A Perfect Secret (Rogue Hearts)

by Hatch, Donna

  “You’re here now,” he said quietly, “and I’ll keep you safe from him, I give you my word.”

  She did not doubt it. The weight of her deception eased a little, and one corner of her heart filled with light and hope.

  CHAPTER 14

  The following day, as late afternoon sun bathed the countryside in golden light, the Amesbury-crested coach arrived in front of an unassuming cottage in the middle of a vast, windswept moor. Christian’s fingers itched to draw it, to capture the texture of the wood, the crumbling brick wall running beside the cottage, the bracken and crowberry. His last visit had been too brief to indulge himself.

  He glanced at Genevieve. She peered out the window, her eyes alight. He admired the curve of her cheek, the wisps of auburn hair that curled around her face. She hadn’t jilted him. She hadn’t thrown him over for a titled lord. He wanted to sing with joy. A great burden he’d been carrying lifted. It didn’t change the fact that she was married. But it changed everything inside his heart. They could never be together of course, not as long as she remained married, but at least the pain of her rejection faded. For now, that was enough.

  As the carriage rolled to a stop, Genevieve raised her brows in surprise. “Your sister lives here?”

  “I warned you it was humble.”

  “It’s perfect. He’ll never think to look for me here.” Her smile reached dazzling proportions. “It’s absolutely charming.”

  He stared at her with open-mouthed surprise, completely undone at the beauty of her smile. That he could have provided her with a place to feel safe enough to smile so brightly brought warmth flooding over him. Her eyes locked with his and her smile faded, replaced with an uncharacteristic intensity. He tamped down the urge to trace a finger along her cheek. It would not do to rekindle old feelings for Genevieve. Knowing she’d been forced to marry Wickburgh did not make her any more available to him. But at least she hadn’t callously thrown him over. The knowledge healed over the deepest of the wounds in his heart. Perhaps he wasn’t beyond redemption.

  As they stepped out of the coach, a chill wind blew from the moor carrying the scent of heather and clean earth. She shivered. “I’m glad I have a heavy cloak. It’s colder here.”

  “It’s always windy here. “He held out an arm. “Let’s get you inside.”

  Mrs. Fletcher, a plump, motherly woman waved from the doorway. “Mr. Amesbury! I’m so glad you’ve come.”

  As Genevieve walked at his side, she seemed to step strangely. It wasn’t quite a limp, but it wasn’t her natural graceful stride, either.

  He slowed his steps. “Are your shoes hurting your feet?”

  She smiled up at him. “No. They’re a little too big. But they’ll do.”

  He made a mental note to take her to the cobbler. No lady should have to wear ill-fitting shoes.

  As they reached the door, Christian gestured to Mrs. Fletcher. “This is our indispensible housekeeper, Mrs. Fletcher. Mrs. Fletcher, meet Mrs. Jennings.” He let out his breath in relief that he hadn’t stumbled over her alias.

  Mrs. Fletcher beamed at Genevieve. “Welcome, Mrs. Jennings. I’ll be glad to see Miss Amesbury with someone to keep her company. I hope I can enlist your aid in reminding her to eat.”

  “Most definitely,” Genevieve replied.

  The housekeeper turned to Christian. “How long will we have the pleasure of your company, Mr. Amesbury?”

  He shuddered dramatically. “Terrible trip. I hate the thought of making it anytime again soon. Unless she throws me out, I hope to stay a few days and do some painting.”

  “Excellent. I shall tell Cook. She’ll be so pleased to have someone appreciate her cooking the way you do.”

  Grinning, Christian glanced at Genevieve and said, “Don’t tell my sister, but her cook is one of the reasons I made this perilous journey.”

  Mrs. Fletcher chuckled. “If I tell Cook you said that, it will earn you an extra serving of dessert, you smooth-tongued rogue.”

  “Ah! Just as I had hoped.” He glanced at Genevieve. “A little flattery never hurts.”

  Genevieve smiled, her posture and expression more relaxed than he’d seen her since he fished her out of the river.

  Shaking her head, Mrs. Fletcher chuckled again. “Manipulative whelp.”

  “Guilty,” Christian admitted.

  “You must be exhausted from your trip, Mrs. Jennings.” Mrs. Fletcher said.

  Genevieve nodded a beat too late, no doubt not used to her new name. “Indeed I am.”

  “I’ll bring up some fresh water so you can wash. Do you want a bath first or food?”

  “Food,” answered Christian firmly. Then he glanced at Genevieve. “I…ah…I can wait if you wish to bathe first. I should get out of my dirt, as well.”

  She looked at him askance. “Most certainly not. I’ve seen you hungry.” She looked at Mrs. Fletcher. “You’d best feed Mr. Amesbury right away. He might eat the furniture, else. We can clean off our traveling dirt once we’re no longer in danger of his voracious appetite.”

  Rachel appeared in the doorway. “Christian!” She threw her arms around him.

  He hugged her and kissed her soundly on each cheek, making big smacking noises. Stepping back, he eyed her carefully. Her dark hair was caught up in a careless chignon and her plain cotton gown was at least two years out of fashion, and black to show she was in mourning for Father, but the sorrow appeared to have faded from her eyes and her figure was trim instead of gaunt as it had been. Perhaps her self-imposed seclusion had been good for her, after all. Now all he needed to do was convince her to take Genevieve to the continent and help her find a safe place to live. Then Rachel could accompany him to Italy instead of returning to exile.

  He gestured to Genevieve. “This is Mrs. Jennings.”

  Genevieve smiled tentatively. “Forgive me for coming unannounced, but I am looking for a position and I understand you might be interested in hiring a secretary or a companion.”

  Christian tried to catch Rachel’s eyes to warn her to go along with this idea of keeping Genevieve, but her gaze was focused on Genevieve. “She’d be perfect for you,” he added, still trying to attract her attention without being obvious.

  Genevieve twisted her gloved fingers. “If you find that we don’t suit, I will of course apply for a position elsewhere.”

  Rachel looked Genevieve over and finally glanced at him. Understanding dawned in the widening of her eyes and the appearance of a smile. “As a matter of fact, I have been meaning to place an advertisement but I see you’ve saved me the trouble.” She took Genevieve by both hands and smiled. “Welcome. I’m so glad you’ve come—Mrs. Jennings, is it?”

  “Genevieve, if you please.”

  Christian thought back, trying to remember if he’d ever mentioned Genevieve to Rachel. She hadn’t accompanied him and Father to Bath, and since he was terrible at writing letters, he was pretty sure he hadn’t told her he’d even been close to proposing marriage, much less mentioning Genevieve by name. Besides, even if Rachel had known of Genevieve, she would have known her as Miss Marshall, not Genevieve Jennings. But it didn’t matter; he planned to convince Genevieve to confide in Rachel so she could better help protect her secret. Hopefully soon.

  “Very well, Genevieve. I’m Rachel. I’m sure Mrs. Fletcher will see you comfortable.”

  “Thank you,” Genevieve said. “You are under no obligation to keep me if I do not meet your requirements.”

  “Nonsense. I don’t like most people but I’m already in perfect charity with you so I’m sure we’ll get along famously. Come. Knowing Christian, food is the first order of business.”

  She smiled at him and he breathed easier. Some of the old Rachel spirit seemed to have returned instead of that painful apathy where she’d been wallowing for months.

  With this obstacle overcome, Christian relaxed. The thought of food was welcome, as well. They settled in a small dining room where Mrs. Fletcher served a simple fare. As they ate, darkness fell out
side.

  “We don’t usually eat so early,” Rachel commented.

  Christian grinned. “Good. Then I’ll expect a heartier meal in a few hours.”

  Rachel lifted a brow, looking almost as imperious as Rachel’s twin, Margaret. “You aren’t a lad of seventeen anymore. Keep eating like that and you’ll begin to grow horizontally.”

  “I hope you get there before I do.”

  Rachel threw her napkin at him. “Cad.”

  He grinned. Yes, she was definitely better. Perhaps now would be a good time to leave and allow Rachel and Genevieve a chance to converse without him underfoot. Hopefully, Genevieve would confide something of her situation to his sister and they could stop dancing around the truth.

  He arose and offered a brief bow. “I’m going to check on the horses and make sure that troll of a stable hand remembers which end to feed.”

  “He’s more deaf than ever,” Rachel called after him.

  In the stable, he found Cole’s coach horses and his own Erebos, who’d traveled tied to the back of the carriage, well attended.

  The stable hand, a wizened old man eyed him. “Who are ye?” he demanded.

  “Christian Amesbury. We met a few months past when I visited my sister, Miss Amesbury, remember?”

  The man put a hand to his ear. “Eh?”

  “I’m Mr. Amesbury,” Christian shouted.

  “Ah. All righ’. ’ere. Git t’ work.” The stable hand handed him a brush.

  Chuckling to himself, Christian cheerfully brushed Erebos. His stallion bumped him companionably as he worked, and he lingered over his silky coat and mane, enjoying the bond that strengthens during grooming. All the while, the old stable hand chattered away at Christian. Once he’d reacquainted himself with the man’s odd accent, they carried on a bizarre conversation, Christian guessing at half the things the older man uttered, and the stable hand too deaf to hear most of what Christian said.

  After Christian had thoroughly brushed Erebos, he moved on to Rachel’s horses. They pawed at the ground as though they’d dearly like to go for a run. As silence fell, he realized the old man had wandered off. Christian finished brushing the horses in quiet. Enjoying the solitude, he began finalizing his plans. The nearest port was less than a day’s journey. He’d take Rachel and Genevieve on a ship bound for France or Italy or wherever Rachel wished to go. It would be the simplest solution for both of their problems, at least for a time. Eventually he would have to find a more permanent answer for Genevieve.

  The ancient stable hand stormed up to him. “Who are ye and wha’ do ye wan’?”

  In surprise, Christian held up a curry comb. “I’m brushing the horses.”

  The man’s anger left as quickly as it had come. “Oh. Aye. When yer finished, go muck out th’ stalls.”

  Christian realized what a coward he truly was. He set down the combs and brushes. “I believe I hear my sister calling me.”

  “Eh?”

  “My sister,” Christian shouted. “My sister, Miss Amesbury.”

  “Who?”

  “Your mistress. I think she’s calling me.”

  The troll frowned. “Why would she call you?”

  “She’s my sister!” Christian turned and fled to the house to find the women.

  At least Genevieve was safe. And he vowed to keep her that way, whatever the cost. Whether he could keep his heart safe from her was another matter entirely.

  CHAPTER 15

  While Christian was seeing to the horses, Genevieve washed, changed and unpacked. When she was finished, Rachel led Genevieve to the study.

  Rachel gestured. “Here’s my project. As you can see, I could use some help organizing.”

  Genevieve stared in dismay at the piles of chaotic clutter that crept over every inch of her employer’s study. “Well.” She folded her hands in front of her. “I see you have a little for me to do.” In truth, she didn’t think they could organize the disaster before winter.

  Rachel looked around the room with some puzzlement, as if she’d never realized how badly disorganized she’d become. “It’s not so bad. I have a pretty good idea which pile belongs to what species of plant.”

  “Whatever we do, we must not sneeze,” Genevieve said gravely.

  Rachel chuckled. “We don’t have to get to work right now. I expect you’re weary from your trip.”

  “Oh, no. I don’t mind getting started now.”

  Rachel put a pencil behind her ear and moved to the first stack. Genevieve began tackling the papers and reading a great deal. Much of what she read meant little to her, but the content gave her an idea of how it should be sorted. She sorted papers into piles based on topic, but she found more topics than she had room to make piles.

  Remembering Christian’s hope for her to reach Rachel, she searched for something to say, but Rachel looked too engrossed in her reading, and they hadn’t yet established a deep enough rapport for her to try to exercise any influence.

  A male voice rumbled, “Unbelievable.” Christian stood open-mouthed in the doorway. “I didn’t think it possible, but it actually looks worse. What did you do, invite in a tornado?”

  Rachel grinned unrepentantly. “Apparently. Where’d you find her?” She jabbed a thumb at Genevieve. “She’s relentless. She fair took a whip to my back.”

  Genevieve peeped out at Rachel from behind a particularly fierce tower of papers. “You don’t need a secretary. You need a general to conquer this mess.”

  Christian laughed and again, Genevieve’s foolish heart did a skip.

  Rachel lifted her eyebrow and tilted her head at Genevieve. “You are utterly ruthless, you know.”

  Serenely, Genevieve said, “This may take years to sort.”

  “This is less than two year’s worth of work,” Rachel said in defense.

  Christian sighed. “I believe I’ll unpack my art supplies.

  “You could start on that pile, Mr. Amesbury,” Genevieve suggested, motioning to one on the desk.

  Christian recoiled. “Can I use a match?”

  Rachel let out a cry of outrage. “And lose two year’s worth of work? You’re heartless!”

  He grinned at Genevieve. “See? I’m heartless. Not perfect.”

  “Perfectly rotten,” Rachel muttered.

  He sighed heavily. “Surely there’s something I can fail to do perfectly.”

  “You’re failing to help us now,” Genevieve pointed out with an overly sweet smile.

  Grinning, he threw himself to the pile Genevieve had indicated. Then he peered around it at Genevieve with a wide, boyish smile, mischievous and perfectly endearing. And perfectly dangerous to her heart. Soon, they would part, and he would leave her heart to herself. But then he’d be gone and she’d be utterly wretched without him. Only a few days ago, she thought she could never care for a man. She sighed, cursing herself for such foolishness as allowing her feelings for Christian to return.

  That evening after another meal at Christian’s request, Rachel read and Christian played the harpsichord. Sitting next to the fire, Genevieve picked up a handkerchief with a small wooden embroidery hoop encircling a few embroidered leaves and flowers and a pin, still threaded, stuck in the middle.

  “I started that months ago,” Rachel said from her chair. “I don’t really have the patience for embroidery.”

  “I love to embroider. Shall I finish it for you?”

  “If you wish. It’s yours, if you do. I have dozens.” She resumed her reading and scribbled something on the paper.

  As she plied her needle, Genevieve sighed, letting the comfort of the cottage envelop her and basked in the Amesburys’ company and friendship. She couldn’t remember when she’d felt so safe and so hopeful. She prayed it would last. But a niggling fear whispered it would soon vanish like a wisp of smoke.

  Later that night as she changed into her nightgown, she glanced on the bed. Her heart tripped. A rose lay on the quilt. Wickburgh used to give her roses to try to soften her after a particularly ter
rible incident between them. Often, the gesture preceded a new cruel game.

  But they’d seen no further signs of his men as they’d traveled. And she wasn’t even sure the man she’d seen at the inn was one of his. No, perhaps the rose had merely been a token of welcome from Rachel or Mrs. Fletcher. Or even from Christian. After all, he’d given her the lily. Perhaps the rose was another gesture. But a gesture of what? Affection? Friendship? Surely not love. Surely.

  Setting the rose aside, she pushed the matter from her mind and prepared for bed. For now, she’d focus on helping Rachel. Later, she’d worry about how to build a new life away from Wickburgh.

  Although it might be harder to build a life away from Christian.

  CHAPTER 16

  The following morning, while his sister and her new secretary tromped about the hills in search of some specimen as Rachel played botanist, Christian followed them, looking for the perfect scene for a landscape.

  His gaze strayed to Genevieve. She’d lost the haunted expression and her skin glowed in health and quiet joy but she was still as untouchable as ever.

  He blew out his breath and refocused on his purpose. After finding a craggy ravine filled with late summer wildflowers, Christian sat down to sketch. He made several sketches before finding the focal point he wanted. As he set up a canvas, the housekeeper approached with a plate of tarts.

  “Some sweets, Mr. Amesbury?”

  “Bless you, madam.” He devoured a tart and licked his fingers shamelessly. “But I cannot believe you came all the way out here to bring me sweets.”

  She chuckled. “No, I offer you a bribe.”

  “I am your humble servant.”

  “I need some supplies from the village.” She held out a list.

  “I’ll saddle my horse at once.” He pocketed the list, finished the tarts, scooped up his supplies, and went in search of Rachel and Genevieve. He found them next to a bluff, their head close together examining some bit of greenery. “I’m going into the village. Do you need anything?”