closed door for a long time. Tomorrow their adventure would end. Tomorrow she would fight to move forward, to encapsulate her time with Ethan into a neat package she could recall and at which she would smile fondly. Tonight, however, she would weep for the future she could never have.
TWELVE
As usual, Ethan woke early. Instead of torturing himself by watching Audrey sleep, he left the pallet and readied himself. He crept down the steep, narrow stairs to the door that led to the corridor and then to the next set of stairs leading to the ground floor. He made his way to the room where they’d taken last night’s meal and encountered the innkeeper.
He was a slight, seemingly frail man, but Ethan believed his unassuming appearance masked a core of steel. He’d insisted on taking care of their horses last evening and had seen to their bath—without the aid of footmen. He squinted at Ethan. “Ye’re up early.”
“We have a lot of miles to cover today.” It was all he would say. He’d been careful to conceal their direction. Bow Street could still be behind them, particularly if Teague had managed to somehow figure out their destination. Ethan had considered the possibility that Teague might trace them to Beckwith, but he didn’t have any better ideas of where to go. He thought Audrey would be safe with Sevrin. He was the only gentleman of Ethan’s acquaintance who’d held his own among the criminal element.
The innkeeper nodded. “I’ll have a luncheon made up for you to take along.”
“Thank you.” Ethan chose his words carefully. “Might I confirm your discretion about our being here?”
The man laughed, a low, gritty sound that reminded Ethan uncomfortably of his former mentor, Gin Jimmy. “Not your sister, eh?”
Ethan pressed another coin, one of the last they had, into his hand. “I appreciate your help.”
“I hope ye’ll do right by her. I’ll go and get yer horses.” He left the room via the kitchen situated at the back of the dwelling.
Ethan could spend the rest of his life trying to make Audrey’s dreams come true and he doubted he’d ever come close to doing “right” by her.
The innkeeper’s wife plied him with toast and ham. She grinned when he asked for a mug of ale—plus a flagon to take with them. “My husband makes the finest ale in Cornwall.”
“Maybe in all of England,” Ethan said, smiling at her in return.
The creak of the stairs drew him to turn from the small table where he’d taken his breakfast. Audrey appeared, her bonnet and hairbrush in hand, her hair half up.
She patted the back of her head. “I couldn’t find all of the pins.”
The innkeeper’s wife returned with Ethan’s ale and clucked her tongue upon seeing Audrey. “Come with me, dear. I’ll set you to rights.” She held out her hand and led Audrey back through a doorway.
Ethan watched the gentle sway of Audrey’s hips as she followed the innkeeper’s wife. His mind was suddenly full of images and sensations of her—the silk of her hair, the curve of her breast, the heat of her hips as he’d moved against her on the pallet. If he didn’t curb his thoughts, he’d need to excuse himself as he’d done last night. His left hand was a sorry replacement for what he craved, but it was all he had. The alternative—surrendering to temptation—was inconceivable. That would cross a line they couldn’t come back from, and Ethan wouldn’t do that. One of the things that had ensured his criminal success was knowing when to stop before a critical error caused irrevocable damage.
A short while later, Audrey emerged from the doorway. Ethan instantly recognized the London miss who’d taught him to waltz. Her hair had been neatly coiled and she wore a fresh gown, one that actually suited her height. The style of the gown was a few years old, but its pale green color accentuated her eyes, making them appear more jade than aqua. An ivory ribbon was threaded beneath her breasts, emphasizing their delicious fullness. Again, her bearing reminded him of someone who was untouchable—at least to him.
He couldn’t contain his reaction. “You’re so beautiful.”
She blushed, and he realized he’d missed her bouts of shyness and embarrassment. Why had they become less frequent? Because they didn’t talk as much, or was it more than that? Had he ruined her innocence?
The innkeeper forestalled anything further when he stuck his head into the room. “The horses are ready.”
Ethan looked to Audrey, who was tying the bonnet beneath her chin. The innkeeper’s wife bustled in carrying Audrey’s spencer, which Ethan had nicked from an inn three nights ago.
She smiled at Audrey as she helped her don the coat. “Here you are, dear. Take good care of yourself then.”
Audrey gave the woman a quick hug. “Thank you again for the gown.”
“I’m pleased to have found someone to wear it.”
Audrey nodded, then turned to leave. Ethan gestured for her to precede him and worked to remain stoic as she passed, despite the desperate urge he felt to reach out and touch the small of her back.
They stepped outside into the dark, gray morning. They’d been blessed with mostly dry weather for their journey, but the sky looked as if it might drench their hopes for one more decent day.
Audrey raised her face to the sky. “I daresay those are rainclouds.”
“We should get moving.” Ethan helped her to mount her horse and climbed on his own.
They made it an hour before the rain started. It was, at least, a placid rain that would take some time before it soaked them. Hopefully it would stay that way.
“What is your plan when we arrive at Beckwith?” Audrey asked. “I want to be sure I play along with whatever Banbury tale you’re going to tell.”
He deserved that. He’d required her to go with whatever he determined, though she seemed to enjoy tweaking his plans from time to time—like with the hermit. “I’m going to tell him the truth, that you escaped London with me for your own safety.”
She stopped her horse and gaped at him. “The truth?”
He deserved that too. “We need to keep moving.” When she started forward again, he continued, “I have to tell him the truth,” at least about that, “in order to keep you safe. He needs to know that Gin Jimmy wanted to take you to get to me.”
“‘Wanted’? You mean wants. I doubt his plans have changed.”
“Perhaps not, but I’m hopeful he hasn’t bothered to follow us this far from London.” Especially after what Ethan had done to the men he’d already sent—but Ethan didn’t say that out loud. “I’m also hopeful that he’ll realize you won’t be good leverage against me after I leave.” He waited for her reaction, but she was quiet and the edge of her bonnet shielded her face from him. Christ, when had he cared what anyone thought of what he did or what he said? The irritation he tried to stir up didn’t even spark. That man was gone—at least with regard to her. He cared what she thought of him.
Finally she said, “Where will you go?”
Once he would’ve avoided her question. He still considered doing so, but in the end he was tired of the wall he’d constructed. With her he could be himself. Couldn’t he? Of all the people he’d come to know in his life, hadn’t she been the most patient, the most kind, the most forgiving? “I don’t know. Probably back t
o London. I can’t keep running.” And he couldn’t keep her in a perpetual state of danger.
She shot him a sharp look. “But you’ll hang.”
A chill settled into his bones and made his teeth ache. His damp clothes suddenly felt like they were coated in ice. “Jason will help me.” He hoped. God, could he really ask? He couldn’t even recall what it felt like to solicit assistance. Reliance and expectation were for weaker men.
“I’m glad you’re going to ask him. I’m also glad you’re telling Lord Sevrin the truth.” Her voice softened. “I think you’ll be glad too.”
Ethan spent the rest of the day brooding, even after the clouds parted and the sun dried them. The air had changed and the wind carried the not-too-distant scent of the sea, which he recalled from his last visit here. It was late afternoon when he finally broke the silence. “We’re nearly there. Maybe another mile.”
“You’ve been here before, haven’t you?”
He nodded. “Last spring. My pugilist was to compete in a prizefight.”
“But it ended up being Lord Sevrin, did it not? Philippa told me about it.”
He hadn’t realized she and Sevrin’s wife were on such intimate terms. That could prove difficult, though it seemed as though Philippa hadn’t shared what he’d done. If she had, Audrey never would’ve gone along with him. He shoved the thought away, unwilling to give it his concern. He had far weightier things to consider, such as how in the hell he was going to simply walk away from her.
He’d spent the bulk of the day fantasizing about leaving with her. Going to America, or anywhere really, and starting a life where no one knew the names Jagger or Lockwood. He had enough money stashed here and there to take them wherever they wanted to go as well as to set them up in at least a modest lifestyle. But then what would he do? Farm? Learn a trade? He thought of Fox, and while the farming seemed beyond Ethan, the orphanage management held a surprising appeal.
However, obtaining his stashed money was another problem altogether. Perhaps Sevrin and Jason could help him with that too. That he was actually considering it and that he was prepared to solicit even more support made his head spin. Bloody hell, he’d changed on this journey.
He slid a glance at Audrey’s profile. His chest ached when he looked at her. Just as he didn’t want to ponder any difficulty with Lady Philippa, nor did he want to think about why Audrey made him feel that way.
At last they rode up the drive to Beckwith. Audrey looked up at the impressive house, which was a converted medieval fortress. It wasn’t in the best repair, but its placement on a bluff overlooking the bay was enviable. The weather in Cornwall was typically warmer and more pleasant than London. Ethan had enjoyed his stay in the nearby town of Truro.
“Was it a castle?” Audrey asked.
“I think so.” Ethan had obtained only a few details from some people in Truro. Sevrin hadn’t been terribly conversational during Ethan’s visit. Though Ethan had tried to make amends to the viscount, he wasn’t completely certain their arrival would be welcome. Now that they were here, he was having second thoughts.
They stopped in the shell-covered path just before the front entrance. Ethan dismounted and helped Audrey do the same. He offered his arm, as a gentleman ought. She looked at him quizzically, as if such an action were bizarre, and he supposed it was. He hadn’t behaved in the most gentlemanly fashion.
He’d try to make it up to her in the time they had left. The chill he’d been fighting off all day returned, sending ice down his neck. He didn’t want to think about leaving her. Not yet.
He rapped on the door and it was instantly opened by a tall, young footman. Ethan vaguely recognized him from his last visit. “Good afternoon, we’re friends of Lord and Lady Sevrin. Would you please tell them that Mr. Ethan Locke and Miss Audrey Cheswick have arrived?”
The heavy sound of boots falling across marble drew Ethan to look past the footman. Sevrin appeared in the entry hall, his dark brows drawn into a scowl. “What the bloody hell are you doing here?”
Audrey tightened her grip on Ethan’s arm. Lord Sevrin did not look pleased to see them here. Or at least Ethan. Sevrin hadn’t seemed to register Audrey’s presence at all.
“Might we come in?” Ethan asked pleasantly. He stepped over the threshold, forcing the footman to move back, without waiting for a response.
Sevrin stopped in the center of the entry and finally looked at Audrey. “Miss Cheswick, are you all right?” He returned his angry gaze to Ethan. “You didn’t kidnap her, did you?”
Ethan’s eyes narrowed. “Does she look kidnapped?”
Audrey moved forward toward their host. Hopefully he would be their host. Where else would they go? They were nearly out of funds and if she had to sleep in a barn again, she might cry. “Lord Sevrin, I am here of my own choosing.”
All of the stories they’d told over the past days flitted through her brain, but Ethan wanted to tell the truth. The notion still bemused her. What had changed? She glanced at Ethan, but his features were still hardened in a mask of irritation. “Mr. Locke hasn’t kidnapped me. In fact, he’s saved my life multiple times.”
Sevrin put his hands on his hips and stared at Ethan. He didn’t look as if he believed Audrey. “I’m sure he only had to save your life because he put it in danger.”
Just then Philippa came into the hall behind Sevrin. “What’s going on?” She stopped short and gasped upon seeing Ethan, then her mouth formed an O when she saw Audrey. “Audrey!” She rushed forward and drew her further away from Ethan. “Ned, close the door, please.”
The footman complied, but kept a wary eye on Ethan. Ethan stepped to the side, his gaze moving from Sevrin to Audrey. She detected the tiniest crack in his fierce composure—a slight wrinkle in his forehead.
Audrey put her hand over Philippa’s. “I’m fine. We had to escape London. It’s a dreadfully long story. Might we sit down and discuss the matter?” She longed for a glass of something that would warm her insides.
“Of course.” Philippa linked her arm with Audrey’s. “Come with me.” She turned and led Audrey from the hall, but looked back over her shoulder at Ethan.
Audrey also turned back and watched the men stare at each other a long moment before Sevrin put his hands to his sides and then gestured for Ethan to precede him.
Philippa helped Audrey out of her spencer and took her bonnet, both of which she handed to Ned, who had followed them. “Will you have Mrs. Oldham prepare the chamber in the north wing for Miss Cheswick?”
The footman nodded and retreated from the room. It was impossible not to notice that she hadn’t given instructions for Ethan’s comfort.
“Philippa,” Audrey said, “Mr. Locke will also require a bedchamber.”
Philippa threw a heated glare at Ethan. “I’m not certain I want him staying in my house.”
“Please,” Audrey said, squeezing Philippa’s hand, “we’ve come such a long way, and he’s recovering from being wounded.”
“Which I’m sure he deserved.” Philippa shook her head. “I’m sorry, Audrey, but I can’t imagine why you’ve willingly traveled across southern England with a criminal like Jagger.”
Philippa knew him as Jagger? Audrey’s neck prickled with unease. “I told you, he saved my life. I was in danger in London.” And Sevrin had been right, it was because of Ethan. Those men had wanted to take her because they thought she meant something to him. Which she didn’t. Her unease grew until she felt cold and hollow.
“You were correct, Sevrin.” Ethan’s deep voice cut through the tension clouding the room. “She was in danger because of me. I brought her here because it’s the farthest—and more importantly safest—place I could think of.”
“It wasn’t all that safe for me when you came last spring.” Philippa’s tone dripped with scorn. Audrey had never heard her friend talk like that, not even when she was bemoaning her parents’ scandalous affairs.
“I’ve apologized for that repeatedly. And I took care of the matter.�
� He shot Sevrin a dark glance.
“By having Swan killed?” Philippa turned to Audrey. Her golden brown eyes were distressed, but earnest. “You don’t know anything about this man. You may have met him as Ethan Locke in London last month, but he’s a criminal.”
“I know that.” But what did she really know? He’d been mistreated by his half-brother and Lockwood’s mother, and because of that had been driven to a criminal life. He stole and killed with ease and had become an excellent dancer. He was also angry and frustrated because his plans had not worked out the way he’d envisioned. “He’s trying to reform himself.”
Philippa glanced at Ethan. Her lips pursed. “That may be, but he’s got an awful lot to reform. I can’t let you think he’s a decent person. He may not have kidnapped you, but he abducted me on two occasions, and a third time one of his men took me.”
Audrey gaped at her. She’d no idea any of that had occurred. She looked at Ethan. His gray eyes were cold. She expected him to look furious, but his features were devoid of emotion.
“Yes, I kidnapped Lady Philippa.” He moved to a sideboard with several bottles of spirits and splashed some into a glass. “I needed a prizefighter and I wanted Sevrin. I tried inviting him to come see me, but he responded by soundly beating two of my men. Proof that all men possess a degree of vicious intent.” He lifted his glass in a silent toast toward a glowering Sevrin, then took a hearty drink.
His controlled response befuddled Audrey. She opened her mouth to ask why, but Ethan continued. “I used Philippa to gain Sevrin’s cooperation. Not once, but twice. I had my men take her from a house party outside London and bring her to Sevrin’s fight. That way I could be assured that Sevrin would do his very best to win.”
Audrey’s limbs felt weak. Her brain struggled to process what he was telling her and why it seemed worse than what she already knew of him. Kidnapping couldn’t be worse than murder, could it? But all of it together . . . “Why did you want to win?” It was the only question her mouth could seem to form.
