Wicked Deeds on a Winter Night

by Stacy Reid

  Verity and George laughed and played in the snow like children with Annabelle, while Gabriel reposed on a bench watching them. His lips moved, and she could see that he spoke but could not hear the words. Even from a distance across the lawn, he seemed relaxed, pain-free and happy. Also, though, his face looked thinner, and his cheekbones more pronounced. Her throat went tight when Lady Beatrice—appearing so charming in a peach day gown, a jaunty hat perched rakishly atop her head, and a basket in her hand—strolled over and sat beside Gabriel.

  Whatever Lady Beatrice said caused him to smile, and his reply made Lady Beatrice tip back her head and laugh, the sound rippling through the brisk air like musical notes. He was recovered…and he'd not returned to their cottage…and he was smiling warmly at Lady Beatrice. She handed him an apple, and he took it with a nod, then directed his attention to his sister who had smacked George with a snowball. How happy everyone looked, and Primrose had never felt more as if she did not belong.

  The sob that tore from Primrose’s chest caught her unawares. The memories of his promises and their time together felt like jagged shards of glass raking in her chest. She spun around and faltered at the sight of the countess. Where had she come from?

  “Their engagement is set to announce this week in the Times. Both families are well pleased," the countess said softly, undisguised pity shining in her blue eyes.

  She held out an envelope and Primrose suspected money was inside.

  “I’ve increased the draft to one thousand pounds.”

  A fortune. Instinctively she rested her hands on her stomach where life was already growing. Knowledge leaped in the countess's eyes, and for a brief moment, she hesitated, her features softening. She firmed her lips.

  “Take it, Miss Markham. If you wish a moment with my son, please go on over to him now, and say your goodbyes.”

  She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Primrose glanced back, but he was too caught up in Lady Beatrice's conversation even to sense her presence. And the fact that the countess urged her to go to him was quite telling. He was truly lost to her, and the humiliation of facing him under the watchful eyes of his family…of the lady he would now marry…was too much to bear. Primrose ached until she thought her soul would shatter from the pain. Wiping furiously at her tears, she drew in a hard, desperate breath as she blinked back her tears. Then without a word, she took the envelope and walked away without looking back.

  Chapter 9

  Gabriel stumbled awkwardly along the lawns of his family estate, staring at the woman in the distance, craving her with keen desperation. "Primrose!" His shout echoed across the lawns, but the slight figure in the distance did not waver. Gabriel knew it was her, he would recognize the petite, sensual shape of her anywhere, even if swallowed in a thick coat. Dropping the walking cane, he tried to increase his pace, hoping to take himself into shouting distance.

  “Primrose!”

  “Good God, man, you’re making a spectacle of yourself,” George hissed, hurrying over to him and picking up the walking cane. “You are mortifying Lady Beatrice and her mother.”

  “I do not give a damn what they are thinking. Primrose was here. Why did she not come over? I must go to her.”

  He stepped forward and stumbled, pain ripping through his side.

  “Do not be a dimwit, you’re hardly recovered. You had a life-threatening surgery to remove the piece of shell from between your ribs for Christ’s sake. It took you days to come from the bed, and you are here making an ass over a lady who may or may not be Miss Markham,” George said, fisting a hand on his hips.

  “It was her,” Gabriel insisted stubbornly, fighting the panic rising in his chest the further away the figure appeared. Some instinct warned him that her walking away was the very worst thing he could imagine. Had she been hurt? “Primrose!” he bellowed.

  George winced. “That lady was at a distance, Gabriel, you could not be—”

  “I’m certain,” he rasped, hobbling down the path and toward the manor. “I’m certain because every part of me came alive.”

  His brother sucked in a sharp breath and glance behind him. Gabriel looked around to see Lady Beatrice’s mouth frozen in a small o and a look of injury in her eyes. Her eyes held an expectation he did not understand, and a sliver of discomfort darted through him.

  He frowned, not understanding. He'd made no promises to her or even intimated he was interested in a courtship. She had been very kind and gracious these past few days, putting up with his black, irritable mood as he struggled to be on his feet. Several times she'd attempted to lighten his temper and had failed, for only Primrose occupied his mind and heart. He and Lady Beatrice had never been alone despite the machinations of his mother, and even the lady’s mother herself. Nor had Lady Beatrice hinted of any romantic feelings toward him. For if she had, Gabriel would have made known that his heart irrevocably belonged to another.

  So why did she appear so disappointed now? “Lady Beatrice, thank you for your charming company as always,” he said with firm politeness. “But I must take my leave. I bid you good day.”

  She nodded gracefully and hurried passed him, slashing him a rather intent and anxious scrutiny, but he offered no reassurance. No doubt his mother had made foolish promises, but he would not be persuaded to abandon his love.

  Gabriel resumed his hobble toward the side entrance, ignoring George’s muttered curse. Every hurried step had pain lancing through his side where the doctors had cut deeply to excise the infected flesh and remove the shrapnel and bits of bones. He’d been abed with fever for days he’d been told, and had spent quite some time sleeping, only to surface when he’d been roused for sustenance. Gabriel recalled none of it.

  He made his way inside and down the hallway to the sitting room. It would take too much effort now to climb the stairs. The pain was already clawing through him like a poison-tipped dagger, beading sweat on his skin. He would need his strength soon, for he would order the carriage to take him to their cottage. What he should have bloody done days ago even though he had felt so damnably weak and pain filled. Instead, he'd entrusted George with messages for Primrose, and she'd made no response to any.

  A cold knot of suspicion sat heavy in his stomach. He shrugged away George’s touch when he attempted to help him into the sofa by the fire.

  “Good God man, let me help you.”

  Gabriel lowered himself onto the cushions and pinned his older brother with a glare. “Did you deliver my messages to Miss Markham?”

  “I told you I went by the cottage.”

  Gabriel stared at his brother, and slowly said, “Yes, but did you actually deliver my messages as you promised?”

  George grimaced and looked away briefly before returning his regard. “It appears as if she packed her belongings and left a week ago. That is why I doubted the woman you saw now was her.”

  A week? A peculiar hollowness formed in his gut. Had Primrose left him? While he lay abed recovering? Dear God, why? With what money?

  “Tell me again,” Gabriel said softly. “From the moment she dropped me off here. What did she say, what was her countenance?”

  George scrubbed a hand over his face with a wary smile. “Gabriel, let her go. She bloody well dumped you here, feverish and rambling, walked away and never looked back. I did as you bid and visited and she was no longer living at the cottage.”

  “Surely there must be some mistake,” he rasped, his heart hammering sickly.

  “There is more,” George said, regret and some other elusive emotion in his gaze. “Mother informed me she offered her money and Miss Markham took it and negotiated for a larger sum.”

  Sharp edges of pain, confusion, and denial darted through him. The agony tearing through his soul was shaper than the bullet which had ripped through his side and almost taken his life twice. And in the midst of the loss tearing through his heart, her eyes bright with love and trust floated through his memories.

  It centered him, muting the terrible do
ubts and fear. Gabriel struggled to his feet and made his way from the sitting room toward the dining hall. With a muttered curse, George followed. His mother sat at the table beside the earl who read a freshly pressed morning paper the village boy had delivered. His mother slathered jam on toast, and her eyes lit up with pleasure when she saw him.

  “Gabriel! How wonderful you look today. I detect a certain spring in your steps. Will you join us?”

  He paused at the head of the table, waiting until George entered the room. Then he looked at his family whom he loved and had always trusted. Until now. “Upon rousing from the bed and that damn laudanum-induced sleep, I asked George to deliver several messages to Miss Markham for me. She did not reply to any, nor did she visit. He informed me just now that she has moved away from the cottage I rented to be our home, and that she has taken the money you offered her."

  The countess lowered the knife and lifted her chin. “It was crass of me to offer it, but I did.”

  “And she took it?”

  “Yes,” she said firmly. “That should tell you the sort of woman you were foolhardy to think might be fit to be your wife.”

  An ache of loss settled heavy on his heart. “I will never forgive the shame and pain you must have made her feel to drive her to such an action,” he said with calm sincerity. “I have lost all good opinion and respect I once held for this family.”

  His mother paled, and his father frowned, lowering the paper. George went down to his mother and stopped at her side, resting a comforting hand on her shoulders.

  “Gabriel—” he began.

  "No," Gabriel said with a slash of his hand. "I do not care to hear your excuses or lies. I know my Primrose. I know of her honor and her love for me. And now I know of your lack of love and faith in me. I'm not a feckless wastrel, a rake, or a libertine. You all must think so little of me that you could not respect the woman I love more than life itself. I'll probably scold her for losing her faith in me and the promises I made to her when I find her. But I'll also do my most damned best to heal the wounds you must have dealt her to make her run from me." He pierced them with his cold regard. "While I would forgive any thoughtless words thrown at me, I will not forget or forgive the manner in which you’ve treated her. When I leave this house today, even if I have to crawl, I shall never return.”

  Then he turned and walked away, ignoring his mother's harsh gasp, and George's call to wait. Out in the hallway, he was startled to see the butler hovering. Gabriel passed him and then faltered when the man cleared his throat.

  He faced him. "What is it, Mabry?”

  “Miss Markham visited several times and was denied entry. Nor was she allowed to stay with you after you were brought here.”

  The words were a brutal punch to his gut, and he wanted to howl at the pain she must have endured. He also saw what the admission cost his butler, who was fiercely loyal to his mother.

  "I believe her ladyship's intention was well—"

  “Thank you, Mabry,” Gabriel said, not wanting to hear any defense of his mother’s actions.

  Every step he took lanced pain in his side, but he would not stay another night in this house. Sometime in the future, he was confident he would forgive them, for he loved his family. And that love required Gabriel to forgive them for the cruel, stupid things they did, especially foolishly misguided ones where they believed they acted in his best interest. And despite that awareness, his forgiveness would only come after they'd earned Primrose's—if they earned it. Until then, his family could go hang.

  I’m coming my love…wait for me.

  Chapter 10

  Almost three weeks later, Gabriel could not understand how he'd failed to find his Primrose. Worry for her filled his heart and his mind constantly. Desperation had pushed him to travel to Hampshire, where he'd dragged his cousin with him across the countryside. Pernell Walker was a vicar, and at first, had been amused that Gabriel had dragged him to all the places he imagined Primrose could be so he could wed them immediately. A fire burned merrily in the stone fireplace of the inn they had stopped at, but he felt cold and empty. The simple fare of steak and roasted potatoes could not tempt him to eat, though his stomach rumbled with hunger.

  Cousin Pernell stabbed at his slab of meat, chewed angrily, and glared at him for having been away from his wife and children for eight days. And the special license burned in Gabriel’s coat pocket. Cousin Pernell, though a mild-mannered man, seemed as if he would jump on the table between them and reach for Gabriel’s throat.

  He'd traveled to Durham to visit her aunt and Cousin Jane and had been informed they had no knowledge of her whereabouts. He'd made the trip back to their cottage which had still lingered empty, her sweet scent fading from the atmosphere. Then he'd traveled to her childhood home in Kent where the new baronet occupied the manor along with his very pregnant wife. They'd not seen Primrose, and the despair filling Gabriel's heart was untenable.

  “I do not believe your Miss Primrose Markham wishes to be found. Whatever are you to do?" Cousin Pernell demanded, tugging at his simply tied cravat. "I cannot traipse around with you until she is found. My family awaits me, and I have my flock to attend."

  Gabriel lifted the tankard of mead to his lips and took several swallows. "She is without money or connections. She is not with her aunt in Durham, and I cannot imagine where in God's name she could be." And he prayed she had taken the money his mother had offered and used it to live. He couldn’t stand the notion of Primrose struggling in any manner.

  He felt empty, so damn empty, and regretful. It was almost with a sense of despair that he lowered the tankard, pushed to his feet, and made his way from the inn. His cousin followed closely on his heels, tugging the collar of his coat up to his ears.

  “Where do you go to?”

  “Home,” Gabriel said gruffly, thinking of the cottage that would echo with emptiness.

  “Are you giving up then?”

  "Never." But he needed money. He was down to only one hundred pounds, and if he were not careful, it would not last for the year. Money was required to travel to town, to the far reaches of England, and to Scotland even. The more he thought of his various plans on how to find her, the more desperate he felt.

  Primrose could be anywhere.

  He would tan her backside when he found her for having so little faith in him. Then he would hold her, and kiss her, and promise it would all be well. Then he would damn well marry her right away and possibly chain her to the damn cottage.

  There was an odd hollowness about the cottage. The holly bush was overgrown, the roses and flowers of the small garden overrun with wild weeds. The snow sludge yard showed no footprint, and the curtains were drawn.

  Primrose gripped the valise in her hand, and carefully made her way up the steps of the cottage. Gently she eased the door open, shivering at the coldness of the small hallway. He wasn't there, then. Resting the valise by the front door, she made her way into the parlor.

  Memories clutched at her heart, and she pressed a hand to her throat. She'd been traveling from Durham for the last week, overnighting at several inns, her mind and heart a mess of emotions. She had been with her aunt when Gabriel had visited, and it was at her insistence they'd turned him away and lied that they hadn’t seen her.

  She had nowhere else to go, and she had held her breath, petrified he would insist on searching their humble cottage and uproot her from where she’d curled under the covers, her eyes too achy from weeping to sleep.

  The hollowness sometimes had made her question if every moment of happiness, every lingering kiss, and illicit lovemaking, was only something she’d imagined.

  It had taken a few hours for her to realize that he'd left his family and possibly Lady Beatrice to come and find her. Why? To apologize? To offer an explanation, to provide money…or to soothe a conscience ravaged by guilt? Then her heart had started to wonder truly why he had come to Durham.

  She’d woken up the next morning with a resolve burning in her he
art to know why. Cousin Jane had sent her a look of such pity, Primrose had burst into fresh tears. But then she’d snapped her back straight and decided to make her way home…no, to the cottage, and finally confront him.

  Maybe then, the wound she’d never thought her heart capable of enduring would heal. For she had her child to live for, and she needed to be whole for that. She couldn’t allow herself to waste away as her mother had done upon losing her father. But Primrose now had an inkling of the pain which had driven her mother to such a state. So she needed to look him in his beautiful eyes, and understand why, so she could heal.

  Except the cottage appeared devoid of living. So, he hadn’t left his family home nor Lady Beatrice. Well, she’d call on him in the morn at Sancrest Manor. Exhaustion sat heavy on her shoulders, releasing its full weight now that rest was in sight. She made her way to the bedroom, lowered herself on the bed and tugged her half boots from her aching feet. She untied the laces of her winter coat, letting it fall carelessly to the floor, and then crawled into the bed.

  She must have drifted off, for suddenly she was awake, and there was a fire roaring in the hearth, a chair by her bedside, and in that chair, sat Gabriel, his eyes steady on hers. Primrose turned to her side, placing one hand beneath her cheek, and the other she rested lightly on her stomach. She wanted to speak and could not. Her tongue felt heavy, her throat tight, her eyes achy, and her heart…Dear God, her heart, how it beat a furious rhythm.

  He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his muscular thighs. Yet he did not speak. And Primrose remained silent.

  Finally, he said, "Are you real, my Primrose."

  Her lips parted. “As real as you are.”

  Her breath hitched at the many emotions darkening his eyes.

  “I’m going to tan your backside for running from our home.”

  That was the last thing she’d expected him to say. “So you’re not married then.”