And now, just days before the wedding, she was making her last desperate attempt to get away, even though it meant leaving him behind. She picked up her wool valise, which contained her wrap and extra dress, and held her breath as she dropped it out the window. Then she hoisted herself through the open window, one leg at a time, until she dangled from the window sill on her forearms. Her feet were still too far away to reach the roof below so she’d have to drop. Which would be fine, except she couldn’t figure out how to close the window behind her. The fingers of one hand wrapped around the sash from the bottom but it refused to budge as she’d suspected it would. It had been difficult enough to open with both hands from inside. Finally, she gave up. Besides, it was well after midnight, no one would see it anyway.
She held tight to the sill and dropped until her arms were fully extended, then let go. She would have landed just fine, she was certain of it, but an arm caught her around the waist and a hand covered her mouth. That frightened her worse than the fall ever could have. But almost immediately, she recognized the breadth of the chest against her back and the scent that enveloped her.
“It’s me.” His breath whispered past her ear, making her skin tingle in awareness.
Her body sagged against him in relief as she tried to overcome the rush of adrenaline that pounded through her. “What are you doing on the roof?” The question came out of her in a breathless rush once he dropped the hand covering her mouth.
Gray didn’t answer, though, he just held her against him until her heart stopped threatening to pound out of her chest. Finally he moved away from her and explained. “I was out back when I saw you at the window. I figured you were making a run for it.” And then he picked up her valise and took her hand, leading her along the wall to the inverted corner where the sunroom met the rest of the house. Once there, he tossed the valise down and leaped nimbly down to the ground behind it. Sophie followed but much more hesitantly, getting down to her belly first and following that way. He caught her hips from behind and helped her reach the ground. But when he grabbed her hand again to pull her away, she revolted.
“What are you doing?”
“Taking you back upstairs before somebody sees you.” He explained.
“But I’m escaping. I’m not going back in. How can you want me to go back in there?”
He sighed but she couldn’t see his face to see what that meant. “How far do you think you’d get?”
She honestly didn’t know but it would be better than not trying. “How can you want me to go back in there knowing it means marriage to Anton? Is that what you want for me?”
As soon as the question left her lips, she was in his arms with his face buried in her hair. “No, the thought of you with him makes me crazy.” His voice was harsh against her ear.
Sophie savored the feel of his body against her, warm and comforting and so incredibly right it shouldn’t be forbidden. “Then let me go,” she whispered. “I could…I could wait for you or…or you could come with me.” Before she’d even finished she could feel him shaking his head.
“It won’t be that easy. This way is better. You just have to trust me.”
“Trust you?” It was an alarming concept. Jean had made it so she wasn’t sure she could ever trust anyone. Sophie pulled back just far enough to look up at him but it was too dark to see much except the shadowed outline of his features. “Are you saying I won’t have to marry Anton?”
He stared down at her and his thumb brushed her cheekbone, making the flesh there tingle. “I’m saying you have to trust me.”
The statement made her stomach flip-flop with anxiety. Could she trust him? He hadn’t told Jean the truth about that night but that could be because it saved him as much as it did her. How could she trust him when she didn’t even know what that meant? “Kiss me.”
There was no hesitation from him and in seconds his lips were on hers. The kiss was soft and tender, everything she imagined a goodbye kiss should be, but then he pressed inside and it became a kiss of hunger and promise that left her knees weak and made her lean heavily against him for support. When he released her, his hands held her face and his nose brushed hers. “Just trust me, Sophie.”
And God help her, she did.
* * *
The day of the wedding dawned dark with thunderclouds and a persistent chance of rain, in perfect accord with Sophie’s mood. She clutched her pillow tighter and stared out the window into one of the clouds as it drifted slowly by, reminding her of Gray’s eyes. Though she’d done nothing but think about it since he’d brought her back to her room, she hadn’t been able to figure out what he was planning. What did it mean to trust him? Would he stop the wedding? It would happen in mere hours if he didn’t stop it. Was that part of his plan? Or had he simply been trying to get her to go back to her room?
She didn’t know and it left her gripping her pillow with white-knuckled terror. She’d already determined that, no matter what, her participation in the wedding would be forced. She could not bring herself to marry Anton willingly. The words that would bind her to that man forever would never come forth from her lips. In the end, though, it wouldn’t matter. Jean would pay a bribe and it would be done, but at least she would know she had not married him in the eyes of God.
Her gaze moved from the cloud to the gown hanging in the corner and she felt her heart wrench. It really was a beautiful piece of work, just the sort of thing she had once dreamed of wearing to her wedding. White satin, with understated elegance and a few pieces of lace in all the right places. Now, if only the groom were right. She closed her eyes and without even trying, Gray stood there in his place. It was a foolish thought. He’d never want to marry her. Would he? She just didn’t know what he felt and it was making her irrational. As she was trying to figure it out, Martine knocked softly at the door.
She walked in just as Sophie raised her head. “I brought your breakfast.”
“I’m not hungry.”
Martine sighed, but didn’t comment as she set the tray aside. “Well, we should get started then.”
Sophie felt her stomach drop, but she nodded. The wedding would be at eleven sharp, downstairs in the parlor. If Gray had something planned, as the small hope flickering in the deepest recesses of her irrational mind insisted he did, then she wouldn’t ruin it by making Jean suspicious. So she sat demurely in front of her dresser while Martine fixed her hair, but all the while thinking of the way Gray had kissed her in that very same spot.
“It looks beautiful, if I do say so myself.” Martine smiled and admired her handiwork.
Startled that enough time had passed for her hair to already be finished, Sophie shook herself from her reverie to look in the mirror. The coiffure did look beautiful. Her golden locks were pulled back from her face and pinned, but a strand of diamonds intermingled with baby’s breath hid the pins and created a sort of tiara. The rest had been pulled back loosely so several curled strands fell down around her shoulders. “It’s wonderful.” But her gaze went back to the diamonds and she wondered bitterly if Jean would appear at Anton’s tonight to demand them back.
The thought of the night ahead made her shudder and she caught sight of her face. It was drawn and pale with blue smudges beneath the eyes. She decided then on no cosmetics. Her face looked a horror and it would serve Jean and Anton right if that’s the bride they got.
“We should put on your gown now,” Martine prompted, hesitating. “I’ll get Anne to help.”
“No!” Sophie couldn’t bear the company of anyone else. “We can do it alone.”
Minutes later, it was finished and Martine excused herself to go downstairs. Sophie had half an hour to herself before the wedding.
The front bell had been ringing for the past hour as guests arrived. All of them important business associates and contacts Jean could finagle to accept the invitation. Not one social acquaintance among them. As if she needed any further proof that she was simply a pawn in this arrangement. She paced relentlessly, unc
ertain but hopeful that at any moment Gray would appear in her room and tell her everything would be fine, that she wouldn’t have to marry Anton.
But the clock in her room ticked away without a knock on her door, without Gray, until finally it chimed eleven o’clock. She rubbed her damp palms on her gown, heedless of ruining it. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered if this damned wedding happened, if Gray had betrayed her. She walked to the window, hoping to see some hope of escape. There was nothing. A cart loaded with hay was being driven by an old man and pulled by two tired horses on the street past the back wall of their garden. A woman walked with a child skipping ahead of her. Out there, life continued, while here inside, hers was ending.
At exactly ten minutes past the hour, a knock sounded lightly on her door. Sophie’s heart leaped into her throat and pounded out a heavy rhythm there. She approached it cautiously, even timidly, afraid to open it and see that it wasn’t Gray. But finally her cold fingers turned the knob, and she had to stop her knees from going out, from giving in to the visceral response that instantly threatened to destroy her when she saw Martine’s petite frame standing there. Not Gray. Her eyes fell closed and she leaned against the door as she finally allowed herself to admit his betrayal.
He wasn’t coming. There would be no white knight riding to her rescue, no hero to keep her dragons at bay. The physical pain that tore through her was worse than she could have imagined. It was as real as any knife wound and it left her trembling with the aftershocks. It was made even worse by the knowledge that she’d walked right into the betrayal, had known the danger in trusting anyone and had done it anyway. Had wanted so much to have someone to hold on to when she had known all along that the only person she’d ever really have was herself.
Immediately her thoughts went to the day, the night, the life ahead of her. And she knew, without any doubt, that giving herself to Gray had been the worst mistake of her life. Not because she was shamed, but because it would make whatever happened with Anton so much worse. To have a taste of how things might have been and to lose it to settle for something that paled so much in comparison was worse than to have never known it at all.
“It’s time. Monsieur LaSalle requests you to come now.”
Sophie heard the words, but could barely nod a response past the pain that clogged her throat and threatened to cut off her air. In fact, she couldn’t move at all until Martine reached out to gently take her hand. She squeezed in reassurance and pulled her into the hallway and toward the stairs. Sophie followed on wooden legs, barely aware of their progress until they reached the bottom and Jean stood there smiling.
But as he looked her over, his smile faded to a sneer of disappointment. No, this was not the painted doll-bride he had ordered. “Didn’t you have enough time to get ready?” His hard gaze looked around the wide hallway to make sure they were alone.
No one was there except Martine behind her and Sinclair standing sentry at the closed double doors of the parlor. He refrained from meeting her gaze as she looked at him. She looked past him to the doors, the voices coming from inside telling her it was filled with guests awaiting her arrival. Her stomach rolled and it was only the fact that she hadn’t eaten anything that kept it from revolting.
“Go back upstairs and finish.” His voice snapped against her like a whip.
“So you think the lamb should go to the slaughter peacefully?” Her voice was raw as it scraped past the lump in her throat.
“Martine, get the flowers.” His fingers bit into her arm as he pulled her toward the closed doors. His voice lowered, but she felt its venom near her ear. “If you do anything to embarrass me, I promise you will regret it.”
She closed her eyes briefly as she thought of all the things she had done recently that would cause him embarrassment. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him about her lost virtue but, despite his betrayal, she wouldn’t endanger Gray needlessly. Jean could kill him.
“Here!” The bouquet of white roses was pushed callously into her hands.
She gripped them instinctively to keep them from falling. Before she could respond, the front door opened. Her breath stopped and she thought, now, surely now her knight would come. But it was an older man she recognized from the Nelsons’ ball. Jean left her to greet him and she heard his explanation of a late train, but then all sound stopped, at least for her, because Gray appeared behind the new arrival. He consumed her, leaving room for nothing else.
He walked past Jean and the guest, toward her, and she took in a slow, shallow breath, afraid to hope, afraid to think that maybe now. Maybe now he had come to save her. He was close enough that his scent assailed her, the leather and spice that clung to him, but also that scent she knew as his alone because she’d pressed her face against his naked flesh and breathed it in.
He walked by, close enough to touch, but then just as quickly he was past her, standing in front of Sinclair, his back to her. He’d walked by without even looking at her or acknowledging her in any way. Her gaze took in the breadth of his back, the dark hair that fell past his shoulders and she remembered the solid strength of him beneath her hands, the silk of him between her fingers.
It couldn’t have meant nothing to him.
Whatever he was saying to Sinclair was too low for her to hear, but she seriously doubted her ability to understand language at this point, anyway. She was all sensation and emotion. He turned toward the doors and she knew an insane need to talk to him just once. To remind him that she was there.
“Gray,” the word escaped her lips in a faint, aching whisper.
She almost thought he wouldn’t hear, but then his hand stopped on the crystal doorknob. He’d heard. Her heart leaped with joy but then his fingers turned the knob and he disappeared into the room. Words could never have conveyed what his actions had so eloquently accomplished.
She was alone.
Chapter Eight
Whatever might have been said after that door closed, Sophie wasn’t aware of it. She existed there in a fog of her own misery, reeling from Gray’s rejection, her mind turning in on itself as it attempted to insulate her from the pain. All she knew was that when next she happened to notice, Jean was standing before her pushing that bouquet into her hands again. The flowers must have fallen, because she looked down and saw perfect white petals sprinkled across the dark wood floor.
She wanted to take the bouquet, tried to move her fingers, but they wouldn’t respond to her command so the flowers fell to the floor again. Before she realized what had happened, Jean’s hand gripped her throat and the door pressed to her back. He stood above her, murmuring some threat, the whites of his eyes seeming to glow from his anger, but she couldn’t understand the words. Could only barely feel his fingers where they pressed at her neck.
Jean’s anger seemed so silly. He couldn’t know it, but Gray had accomplished what threats and fury never could have. Gray had broken her. By not even acknowledging her presence, by turning his back on his promise and the love she’d hoped they’d shared, he’d made it so she could hardly stand there holding herself up, much less offer Jean any fight. Even if her uncle allowed her to go, she hardly had the will to walk to the front door much less leave Helena.
Whatever Jean saw in her face seemed to reassure him and he let her go. Sophie glanced around to find the hall deserted. Sinclair and the last guest must have gone inside. Martine had disappeared. No one had witnessed his outburst. Of course not—he never would’ve done it had someone been around to see it. The thought had barely registered before Jean was sliding her hand through his arm and escorting her into the parlor.
It was filled with men. A few had brought their wives but most had come alone. She recognized a few from balls and dinners but the others were new faces. Without conscious thought, her gaze sought Gray. Even if she’d walked in with her eyes closed, she would’ve known where he stood. She gravitated to him like iron to a magnet.
He stood against the wall to her left and was watching her. She’d expecte
d the cool demeanor he’d shown in the hall but now he appeared tense and his gaze burned into her. Even now, when he’d clearly abandoned her and she knew he felt nothing, those gray eyes had the power to touch her. She blinked to keep her composure and forced herself to stare straight ahead.
Jean had guided her to the end of the aisle where Anton stood waiting. She didn’t acknowledge him, though, simply continued to stare ahead. Maybe if she kept herself away from what was taking place it wouldn’t really happen. Maybe it would all go away and she would wake up back in Gray’s room with his arms around her and his heart beating beneath her ear. The thought was so painful it made her close her eyes to steel herself against it while a tear slid down her cheek. And when she opened them, the whole world had changed.
Someone shouted; it sounded like Sinclair. She turned her head to find him and saw the parlor doors had opened. Had someone else come in? For a split second everyone stopped, but then the room erupted in a flurry of movement. Something hit her from behind so hard it laid her out on the ground and knocked the breath from her lungs. Just then she heard three gunshots. She tried to move but the weight was still on her. The shooting was over in seconds and the room filled with the acrid smoke of the shots; she could even taste it.
Gray was shouting near her ear. She turned her head from the sound and realized it was his weight that was on her back. Sinclair was kneeling near the door, his smoking gun still in hand. Just as quickly as he had tackled her, Gray was off her and had grabbed Anton. She watched in horror as they struggled, unable to comprehend what was going on. Her gaze took in the chaos of the room and saw that many others had come in; one of them she recognized as the sheriff, his star-shaped insignia pinned to his shirt.
She didn’t see Jean, but Anton had been subdued and was lying on the floor as his hands were tied behind his back. Over his inert form, she met Gray’s quick glance and knew a moment of panic. He seemed a stranger to her, completely cold and remote as he focused on the task. She didn’t know who he was. He clearly wasn’t the man who had shared so much with her. The panic overwhelmed her, bringing her to her feet and making her run from the room and the confusion. She meant to run out the front door but it was wide open and there were even more men that way. So she turned and ran out the back. She didn’t know where she hoped to run, only that she had to get away.
Her Forbidden Gunslinger Page 6