by Sharon Page
He frowned. “How could you know that for certain?”
“I—a woman can tell.” She did not want him to know how she knew. That she’d compared how Peabody looked when she spoke of Lady Maryanne to the way Lyan used to look at her.
“Thank you,” Lyan said. “I pray I’m not too late.”
“What are you going to do?” She knew she had to be quiet, but her voice rose in fear. “I went out this afternoon. Peabody’s shop is still closed up. I spoke to his employee and his neighbors. He hasn’t come back.”
“I think if Cavell arranged for his ward’s death, it would be known by now that she had been killed. He’d want it done fast. It would be easy enough to make it look like a highwayman attacked her on the way to Scotland. I think the fact that she hasn’t turned up dead means she is still alive. I think he wants her back to marry her himself, which gives him both the lady and control of her fortune. Hell, I have to believe that.”
Stark pain showed on Lyan’s face. How harsh and sharply cut his features were, now that he’d matured from a youth to a man. “Why would he hire you, if he was the one to arrange for her to disappear?” she asked.
“To make it look like he’s innocent. Or because she escaped his trap. He might genuinely have no idea where she is. I’m going toward Gretna. I hope Lady Maryanne and her suitor are hiding somewhere along the way there.”
“I would like to come with you. I want to know Maryanne was safe, and I could help you. For a start, I know what Peabody looks like. But I have my business…though my other seamstresses could cope with customers for a day or two. But there is Rose—I would not want to leave Rose alone.”
“I suspect you could help me,” Lyan said. “But I agree. I do not like the idea of leaving your daughter alone. She could come and stay at my home. My sister is there, as well as many servants. She would be very safe.”
“At your house?” It was a kind offer and so astonishing when he was still angry with her. “All right.”
“I have one more condition,” he growled. “I want you to promise you won’t help my sister, Laura, if she asks you to help her elope.”
“Heavens! What—?” She swallowed hard. Nothing had escaped him in the past. That hadn’t changed. He must have sensed his sister was in love. “Of course not. But why do you think she would run away rather than ask your permission?”
His brow rose sharply. “Because sometimes women do damned illogical things.”
“All right. I agree. But I have conditions for you.”
His mouth neared hers, making her go almost cross-eyed as she watched his beautiful lips approach. Oh, how she ached for another kiss.
“Indeed?” he asked.
She fought for control. “No more kissing,” she said tersely. She wanted to throw these rules to the wind, and she wanted to kiss him and never stop. But she couldn’t. “No more touches. That’s behind us, Lyan. There can never be anything between us again.”
* * * * * * * * *
Chapter Four
“Why did you do it, Sally? Why did you run out on me before I came back for you? I thought—apparently like a blind fool—you intended to be my wife.”
Estelle jerked her gaze from the carriage window, where she had kept it fixed for several hours. The carriage lamps were lit now, so all she could see was a shadowy reflection of her own face.
Lyan was sprawled over the seat across from her, his long legs splayed to make room for them in such a way that his Hessians did not touch her slippers. His arms stretched along the back of the velvet-covered bench. Ever since they had entered the carriage together, he had stared fixedly out whatever window proved opposite to the one she gazed at. Each time she’d stolen a surreptitious glance, she’d discovered he was not looking at her.
That was for the best. It would be stupid and irresponsible to feel anything else, any sort of girlish pang. She had long stowed away the desires and foolish fantasies that always began with the question “what if.” From the moment she’d made her choice to run away, then discovered she was carrying Rose, she had known exactly what she must do. Survive, build a business, invent a plausible story about widowhood, and raise her daughter. Rose had been what she’d lived for.
Her future had been mapped out. Decided. It was not to be changed. What she could do was shape the futures of others.
She did owe Lyan some sort of explanation, but although she’d had ten years to concoct one, she had never come up with one that satisfied her. Fear had been the reason she had run—not fear of Lyan, but dark fears that had lived deep inside her. Yet she hadn’t been as afraid of living alone as she had been of marriage, and that seemed like madness now.
“I did it so I could have what I have now,” she said.
“What do you have now?” he asked. “I could have given you anything you wanted. I would have moved heaven and earth for you.”
Did Lucifer sound like this—like smooth-flowing brandy or like chocolate when it bubbled in a cup—when he promised to fulfill a woman’s dreams in return for her soul?
There were so many times she had wished for someone to rely on. The only thing that had stopped her from surrendering to the pretty dream of letting a man take care of her was the certain knowledge that no man would. Just as men had promised her mother protection and had given her nothing but pain.
Estelle cleared her throat, as if just a little more time would clear away the heat wrapping tentative fingers around her heart, the yearning blossoming between her thighs. “I have my business and enough money to survive. I have my daughter. I suppose what I have is success and security.”
“But you have no husband. No one to protect you.”
“I protect myself.” She managed a smile. “You, of all people, must remember I am capable of that.”
“Aye,” he answered with a breathtaking grin of his own, one that carved dimples deep enough to make her knees quiver. “I still bear a few scars to prove it.”
She had forgotten what this was like. For ten years, she had worked every minute of the day. Her needle would flash through cloth late into the night, while she would be desperately blinking to keep her eyes open. Hour upon hour. Day upon day. From behind a mound of fabric and patterns, she had watched Rose grow into a beautiful, quick-witted girl. She had carved out a formidable reputation amongst the ton for her gowns.
But she had not had a friend.
“I’ve never forgotten our wedding night,” he said softly.
She had guessed that already.
“For ten years,” he went on, “I’ve considered myself married to you.”
That startled her. “But you have the reputation of a rake.”
He groaned. Even with the carriage lamps on inside, shadows still lurked in the corners. Lyan leaned back, letting the gloom hide his face. “There were times the need got a bit too much, I’ll admit that. But I never fell in love, Sally. Not once.”
“Oh heavens, Lyan. I wish you had.” If he had, she could have forgiven herself. “How much longer until we reach the border?”
“We’ll have to stop for the night. We’ll find an inn along the road, and leave in the morn, as early as possible.”
“An inn.” She took a deep breath. “Separate rooms, of course.”
“Of course? We made marriage vows. We had a wedding night.” He leaned forward. The teasing note in his voice was not reflected in his eyes, which glinted in the lamplight like cold glass.
“Ten years ago,” she said. “And our vows were not spoken in a church or before a vicar.”
“The passing time makes no difference. The intention of marriage vows is for husband and wife to make a promise to each other. Does it matter if it is in a house of God?”
Estelle trembled. He had always been able to do this to her. Bring out emotions—or desires—she did not want to face. “Legally it does. I am not your wife, Lyan. I will never be. I do not consider our marriage to be valid. I ran away from you. Isn’t that reason enough for you to think that, too? D
on’t you want to admit our vows meant nothing? For that means you would be free.”
“Ah, Sal, but that’s the irony. I’ll never be free of you.”
* * *
The Rose and Crown was the third inn at which they’d stopped. It looked more prosperous than the other two, with many coaches rumbling in and out of the yard, servants hurrying to and fro, and well-dressed patrons arriving for the night. Coachmen drank ale around the water troughs, singing to the tune of a jauntily played fiddle.
Estelle had been commanded to stay in the carriage. But she ignored Lyan, hopped down, and hurried inside after him. He was leaning on a counter, in deep discussion with the innkeeper, a thick-set bald man with a large stomach and enormous arms.
Lyan turned at the sound of her footstep. “Ah, my wife.” He did the introductions. One key dangled from his hand.
“I said two rooms,” she muttered, softly. The innkeeper might look lumbering and slow, but she imagined he had trained his ears to catch murmured conversations.
Lyan tucked her hand in the crook of his arm and led her toward the narrow stair for the upper floor. “There is only one available. You can sleep in the stable if you’d like, but I prefer a bed.” Then his voice dropped even lower, and against her ear, he whispered, “They were here two days ago. Peabody and Lady Maryanne. She wore a heavy veil, but the man matched the description of her suitor. He took a room for them as husband and wife, and she was seen fiddling with a wedding ring.”
Estelle felt such relief that it was like taking a long breath of air after loosening a corset. It surged in so quickly it left her light headed. She wanted to believe she had rescued Maryanne. She wanted to believe she had carved out another happy ending in a world sadly lacking in them. But relief, like a breath, whooshed out. “They could have been posing as married but had not yet—”
“After heading to Gretna six days ago?” Lyan asked. “I suspect they would have raced up there, stopping only when necessary. They could have reached it in two days. No, I think they were wed and were returning to London.”
“But why didn’t they get there?” she whispered. Her body still ached from the tension of sitting in a carriage, trying to not look at the man who had sat opposite. She felt even stiffer at the thought they would soon reach their one room, which would contain one bed.
“That’s the mystery,” he agreed. “But dinner first, and a night here. You look as though you are ready to fall to the floor. You, my dear, can have the bed.”
* * *
It was unsettling to have him lying on the floor. Rather like keeping a sleeping tiger in the bedroom. Moonlight slanted in through a space between the threadbare drapes. Estelle hadn’t slept a wink, and she didn’t imagine she would any time soon. She lay on her back, staring up the silvery light that flickered over the dark ceiling. She wore a thick, unflattering flannel nightgown, buttoned to her throat.
“You aren’t sleeping.”
Lyan’s matter-of-fact statement had her jerking up the worn sheets. He was on his knees beside her bed, elbows resting on her mattress. Watching her. He had stripped to his trousers. The last time she’d seen him without a shirt, he had been a lad of seventeen. Strong and well built, but nothing like….like this.
“I’m intrigued,” he continued. “Why do you help young women run away? Is it because it worked so well for you?”
She flushed. “No. It was because I wanted them to find the one thing I had turned my back on. Love.”
In the stark bluish light, he looked haggard. “Before I caught you in your house, I took a peek at your daughter.”
Indignant, she sat up in the bed, fisting her hands at her sides. “You had no right—”
“She was sleeping and I didn’t wake her. I took great care to ensure she didn’t see me. I know she is mine, Sal. I wanted to see if you would finally tell me. But you won’t, will you? You’d have let me go to my death without knowing I had a child.” He shoved back his hair. It was loose and fell in coal-black waves around his shoulders. “Why, Sal?”
She hugged herself. This was a mistake. She should never have put herself in a position where she was alone with him. She knew he wouldn’t hurt her, not with his hands, but his pain was stabbing her like blades. She’d never seen any man look as wounded, as tortured, as Lyan did now.
“I—I have finally given her some happiness.”
“I know why, Sally. You don’t want her to blame you for the choices you made. When did you know you were pregnant? Before or after you ran away?”
“After,” she whispered.
“You could have found me. I would have married you then. If there had been the three of us—Hades, Sal, you wouldn’t have had to work your fingers to the bone as a seamstress. You would have known I would always be there for you.”
“I didn’t know that then,” she cried. “All I knew was what I’d seen of my mother and men. I vowed I would never be dependent on anyone.”
“I would never have been that kind of man. I know exactly what sort of men your mother turned to, hoping one would look after her. You had to know I wasn’t like that.”
“She thought all of those men were good men, too.”
He recoiled, lips cranking down in an expression of stunned hurt. But he only revealed the emotion for a moment. A heartbeat later, he showed nothing on his face but distant coolness. “You cost me ten years, Sal. Ten years I could have had with my child.”
“I suppose you hate me.” A daft statement—she had seen the raw pain in his eyes. How could he not hate her for her terrible underestimation of his character? And he must despise her for keeping Rose a secret. Any decent, noble, responsible man would.
“What are you going to do to me, Lyan, after we find Lady Maryanne? Do you plan to hand me over to Cavell? That would give you what you must want—revenge.” It was too late for her to run now. This time, she had no escape.
He jerked back. Anger flared in his green eyes. “Sally. I suspect Cavell might have plotted to murder his ward.”
Again, she’d accused him of being cruel, and it had obviously struck him like a blow.
She had to get away from him. Guilt was crushing her, and every word seemed to hurt him more.
She moved away, trying to scuttle across the bed. But he grasped her wrist and pulled her back with such force, she squeaked in shock and fell across the mattress. She landed on her stomach. Facing him. “I would never betray you. Understand that.” He cursed and let go of her. “If Cavell conspired to kill his ward, I intend to see him pay.”
“He is too powerful, Lyan.” Bitterness gave her voice a sharp edge. Cavell had no good in him. Despite his higher station, he was exactly like the men of the stews who had lured in her mother with the promise of a bed and a marriage, and instead gave her only fists and fear. On this there was no doubt—she was correct about Lord Cavell.
“Men like him are never punished,” she said grimly. “He’ll be free.” The consequences of that sent a rush of icy panic to her heart. “Did you tell him I helped Maryanne?”
“I didn’t. But he suspected you of helping her. He knew she had appointments with you.” His eyes narrowed. “Cavell seems to think you would have helped Maryanne to spite him. But I have no idea what he was talking about.”
Spite him. She would like to see him rot in Newgate for what he had done to her. For the way he had left Rose with fears and nightmares.
Lyan was watching her carefully. “What are you afraid of, Sal? Cavell?”
Yes, she was terrified. But she couldn’t let him see it. That was how she had always survived—by never allowing anyone to see her fear. What would happen if she were honest with Lyan? If he knew Cavell had threatened Rose the night that fiend had broken into her home…
She knew what Lyan would do. He was not so far removed from the boy he had once been, ready to mete out ruthless justice when necessary. She would wager that as a Runner, he had adhered to the law, but that he had never entirely vanquished the scrappy boy who kn
ew how to fight—and win.
But no matter what the outcome of a fight or a duel, Lyan would have to face the law. And then—
“Maryanne is likely a married woman by now,” Lyan said, breaking into her racing thoughts. “She will have her fortune, and she can buy herself a lot of protection with money. How will you protect yourself, Sally?”
“I—I will do it somehow.” She would do it to protect Rose. She would protect Rose, in every way and at any cost. But she was afraid. Cavell was capable of anything. If she were to make a mistake, if he were to kill her, Rose would be vulnerable. She had no doubt that Cavell, the evil blackguard, would take delight in hurting Rose too.
“There is a solution. Marry me.” Lyan smiled, and he had never looked more devastating, more tempting. “Again. As your husband, I can keep you safe. Cavell—for all his threats, his bluster, and his arrogance—would never try to hurt you if he knew I’d rip him apart over it.”
“You are going to be an earl. You can’t rip men apart.” She’d been right. Of course, she had. Ten years had not changed Lyan’s nature.
It made her realize how foolish she had been to run because she feared Lyan might turn into someone quite different, the instant he had her in his power. He would always be protective and noble.
He lifted his brow in a way that warned her he could do anything. “Oh? You just told me peers are above the law.”
Her heart thudded in fear. “Not for killing other peers.” He couldn’t throw his life away over her. It was bad enough that he had waited for her. He couldn’t give her any more. She could not live with that.
“It was Cavell, wasn’t it?” Low and dangerous, his voice made her shiver. “He was the man who attacked you. Who made you afraid.” He had never spoken like this. Not so terrifyingly.