by Hatch, Donna
“I can’t thank you enough for your help,” she said. “I know I am probably the last person with whom you want to spend time.”
“You don’t have to keep thanking me. In a way, I’m glad I found you.”
She looked up at him with wide, startled eyes.
He shrugged. “If I hadn’t, you would have drowned.” Someone else might have found her, true, but they would probably have returned her to Wickburgh immediately. And he almost chortled at the thought of denying Wickburgh something he desired.
“Maybe you should have let me drown.” She lifted her head in challenge.
“I couldn’t have turned my back on anyone. Even if I’d known it was you in the river, I still would have gone in after you.”
Her eyes shone in something that looked suspiciously like admiration. “You are a man of honor. Like a knight of old.”
He let down one of his shields and made a confession. “I always wanted to be a knight. I used to imagine I was battling a fire-breathing dragon and rescuing a princess, or sailing the seven seas, ridding the world of pirates.”
“You are well suited for either role. But I must warn you, if Wickburgh ever learns you helped me ….”
“Wickburgh doesn’t frighten me. And I always carry a gun, now.”
“Now? What do you mean?”
He hesitated, but there seemed no reason to hide the truth from her. “After I tried to break up your wedding, he sent his bullyboys after me as a warning not to cross him. I don’t go anywhere unarmed now.”
She leaned closer, her eyes traveling over his face. She reached up and touched his temple. “Is that how you got this scar?”
Her fingers traced his skin, sending the crackling of a lightning storm through him. He hadn’t been touched by a woman in so long, he’d almost forgotten that sweet pain of desire currently shooting through him.
But she wasn’t his. Nor did he want her.
He pulled away and found a semblance of a smile. “I have an even better one on my ribs.” He touched his side where he’d been knifed.
“I’m so sorry you were hurt.” Her voice cracked and she looked away, swallowing hard.
Tears? For his sake? “I don’t blame you.”
“Why ever not? Everything is my fault.” Her brow furrowed and her mouth tightened first in pain, and then she set her jaw in anger.
The carriage hit a large rut in the road and they bounced toward each other. He caught her as she started to fall off the seat. As they half sat and half kneeled on the floor of the coach in each other’s arms, the tension between them snapped and suddenly the drama of their history and their odd flight to the Scottish border seemed funny.
Christian started to laugh. She joined in. They laughed together, deep, full belly laughs. He’d forgotten the music of her laughter, the way her eyes glimmered and crinkled up on the sides.
The carriage began to lurch violently as if one of the wheels weren’t quite right. With a groaning of wood, the carriage pitched to one side. Christian braced himself and put a hand out to protect Genevieve from falling. Steeply listing to one side, the coach dragged its belly on the road until it scraped to a halt.
Christian threw open the door and got out, handing out Genevieve. The coachman was swearing enough to make Christian glance uncomfortably at Genevieve. “Easy, man. There’s a lady present,” he chided gently.
“Sorry, m’lady.” The coachman leaped off the driver’s seat and went to inspect the damage.
Christian crouched down next to him to get a look at the wheel. It was ruined beyond repair. “Good thing we always carry a spare.”
The coachman grunted. Christian took off his frockcoat and headed for the coach to toss it inside.
“I’ll hold it for you.” Genevieve held out her hands.
He handed it to her, rolled up his sleeves and got to work helping the coachman and footman remove the broken wheel.
The outrider appeared then and swung off his horse. “I’ll finish that, Mr. Amesbury.”
“No need,” Christian said lightly. “We’ve almost got it. Keep a sharp eye out for highwaymen.”
“Aye.”
They finished changing the wheel for the new one stored underneath the coach. Christian stood, brushing off his hands. He glanced at Genevieve who stood silently, looking down at his coat and running her hands over it as if she were caressing a lover. His throat tightened at the image. He flung it aside. They weren’t lovers. She was married to another man. And Christian would do well to remember that she had rejected him.
CHAPTER 13
As the coach pulled into a posting inn to change horses, night fell, enshrouding the land in twilight. Genevieve stepped into the crowded posting inn, keeping her head lowered, and tugged once more on the hood of her cloak to ensure no one would see her face clearly. She curled her toes inside her shoes to keep them on. Even with three pairs of socks, the borrowed shoes were still too big and she found it impossible to walk naturally. Still, she tried to place her steps carefully. With his hand under her elbow, Christian led her through a room where shadows trembled in the dim candlelight. A man coming the other direction bumped her with his shoulder.
“Pardon me,” he rasped as he passed.
That voice sounded vaguely familiar. Releasing her hold on Christian’s arm, she stopped short and looked back. The stocky man wearing a coarse woolen coat paused in the doorway, stepping back as another pair of travelers entered. He nodded to the pair and turned his head slightly.
She let out a gasp and her blood rushed from her head down to her toes. That man looked a great deal like one of Wickburgh’s thugs. Quickly, she turned to hide her face. She couldn’t be sure. Maybe it wasn’t him. If it had been him, was this a chance encounter, or had he followed her? It would be just like Wickburgh to give the man orders to make his presence known to torture her before he made a grab for her. But no, surely not. Still ….
Christian spoke quietly to the innkeeper who led them to a private room. Careful to keep her face away from the main door, Genevieve followed Christian to the private dining room.
As the serving maid swiftly cleared the table of the previous diners’ meal, Genevieve sank down into the chair Christian had pulled out for her. With her head down and her back to the door, Genevieve sat waiting for the man who looked like one of Wickburgh’s men to pull her hood from her face and expose her secret. Her heart thundered in her ears. The smoke from the candles stung her eyes and the raucous laughter of locals and travelers closed in around her. A moment passed without the man accosting her. The serving maid finally left and closed the door to their private room behind her.
Genevieve let out a shaking breath. Sheltered from curious eyes, she unclenched her hands from her cloak and pushed back her hood.
Christian touched her hand briefly but pulled away. “Would you rather have waited in the coach? I could bring you something to eat.”
She shook her head. Leaving now would only draw attention. She’d been foolish to think she could go out in public. But she’d spent the last several months locked inside and had been impatient to leave such restrictions. She swallowed and lifted her head.
Christian’s concerned face filled her vision. “What is it?”
“I ….” if she told him she thought she’d seen one of Wickburgh’s men, it might worry him needlessly. “I thought I saw someone I knew.” She lifted her shoulder in a loose shrug as if to dismiss the matter.
Christian straightened. “Are you sure?”
“No, I’m not sure it was he.”
“Did he see you?”
“I don’t think so.”
He nodded, his brows drawing together slightly. “I won’t let anyone hurt you, Jen.” His quiet, intense tones edged through the last of her fears.
Christian would keep her safe. Though she didn’t deserve it, she had somehow garnered his commitment to protect her. If only she’d been able to protect him from the heartbreak she’d inflicted on him. But perhaps they’d
moved past all that and they could both rebuild their lives apart. Surely she could find somewhere she’d be safe.
She tried to of think something she could do for Christian, some way to repay him, or at least thank him, for all he was doing for her. At the moment, helping his sister was the only thing she could think of. Perhaps another opportunity would present itself. Of course, she’d never truly repay him; all she could hope for was a meaningful show of gratitude.
“Are you too tired to continue traveling tonight?” he asked. “We could stop here.”
She shook her head. “I want to get there as quickly as possible.” She snapped her mouth closed. It wasn’t fair to inconvenience Christian to satisfy her desire to put as many miles as possible between Wickburgh and her. “Do you wish to stay the night here?”
“Not necessarily. If we stop now, we’ll have to find an inn again tomorrow night. If we go a few more hours, we can reach Rachel’s cottage tomorrow night. But there’s no need to rush.”
She dredged up a smile. “No, no need to rush. It’s not as if we’re racing to Gretna Green with enraged relatives on our heels determined to stop our wedding over the anvil.”
If only they were. But none of that mattered. Finding a place where she could be safe was all that mattered.
He let out a half-hearted laugh. “No, fortunately.”
Because he no longer had any desire to marry her? Or merely that he was glad they didn’t need to rush? It didn’t matter. She’d be a fool to hope he had any romantic feelings for her.
As the serving girl opened the dining room door to bring the food, the noise from the main room blasted in. Genevieve tensed. Wickburgh’s man might be waiting out there. She went perfectly still, careful to look straight at Christian and keep the back of her head toward the door. The maid left, closing the door behind her.
Genevieve let out her breath, removed her gloves, and picked up her fork. Christian tucked into his meal like a man who hadn’t eaten all day. In spite of herself, Genevieve smiled. He’d always had a healthy appetite. She found that quality endearing.
After eating, they stood. She eyed the door, knowing she must go through it. With her hand on Christian’s arm and her hood carefully over her head, she navigated through the crowded inn. No one approached. As they returned to the carriage, Genevieve glanced back. No one seemed to notice them. And of that man she thought she’d seen, there was no trace.
“You’re jumpy.” Christian handed her into the carriage.
“I fear I’m not far enough away yet. Someone might see me.”
“Are you well-known in the area?”
She settled her skirts on the seat. “No, my face is not known at all. I never left the house.”
He halted with one foot on the step and one hand on the doorway. “Never?”
She shook her head.
“Why? As the wife of a viscountess, surely you were expected to make calls, see to the tenants, throw balls and such.”
Genevieve’s first inclination was to side step the issue. But she was so weary of all the secrecy between them. “He forbade me to leave the house. He wanted me where he could always find me. When he had to check on any of his other properties, or attend Parliament, he always took me with him and locked me away when we arrived.”
“He locked you away? You were a prisoner?”
She offered a wan smile and lifted a shoulder in a shrug. She couldn’t bring herself to reveal those times when Wickburgh kept her locked away with only her cat for company and a twice-daily visit from her maid.
Christian’s hand on the doorway curled into a fist and a muscle in his temple pulsed. A moment later, he got inside the coach facing her. As the carriage began moving forward, he ran a hand through his hair thoughtfully. She wanted to touch his hair, his face. She longed to feel his arms around her, ached for him in a way she hadn’t ached for any other man. All her suppressed desire brought on by her long separation from Christian returned in raging force.
But that was wrong. Even though she was fleeing a husband she never loved, she was still married. Used. Damaged. More unworthy of Christian than ever.
He leaned forward and looked her earnestly in the eye. “As I said, I’ll see you safely to Rachel’s and then onto a boat for the continent. You’ll be free of him once and for all, I vow it.”
Sorrow edged against her like the lapping of waves that she’d had to give up such a wonderful man. “You are a true gentleman. A perfect gentleman.” Realizing what she’d just said, she pushed back the encroaching sadness to tease him a little. “Do your brothers still call you the ‘perfectly perfect Christian?’”
His mouth quirked. “Grant does occasionally when he’s in a particularly foul mood. Of course, Grant is always in a foul mood.”
She smiled. “I’m not certain I wish to meet Grant, but he is right about something; you are perfect in at least one way—so far you have been a perfect gentleman and a perfect knight.”
He looked uncomfortable. “I’ll try to live up to that high ideal but fear I’ll fall woefully short.”
“Better than a long fall, don’t you think?”
He smiled. “Yes, I suppose if one must fall, a short fall is preferable to a long fall.”
They grinned at each other.
Well being crept over her. She was safe, and she and Christian were conversing comfortably at last. “Well, you are as close to perfect as I’ve ever known. And I mean that in the best possible way.”
His smile faded and that intensely focused stare returned. He moved to her side of the carriage, his thigh brushing against hers, his presence large in such a confined space. Her heart gave a leap and began pounding against her ribs. The flickering light from the carriage lamps illuminated his face and gave him a warm glow.
He peered into her face as if seeking answers there. “Do you remember the soiree at Lady Everette’s house?”
She blinked at the odd question “Yes. Why?”
“When we were in the Everette’s gardens, we were talking and strolling and everything seemed fine. Suddenly, you asked, rather desperately, if we could go back inside.”
She dug through her memories to recall the event. “Yes, I believe I remember that day.”
“When I questioned you, you said you were unnerved by Lord Wickburgh, that he always watches you. You seemed rather discomfited by it.”
She gathered her cloak closer as if putting on a shield to protect her from his questions. But sooner or later, he would probably figure it out. What would she do, then? She couldn’t keep lying to him. “Did I?” she hedged.
“I offered to have a talk with him, but you begged me not to.” That intense gaze drove in deeper. “It causes me to wonder; why would you later marry a man who clearly frightened you?”
She opened her mouth, and then closed it. Focusing on her hands in her lap, she made a point to adjust her gloves.
He kept talking, as if voicing his thoughts helped him to understand them. “At the time, I assumed he was merely fascinated by a beautiful girl. But later, I had the feeling he was rather obsessed with you, in an unhealthy way.”
He was right, of course, but what could she say? He was obviously trying to make some sense of her cruel rejection. But she had to protect her father’s secret.
He pressed on. “I assumed once he learned of our engagement that he would back off.”
She looked up at him then. “He … made his intentions known and I saw the … wisdom in his offer. My letter should have been quite clear.”
His eyes drove into hers with painful intensity. “In your letter, you stated you’d had a change of heart about us—I believe you used the word ‘fickle’—and you said that we didn’t suit, and that he met your ideal for a husband. But when I went to stop the wedding, you claimed to have been secretly engaged already and you were merely enjoying my intentions.”
She went very still. “You must be mistaken.”
“No, you were very clear on that point. As clear as you were
on choosing to marry a lord instead of the youngest son.”
She swallowed. That last statement must have cut him cruelly. Which is why she’d used it as a last effort to convince him to leave. If only she could tell him the truth! Her eyes stung. “I’m sorry I hurt you. I truly am.” She looked away to hide her collecting tears.
“Why did you marry him? And please don’t insult me by repeating any of those lies you told me in Bath. There was more to it, I know there was.”
Her heart pounded so hard she feared it would knock her off her seat. Something inside her collapsed, and she could no longer keep up the ruse. “I wish I could tell you. But I can’t.”
“He forced you to marry him, didn’t he?”
The fight left her. She couldn’t lie to him anymore. She owed him the truth—at least, part of the truth. “Yes.”
He let out his breath in a low, weighted exhale. “At last, something makes sense. How? What did he hold over you that would force you to marry him? I cannot believe your parents made you to do it.”
“No. They were against it.” She looked up at him desperately. “I cannot tell you more. I made a vow.”
He blew out his breath and dragged a hand through his hair. “I wish you’d told me you were in trouble. I would have found a way around it.”
She said nothing. There was nothing she could say.
“Did he ravish you?—is that why you felt you had to marry him?”
“No.” Her face burned at the idea of Christian believing she’d lost her virtue before marriage. But he clearly did not believe she’d been at fault; his expression was searching, desperate even, but without any trace of accusation or judgment.
He said nothing for a long time, only chewed on his lower lip. She followed the motion of his teeth touching those full lips that had once kissed her so softly, with such heat. It seemed like a century ago instead of only a year.
