The Gallows Bride (14 page)

“
You cannot seriously be considering going back there, can
you?” Eliza gasped, staring at her sister in horror. It had only
been a few days ago that she had been filled with trepidation at
the thought of returning to the house she had once considered her
home, her haven.

“
You know she won’t talk to Hugo, no matter how charming he
is. If they attempt to kidnap her to take her to safety against her
will, she would just create as much of a rumpus as she could and
would end up herself at even more risk,” Jemima
reasoned.

“
But Scraggan hasn’t found her yet. What makes you think that
he is going to bother with her now?” Eliza argued, knowing deep
inside that Jemima had already made her mind up. She couldn’t
believe it, and fought the urge to run and fetch Edward, or Peter,
to talk some sense into her.

“
Hugo has men undercover in Padstow. They have reported that
Scraggan’s men know there is someone watching them, who poses a
risk to their operation. Hugo thinks that now we are out of the
way, Scraggan will turn his attentions to the new risk, and take
steps to put them out of action too,” Jemima explained, seeing no
reason why Eliza shouldn’t know all the details.

“
Do you think he could kill her?” Eliza whispered, thinking of
the woman they both considered their closest friend.

Jemima
looked askance at her sister. “Look what they thought they were
doing to us.”

Silence
settled between them for several long moments, as both women
contemplated the possibilities.

“
What does Hugo want to do?”

Jemima
sighed and shook her head. “He wants her name so he can send men to
protect her. I think they would kidnap her if she didn’t go with
them quietly.”

Eliza
snorted inelegantly and raised a sceptical brow at Jemima, who
screwed up her nose and nodded in understanding. Jemima sighed,
knowing that really left only one possibility.

“
Peter won’t let you go,” Eliza said softly, thinking of his
grief only yesterday.

“
Peter can’t stop me. I mean, we’re not married or anything.
He isn’t in a position to forbid me.”

“
You simply cannot do that to him, Jemima, it is too cruel.”
Eliza didn’t try to keep the censure out of her voice as she stared
at her sister, wondering what he would do if Jemima
left.

“
I know, but I am not like you, Eliza. Things over the past
few months have been different for me; harder.” Jemima smiled
softly at her sister, knowing she didn’t understand, but was glad
of her ignorance. “I have things I need to come to terms with
before I can consider settling down into matrimony. I think that,
while Scraggan is alive, there is still a threat from him, and I
cannot put the family at risk. Besides, I don’t think I could ever
settle down to a life of nothing more than reading and
sewing.”

Eliza
understood, she really did, but still felt she had to object to
Jemima putting herself in such danger.

“
What makes you think you can get in to Padstow and back out
without crossing paths with him?” Eliza reasoned, thinking of her
own plans to visit her old home under the cover of
darkness.

“
I am not saying I am going,” Jemima said hesitantly, only to
pause when Eliza sighed and tutted at her.

“
What?”

Eliza
shook her head. Whatever she was about to say next was left unsaid,
as the door opened and Peter entered.

“
Is everything all right?” He had tried to stay away, but had
found it impossible to be away from her for too long.

He
needed to see for himself that Jemima was really all right, and not
considering aiding Hugo in any way. Which, given the guilty look on
her face, was something she clearly was. He hadn’t missed the
knowing look that passed between the women as he
entered.

He had
the distinct feeling the next few moments were going to be
difficult, and wasn’t surprised when Eliza quickly made her excuses
and left them alone.

“
Tell me you aren’t contemplating helping Hugo,” Peter
demanded, perching on the edge of the chaise beside her chair, and
resting his elbows on his knees in a seemingly casual pose. Staring
down at his hands, he knew from her silence that she was
considering something he wasn’t going to like and clearly expected
an argument from him.

Jemima
stood and knelt on the floor directly before him, taking his hands
in hers for several long moments before raising her gaze to
his.

“
Please don’t think that I am considering this lightly,
because I am not. If someone came in now and said Scraggan was dead
and posed no further threat, nobody would be happier than me. But
they won’t, and now another woman, someone I consider a dear, dear
friend, is at serious risk because of her connection to me. I
cannot in all conscience just sit back and do nothing to
help.”

“
So give Hugo her name and let him go and help her,” Peter
argued, clasping Jemima’s thin fingers in his warm palms and
holding them tightly.

“
My friend is very shy, and somewhat eccentric. There is
simply no possibility she will trust Hugo, whatever he tells her.
She is different to most people,” Jemima added cautiously,
wondering just how much she should tell Peter without risking his
censure. “Lovely, but different.”

“
Why doesn’t that surprise me?” Peter muttered, not liking the
way the conversation was going. His gaze met and held hers. “Please
tell me that you are -” He stared in horror at Jemima for several
moments before dropping her hands and lunging to his feet. “Good
God, you are!”

He
didn’t know what angered him more; the fact that Jemima was
prepared to put herself in danger to help her friend, or the fact
that she clearly expected him to stand back and let her
go.

He
stalked over to the window and stared out over the immaculate lawn,
unable to even look at her. After several minutes he was aware that
she had moved to stand beside him, but refused to tear his gaze
away from the turrets of the old Norman church nestled in the trees
bordering the lawns.

“
You were supposed to have been buried today in that church,”
he nodded out of the window, his voice as neutral as he could make
it. He had to work hard not to turn around, grab her shoulders and
shake her to within an inch of her life.

Jemima
stood shoulder to shoulder with him, and studied the old stonework
of the building peeking out through the woods.

“
I’m sorry for ever getting you involved in all of this,
Peter,” Jemima began, choosing her words carefully. “If I had known
back in Devon just how bad things would get, I would never have
asked for your help. At least then you would have been able to get
on with your life, instead of having it stolen by Scraggan just as
effectively as he has stolen mine.”

“
It’s too late now though, isn’t it? I am involved, up to my
ears, and there isn’t a damned thing I can do about it,” Peter
snapped, for a brief moment wishing he wasn’t madly in love with
her.

“
The past few months have changed me considerably,” Jemima
began, not certain if he would ever understand. “I am not sure I am
even the same person you met down in Devon.”

“
You haven’t changed that much,” Peter argued, knowing in his
heart that she had changed a bit. There was wisdom in her eyes that
hadn’t been there before. A deep, all knowing wisdom that only came
from life’s experiences, both good and bad, and was usually
acquired with age.

“
While Scraggan is still out there, I cannot settle. I won’t
rest and allow myself to be caught out by him again. I cannot be
lulled into a false sense of security thinking he is down in
Padstow and busy with other things. It doesn’t matter how good the
Star Elite are, or how much confidence this Hugo person has in
them, Scraggan is dangerous and has many connections. There is a
serious risk that someone will get word to him that I am still
alive, and he could return to finish the job, especially when he
learns that Rogan has failed to murder Eliza and is now behind
bars. He could return for answers. I cannot just sit here and
wait.”

“
But you won’t be sitting here: if we marry, you will be
sitting in Oxfordshire, at Willowbrook Hall with me and I won’t let
anyone get to you.”

Jemima
reluctantly met his gaze, sadness lurking in the depths of her
eyes. “I cannot consider a future until the past is laid to
rest.”

Peter cursed and shook his head. “What if
you
are laid to rest? What then?
Have you stopped to consider the devastation losing you would cause
other people?”

He knew
he was shouting, but was driven by a desperation that was driving
him mad. He fought the urge to put his hands on her shoulders and
shake her.

The
image of Peter’s distress in those final moments in Mr Simpson’s
office came flooding back, and she knew exactly how much distress
she would cause him; had already caused him.

“
I’m sorry, but I cannot enter into marriage to you not really
knowing what I want. I have spent so much of the past few months
living on edge, always looking over my shoulder, trying to blank
out the horrible things going on around me, that I don’t know who I
am anymore.” She longed to tell him she loved him, but couldn’t
speak the words: they would place a further obligation on
him.

If
ignorance of her affection meant he was prepared to stand back and
let her leave and, in doing so, get on with his own life, then so
be it. However hard leaving him was going to be, she owed it to him
to give him the opportunity to be free of her and her
problems.

She knew
he didn’t understand when he remained silent, and continued to
stare moodily out of the window.

“
Look at things a different way,” Jemima reasoned. “I have not
been raised to be a lady. Neither Eliza nor I has ever had any
formal schooling. We were taught to read and write on our father’s
knee, and as soon as I was able to sit at the desk and see over the
top of it, I was expected to help my father with his paperwork.
Which I was happy to do,” she hastened to reassure him when Peter
looked askance at her. “It gave me something to do. Eliza was
always the more domesticated one and was happy to run the house,
while I helped Father with his books and things. When we left
Padstow, I knew things weren’t going to be easy and I was right.
For the past few months I have worked from dawn to dusk, and the
work has been long and tiring. But I have woken in the morning
knowing what I was going to be doing that day. I have never had the
luxury of waking up in the morning and having nothing more taxing
to deal with than deciding whether I want to read or
sew.”

Jemima scowled out over the lawns, considering just how
boring a life like that must be. She realised then why so many
aristocratic women looked so bored! They probably were. “Although I
do not know what I want, I do know that I would not be happy living
a life like that. I would be bored stupid within a month.” She
turned to him, a frown still on her face. “But, on the other hand,
I don’t know what I
do
want to do.”

She
looked so lost, so confused that Peter’s anger evaporated. He
tugged her into his arms, resting his head on the top of hers for
several minutes as the silence settled around them.

“
I can understand; really I can,” he whispered, wishing there
was some other way to get help to her friend.

Jemima
tipped her head back to stare up at him. “Can you really?” She
wasn’t sure, but was glad he didn’t seem so angry with
her.

Silence
settled between them, as they stood before the window wrapped in
each other’s arms. A sense of inevitability swept through her when
Peter slowly lowered his head.

Tendrils
of frustration still clung deep, driving Peter to lay siege to her
senses. If he couldn’t persuade her to at least take some time to
make her decisions on her future, then she was damned well going to
feel his mark on her when she left.

Sliding
his lips firmly against hers, he was rewarded when after a few
brief moments she moaned and opened her mouth to accept the
invasion of his tongue. Their lips slipped and slid as tongues
tangled in a silent duel. Peter drew her tighter against him until
there wasn’t a breath of air between them, but it wasn’t close
enough. Driven by the need to protect her, to claim her as his
before anything else happened to tear her away from him, he slid a
hand into her hair to hold her head still. His tongue probed
possessively into the moist recesses of her mouth as he poured all
his pain, grief and worry into his kiss.

Jemima
felt as though her very soul had been branded. His hot, almost
searing, lips against hers laid claim to her senses and rendered
her helpless to anything other than accepting his sensual
onslaught. She couldn’t have broken away if her life had depended
on it.

A soft
cough broke the silence, and shattered the sensual web that had
woven around them. Peter groaned and reluctantly broke the kiss.
Pressing a kiss to the top of her head, he reluctantly turned
toward the cause of their interruption, willing his wayward body
not to embarrass him.