Whirlwind Wedding (33 page)

"Some village near Calais."

Austin leaned forward. "Which village?"

The sailor eyed him cautiously. "Can't recall the exact name. Sounds like a bloke's name."

Austin thought for a moment. "Marck?"

Recognition widened the sailor's eyes. "That's it."

"Why was he in London?"

"Said 'e 'ad some business. Was lookin' fer someone. Didn't say who.

Bragged some 'bout comin' into some big money."

His gaze narrowed on Austin's. "That's all I know. I kept up me end of the bargain. Now give me the blunt."

Austin placed two pouches on the scarred table and slipped his pistol into his pocket. The sailor opened the pouches to verify the contents and Austin seized the man's distraction to slip out the door.

Keeping to the shadows, Austin walked quickly through the labyrinth of alleyways to his waiting hack. Grim elation pumped through his veins.

Bertrand Gaspard.

His knew his enemy's name. And where he lived. He knew where to find the answers he sought. And he hoped to God those answers included William.
I'm coming for you, you bastard.

When Austin entered his town house, he found Elizabeth pacing the foyer.

She halted the instant she saw him, her gaze running down the length of him as if to assure herself he was still in one piece.

Handing his hat to Carters, he said quietly, "I'm fine."

An audible sigh of relief escaped her. Her gaze darted to Carters, then returned to him. "Can we speak privately?"

He hesitated. God knew he didn't want to be alone with her, but he certainly couldn't discuss his meeting with the sailor here in the foyer.

Inclining his head to indicate she should follow him, he walked down the corridor to his private study. Once inside, he closed the door, enveloping them in silence.

She stood in the center of the room, her hands clasped in front of her, her eyes steady on his, and a flood of memories washed over him. Elizabeth smiling at him. Elizabeth opening her arms to him. Lifting her face for his kiss. Lying beneath him, trembling with need. Asleep in his arms.

He tried to bludgeon the unwanted images back, but they assaulted him, attacking him with relentless accuracy. His gaze strayed to the carpet beneath her feet. They'd made love exactly where she now stood, the night he'd taught her the waltz and shown her where he'd hung the sketch she'd drawn of him.

He forced himself to look at that now empty space on the paneled wall opposite his desk. He'd removed the drawing because he couldn't bear to see it, to relive the memories it evoked every time he entered his study.

Returning his attention to her, he saw that her gaze was fixed upon the blank space where her sketch had hung. He fancied he saw hurt flash in her eyes, but he forced himself to harden his heart to it. She'd made her choice. And she had not chosen him.

"You wished to speak with me privately?" he asked.

She pulled her gaze from the paneled wall and faced him with a cool expression that ignited his temper.

"What happened at the docks?" she asked.

He cocked a brow. "You don't know?"

She blanched at his sarcastic question, then shook her head. "I feel that you found the answers you sought, but that is all."

Hoping a drink would ease the tension knotting his shoulders, he crossed to the decanters. After a hefty swallow of brandy, he related the information the sailor had given him.

She listened intently, her brow furrowed with concentration. When he finished she said "I assume you're planning to go to France."

"Yes. In fact, if you'll excuse me, I must instruct Kingsbury to pack my things."

"You're leaving soon?"

"Within the hour. The journey to Dover will take nearly five hours. I'll sail for Calais with the morning tide." He stood unable to tear his gaze away from her, knowing he could not leave without saying what needed to be said.

"Elizabeth." He coughed to clear his tight throat. "I owe you my thanks for your assistance in finding Gaspard. I shall always be grateful. Thank you."

"You're welcome." Elizabeth looked at his handsome, serious face and her heart broke into tiny pieces. Dear God she loved him so much. "I . . . I would do anything for you."

The unguarded words slipped past her lips and she cringed as the budding warmth she'd detected in his expression iced over.

"Anything?"
A humorless laugh escaped him. "If that weren't such a blatant lie, it would be positively amusing." He crossed to the door and opened it. He hesitated as if deciding whether to say something more, but after several seconds, he simply walked into the corridor, closing the door behind him.

Elizabeth drew a deep breath and pressed her hands to her churning stomach. Her husband clearly thought he'd dismissed her.

Her chin lifted with determination.

Her husband clearly didn't know everything.

Austin strode from the town house, mentally congratulating himself on his hasty departure. He'd scribbled quick notes to his mother and Miles stating he'd been unavoidably called away to France. Regret pricked him at the way he'd left Elizabeth, but he hadn't had a choice. If he'd stayed in that room with her for another moment he would have said or done something he'd regret.

Like dropped to my knees and begged her to love me.

An impatient sound escaped him and he forced himself to push thoughts of her aside. He had to concentrate on the task at hand. On his trip to France. On finding Gaspard. And hopefully William. He had to stop thinking about Elizabeth.

The footman opened the coach door for him. Austin placed his foot on the step and froze.

Elizabeth, garbed in her peacock traveling suit, sat in the coach.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he asked.

She raised her brows. "I'm waiting for you."

"If you wish to speak with me, you'll have to wait until I return. I'm leaving immediately."

"Yes, I know. And the sooner you settle yourself, the sooner we can depart."

"We?"
A bark of incredulous laughter escaped him.
"We
are not going anywhere."

Her chin raised an inch. "I beg to differ.
We
are going to France."

Anger shot through him. With a curt nod he dismissed the hovering footman. Leaning into the carriage, he said in a tightly controlled voice, "The only place
you
are going is back into the house. Now."

"Do you truly think that is for the best?"

"Yes."

She nodded thoughtfully. "It seems like a dreadful waste of time to me.

You see, if you make me leave this coach, you will be further delayed by having to remove my luggage. And then I shall have to arrange other transportation to Dover."

His lips collapsed into a tight line. "You will do nothing of the kind."

Determination fired in her eyes. "Yes, I will."

"The hell you will. I forbid it."

"I shall go just the same."

He barely smothered the vicious oath that rose to his lips. Damn stubborn woman. "Elizabeth, you are
not—"

"How is your French?"

That gave him pause. "My French?"

"According to Caroline, you understand the language but can't speak it well enough for anyone to comprehend."

Even while he mentally consigned his sister to perdition, he couldn't deny the truth of her words. His French was atrocious.

His lip curled. "And I suppose you're fluent?"

She shot him a beaming smile.
"Oui. Naturellement."

"And who taught you French?"

"My English mother, who studied the language as all English young ladies do." Her smile faded and her eyes turned imploring and determined at the same time. "Please understand. I cannot let you go alone. I promised to help you, and help you I shall. If you refuse to take me with you, I shall be forced to travel to Calais on my own."

He could tell by the tilt of her chin and the fierce resolve in her expression that she would do as she threatened unless he planned to tie her forcibly to a chair. And even if he did he didn't doubt that Robert, Miles, Caroline, or even his own mother would untie her. Damn it, the entire bloody family would no doubt accompany her to France.

Knowing he was defeated but not liking it one bit, he climbed into the carriage. Without waiting for the footman, he slammed the door shut himself, then signaled the driver to depart.

The damn woman was impossible to ignore.

He wouldn't have been able to ignore her if they'd been in a huge ballroom. The confines of his coach nearly undid him.

All his senses were intensely aware of her. Every time he inhaled, her gentle lilac scent filled his head.

In desperation, he closed his eyes, praying he'd fall asleep, but his prayers were in vain. Instead images of her danced behind his eyes. Images that nothing could erase.

What would it take to wipe her from his thoughts? From his heart? His soul?

He opened one eye a slit. She sat across from him, reading a book, and appeared cool and composed, a fact that rankled him. Clearly he was the only one who was suffering.

He slammed his eye shut and held in a grunt. By damn, he was determined to suffer in silence. Even if the effort killed him.

The coach ride nearly killed her.

Elizabeth exited the coach in Dover and stretched her cramped muscles.

The journey had been sheer torture. Five hours of pretending to read a book she could not even name the title of. And all the while Austin had sat across from her, sleeping.

She would have gladly welcomed sleep, but she could barely sit still, let alone close her eyes. She spent the entire journey staring at her book, her heart desperately trying to convince her mind to accept the offer Austin had made weeks ago—to be lovers in ways that would not result in the conception of a child.

But as much as her heart begged her mind refused to listen.
It would only
take one slip in control—control that somehow eludes me when he takes me in his
arms—and I couldfind myself with child. And I know that child's fate.

An icy shudder ripped through her. As much as her decision hurt, she could not subject Austin to the torment of their daughter's death.

Austin stared at the innkeeper. "I beg your pardon?"

"There's only one room, your grace," the elderly man repeated.

He truly had to fight the urge to pound his fists upon the stone walls.

Damn it, what else could go wrong? But even as the question entered his mind he banished it. Better not to ask.

And no point taking his frustrations out on the innkeeper. It wasn't the elderly man's fault that his inn was full. After issuing instructions to the footman to deliver the necessary baggage to the available room, he allowed the innkeeper to lead him and Elizabeth up the stairs.

The room was small but cheerful, the space nearly wholly occupied by a comfortable-looking bed covered with an intricately embroidered cream coverlet.

"There's fresh water in the pitcher, your grace," the innkeeper said. "Will you need anything else?"

Austin pried his attention from the bed and the wealth of thoughts it inspired. "Nothing else, thank you."

The innkeeper left, closing the door behind him. Austin watched Elizabeth fiddle with the ties on her bonnet. She looked at him and offered an uncertain half smile.

"This is a . . . tad awkward," she said.

He approached her, his eyes riveted on hers. "Awkward? Why is that?

We're man and wife."

Crimson stained her cheeks. "I cannot share a bed with you."

"So you've said. But unfortunately there is only one bed. And two of us."

"I shall sleep on the floor," she said in what he believed she intended as a confident voice, but the slight tremor gave a clear indication that she was rattled.

Good. She was not as calm as she appeared. He'd just spent five miserable hours, and the notion that she might be miserable as well cheered him considerably.

He took another step toward her. Her eyes widened a bit, but she stood her ground. Another step closer and he detected her sharp intake of breath.

Two more strides and he stood directly in front of her. Her golden brown eyes flickered with apprehension, but he grudgingly had to admire her spirit in not backing away from him. But damn it, he longed to shake her composure. As she'd shaken his.

Lowering his gaze to her mouth, he whispered, "It isn't necessary for you to sleep on the floor, Elizabeth."

"I'm afraid it is."

"Because you don't trust me not to seduce you?"

"I trust you," she whispered. "It's myself I cannot trust."

The ache in her voice snapped his gaze back to hers. He studied her, the vulnerability glimmering in her eyes, the need and desire shadowing their golden depths, and his breath stalled. He sensed she was trying desperately to hide it, but the evidence was there in her eyes. She wanted him. Desire shimmered from her like warm sun rays, beckoning him.

He lifted his hand to touch her, but curled his fingers into a fist and resisted the powerful urge. Her eyes told him he could seduce her, but he couldn't endure the pain of having to let her go again. Of hearing her say afterward that she planned to leave him. As much as he wanted her, her betrayal still hurt too much.

Turning from her, he walked to the window and dragged his hands down his face. It occurred to him that Elizabeth's visions were a double-edged sword. On the one side, they'd helped lead him to Gaspard who would in turn hopefully lead him to William.

But her premonitions had robbed him of his marriage. His wife. The chance for a future filled with happiness. And children. They'd left him with nothing but anger, pain, betrayal, and a heartache so deep he didn't know if he'd ever stop hurting.