The Secret Rose (16 page)

“You aren’t responsible for me.”

“I can’t abandon you and hope you survive.”

“Yes, you can.”

He shot her a look filled with disbelief. “What happened between you and Stephen that made him leave without a word? What happened that night to cause this whole tragedy? What are you so desperate to hide that you can’t see how essential it is for us to marry?”

She felt the color drain from her face, but refused to look away. She lifted her chin and stared at him until he turned away to stare at the flames licking upward in the fireplace.

“You can’t stay here, Ethan,” she said. Her anger was gone, replaced only by a deep-seated fear that he wouldn’t be safe if he stayed. “I heard what Captain MacDonnell said. You have to leave before it’s too late.”

“It’s already too late.”

The hollow tone of his voice brought her to her feet. She watched him walk to the window and pull back the soft satin drapery.

“Come here.” He held out his arm for her to join him.

Abigail stepped in front of him, and he wrapped his arm around her while he still held the curtain.

A thousand tiny shivers raced through her body when he touched her. Heaven help her, she didn’t want his nearness to affect her so.

“Watch down this street. In a little while you’ll see a carriage approach.”

Abigail did not have to concentrate on the shadows very long before a carriage rumbled closer. A gaslight burned in front of her house, lighting the street enough to make out the strange vehicle.

“Is that him?”

“Yes,” he said. “It drove by the first time when we arrived earlier and has been making its rounds every thirty minutes to check if I’m still here.

“Leave, Ethan. Get out of England before it’s too late.”

“I’m not running again, Abby. You heard Malcolm. You know why Stafford will never let me go. It’s time I faced him. You and I will say our vows as soon as possible, then I’ll take care of what is between Stafford and me.”

Abigail started to scream her objection, then stopped. Something did not make sense. Why did he insist on marrying her first?

An icy chill raced through her body. “If something were to happen to you today, who would get what belongs to you?”

“Stephen.”

“But if we marry?”

“Everything would go to you. I’ll make sure of it.”

She backed one step away from him then another. Her eyes burned dry as they opened to stare at him in disbelief. Her heart pounded inside her breast as if a door had opened to reveal her most frightening nightmare.

“You don’t think you will survive, do you?” she whispered.

He turned away from her and stared into the flames. “There’s always that possibility.”

“Leave. Do as Malcolm suggested earlier and leave England.”

“And run for the rest of my life?”

“Yes! I’ll not have you marry me just to make me your widow!”

He shook his head. “I’m tired of running, Abby. And too big a coward to live with the guilt of what he might do to anyone he considers important to me.”

He turned to face her, their gazes locked in an understanding that terrified her.

“This is madness,” she said, fighting the panic growing inside her. “I’m not worth the sacrifice. Don’t you understand? I’m not worth it!”

What was she to do? How could she stop this tragedy from happening? How could she convince him to get out of England and leave her behind?

She clutched her arms around her middle and held tight. The look on his face didn’t change. His eyes were like blank pages, the knowledge he harbored a hidden glimpse into a future she could not see.

“Go to bed, little one,” he said, lifting his arm and brushing the backs of his fingers down the side of her face. He stopped and cupped her cheek in the palm of his hand. “Tomorrow will be a long day.”

“I can’t marry you, Ethan. Even if I wanted, I couldn’t.”

“Tell me why.”

She lifted her shoulders and faced him squarely. “There are things you don’t know. Things about me you could never understand. I won’t marry you, then live with your hatred for the rest of my life.”

“I could never hate you, Abby. I care for you too much to ever hate you.”

She couldn’t believe what she’d heard. He cared for her.

She ached with a need she could not explain, a need so intense she couldn’t suppress the shiver that shuddered through her body. She cared for him, too. More than cared for him.

He opened his arms in invitation. She knew it wasn’t possible to have a future with him, yet she desperately wanted one.

She hesitated, then stepped into his embrace. His arms wrapped around her like a warm, protective cocoon, sheltering her, shielding her from the worries that had plagued her since the night Stephen had shattered her nearly perfect world.

The soft ticking of the clock on the mantel, the hushed whisper of the flames whisking in the fireplace, the muffled snapping of the charred logs. These were the only sounds that intruded into the quiet of the room. The only sounds that seeped into the silence. He held her close for endless minutes. Without saying the words, she told him goodbye. Leaving him was the only choice she had.

She pressed her cheek against his chest and inhaled the clean male smell of him, a smell so wondrous, so masculine. One she never wanted to forget.

His lips brushed against the top of her head, his kiss a tender gift, then his hands moved higher, clasping her on either side of her neck, his fingers raking softly through her loose hair. “You have no choice, Abby. You must marry me.”

Ever so slowly, he tilted her head back and looked with warm earnest into her eyes. With the kindest of intent, he lowered his head and kissed her on the forehead.

His breath whispered across her cheek as his thumb slowly outlined her lips, causing them to tingle in anticipation. He lowered his head until he was a hair’s breadth from her. Abigail closed her eyes and breathed a shuddering sigh as his lips claimed her own.

The kiss was slow and sweet, filled with the most innocent sharing of emotions. He kissed her once, then kissed her again, lingering only long enough to tease and torment, without fulfilling the greater promise, then pulled away.

“Go to bed, Abby.” He walked away from her and filled a glass with brandy.

“Ethan—”

“Go to bed,” he repeated, then took a great swallow of the amber liquid.

Abigail waited, but she knew the moment was gone. He’d distanced himself from her as if her absence was just as necessary for his protection as his absence was essential for her.

Abigail left the room. Her mind and heart clashed in greater turmoil than when she’d come downstairs. Before, she’d been determined to leave him because it was the only way she could protect herself and Mary Rose. Now, it was the only way to protect Ethan.

. . .

Abigail made her way through the dark side-street leading away from her town house, with Stella close on her heels. Bundy had taken the carriage over an hour ago to wait for them in an alley five blocks away. When Abigail was certain everyone was asleep, she and Stella followed on foot.

Abigail rounded the corner, keeping in the shadows until she spotted Bundy sitting behind the two horses with the reins in his hands.

“Did anyone notice you?” she asked, coming up on him from the side furthest from the street.

“Bundy jumped down to open the carriage door. “No, Miss Langdon. Mr. Cambridge didn’t see me leave from the back and neither did that other man he had watching the front.”

“Good.” She motioned for Stella to get inside. “We have to get home as quickly as possible, Bundy.”

“We will, miss,” he said, helping her inside.

Abigail leaned back against the soft leather squabs and closed her eyes as the carriage jerked into motion. They should reach Fallen Oaks before Ethan discovered they were gone.

She prayed he would realize her leaving was for the best and know he was free to leave England without feeling responsible for her.

The sun was just peeking above the horizon, the sky turning muted shades of pinks and purples and blues. Abigail thought they’d reached the halfway mark a little over an hour ago. They should be at Fallen Oaks by noon.

“There’s an inn ahead, mistress,” Bundy called down from above. “Did you want to stop, or should we travel on?”

Abigail wasn’t sure she wanted to lose such precious time, but one look at Stella’s exhausted form huddled in the corner and she knew she had no choice. “We’ll stop, Bundy. Perhaps they will have a loaf of warm bread or a muffin to take with us and something hot to drink. We will stay just long enough to get warm, then be on our way.”

“Very well, mistress.” Bundy pulled off the road and followed the short half-circle drive that curved past the Arm and Anvil Inn. He stopped in front of the door and jumped down to help them from the carriage. “I’ll take care of the horses, miss, while you and Stella get yourselves something to eat.”

“Thank you, Bundy. Come in when you’re finished.”

“Very well, miss.”

Abigail led the way through the door to the inn. The potent smell of strong ale and stale tobacco smoke left over from the night before assaulted her nose, but the inside of the room looked clean, and the warmth from a big fire blazing in the hearth beckoned her. She hadn’t realized how cold and hungry she was until the aroma of freshly baked bread hit her.

“Find a table over by the fire, Stella, while I arrange for some food. I’ll ask the proprietor where we might freshen ourselves.”

“Yes, miss.” Stella clutched her shawl tighter around her shoulders and headed for a table by the fire.

By the time she’d ordered something to eat and drink and accompanied Stella to the small ‘necessary’ shed behind the inn, Bundy was sitting at the table with a pitcher of hot tea and a platter of warm bread. Abigail poured the tea while Stella cut the bread and put a slice in front of each of them.

“Do you suppose the master has discovered you’ve left?” Stella asked, casting a worried glance in Abigail’s direction.

“Most likely. I imagine he’s just now coming in from the watch he’s kept all night. No doubt he’ll want me to break my fast with him. I told Genevieve not to volunteer any information, but not to lie to him, either.”

“He’s going to be mighty angry with you, miss,” Stella said, shaking her head.

“No doubt. But I’m sure when he calms down and thinks about it, he’ll realize my leaving is for the best.”

Abigail raised her eyes just in time to see Bundy roll his own heavenward.

A wave of trepidation bolted through her. Something deep inside her echoed Bundy’s doubts. Even though she knew Ethan would be furious with her for leaving, she prayed he would understand why she’d gone. Why she had to return to Fallen Oaks, so he could get himself and his ship out of London on the first tide.

“Pack up the leftovers, Stella. We’ve spent enough time here. I want to be at Fallen Oaks before lunch is served. If Mr. Cambridge does happen to follow us, I don’t want to meet up with him on the open ro—”

The front door flew open and slammed against the wall. The loud crash of the wood echoed through the room like a gunshot. Abigail’s gaze darted to the entryway.

Ethan’s massive shoulders dominated the opening as completely as his anger consumed the rest of the room.

He slowly scanned the interior. His focus halted when he came to the table where she sat. He didn’t pay attention to Stella and Bundy but only stared at
her
. His black look turned furious with rage.

A man and his wife and two small children sat at a table nearby. When the man saw the scowl that covered Ethan’s face, he moved his family to a table on the far side of the room.

Two men at the table on the other side of the hearth leaned back in their chairs anticipating the fireworks to come, their faces brimming with looks of expectant enjoyment.

Not a sound could be heard in the long, narrow room except the hollow pounding of Ethan’s boot heels as he made his way to where she sat. He stopped in front of the table.

“Bundy, ready the carriage to leave,” he ordered. His lethal glare didn’t leave her.

“Yes, sir,” Bundy said, pushing away from the table.

“Go with him, Stella,” he ordered again.

With a quick nod, Stella jumped up from the table and followed Bundy across the floor.

Ethan towered over her, his feet braced wide, his hands knotted in tight fists anchored at his waist. Dark circles rimmed his eyes, evidence of his lack of sleep. The muscles on either side of his jaw knotted in rage.

The hems of his doeskin breeches beneath his greatcoat were spattered with mud. There was not one inch of him that seemed soft or yielding, one inch of him that did not exude fury.

Abigail kept her head high, a look of confident determination firmly planted on her face. “I did not intend for you to come after me.”

He leaned forward and braced the palms of his hands flat on the top of the table. “What the bloody hell do you think you are doing?” he hissed, his voice soft and slow and dripping with anger.

“I am going home, sir. Back where I belong.”

“You belong with me,” he answered. A vein stood out on the side of his neck, evidence that his temper threatened to explode. “Where I can watch you. Where I can protect you.”

“I don’t need you to watch me. I can take care of myself.”

He jerked out the chair opposite her and sat down, crossing his arms on the tabletop and leaning close to her. “I do not have time for this, Abigail. I don’t have time to chase you all over England.”

“No, you don’t. You don’t have time to do anything but get aboard one of
your
ships and sail as far from England as you can get. I intend to return to
my
home, where I will be content to live peacefully without obligation to anyone.”

He leaned a little closer and glared at her with eyes brimming with fire. “Fallen Oaks is not yours, Miss Langdon, until you marry me to get it. As your ships are not mine until I marry you to get them.”

She shook her head. “Oh, Ethan. Don’t make this any more difficult than it already is. The papers have been drawn up. All it will take is our signatures, and we will both have what is best for us.”