A Perfect Secret (Rogue Hearts)

by Hatch, Donna

  I deeply regret our recent separation and have a great desire to see you. Come to your parents’ home so we may be reunited. I am so enjoying my visit with them and we need your presence to be complete. Come this afternoon for tea. Alone. I give you my word your parents will be safe if you honor my request for your return

  I remain

  Your obedient servant

  W.

  Crumpling the note into a wad, she squeezed her eyes shut. Her parents. Once again, that monster threatened her parents.

  No longer. This afternoon, his threat would end. She would defeat him.

  She put a hand on either side of her head. If she obeyed Wickburgh, he’d kill her. And if there were any shred of honor in Wickburgh, it was his word; he always kept his word. Which mean her parents would be safe if she sacrificed herself.

  Every nerve in her body urged her to run to Christian. But Wickburgh had already tried to kill Christian. She couldn’t risk his life. She had to take care of him. Keep him safe.

  Still, the last time she shut Christian out of her life, she’d regretted it. It was time to allow someone to help her, to be a true partner. She’d never act again without letting Christian be a part of her decisions, just as she should have confided in Christian when Wickburgh demanded she marry him.

  Ignoring the pain in her face and ribs from Wickburgh’s fists, and in her neck where he’d tried to squeeze the life out of her, she donned a robe and went out into the corridor. With his gun at the ready, one of Grant’s men loitered in the hall.

  “My lady?” he called out.

  “Where is Mr. Amesbury? Ah, Christian?” she added, remembering there were presently two Mr. Amesburys in residence.

  He pointed down the corridor. “Do you need something?”

  She waved him back and ran past an open window where early morning light filtered in and cast a patch of sunlight on the carpet. Ignoring the rules of propriety—after all, she’d lain in bed with him last night—she knocked at Christian’s door. Without waiting, she flung it open to a room enshrouded by darkness. “Christian, I need you.”

  A lump moved in the middle of the bed and a tousled head appeared among the blankets and pillows. “Jen?”

  She moved to the bedside and held out the note. “He’s after my family again. He’s going to hurt them.”

  With a rustle of sheets, Christian sat up, his nightshirt gaping open to reveal a broad, bare chest. He groaned and put a hand to his head. “Sorry ... what?”

  Ignoring the delicious sight of a sleepy, rumpled Christian in bed, she stepped closer and shook the crumpled note. “He sent me a note demanding I meet him at my parents’ house alone this afternoon. He’s threatening them if I don’t come.”

  Holding his head as if he feared it would roll off, Christian swore under his breath. A faint odor of stale alcohol wafted to her. She wrinkled her nose. He’d picked a fine time to overindulge.

  “What, exactly, does it say?” He shifted, and rubbed his hand over his face, clearly trying to become more alert.

  She quoted the letter in a shaking voice.

  He let out his breath. “You are not going alone. What kind of fool does he think you are?”

  “He knows I’d do anything to protect my family.”

  “And so you shall. But not on his terms.” Then, unexpectedly, he took her hand in a firm grip. “You came to me. I can’t tell you how much that means to me.” He kissed her fingers.

  His pale blue eyes, if a bit bloodshot, seemed to shine with a light all their own. Warmth edged through her fear and she managed to smile. All would be well. She’d been a fool to try to do everything all alone last year. There was greater strength when two people united against opposition.

  He shifted. “Give me a moment to dress and I’ll meet you in the breakfast room. We’ll formulate a plan to ensure you and your parents will be safe from him forever.”

  His calm, determined voice quieted the last of her fears. Together, they would succeed.

  Genevieve stepped outside Christian’s room and jumped, a cry escaping her mouth as an ominous shadow moved in her peripheral vision. Where the other guard had been moments before, Grant leaned against the wall, his arms folded, looking like a snake coiled and ready to strike.

  She sucked in her breath and put at hand on her chest. “You startled me.”

  Grant lifted a brow as a sardonic twitch tugged at his mouth. “Apologies, my lady.”

  Genevieve studied him. Was he mocking her? Aside from the ragged scar running down the side of his face, Grant resembled his brothers enough to be almost handsome, except for the fearsome scowl he wore and the scorn that darkened his gray eyes, especially when he looked at her. He probably viewed her as a trollop who toyed with his brother’s emotions, abandoned him, and then came back to seduce him into helping her get rid of her husband.

  Next to Grant stood another man she didn’t recognize. He looked like a cutthroat she’d be frightened to meet in an alley. The pair of them were truly terrifying. Her instincts urged her to run back into Christian’s room. Instead, she drew herself up and affected a lofty air, looking pointedly at the other man.

  Grant jerked a thumb in the stranger’s direction. “This is Hinkle. He’s also from Bow Street. He’s taken Jackson’s place.”

  “Why? Where is Jackson?”

  “He went on a little errand.”

  The stranger touched his forelock in a respectful greeting. She nodded in return. What kind of little errand Jackson might be doing for Grant left her faintly alarmed. But, despite Grant’s fearsome exterior, he appeared to be loyal enough to Christian to truly protect them. Or perhaps he merely took pride in his skills. Either way, Christian’s brother looked more like an assassin than a protector.

  She moistened her lips and nodded as if all were well. As she strode down the corridor to her room, the middle of her back between her shoulder blades prickled as if Grant were aiming a knife at it. She shivered and kept her head up, walking with all the dignity of a queen to her room. Hastily, she dressed and rushed to the breakfast room but found it empty except for a servant placing breakfast dishes on a sideboard.

  Moments later, Christian strode in, all strength and confidence, washed, shaven, and dressed. Except for slightly red eyes, he gave no sign that he’d been jug bitten. “I will confront Wickburgh.”

  “Not alone, you won’t.” Grant’s voice boomed from the doorway. “He’ll have his bullies, and they’ll be armed. The lads and I will accompany you.”

  Christian’s face flushed and his eyes narrowed. He drew a breath and rubbed a hand down his jaw, turning thoughtful, “Yes, yes, perhaps you should. Has Jackson sent word?”

  “Not yet.”

  Genevieve glanced between them. “What is Jackson doing?”

  Christian explained, “He’s posing as a mercenary seeking employment as one of Wickburgh’s toadies.”

  Grant continued, “He hasn’t come back, so I assume he succeeded. Or he’s dead.”

  Genevieve let out a gasp at the casual way Grant suggested someone’s death. Grant glanced at her, his mouth twitching. Had that last comment been some kind of joke? If so, Grant definitely had a dark sense of humor. His gaze flicked to Genevieve but his inscrutable stare gave no clues as to his thoughts. Genevieve shivered. Beyond mysterious; Grant was dark and frightening.

  Christian turned to her. “Since Jackson is Wickburgh’s newest minion, he won’t be entrusted with sensitive information. But we can count on him to worm his way into where the action is, and he’ll come to our aid when we need him.”

  Genevieve nodded slowly. “How much do you trust him?”

  “Perfectly.” Christian tugged on his lip with a faraway look in his eyes. “Until we hear from him, we’ll assume we’re on our own. If Wickburgh is expecting you in time for tea, we need to go now and free your parents.”

  Grant went utterly still, his eyes narrowing and darting back and forth as if plotting steps for some complicated scheme. “He may be unhin
ged, but he’s intelligent. He has probably assumed we’ll do that. I’d wager he has a more elaborate scheme.”

  “He does,” Genevieve said. “We can count on that.”

  Waving impatiently, Christian nodded. “Fine. But let’s make sure.”

  “Agreed” Grant said. “Let’s go scout the area.”

  Christian’s eyes widened as if surprised at Grant’s suggestion and he leaped to his feet, his fingers twitching. Then he paused, his gaze flicking to Genevieve. His shoulders sagged almost imperceptibly. “No. I won’t leave her here alone again.”

  She stood and went to him, linking her fingers with his. “I’ll go with you.”

  “Absolutely not,” two voices stated.

  Undaunted, she looked up at them with pleading eyes. “I need to see if my parents are well. And if I go with you, you and Grant and ... er ... ‘the lads’ will protect me. And I can shoot.”

  “No,” Grant said.

  Christian shook his head. “You aren’t going anywhere near Wickburgh.”

  She let out her breath in a huff. “We’re not marching into battle, only scouting.”

  Grant scowled. “You aren’t trained to scout. You’ll be too noisy and give away our location.”

  Christian squeezed her hand. “I know you want to be there, Jen, but—”

  “Please, I shall go mad if I stay under lock and key another day.”

  “You’re not coming with us,” Grant said flatly.

  Raising her chin, she glared at them mulishly. “Then I’ll follow you.”

  Christian exploded, “Genevieve Eliza Ann, if you do, I swear—”

  “You’ll what?”

  Christian’s anger diffused at her challenging stare, but his determination never faded. “It’s too dangerous.”

  Grant let out a sound of exasperation. “Blasted wench, don’t be stupid. That madman wants you dead. If you leave the house, one of his toadies will grab you just like they did when they set the fire. I have no doubt that they’re watching the house now.”

  Archly, she said, “Then we’ll have to be clever about our disguises as we leave.”

  “No, Jen.” Anguish darkened Christian’s eyes. “I cannot risk losing you again.”

  “He won’t expect it. He thinks I’m some cowering little mouse who won’t be bold enough to do something like this.”

  Taking both of her hands in his, Christian turned her to face him. “You’ve staged your death, masqueraded as a secretary, disguised yourself as a boy, ridden astride all the way to London, and shot Wickburgh when he was trying to strangle you. You’re no covering little mouse.”

  “If you care at all for me, you’ll bring me with you.”

  “If you care at all for me, you’ll stay here where I know you’ll be safe. Please don’t do this to me. I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to you.”

  He cupped her cheek and looked down at her with such love that her resolve crumbled. He was right. She’d be a fool to leave the protection of the house. And she’d be selfish to try. Christian didn’t deserve to be hurt by her again, and she’d most certainly hurt him if she were injured or killed. Strange, but though she’d never been really good enough for him, and even less so now that she’d married Wickburgh, Christian truly loved her. She no longer doubted it.

  Gently, he traced her face, lightly tracing her bruised cheek and swollen lip. “Are you in pain?”

  “Not much.” She shrugged lightly. “He didn’t break anything this time.”

  Christian’s jaw tightened. “Stay here with me and be safe, Jen. Let me protect you. If something happened to you, too, I’d die. I cannot lose anyone else. I just can’t do it.”

  The pleading in his eyes undid her and the fight rushed out of her in a great exhale. “Very well. You go with Grant and—” She stopped, staring at the wall where Grant had stood.

  Grant had vanished.

  Smiling ruefully, Christian led her to a settee and held her as if he feared she’d disappear right before his eyes. “I’ll stay here with you.” His mouth curved upward. “It’s the only way I can be sure you will stay put.”

  She smiled and leaned her head on his arm, wishing for all the world they were already married and away from Wickburgh and his lunacy. As she draped an arm around his waist, she nestled into his shoulder. Perhaps it was improper for a married woman to sit in such a way with a man, but nothing about their situation was normal. And after falling asleep in his arms last night, it didn’t seem to matter any more.

  Then his words came back to her. “When you said you couldn’t lose anyone else, were you referring to your parents? Your brother?”

  He fell silent for a moment, his hand lightly tracing her arm as it rested across his stomach. “I don’t like to speak of it.” The haunted expression overcame him again and the light in his eyes dimmed.

  “You don’t have to tell me. But sometimes it helps to allow someone else to share your burden.”

  His breathing turned ragged as if he were remembering a hard run.

  She snuggled in more firmly against him. “Just know that I love you and I will help you any way I can.”

  Still he said nothing, his body tense, his hands clenched, his breathing erratic. Just as she had resigned herself to remaining outside that part of his heart, he began speaking. “When I was six, my brother Jason died.”

  When he paused, she prompted, “You were close?”

  “Very much.” He took a series of breaths. “It was my fault he died.”

  She wrapped her arm more tightly around him. “How was it your fault?”

  “I was trying to prove I was as big and brave as they. I bragged I could jump from one tree limb to another. I dared him to do it. I’d hoped he’d be too scared to try so that when I did it, and succeeded, they’d stop treating me like a baby.” He swallowed hard.

  She held her breath, anticipating the rest of the story.

  “He took the dare and jumped. He fell to his death.”

  The bleak pain of his loss rippled over her in tangible currents and she mourned for the child who’d carried such a heavy burden of guilt and grief into adulthood. “Oh, Christian.” Tears burned her eyes.

  “Mother never sang or smiled after that. Jared’s antics grew more and more reckless until about two months later, during a prank, someone got hurt—not seriously, but enough to cause concern. I ran for help. Father ... I’d never seen him so angry. He started beating Jared.” He swallowed. “I felt every blow as if I were getting beaten. I wished it were me instead of Jared. But I was so frightened, I did nothing. Cole interfered. It led to a terrible row. Cole and Jared left home that day. Cole joined the navy and Jared joined a privateer.” His voice shook.

  Genevieve held him, silently weeping for the child bearing such grief, such loss.

  “Grant never forgave me. He and Jason were the closest. Jason understood Grant. After Jason’s death, Grant barely spoke to me. A year later, he convinced Father to purchase a commission for him in the Army. In a matter of a year, my mother lost all her sons. Except me.” Self loathing dripped off those last two words.

  Hoarsely, through her tears, she managed, “She’s lucky she had you.”

  “I caused everything to go wrong. After Jason died, Mama’s health declined. I tried to make up for it. I did everything to try to make her happy, but she never recovered. Her death threw Father into a melancholy. That’s why we were in Bath the summer I met you, trying to revive his health. But his heart had already died when she did and I couldn’t make him want to live. It’s my fault Jason died, and it’s my fault my parents died.”

  Tears traveled down her cheeks in rivers. “Oh, my love, of course it’s not your fault.”

  “If I hadn’t been trying so hard to prove I was something I wasn’t—” His voice cracked. He coughed into his hand and cleared his throat.

  She raised up, put a hand on either side of his face, and looked directly into his eyes. “You must stop blaming yourself. It was an accident—a ho
rrible, terrible, tragic accident. You didn’t kill him, Christian. He was a boy, and boys do foolish things. Sometimes those foolish things cause tragedies.” Such fearful hope edged into his expression that a fresh wave of tears plowed her over. “I love you, Christian. You are the most honorable man I’ve ever met. Let go of all your guilt and stop punishing yourself.”

  He blinked as if he couldn’t quite fathom the possibility. She wrapped her arms around him and guided his head to her shoulder. Leaning against her, he slid an arm behind her and wrapped her in a tight embrace.

  She whispered, “Let it go.”

  She sat holding Christian, wishing she could crawl inside and heal all his hurt. She’d had no idea when she married Wickburgh the full depths to which she’d hurt Christian. After all he’d already suffered, he must have thought himself truly undeserving of love. But he did deserve love. And so did she. She felt that in every inch of her heart.

  She smoothed back his golden hair and kissed his brow. “You are good and honorable and kind. You love your family fiercely and loyally. You’re strong and courageous and you fight for what’s right. You are my Prince Charming. I promise you, I will spend the rest of my life proving to you how much I love you and how amazing you really are.”

  He let out his breath in a half laugh. “I look forward to that. I must say, though, that you are doing a fine job of it right now.”

  “Good. Then I have a good start.”

  “I don’t deserve you, but I do love you,” he said softly.

  He kissed her then, pouring all the heat of his love into that kiss. Every brush of his lips, the pressure of his arms surrounding her, chased away the last vestiges of pain inflicted by Wickburgh. She was whole. She was home.

  He broke the kiss and simply held her. His arms tightened as if he could not bear to let her go. They sat wrapped in their embrace while the world faded away. How much time passed, she could not guess, but no one disturbed them.

  Christian’s hushed voice broke the silence. “I’m not as honorable as you think.”