Spence turned the corner, spotting her hunched over the outline of the vegetable bed, viciously attacking a clump of weeds and knotted roots in her attempt to clear out a square of earth suitable for planting. He’d told her to leave such a thing to the gardener she’d hired, but Elizabeth insisted on doing it herself.
As he watched, she paused in her work, her slender form shaking in distress. A quiet sob met his ears as she paused to wipe her face. Clumps of dirt and weeds flung out from her trowel as she began to hack away at the unfortunate weed again.
Spence stopped, a sick feeling of dread settling within him.
Someone has told Elizabeth she’s married a monster.
His role as courier for the Crown was never discussed openly. Most within the ton considered Spence’s duties with the ministry to be no more than conjecture. Rumor. Like the treason associated with Nick’s father. Or the ridiculous notion that some Dunbar ancestor had sold his soul to the devil. The Dunbars served the Crown was an old saying in the clubs of London, but no one dared look too closely, possibly afraid of what they might find.
Except for the occasional errand, Spence would no longer serve the Crown. Marriage had been a prerequisite to retirement, or at the very least, was supposed to ease the path to freedom. It was part of the agreement, insisted upon by the first Duke of Dunbar to protect his sons and their heirs.
He’d meant to tell Elizabeth the entire story. All of it. The old tale. The rumors. His involvement. Preferably after she was with child and bound to him so completely, she’d have no inclination to leave him. But seeing the tremble of her slender body, Spence knew he shouldn’t have waited. Anguish hovered in the air around Elizabeth as if her heart had been broken.
I’m the cause. He’d always known the shadows of what he was would bleed into Elizabeth. His darkness would snuff out her glorious light. Perhaps this was his punishment for all the things he’d done.
He inhaled sharply at the painful twinge across his chest.
She began to saw at the root with the trowel in her hand, hacking away until a grief- stricken sound erupted from her.
There was no beating around the bush, so to speak. If he hadn’t been about to lose the only thing that mattered to him, Spence would have chuckled at his pun.
“I do wonder if you see my face while you hack at that root.”
Elizabeth sniffed and straightened up. “My lord.”
Spence kneeled next to her in the dirt, and gently tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
His wife flinched from him, the action chipping at his heart. Her eyes were the color of sapphires, red-rimmed and wounded. When she spoke, her voice was full of anger and disappointment.
“You should have told me, Spencer. Everyone has been speaking in circles about you, including my own brother. All those whispers at Lendon’s the other night. The ministry. I thought you were a bloody courier. Delivering letters and documents on behalf of the Crown.” She turned to him, betrayal shining in her eyes. “You killed him, didn’t you? The man at the inn. The one who touched me?”
He wondered who had casually informed Elizabeth that she’d married a monster—a man no better than the thugs in St. Giles who slit throats for a living. Spence didn’t bother to deny her accusation. “He attacked you.”
Elizabeth took a ragged breath and clasped one hand to her chest. “You lied to me.” Her lips trembled as she said more to herself than him, “I thought he was only unconscious. He twitched.”
“You never asked me if I killed him, only what I did with him.” He shot back.
“Don’t split hairs, Kelso. You knew damn well what I was asking you.”
He drew a hand through his hair, already feeling Elizabeth pulling away from him. “I reacted without thinking.”
“And the Wilted Rose?” she accused. “You said it was an errand. Is that what you call such things? All this time I was foolish enough to believe you truly were on an errand. No wonder Dolly and Porter looked at me so oddly when I used the word to describe your trip to Beckford Abbey.”
“For God’s sake, Elizabeth, what did you think I was doing at the Wilted Rose? Did you imagine I’d stopped in the middle of the night for a card game? We were chased by men on horseback with pistols. You weren’t disappointed in my skills when they managed to keep you safe. I saw no shying away from my offer of protection when you required rescue from the likes of Gustave or your mother.” He stretched his palms over his thighs. “You knew what I was.”
Please Elizabeth, don’t leave me.
She looked away and began digging again. “So this is my fault? I’m to blame for being so unintelligent I didn’t know my husband was an assassin?”
“I am no longer.” He reached out, surprised to see his hand tremble before running his fingers down the length of her back.
Elizabeth’s body swayed into his hand before she lurched away, clearly disgusted by his touch. “Stop.”
“Don’t be afraid of me.” He choked on the words. Spence couldn’t bear it if she was.
“I’m not.” She turned and wiped a tear from her eye with her sleeve. “But I do not wish to be the cause of someone’s death. Ever again. No matter if it is deserved or not. Do you understand?” Elizabeth inhaled sharply. Painfully. “It would break me.”
She was speaking of her father and the man at the inn and possibly, to some extent, of Archie Runyon.
“I suspected you were involved in…unsavory activities, Kelso. You were armed to the teeth. For God’s sake, you had knives stuck into the tops of your boots. But I never imagined your activities involved murder. I don’t even want to know the number of people…” Another sharp, ragged intake of breath shook her. “You didn’t trust me enough to tell me yourself. Imagine how I felt, hearing about your past from someone who was not you.”
“Who told you?” He would ask Dolly later who had visited while he was out today. Elizabeth rarely ventured out unless she was in his company.
She gave him a stony look. “It doesn’t matter.”
Spence plucked the trowel from her fingers and tossed it to the side. “The way you’re flinging that about is making me nervous.” He sat back in the cold grass and took in her tearstained face, the weight of his betrayal and the pain it had caused her far worse than he’d ever imagined.
“When I was first approached, in my grandfather’s study, I was barely older than you. You know of the relationship between the Duke of Dunbar and the Crown?”
She shook her head. “Only that the Dunbars serve the Crown. I never thought there was any truth to the saying.”
“A contract signed by my ancestor in return for the woman he wished to marry and the duchy. The start of all the rumors. We, meaning those descended from Robyn Tremaine, the first Duke of Dunbar, honor the dictates of the agreement. Nick had already started running ‘errands’ for the ministry by the time I was first called upon.”
Elizabeth’s hands clutched in the dirt at the mention of his cousin. “Nick as well? I should have guessed. When I was at St. Albans and he visited to check on the estate, there were times he,” she swallowed, “appeared to have been in a brawl.”
“At the time, it sounded very glamorous. I would be serving my country as well as my mother’s family. I learned fast. I was athletic. Quick.”
“You were good at it.” Her eyes were accusatory.
“Yes.” Spence had been an exceptionally skilled assassin, though he took no pride in it. At least not now. “It would have been me or my brother, and I decided Brendan should stay with our mother. But it wasn’t a completely noble act on my part. There has always been…darkness inside of me. I indulged that side of my personality for many years, with little remorse. A year ago, things changed for me. I came face to face with the results of my activities and saw the damage I’d caused. I told the ministry I wanted to return home.”
Self-loathing filled Spence, the bitterness of what he was landing on his tongue and filling his mouth. He wanted nothing more than to have Eliza
beth touch him. Hold him. Forgive him.
“I decided I could no longer run ‘errands’ for the ministry. There was only one real way to hasten my release from such servitude. The loophole.”
Elizabeth gave him a calculated look. “Wedding me.”
Spence nodded slowly. “You needed protection, conveniently at the same time I needed to marry. I wanted to save you from Langford and your mother.”
Hurt shadowed the deep blue of her eyes. “You’ve no need to remind me. I can imagine you were relieved to not have to indulge in a courtship with a young lady. Not to mention the bonus of atoning for your sins by rescuing me. You must have been astounded at your luck, having a girl who’d been raised in a convent drop suddenly in your lap to save.”
He’d never heard such bitterness from Elizabeth before. Nor had he realized how closely she had read his actions. “Our marriage may have begun in such a way. But things are different now. We are different. Elizabeth, you know that to be true.” He tried to touch her again and she pushed herself back, out of reach. Her disdain for him was agony.
“I need some time, Kelso.”
“Time?” She meant forever. Distance.
“Yes. To come to terms with…this.” Elizabeth stood and brushed the dirt from her skirts and walked back to the house. Her shoulders trembled as she tried to stifle her sobs.
It was as if a candle had been snuffed out, leaving him in pitch-black darkness. He’d always known if he lost Elizabeth it would be painful, but never had he envisioned how jarring their separation would be.
Spence sat in the cool grass, surrounded by the wreckage of his gardens and his marriage until the sun dipped below the stone fence surrounding his property. He was hurt by her rejection. Destroyed by it. He’d often been Elizabeth’s protection from the world, but his wife had likely never considered that the reverse was also true. Elizabeth had become his safe place.
Dolly found him a short time later, his usually stoic features full of concern, but Spence shook him off, snarling to leave him be. The walls around his heart had rebuilt themselves with remarkable efficiency. He went upstairs and put Minnow, his valet, to use, all the while staring at the closed door leading to Elizabeth’s room. Her robe had disappeared from its usual place at the end of his bed. The book she’d been reading, some silly gothic romance, was gone from the nightstand.
Spence shut his eyes, pushing away the loss. He was used to putting his emotions in a box and locking them away. At that moment, he had the irrational urge to hurt Elizabeth for not loving him enough.
Once he was deemed presentable by Minnow, Spence ordered for the carriage to be brought around. He was going out.
42
Elizabeth pulled the covers up beneath her chin and stared at the canopy above her head. She’d been right to choose the pattern of flowers against the pale green, mimicking the style of her rooms at Gray Covington. She’d had the walls painted cream. Everything looked lovely in the candlelight. Her rooms were lovely. Unfortunately, she didn’t want to be in them.
Heavy footsteps rang on the stairs. Kelso was finally home. Elizabeth glanced at the clock on her nightstand. Only a little after ten. He was early.
Elizabeth could see into the bathing room from her bed. She’d opened the door to her rooms yesterday and deliberately left it open. But Kelso hadn’t come to her.
They hadn’t spoken in several days, something Elizabeth blamed herself for. She’d been understandably in shock, needing some time alone to process everything she’d learned. After their discussion in the garden, Elizabeth had gone to her room upstairs, shutting the adjoining door to Kelso’s rooms and locked it. She hadn’t wanted to speak to him, feeling betrayed by the truth and hurt that Kelso hadn’t trusted her enough to tell her himself.
Elizabeth cried herself to sleep the first night they’d slept apart, miserable and lonely, adrift without him next to her. She’d heard him leave the house. The next morning after a breakfast tray in her room, she felt calmer. No matter what he’d done, Elizabeth loved her husband. Elizabeth could no more leave Kelso than voluntarily cut off a limb. If she were being honest, she’d sensed the darkness hidden beneath his expensive clothes and handsome face. Seen the way he armed himself. All those things drew her to Kelso and gave her the safety she craved. She would be the biggest hypocrite in the world to condemn him now that she knew the entire truth. Besides, he’d retired. Resolved to talk things through with Kelso, Elizabeth had gone in search of her husband.
But Kelso hadn’t been home. In fact, he hadn’t come home at all, as evidenced by his bed not having been slept in. The following night he did come home, in the wee hours of the morning. The pattern continued for the better part of a week.
The outside door to Kelso’s rooms slammed shut, startling her out of her thoughts. Boots dropped to the floor. Spence snarled at his poor valet, Minnow.
“This is ridiculous.” Elizabeth slipped out of bed, grabbed her lamp and stepped into the bathing room, tired of waiting for Kelso to come to her. Their separation had gone on long enough. She rapped sharply at the door.
“Kelso?”
Dead silence greeted her. She rapped again. “Spencer.”
“What?”
Surly. Impatient. Foxed. She could nearly smell the fumes of scotch seeping through the closed door. She placed her hand on the knob and twisted. Locked.
He’d locked her out. Stunned he’d done so, she said, “I wish to speak to you, my lord.”
“We all don’t get what we want. Go back to your bed.” An ugly, hoarse laugh met her ears.
“Now, Kelso. Open the door.”
Another lengthy silence, before the lock clicked and the door was flung open to reveal a disheveled, alcohol-filled Kelso. There was a small cut on one cheekbone and his jacket was torn. He hadn’t shaved. His amber gaze held not one iota of warmth.
Even so, Elizabeth felt the familiar lick of heat around her midsection.
“Are you hurt?” she asked, raising her hand, then just as quickly lowering it at the cold smile he gave her.
“Nothing to concern yourself with, Lady Kelso. I’m in no need of comfort.” He choked out a laugh. “At least not from you.” He reeked of cheap perfume and stale smoke. Looking up, she saw several long, blonde hairs clinging to his shoulder.
A sharp burst of anger flared. She asked for a bloody moment. One night to process her thoughts and he’d shut her out. He wouldn’t dare go to another woman. Elizabeth stared at those blonde hairs. The thought she might be wrong hurt so terribly, she nearly shut the door and walked away.
“I only asked you for some time, to come to terms with—”
“My killer instinct?”
“Where have you been?” she bit out, sounding jealous and angry, which she was.
“None of your business, Lady Kelso. Separate lives. Marriage of convenience and all that. We both have our freedom. I plan to enjoy mine.”
Elizabeth wavered, the implication of his words nearly unthinkable to her.
“Get to the fucking point. This conversation grows tiresome.”
Elizabeth’s nostrils flared. Fine. She refused to lie in bed every night and wonder where Kelso was. “You are behaving like an ass because I didn’t immediately jump into your arms and forgive you for your past. I have every right to be angry at you. Stop behaving as if I’ve done something wrong.”
“Forgiveness? I don’t give a shit about you forgiving me.” He snorted. “You’ve served your purpose, Lady Kelso. You dangled most delightfully on my arm at Lendon’s. I bid you goodnight.”
In her heart, Elizabeth refused to believe such a thing. But at the moment, with the smell of some…trollop on him and his increasingly ugly manner, Elizabeth didn’t like her husband very much. He was deliberately pushing her away and maybe she should let him. “My sister and her husband are visiting London. I think it best I stay with my family.”
“Don’t let me keep you.” He wanted her to go. She could see the truth of it in his blank, disp
assionate gaze.
“I’ll leave in the morning,” Elizabeth said, wishing with her entire being he would stop her and knowing he would not.
“Now that we have that settled, I bid you good night.” He shut the door in her face abruptly, cutting himself off from her, possibly forever.
Please, not forever.
Elizabeth stared at the door for the longest time. She could hear him breathing, just on the other side, perhaps waiting to see if she would try to speak to him again. Placing a hand against the smooth wood separating them, Elizabeth’s mouth moved against the door. Despite being angry and so terribly hurt, she said the words.
I love you.
43
His mother-in-law wasn’t about to give up.
The assailants weren’t professionals, but rather hired thugs, none of whom possessed the finesse required to kill a man like himself who had once murdered for a living.
Especially this poor bastard.
Spence nudged the man at his feet with the toe of his boot.
“Probably waiting in the alley, my lord,” the ever-helpful Porter informed him.
“Agreed.” White’s was just down the street, shining like a beacon. He’d only just left the carriage when the man had jumped out from the darkness, knife in hand. Porter had turned immediately to face the danger with his pistol while Spence had taken out his own knife. He’d given Porter a nod. “Don’t fire; no need to cause a scene.” He had then neatly dispatched the man, careful not to get blood on his evening clothes.
Jeanette had told Elizabeth she’d look splendid in widow’s weeds. His wife had mentioned the comment, back when she was still speaking to him. Before she’d left him to take up residence with her brother. Spence thought, given the change in their marriage, Elizabeth may now find it appealing to become a widow.
Still Wicked Page 24