by Monica Burns
The man might have been insane, but even insanity was hard to forgive when it had destroyed so much of his life. He couldn’t forgive Oliver for the pain and suffering his actions had inflicted. The man could rot in hell for all he cared.
Sparks flew up in the fireplace as several embers popped loudly and flared up into flames. Half expecting the sound to wake Constance, he turned to look over his shoulder at the bed. She didn’t move, and he slowly relaxed and turned back toward the fire.
When she was well, the constable had expressed a wish to speak with her. He was certain it was merely a formality, but if he could spare her the trial of reliving those terrible moments in the tower, he would. Tomorrow’s inquest would not require Constance’s presence, and if possible he hoped to persuade the constable not to question her at all.
His testimony and Duncan’s had provided the official with more than enough information to resolve the inquest quickly. As for Standish, his confession had filled in a great many pieces of the puzzle where Oliver was concerned. The two men had met in Egypt when Oliver had saved Standish’s life during a bar fight. In turn, the man had become Oliver’s confidant.
Behind him, he heard Constance utter a small sound, and he immediately sprang to his feet. Carefully, he checked the pillows the doctor had instructed them to place around her. The physician had left her on her stomach to help ease the pain of her injury and aid in the healing process. He flinched as he recalled her scream when the doctor had started to sew up the wound. Her fingernails had dug into his skin as he’d held her hand during the procedure. Not even the laudanum had managed to completely eliminate her pain.
Finished adjusting the pillows around her, he gently pulled back the neckline of her nightgown to check her bandage. Satisfied the wound wasn’t bleeding, he brushed a stray curl off her cheek then returned to his seat at the fire.
Leaning back in his chair, he closed his eyes as he recalled the sight of Constance leaving his room shortly before Jamie was discovered missing. There had been a hopeless air about her as she passed through the door. The fact she’d not even bothered to argue with him said she’d given up. Would she be willing to take another chance on him? Could he convince her of his love despite all the cruel things he’d said to her? What if she didn’t let him? The thought sent a chill through him. He refused to let that happen. Somehow he’d find a way to convince her of his sincerity, just as she had convinced him about her special gift.
And what of her talent? How did he handle that? Blakemore brides were known for their eccentricities, but Constance’s ability would far surpass anything the keep had seen before. Would he be comfortable with that? The question made him irritable. He didn’t have a choice in the matter. He’d have to make himself comfortable with it.
He frowned. Comfortable with ghosts. That would take some getting used to, but he’d manage. Anything to ensure she stayed with him. A sudden cold breeze blew across his neck, and his eyes flew open. Rising to his feet, he looked around the room.
“Nigel?” he whispered.
When there was no answer, he frowned. Why could Constance see his brother, but he couldn’t? There was a faint sound close to the window, and he quickly crossed the floor to see if there was a change in temperature. The moment he stepped into the cold spot, he knew it wasn’t simply a draft in the keep.
He spun around, looking for another sign, something he could see, but there was nothing. If he didn’t know better, he’d consider himself mad. But there had been nothing insane about his brother’s presence in the labyrinth or the way Nigel had led him to where Constance was. Why couldn’t he see what she saw? He wanted to share everything with her, but this was the one thing he couldn’t. Frustrated, he prowled the floor.
There was a steady beat to his pacing. His footsteps soft yet audible against the wood floor as he moved back and forth like a caged lion. The sound of it gently rocked its way through the foggy haze wrapped around her head.
Jamie. The memory of how she’d thrown her body over Jamie’s smaller frame made her sigh with relief. She’d saved him. That much she remembered, although most of what followed was a blur. There had been a gun shot, then Lucien holding her. Beyond that, all she remembered were obscure images. But Jamie and Lucien were both alive.
She wanted to sit upright, but the agonizing pain in her shoulder warned her not to move. With her cheek nestled against her pillow, she opened her eyes to see Lucien’s shadow large and strong against the stone wall of her room. Viciously shoving a hand through his hair, he cupped the back of his neck in a gesture of angry frustration.
“Bloody hell, I can’t live this way. All these ghosts between us. Never seeing or knowing when they’re hovering over us. I don’t want to share her,” he growled.
The shock of his words rolled over her with the same force as the knife blow to her back. Had he suddenly realized he loved her? The thought made her close her eyes again. What a fool she was. He didn’t love her. He’d made it perfectly clear the only thing that existed between them was passion.
Even if he did think himself in love with her, it was simply his mistaking passion for love. Just now his words clearly illustrated how her gift would come between them. He didn’t want to live with the ghosts and visions that would always be a part of who she was. Loving someone meant you accepted them for who they were. You didn’t try to change them into someone different. Lucien would never be able to do that.
She’d thought Graham would overcome the same attitude as well. But his silent disapproval had made her bury her gift deep inside her. She’d been afraid to speak about it or do anything to help others simply because Graham had thought it best she not acknowledge her gift. If he’d lived, she would have eventually come to resent him for not loving her enough to accept her as she was. She refused to live like that.
She suppressed a sob as a teardrop slipped out from beneath her eyelid to slide down her cheek. The pain she’d woken up to was nothing compared to the hot agony burning its way into her heart now. She wanted to slip back into the pain-free, white fog she’d awoken from a few short minutes ago.
Nothing mattered there. Nothing hurt. Here, there was nothing but pain. A pain she only wanted to escape. Swallowing her tears, she hiccuped quietly. In a fraction of a second, Lucien was at her side. How could he have heard that small sound?
“It’s all right, yâ sabāha,” he murmured as he knelt at the side of the bed, his piercing blue eyes meeting hers. “I know it hurts, but you saved him, sweetheart. Jamie is just fine.”
She didn’t answer him, and when she tried to turn her head away, the movement sent fire speeding through her body. Gasping from the pain, she grew still and closed her eyes. The touch of his fingers against her damp cheek made her wince.
“What is it, sweetheart? Would you like some more laudanum for the pain?”
“Yes,” she whispered. Anything to return to that peaceful white mist.
Several moments later he gave her the unpleasant-tasting drug, then offered her a sip of wine. The vintage erased the unpalatable taste of the drug, but she could still feel the heartache as he took her hand in his.
“I thought I was going to lose you, yâ sabāha.”
His voice was tight with emotion, and another tear escaped as she kept her eyes closed. He cared for her. But she’d heard the frustration in his voice a few moments ago. He might love her, but he wasn’t able to love her for who she was. A woman with a gift to help people. A woman who could see the dead. Another tear slid down her cheek. Gently he wiped the drop away.
“It’s going to be all right, sweetheart. Don’t cry. It’s all over now. Everything is going to be just fine. We’ll talk when you’re well.”
She shuddered, the pain in her shoulder like a fire, but it didn’t compare to the agony tearing at her soul. Slowly, the anguish eased in its intensity, ebbing away as the drug made her grow woozy. Sleep tugged at her, offering
her the numbing peace she craved as she drifted back into the fog.
Standing at the window of her room, Constance barely paid any attention to Anna’s quiet movements as the maid packed her trunk. From the window she saw Jamie playing with Imogene in the garden. Today would be the last day he would do so, because they were leaving on the afternoon train for London.
She turned away from the sight, her shoulder causing her to wince. It had been almost a month since Oliver had stabbed her, and her wound was healing nicely. But it still ached if she moved too quickly or stretched the wrong way.
The door to her bedroom suddenly crashed open as Lucien strode into the room. She’d expected his anger, but his entrance was still enough to make her jump.
“Leave us, Anna,” he said with a quiet fury that brooked no argument. The maid glanced at her with a look of concern, and Constance nodded at her.
“You can come back in a little bit and finish, Anna. Thank you.”
As the maid closed the door behind her, Constance waited quietly for him to speak. Glaring at her, his eyes blazed with icy anger.
“For almost four weeks you’ve avoided me. Refused to have any type of conversation with me, except in the presence of others. And now I have to learn from my grandmother that you’re leaving. I want answers, Constance, and I want them now.”
“I’ve been called back to London on family business. My work on the collection is fairly well completed. The few artifacts left are ones you can do yourself.”
“I don’t believe you,” he snapped.
“What you believe is of little consequence, Lucien. I’m leaving on the afternoon train.” Moving toward the vanity table, she flinched as he closed the distance between them and blocked her way.
“If you think I’m going to just let you walk out of here, you’re wrong, yâ sabāha. I have no intention of letting you go.”
“You don’t have much choice,” she sighed softly. “I won’t change my mind.”
His hands grabbed hers, and it was like an electrical pulse charging its way through her body. Trembling, she fought not to feel, not to crave him the way she’d longed for him over these past few weeks. It had been agony to be near him, seeing the tenderness in his expression, all the while knowing they’d never be together.
“Not long ago, you asked me to open up my heart to you. I’m doing that now, yâ sabāha, I’m telling you I love you. I need you.”
Closing her eyes, she turned her face away from him. Oh God, this was going to be more difficult than she’d thought. The depth of emotion in his voice was far more potent than she’d ever dreamed possible. She swallowed hard, struggling to keep her emotions buried as deeply as she could, reminding herself that her gift would always come between them.
“Please don’t do this,” she whispered.
“Don’t do what? Tell you how much I adore you? How I love everything about you?” His words sliced into her with the same viciousness as Oliver’s blade. It stiffened her resolve as she yanked her hands out of his, ignoring the pain shooting through her shoulder.
“I’m sorry, Lucien, too much has happened.” She shook her head as she moved away from him toward the window.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” he growled, his gaze following her every movement.
She still looked pale, but it was clear she was almost fully recovered. Now she was being as evasive as she’d been when she first came to the keep. Frustrated by her behavior, he wanted to shake her until she lost that cool, reserved expression she was wearing.
“It means I’m leaving.”
“Then have the decency to tell me why.” The fierceness of his voice matched the anger boiling inside him.
They’d barely spoken two words to each other in the past month. Every time he’d come to check on her progress, she’d managed to avoid any conversation. Whether it was to plead fatigue or pain, she’d deflected any attempt he’d made to confess his heart to her. To apologize for his cruelty.
Well, he was done accepting her excuses. He wanted to know what she was thinking, and he refused to let her avoid answering him. She turned to face him, her expression unreadable. Even her hazel eyes had a lifeless look about them. Fear made his muscles grow tight with a tension that quickly coiled its way through his body.
“Too much has happened. There are words and events that have passed between us that can’t be mended.” He took a step toward her, but she raised her hand to stop him. “No let me finish. We have the passion, but it’s not enough for me.”
“Then tell me what you want. God knows I’ll give it to you. I’ll give you the world if I can do so,” he said hoarsely. Christ Jesus, she was serious. She honestly thought he only felt passion for her. She was wrong, and he had to find a way to convince her she was wrong.
“I never wanted the world, and what I want you can’t give me.”
“Don’t you think I should be the judge of what I can or can’t offer you?” he snarled.
“I’m sorry, Lucien.” Sadness seemed to grip her as she shook her head. “If I could make you understand, I would, but I can’t. It’s not possible.”
“So, you’re simply going to walk out of here, away from me, away from my love.”
“Yes.”
The quiet word ripped through him with a force that threatened to tear him apart. The resolution in the tightness of her lovely mouth only reinforced the determination in her response. He wasn’t going to change her mind. The reality of it numbed him. Tormented him. She’d said she loved him, but something had undermined her love.
Not something. Him. The way he’d made love to her the afternoon Oliver had kidnapped Jamie. That was it. He’d been brutal in his treatment of her. Taking her like a barbarian and then demeaning their passion in the crudest manner possible. Shame swept through him. Somehow he had to undo the damage he’d inflicted.
He stepped toward her again, but the moment she flinched, he froze. The look of anxiety and panic on her face made him grow cold with dread. Had he hurt her so deeply she wouldn’t forgive him? No, he refused to believe that. So why would she draw back in fear? Bloody hell, she’d had another vision. She’d seen something about him. Something that made her afraid of him. How the hell was he supposed to fight something like that? He watched her turn away from him to stare out the window.
“Would you send Anna back in to finish packing my trunk? I don’t want to miss the three o’clock train.”
The flat, emotionless words sent despair slashing through him. What the hell was he going to do without her? He needed time. Time to convince her how much he loved her. There had to be a way to stop her from leaving. But the rigid, stubborn line of her posture told him it was impossible to change her mind. He would have to let her go for now, but he’d follow her to London. Giving her up wasn’t a choice he was willing to live with. She was going to discover that a Blakemore could be every bit as stubborn as a Rockwood.
“Well, it appears you might have actually succeeded in your efforts to rid yourself of the earl, Constance.” Lady Patience Rockwood sent her a look of disgust. “A man can only take so much rejection before he flees town.”
“Could we please find another topic to discuss other than the Earl of Lyndham?” Constance waved her black-feathered fan in front of her face in an attempt to cool herself in the stuffy confines of the ballroom they stood in. “Surely there are any number of subjects we could talk about other than the earl.”
“But he’s the most interesting.”
“Perhaps for you.”
The sound of someone calling her name gave Constance the perfect excuse to turn away from her sister. At the sight of Davinia Armstrong, she smiled with pleasure. The last time she’d seen her friend was the night before Oliver Rawlings’s death. A shiver skimmed down her back. It had been more than three months since and the terror of that night still frightened her.
&nbs
p; “Constance, oh my dear, how lovely it is to see you.”
Delighted to see her friend, she hugged the other woman. “Davinia, how wonderful to see you. You remember Patience, don’t you?”
As her sister and Davinia exchanged greetings, Constance noted her friend looked radiant. It was unexpected given her recent attachment to Oliver, but perhaps her friend hadn’t been quite as enamored with the man as she’d thought. Pleading a parched throat, Patience excused herself and moved toward the buffet. The moment Davinia turned back to her, Constance lightly tapped her friend’s arm with her fan.
“Where have you been? I came to see you when I returned to London, but your house was closed.”
“I went to Europe after that…that terrible night.” Davinia’s face paled slightly as her expression became troubled.
“Oh, Davinia, I can’t imagine what you must have gone through when you learned about Sir Rawlings.”
“It was a bit unsettling to think that I…that we…” Her friend shook her head. “The fact of the matter is, I’m the one who should apologize, and I can only hope you’ll forgive me.”
“Forgive you?”
“For telling Oliver about your gift.” Davinia winced. “If I hadn’t told him about your ability, he might never have kidnapped Jamie or hurt you.”
“You aren’t to blame, Davinia. There wasn’t anything anyone could have done to stop him. The man was mad.”
The memory of those terrible moments in the North Tower of Lyndham Keep made her skin grow cold. She tried never to think about it, but it was impossible not to remember. Even now there were moments in the early hours of the morning when she lay terrified in her bed. Shutting the terrible memories out of her thoughts, she forced a smile to her lips as Davinia squeezed her hand once more.
“I have a favor to ask of you.”
The question made Constance stare at her friend in puzzlement. “A favor?”
“I should have listened to you about Oliver, and I’ve learned my lesson.”