Abigail Jones (Chronicles of Abigail Jones #1)

by Grace Callaway

  I understood the question he was asking, the decision he was leaving to me. Dare I know this part of my employer? Dare I risk further intimacy with this man to whom I already felt a terrifying attraction, a potent and dangerous bond? Dare I expose myself to the pain of what could never be?

  Yet he needed me—I could see it in the tautness of his posture, the stillness of a man used to shouldering his own burdens. And he had hired me for this purpose, I suddenly comprehended: for what was a secretary, if not a repository of secrets? Though we could never be lovers, a different sort of intimacy could bind us. It was all I could have of him; it would have to be enough.

  "Tell me." The words left me half-sound, half-breath.

  His eyes closed for an instant. I could see the muscle leaping in his jaw, the tension between concealment and exposure drawn harshly across his features. "You are certain?"

  "Yes ... I want to know."

  "Very well, then." His eyes lit with feverish intensity. "You will know everything about me, Abby. All that I was and what I am. And you, with your goddess' eyes, your unimpeachable spirit—you will judge me as you will."

  My throat closed. If only he was right; if only the fabric of my soul was as spotless as he described. It had to be true, I told myself fiercely. I would keep out the darkness, shut it out with my mind as I always had.

  "'Tis none but God who can judge you," I said.

  "God—what has He given me but trouble?" Hux gave a mirthless laugh. "But I digress. You have many questions, I am sure, about the extraordinary events you witnessed this evening. But I must take you back further, to the start of the story so you may fully understand. For this, I must beg your patience."

  Sitting back, I nodded.

  "The tale begins with two boys, the sons of a wealthy earl. Though the two brothers were born three years apart, they might have been twins for their closeness of mind and spirit. The older boy was named John; I was the younger."

  These facts I already knew from Mrs. Beecher. To keep her confidence, I said, "'Tis not common knowledge, your having a brother."

  "The world knows little of it. My family was living in Yorkshire at the time. And John—he was only thirteen when he died." His gaze grew unfocused; I could sense him withdrawing, being pulled inexorably into the past. "He was the good boy, the proper one, you see. The earl and the countess adored him—everybody did, myself included. You'd have thought such a paragon beyond bearing, but there was no righteousness, no smallness in John. I cannot count the times he took the blame for some mischief I caused. How many times he stood up for me. I followed him as faithfully as a pup, right to that last day."

  I tried to assimilate this new image of Hux. Not the born leader as he seemed to be, but a dark-haired boy who'd adored his older brother. Who'd follow him anywhere. The words Mrs. Beecher had seen echoed in my head: Forgive me, forgive me, forgive me ...

  I felt my mouth dry. "What happened that day?" I asked with quiet trepidation.

  "It was winter. For a fortnight, we had been closed in by snow storms. The chill of the wind was such that it could freeze exposed flesh within minutes. I was bored beyond belief in the nursery. John, he could read and do his lessons all day long—but I could hardly stand to sit still. I begged him to go outside with me. I whined and pleaded until he could refuse me no longer."

  "I made up a story to tell our tutor—I was good at that—so that John and I could make our escape. We dressed in our warmest clothes; I still remember the matching navy wool jackets and red woolen scarves. We left the house through a back way, one that led to a meadow and beyond that a lake."

  Hux's hands were fisted now upon his lap, and I could see the bone of the knuckle shining through the skin. "It was the lake, you see, that I pestered John about. I wanted to see if it had turned to ice. And it had." His voice drifted into the quiet chill of that day. "It was beautiful. A giant black mirror. It was so still, so quiet. I could not wait to run across it."

  My throat constricted; my pulse leapt with foreboding.

  "John, being the cautious one, told me not to. But I scoffed at his warning. I called him a coward and took off over the ice. I was going to show him how brave I was—how, for once, I could do what my older brother feared to. I remember crossing back and forth the first time, the feeling of flying over the smoothest glass. 'Twas so grand that I did it again. John was shouting at me from the bank. I didn't listen. I didn't even hear the cracking until it was too late."

  "My God," I whispered.

  "I fell in. The panic I felt—I cannot describe it. The blackness, the icy water rushing over my head and into my lungs. I struggled to stay afloat as the weight of my clothes dragged me down. I couldn't breathe, I was sinking into the cold, the darkness—and then something grabbed hold of me. A force that propelled me upward toward the light. The air sliced into my lungs, and I found myself coughing, lying upon a cold, solid surface."

  "It was John," I said numbly. "He went in after you."

  Hux's face was as still as the lake that haunted his memories. "Somehow, he managed to get both of us to the shore. I don't know how long we lay in the snow. Not more than half hour, I suppose—later I was told we were lying side by side when they found us. Still wearing our matching coats and scarves. They rushed us back to the house. I do not remember much else for the delirium that took me."

  "When I came to myself days later, the first person I asked for was John. I could tell by Nurse's reaction that something terrible had happened—and yet even then I could not fathom it. I could not imagine my older brother being anything but his vital, perfect self." Hux's chest rose and fell in rapid waves; his eyes were sheened with moisture. "The earl was the one to tell me. He came into the sickroom the next day, and I cannot describe the look upon his face. The helpless rage. He could hardly look at me as he spoke."

  "John is crippled, and you are the cause of it. Those were his only words. Then he left."

  I saw the shudder run through him, and I could bear it no longer. I went to him, kneeling between his knees, taking his head upon my shoulder. He did not resist me; he leaned into the small comfort I could offer. I could feel the dampness of his cheek against mine as I stroked his hair, his shoulders. As I held him the way his father should have done.

  After a while, he pulled me from the floor, and I went willingly. It seemed natural to have my arms circling his neck as he held me fiercely; I suspected I was his only anchor to the present. I waited for him to regain his composure, for I knew the tale was not nearly finished.

  "The surgeon had ... he'd had to amputate one of John's legs, where the frost had eaten into the flesh. The cold had taken hold of John's mind as well; he was never the same boy he once was. He lived in constant pain. He had uncontrollable fits; many days, he had to be strapped to a wooden chair to prevent injury to himself. Three years my brother survived this way ... until, one day, Nurse found him."

  "What happened?" I whispered.

  "There was an empty bottle beside the chair. Laudanum," Hux said in a thick voice. "Someone had left it out. And John he—"

  I held him more tightly. I had not the words to soothe. Not this.

  "It was ruled an accident," he said at last, "and John given a Christian burial. But I feared the truth of what my brother had done, what I would have done in the face of such suffering. I prayed for his soul, Abby. To this day, I pray for him."

  "He is blameless," I said. "As are you. God must see that."

  Hux did not speak for several moments. "We were lost without John. Things deteriorated from that point on between the earl and me. The countess, too—for she did as her husband bade. They did not wish to see me. But given that I was now the heir, they could not be rid of me entirely. So I was sent away to schools. I spent holidays in the care of servants or the homes of friends."

  I understood now the source of the kinship I had always felt with him. He knew loneliness the way I did. The isolation imposed by loss and feelings of defectiveness. I entwined my fingers with
his.

  "As I grew into manhood, my behavior took on a similar trajectory—it, too, deteriorated." Hux's grip tightened over my hand and my waist. "I took as my friends other young rakehells prone to drinking and debauchery. I passed my time in taverns and brothels. I was easy to anger; I cannot tell you how many of my nights ended with my fists bloodied. Everything you have heard about me is true: I sinned with a vengeance. I drank, gambled, and whored with a wildness I can neither explain or excuse."

  But I could. Explain it, that is. "How long did it take—for your parents to take notice?"

  Hux's head turned swiftly. Something blazed in his eyes. After a moment, the line of his mouth lost some of its bleakness. "My Athena, she misses nothing," he said softly. "You see what it took me many years to understand. I knew only the anger I felt—the loneliness and the guilt. And I blamed myself."

  "You wanted your parents' affection," I said, "and that is the natural longing for a child. Or even a man."

  "I did not deserve it," Hux said roughly, "not after what I had done to John. But I suppose you have the right of it. In my heart, I wanted my parents to see me once more. If not to forgive, then at least to acknowledge in some way that they had another son—one who still lived. My behavior succeeded in that. They could no longer ignore the scandals I was causing and the damage to the Huxton name."

  I remembered what Mrs. Beecher had told me. "So they sent you away again."

  "The continent, this time. The Grand Tour—with the express purpose of getting their recalcitrant heir out of their hair."

  "It didn't work, did it," I said.

  "It made me angrier. I did not understand my fury then—I merely acted upon it. Like a beast caught in a trap, I'd have torn off my own leg to be free of that anger. I ran with a trio of hell-raisers, and I did what I did best. My friend Reginald had the reputation for drinking, Marcus for gambling—and I for ..." Hux paused, his throat working, "my prowess with women."

  He fell silent. I realized he was waiting—for my reaction. I was hardly surprised by his statement. From everything I knew, seduction was a skill he did indeed excel at. Yet the self-loathing in his voice made something in my chest clench. I was seeing that far from being a carefree libertine, Hux was a man who held himself responsible for a great many faults. Who judged himself harshly. Who punished himself with more regularity and force than the gossips ever could.

  Compassion moved me to speak lightly. "As my aunt always said, we must all be good at something."

  There was a pause—and then a sound was startled from him, like a dove from a darkened belfry. "I suppose we must thank Aunt Agnes once again for her pearls of wisdom." Though his voice was somber, it was not quite so grim as before. "I spent my time indulging in aimless sexual pursuits, more or less sleeping my way across Europe. Eventually, I ended up in Florence. I suppose tales of my wildness preceded me; I found myself flocked by willing signoras, even a contessa or two. Without thought or feeling, I availed myself of those pleasures."

  My Italian was limited, but I knew enough to ask, "You ... dallied with married ladies?"

  "They suited my purposes. Being versed in the sexual arts and bored with their marital beds, they were only too happy to take on a young English lord for a lover. But do not endow me with a conscience where I have none, Abigail," he said sharply, as if reading my thoughts. "The reason I stayed away from the innocents was because the prospects of inexperience and marriage held no appeal for me."

  "Oh."

  "Not, at any rate, until I saw her."

  The grim set of his jaw was back; beneath my skirts, I felt the quivering stiffness of his thighs. And I knew what was to come next. I knew he was summoning up the strength to speak of the woman above the mantel, whose heavy-lidded eyes I could feel watching us, taking everything in beneath the disdainful sweep of gold.

  I wanted him to tell me; I dreaded what he might say.

  "You met your wife there, in Florence," I said neutrally.

  A muscle worked in his jaw. His eyes smoldered with the force of what he held back. His grip on my waist tightened so that I could feel the shape of his five fingers through the layer of my stays.

  "Was she as lovely," I blurted, gesturing to the woman in the gold frame, "in person as in her portrait?"

  "That is not her," he said flatly. "I killed her years before that portrait was painted."

  TWENTY-TWO

  The aftershock of his statement reverberated in the quiet. For an instant, I felt nothing. My body recovered first; it catapulted out of his lap, stumbled several paces to behind the settee. My hands steadied against the wood frame as thoughts exploded to life. He'd killed her. What Mrs. Beecher had said was true. I could not have believed her, had he not just confessed it now himself.

  My eyes latched upon his face. He remained seated, his face hewn in severe lines.

  How could you do such a thing, Hux? And why? There must be some explanation—

  "It was an accident," I said suddenly. "You did not literally mean to say you killed her."

  "I killed her as surely as if I had strangled her with my bare hands," he said.

  A moan broke from my lips.

  I jumped at the knock on the door. Spinning around, I saw Maggie entering with a tea tray.

  "Good afternoon," she said, "I thought you'd be ready for yer tea seein' as ye missed lunch. Not much fer cookin', but I did scare up a few things from the pantry. Plenty o' cheese, and I toasted the bread. Found some apples, too, which I cut up in nice, neat wedges."

  Setting the tray on the coffee table, Maggie turned a beaming face to Hux. He was white-lipped, his gaze upon the dying flames of the fire. The maid looked to me. I tried to summon the approval I knew she was seeking. My entire being felt frozen, incapable of responding to anything for the shock running through my veins. After an awkward moment, she bobbed a hasty curtsy and mumbled, "Ring if ye be needin' anyfin'" before scurrying off.

  The creak of the door closing prickled my senses; I experienced the sudden impulse to follow Maggie. To leave this room, this place—this man whose ravaged face filled me with fear and yearning in equal measure. I wanted to run away; I longed to be closer. So I stayed as I was, caught behind the settee, trapped by own indecision. My eyes strayed to the door as it clicked shut.

  "Go, if that is your wish." Hux's words rasped through the silence. "You have heard and seen enough—nay, too much already. I will not stop you, Abigail."

  "Now you say that?" I cried. "After all that has passed you think I can leave you? Leave without knowing the truth of what I saw last night and of this ... this deed you have just confessed to committing."

  Hux rose to his feet. His gaze flicked to my hands, and his mouth twisted. I realized how tightly I was gripping the settee, how tense the play of knuckle and bone beneath the fragile skin.

  Swallowing, I called upon my inner resources. "'Tis too late now. You must tell me, Hux. About your wife."

  He came toward me. I felt the instinct to run—away or into his arms, I did not know. I no longer knew where safety lay. He spared me from making the choice. Walking past me, he went to the cabinet, which held a tray of spirits. Uncorking a crystal decanter, he splashed amber liquid into a glass. He downed the contents in one swallow.

  Wordlessly, he raised the glass at me. I shook my head.

  "Liquid courage," he said mockingly and poured himself another shot. He drank that, too, before continuing. "Her name was Isabella Del Blanco. We met at a masquerade in Florence. She was the young widow of a wealthy merchant and the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. I still remember the dress she wore that night: layers of white and gold that floated around her. I thought her an angel descended into our midst."

  He was looking at me, but his eyes had that distant focus again. I knew he was seeing his wife as he had that first time. Reliving that moment forever imprinted upon his memory.

  "I had to know her. But she was surrounded by admirers, and I—so used to the attention of the fair sex—I c
ould not get her to notice me. So I bided my time. I waited until I saw her slip out to a balcony, and I followed her there. I pressed for an introduction. But it turned out she knew me already—she had heard of my exploits from her friends, she said, and she wanted to know if the rumors were true."

  "Rumors?" I could not help but ask.

  A dull flush spread over his cheekbones. "About my ... stamina. 'Twas a trifling matter, grossly exaggerated." He cleared his throat. "At any rate, she seduced me that night. Then and there, on the balcony overlooking a piazza brimming with revelers, she took me as no woman ever had. I had thought myself experienced in carnal arts, but she overwhelmed me completely—with her beauty, her lack of restraint. I had never felt this way with another woman. The next morning, I asked her to marry me. Within a week, we were wed by special license."

  My heart seemed to have taken residence in my throat. I could not speak for its thudding cadence.

  "For that first month, I thought I had found happiness at last. What man could not be happy, having won such a prize for his wife." Bitterness honed the contours of his face. "My nights were spent in passion, my days accompanying my new bride wherever she wished. Everywhere we went, I noticed the covetous looks of the other men, and bloody fool that I was, it made me proud. Look all you want, I thought, but she has chosen me. She is mine alone now. How wrong I was."

  He paused to take a gulp of his drink. I thought I saw his hand shake as he lowered the glass. "It didn't take long for the gossip to reach my ears. At first, I ignored it. I told myself that the wags were jealous of our happiness. Eager to destroy what they themselves did not have. But as the weeks went on, I found myself noticing things I had not before. Small things—a look that passed between Isabella and another man. The way his hand might linger at the small of her back after the dance had ended. Signs that could mean nothing ... or everything."