Why did she follow me here?
The moment the thought crossed his mind, he shoved it aside. That wasn’t what mattered right now. What mattered was making sure she was truly fine.
Quickly, he climbed into the front of the carriage and turned it around, taking after the carriage she’d brought from his manor. What was usually a very peaceful ride was filled with worried thoughts and the overwhelming urge to run to her side. To make sure that, even though she was physically safe, he had not ruined her mentally.
Finally, they arrived back at the manor. Heath brought the carriage all the way in, not caring if the servants saw. The horse needed taking care of anyhow. He hopped down, letting the footmen take over as he watched Meredith climb down on her own. She resisted the help of the footman that had approached the carriage, pulling his coat closer around her. Ducking her head, she went up the steps to the front door.
Heath followed. Francis met him at the door. But he wisely kept silent as he watched Meredith go by, and remained at the door when Heath followed suit. Heath didn’t take his eyes off her for a second. He was always a few paces behind, waiting. For her to stop, to turn to him, to faint from the shock of it all, he didn’t know.
She did none of those things as she headed towards her bedchamber. Heath realized a moment too late that she didn’t plan to say anything to him. She let the coat lip off her shoulders, leaving it behind. Heath ran to catch up to her.
“Meredith,” he called, trying not to shout despite the urgency he felt.
She paused. She didn’t turn. Her hand rested on the knob of her door, which was slightly ajar.
Suddenly, Heath realized that he didn’t know what to say. He felt as if he should apologize, but he wasn’t sorry for coming to her aid. He would do that time and time again if it was necessary, but perhaps he should not have taken it so far.
“Your neck,” he said finally.
Slowly, Meredith lifted a hand to her neck. He saw the glimmer of fresh blood on the tips of her fingers when she drew her hand away and another wave of anger fell over him. He approached her in three long strides, taking her hand in his.
Meredith gasped. He didn’t look at her face. He didn’t want to see that fear in her eyes, directed at him this time, so he focused all this attention on the bruise he noticed surrounding her wrist.
He nearly growled. It took all he had in him to keep his emotions at bay, knowing it would only make matters worse. “We have to take care of this,” he told her in a low voice.
She tried to pull her wrist out of his grasp but he only tightened his grip. Heath looked up at her, wanting her to see how serious he was. She only lowered her gaze.
She’s still trembling. Is she truly that scared of me?
Swallowing past the rise of odd emotions that threatened to choke him. He took a deep breath, turned and pulled her behind him back down the hallway.
Half of him hoped she would protest, that she would say something. But the other part of him was happy she didn’t, so that he could at least take care of her wound.
The silence fell over them once again as they descended the staircase and he took her to the drawing room, ordering Francis to fetch the physician.
The moment the door closed behind them, Meredith jerked herself away from him. Heath watched as she went to sit by the window.
Heath stared at her. He didn’t know how much time passed while he simply stood there, watching her slim frame tremble in the face of the air drifting into the room. He couldn’t fathom why she had chosen to sit there and his worry only increased.
“It’s cold there, Meredith,” he said finally. He remained where he stood even though that was the last thing he wanted to do. “You might fall ill if you continue to sit there for too long.”
She didn’t respond. Heath, a little desperate, went on.
“Perhaps that is what you wish to happen. You seem to want disaster to befall you. First, you run away and hide in an abandoned house. Then, you follow me all the way into the slums. And now, it seems falling ill is the perfect next step.”
He knew his words were a little too harsh. But now that they were here, now that they were safe, he couldn’t help himself. It was finally sinking in that she’d truly done something as risky as following him.
“You know exactly the sort of man I am, Meredith,” he told her, coming closer. She gripped the skirt of her dress, but kept her eyes trained out the window. He nearly shivered at the cold wind that was wafting through. “I am someone who steals because I can, and fill my home with the items that I’ve taken. You’ve seen that all with your own eyes, and you know that I have no plans to change. Tonight should not have surprised you.”
The words felt false on his tongue. But it got a reaction out of her.
Meredith looked at him and Heath caught sight of the shimmer of tears in her eyes. She looked horrified, terrified, and…disappointed. As the tears spilled over her cheeks, and she looked away from him, Heath couldn’t think of a single thing to say.
“Are you injured?”
Her voice was but a squeak. It took Heath a moment to discern what she’d said, and then another moment to overcome his shock at the fact that she’d spoken.
Slowly, she turned her gaze back out the window. “You should have the physician take a look at you as well. I know…I know those things tend to hurt.”
“What things?” He looked down at his bruised knuckles. “Oh, this? I told you, Meredith. It is something I am already used to.”
She nodded. Then, she wiped her tears, swallowing past the lump in her throat. “Your skill seemed to have come in handy tonight.”
That was the last thing Heath had expected her to say. He’d expected accusations, for her to scream and curse him. Telling him how cruel he was. But, despite the tears, despite the trembling of her hands, there was no mistaking the relief in his voice. That shocked him into silence.
Fortunately, Francis came with the physician in tow. Dr. Miller bowed deeply when he entered the room, his eyes darting to Meredith before resting on Heath. “Your Grace?”
Heath said nothing. There was a lump forming in his throat. He just jerked his chin in Meredith’s direction.
Mr. Miller went over to her. Heath had expected her to cringe away from him as she’d done to him, but she did nothing. She said nothing. Mr. Miller, at a loss, glanced back at Heath.
Heath tapped his neck. Mr. Miller nodded in understanding and looked at the side of Meredith’s neck to see the angry red line that was still bleeding. He set about taking care of it and Meredith didn’t react save for gripping her dress with all the strength in her hands, her veins jumping.
It didn’t take long and soon enough, Mr. Miller left with instructions for her to keep it bandaged throughout the night, saying he would return tomorrow. Francis escorted him out, and without warning, Meredith shot to her feet. She didn’t look at Heath as she scurried out.
Heath didn’t go after her this time. It would make no sense to. She would only lock herself in her bedchamber, leaving him staring at the door. But even as she left, Heath felt a piece of him break.
Without a word, he went over to the sideboard and poured himself a drink. He downed it in one go, then poured himself another. Then another and another, until he sank into the nearest armchair with the alcohol’s numbing effects overtaking him.
He’d hoped it would rid him of the image of Meredith staring at him in fear. But when his intoxicated state slipped him into a fitful sleep, her face was all he could see.
Chapter 16
The sky was eerily blue. In all her six-and-twenty years, she’d never seen such a glorious blue, devoid of any clouds. It was quite a sight, one that should have filled her with happiness. Or, at the very least, peace. But there was dread instead, choking her in its intensity.
Meredith lay on her back, drifting through the sea. A gentle current pushed her toward the shore, then back into its grasp. A slight tease. It was taunting her with the chance to escape reality.
It would only take one wave to take her under, and even though such thoughts had never crossed her mind before, she longed for it now. She wanted to escape this warmth. From the sun, from the heated ocean surface. She wanted nothing more than to go under to the cold depths of darkness.
But the teasing continued, and she could not take her eyes off the sun. It should burn, she knew, and though she felt the warmth on her skin, it did nothing of the sort. Secrets shimmered on the surface of the yellow orb, and Meredith stared as if they would be revealed to her. She wished for something else in that moment. To be relieved of this yearning, to cancel the questions surging in her mind in the cold once more.
“Meredith.”
Her name sounded like a shout in her ear. Meredith, with all the strength in her body, lifted her head. Heath stood on the shore, waiting for her. He waved his hand for her to come to him, his other hand filled with those wildflowers.
“Don’t go.” She said those words to herself. But despite knowing what was to come, she came to a stand, her toes sinking into the soft sand. Her wet hair fell over her shoulders, her gown sticking to her skin.
“Stay where you are. Don’t go to him.” Fear filled her. Even though her lips moved, she didn’t hear the words out loud. They echoed in her head, deaf to the smiling man before her. Not the friend she’d once had, but the man who had nearly killed a man for touching her. With wildflowers in his hand.
“Meredith.” He whispered happily, his cobalt-blue eyes seeming as bright as the sky above them. Meredith felt a smile stretch across her lips, even though she knew she had nothing to be happy about.
She was afraid. She should run.
“These are for you.” He held the wildflowers out to her. Meredith looked down at the collection of colors, feeling pleasure spread through her to combat that fear. There was something dripping from the bottom of it, but she assumed it was water. Perhaps he had taken it from a vase this time, instead from the earth.
She took them, a word of gratitude on the tip of her tongue. But when she looked back up, he was gone.
The wind shifted around her. A warm breeze wafted over her shoulder, smelling like salt. And the metallic tang of blood. Meredith turned around.
And there he stood. But Heath was not smiling this time. He was angry, his features as dark as his eyes. His fists dripped with blood, the same blood that fell from the stems of the wildflowers she realized suddenly. And standing next to him was a face she’d known all too well.
Her mother—but her face was covered in the same blood that dripped from Heath’s fists.
Meredith gasped, her eyes flying open. Her heart raced in her chest and the first thing she noticed was that the room was dark. It was still the middle of the night, but there was no hope of returning to sleep. Not after the dream she’d just had.
Slowly, she sat up, pulling the sheet close to her chest. Sweat dotted her forehead, the dream playing over and over in her head. That had been the worst nightmare of them all.
Her heart still pounding, Meredith crawled out of bed. After lighting a candle, she left her bedchamber, padding barefoot down the hallway. She tried to ignore the shadows around her, tried to bolster her bravery as she made her way to where she needed to go. From her tour of the manor, she should be able to find the room, even if she only had the aid of a single candle.
Soon enough, she found the room. It was clean but wholly unused—a music and art room. Meredith quickly lit all the candles in the room, successfully ridding the room of all its shadows.
Once she could breathe a little easier, she made her way over to the canvas sitting on an easel. She pulled a chair up to it and sat. The moment she had her watercolors ready, she began to paint.
She hadn’t painted in years. It was not a usual practice of hers. But Meredith knew that was the only thing she could do right now. To decipher such an odd and ominous nightmare, she would have to let her emotions flow into the painting. To relieve herself of the terror, sadness, and the pain.
After a while, she began to cry.
It is my fault. I should not have grown used to him. I should not have come to care for him. I should have kept my worry to myself because people like him cannot become any better.
Even as she thought it, the words didn’t ring true for her. But the nightmare replayed in her mind and she kept painting, until Heath’s face was staring back at her.
She did that until dawn broke. She didn’t stop until Annalise found her there hours later.
Heath was pacing the drawing room. He had his hands clasped behind him, his eyes darting to the door every other second. Meredith should be arriving for breakfast at any moment and he’d done all that he could to make sure that she felt comfortable.
He had the maids set up the table by the window she always sat by. He made sure there was an abundance of all the foods she had once liked. And he’d told himself to be as gentle as he could possibly be.
So, where is she?
He glanced at the door, coming to a stop. Did she not plan to come down for breakfast today? Now that the thought crossed his mind, he realized how likely it was. She might have her breakfast brought to her bedchamber. Or worse, she might not eat at all.
Heath’s worry increased. He stalked toward the door, intending to go straight to her bedchamber and demand that she eat something even if that might make things worse for him. He didn’t make it. Meredith slipped into the room, her eyes lifting to him.
They were rimmed red, slightly puffy. It tore at him to see that she had been crying, and he did nothing but watch her walk by him without a word. She sat at the table and proceeded to pour herself a cup of tea.
Surprise rushed through him. She actually came. She was willing to eat with him, even though it looked as if she had not yet recovered from last night. Though, he supposed that might have something to do with the orders he’d given to Francis to fetch her.
A little unsure of what to do, he sat before her, studying her face. Her skin was pallid, dark circles under her eyes. She clearly hadn’t slept well last night.
“Good morning,” he greeted, his voice a blare cutting through the silence.
She didn’t respond. She tightened her grip on the handle of the teacup and kept on sipping, avoiding his eyes. Heath didn’t mind that much. At least she was here.
“I must apologize,” he began. To distract himself from the stark bandage on her neck, he reached for a spoon and dipped it into his porridge. “My behavior last night was quite uncalled for. I do not blame you that you are frightened of me.”
Heath had hoped for her to look at him, at the very least. But she only reached for a toast and nibbled on the end of it.
“It was quite surprising to me, as well,” he went on. “I am not usually so violet. I…I honestly do not know what came over me, but the last thing I wanted was to frighten you. But when I saw you there I—” He broke off, his anger rushing back with full force.
Meredith glanced up briefly, as if she also sensed it. He tampered it as quickly as it came.
“Accept my apology, Meredith,” he told her. “I did it for your own safety.”
Meredith said nothing. She went to pour herself another cup of tea but her hands shook. Heath watched her for a moment before he decided to help her.
“Let me—” He reached out to take the cup from her hand and Meredith jerked away from him. Suddenly, that calmness disappeared and she was the same as last night, scrambling to get away from him. She shot to her feet and Heath did as well, the teapot falling to the table. He ignored the growing wet stain and the now soaked food.
“Do not leave,” he said with a twinge of desperation. The ‘please’ was right on the tip of his tongue. “Let me start over. I should not have said it that way.”
But she didn’t linger long to listen. As soon as she came, Meredith was gone again. Heath watched her go, letting out a frustrated breath.
He’d thought for a moment that he would be able to get through to her. After all, she’d had
a chance to sleep on it, even if she might have cried. But it seemed he had been wrong. He was wrong about everything lately.
Sighing once more, he headed out of the drawing room. He made it to the foyer just in time to see the last of her disappear. Another sigh rose in him.
“Francis,” he called.
“Yes, Your Grace.” Francis, always hidden in the shadows, stepped out at the call of his name.
Heath turned on his heel. “Follow me to my office.”
Francis did as he was told. Once they were in Heath’s office, Heath made his way to his desk and sank into his seat, running his hands over his face.
“Your Grace? Is something the matter?” came Francis’ voice.
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