The Duty and the Gone (The Fertility Plague Book 1)

by Claire Vale

  My feet itched to take me down the east wing so I could press an ear to Julian’s door. I didn’t dare, of course. Roman had said to gather my things. Excellent idea. We may well have to make a run for it. The attempt at humor didn’t lighten my mood. There was nowhere we could run.

  My sneakers waited at the front door, sitting neater than I’d stacked them and a whole lot cleaner. The rubber was scrubbed white and the worst of the mud had been scraped from the canvas.

  I didn’t get a proper chance to thank McKinnon. He appeared out of thin air with my coat, as if summoned on the wind, just as Roman returned.

  I peered around Roman, into the long shadows of the east wing passage. No Daniel. “How is Julian?”

  “Thanks,” Roman said to McKinnon, taking my coat from the butler so he could usher me out faster.

  By the time I turned to thank McKinnon, the door was already closing in my face and Roman had me by the hand, dragging me to the truck.

  “How is Julian?” I asked again. That’s all I needed, then Roman could go back to ignoring me. “Did he say anything?”

  We’d reached the truck.

  Roman let go of me to yank the door open, climbed in, and finally realized I was standing my ground for an answer. “I didn’t talk to Julian,” he ground out. “He was sleeping.”

  “You didn’t wake him up?”

  “Daniel did, and I left them to it.”

  “How did he seem?”

  “Fine, I suppose, Daniel was happy he’d rested.” Roman’s eyes bored into me. “What’s going on? Why are you so interested in Julian’s health?”

  “I made him an herbal tea and I just wondered if it’d helped,” I said quickly and scooted around to the passenger side. Julian was awake and he hadn’t demanded to see me at once. A flimsy reassurance at best, but I guess it would have to do.

  Roman’s mood didn’t improve on the ride home. He didn’t drive aggressively. He didn’t fume and rant—he didn’t say a word. I’d seen this kind of fury on him only once before, graduation night, stark and unmasked.

  “Are we going to talk about it?” I said as we pulled up by the cottage.

  No response.

  I nearly shut up. Just let the silence brood until he gets bored of himself. But he cut the engine and I looked at his rigid profile, and I couldn’t. The Guard could still be coming for me, and then for Roman, and if that happened, I didn’t want this between us.

  “I’m really sorry you saw that, me and Daniel, but it wasn’t what it looked like.”

  He didn’t look at me. He climbed out and slammed the door on my apology. I didn’t totally blame him and I wasn’t done trying.

  Roman had left the cottage door open, but he wasn’t in the entranceway. I saw my bike propped there and suddenly Julian’s’ handprint was burning a hole in my bag. I needed to get rid of it, get it to Rose as soon as possible.

  Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. That’s what I should have done to start with, instead of waiting around for Julian to wake up. Did it really matter if he believed I’d laced his tea? Without any plausible motivation, his suspicions wouldn’t have anywhere to land. So long as I didn’t admit to anything, I had in fact got away clean. If I were caught with the kit, however, it would all be over.

  I heard Roman moving around inside and stopped myself from grabbing the bike and pedaling for the Bohemian Quarter like a bat out of hell. No more stupid. I’d have to wait for Roman to leave. I mean, he wouldn’t take the afternoon off just to hang around here and ignore me.

  I hung my coat up and made my way through the house. No sign of Roman, but the sliding door stood a fraction open. I slipped into my bedroom and stashed my bag in the bottom of my wardrobe. I was bent in there headfirst, burying the hot evidence beneath a mound of shoes when Roman’s voice froze me.

  “Okay,” he said. “Talk.”

  I put a hand to my jittery heart, took a moment to breathe before I stood, turned slowly, casually closing the wardrobe door behind me.

  He leant a shoulder against the doorframe, arms folded, watching me. “Tell me what it looked like.”

  There was no mistaking the conciliatory offer for an olive branch. The fury was still there, brimming close to the surface, tenuously leashed to the storm that had rolled in and darkened his features.

  He’d come to make war.

  My chin went up defensively. “I was feeling light—”

  “I don’t want to hear about how you were feeling or what you were thinking,” he said, deadly calm. “Tell me what it looked like.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I walked in on you and Daniel.” He pushed away from the doorframe, stalking closer like a predator with all the time in the world. “Put yourself in my shoes, not your head. What. Did. I. See?”

  I rolled my eyes at the pointless exercise, but backed up against the wardrobe as Roman kept coming. He didn’t stop until he was in my space. An intimidating move, and it worked. “Okay, fine, I was…I was sitting on the ground, on a beanbag. Daniel knelt in front of me.”

  A beat passed.

  His eyes flashed. “The devil’s in the details, Georga.”

  I bit my lip, thinking on how best to refine those details.

  He slammed a hand above my head and I flinched—which reminded me a little too much of Beth cowering outside the Blue Fish. I wasn’t that woman. And Roman wasn’t that man, no matter how angry he might be.

  I straightened, edged my chin up again to look Roman in the eye. He was literally breathing down on me, and he wouldn’t go until he had what he wanted.

  “I was leaning in,” I went on. “Leaning into Daniel for support, one hand on his shoulder. He was stroking my hair, my face, I’m not sure.” I swallowed the bitter taste of unfairness. A picture without context really was lot worse than the reality. “I was looking at him. He was looking at me. There, are you happy now?”

  “Are you?” he said softly.

  “Of course not.”

  “It’s not such a pretty anymore, is it, without the lies you tell yourself.”

  “Omission is just as much a lie,” I said heatedly. “Are you even at all interested in hearing the full story?”

  “It wouldn’t matter.”

  “The truth always matters.”

  “Not to Brenda,” he said, still towering over me, breathing down on me, eyes narrowed on me sharp as ice splinters. “It wouldn’t matter a damn, if Brenda had walked in on you instead of me. She’d only care about what she saw.”

  “Don’t make this about Brenda,” I said. “She’d, at least, listen to what I have to say.”

  Roman drew back a fraction, not nearly enough. His hand was still planted to the wardrobe above my head. “Is that what you tell yourself? That your friendship is stronger than her marriage? That she wouldn’t go to Julian, insist he lay a charge of infidelity against you? Have you not noticed how insecure she is when you’re around Daniel?”

  No, I hadn’t.

  And no, our friendship wasn’t stronger than anything, hadn’t been for a while.

  Would she attempt to get me sent to rehab? I didn’t know. I honestly didn’t know anymore

  “Jealousy is blind and paranoia is deaf, Georga.”

  I wet my lips. “Well, she didn’t walk in on us.”

  “This time.”

  “It won’t happen again.”

  “Damn straight it won’t,” he said, a growl in the back of his throat. “Your father was right. I have been careless with you. If I’d made a proper wife of you, you wouldn’t go looking for it elsewhere.”

  “That’s disgusting.”

  “And you wouldn’t have the time or energy…” his gaze lowered, sinking to my mouth “…to run around causing trouble.”

  “No!” I averted my head with a snap as I realized what he intended. My hands came up between us, shoved at his chest. “Not like this!” I shoved again, and again, but his chest was a brick wall and panic kicked my pulse into a race. “Roman, please,” I said quietl
y, desperately, “not in anger.”

  The wall gave way and when I looked, he’d brought down the arm crowding me and backed away a step, then another and another. His face was thunder. Heat and anger glazed his eyes.

  When he spoke, his voice was strained, and, “Not in anger,” was all he said.

  Before he turned and walked out, left me standing there, shaking, shaken by the wrong I’d done. It hit me worse than Julian; I could justify that deceit and theft.

  But this was, was…

  Roman did not deserve me.

  24

  Rose was on her way out, just pushing the stroller out the door as I cycled up and hopped off, so I didn’t take it personally that her face fell at the sight of me.

  “We’ll have to walk and talk,” she said briskly. “I’m on my way to collect the kids from school.”

  I propped my bike at the hedge and swung the bag off my shoulder to hold out. “You may want to put this somewhere safe first.”

  Her eyes went to the bag, came to me. “Is that…?”

  A grin split my mouth. After the day I’d had, success felt good and the relief of handing off the proof was welcome. “Sure is.”

  “I’m impressed.” She took the bag from me, her expression brightening. “We weren’t expecting anything this soon.”

  “An opportunity came up.” I moved to help her lift the stroller over the doorstep and back inside.

  “And…?” Her brow hitched. “Any problems?”

  I filled her in briefly on the pertinent parts, finishing with, “Even if Julian Edgar suspects something funny, he can’t possibly know what I did or have any reason, really, to think I purposely knocked him out.”

  “He’ll blame the herbal concoction,” she agreed. “I must say, this is excellent news, well done. Oh, and…” She looked at me, a long, considering look. “From now on, you report directly to me, understood?”

  A thrill passed through me. This was it, the transition from being my mother’s daughter to fully-fledged Sister in my own right with my own contacts and the start of my own network. Sector Five pushed to the tip of my tongue. Rose might have heard of it. She might be interested in what I discovered.

  I bit my tongue, remembering how official Sisterhood business came with shadow plots and sacrificial goats. Better to take a leaf from Rose’s book and keep my secrets close until I had the advantage. Until I’d already succeeded or failed and knew the value and/or pitfalls of sharing the information.

  I gave a decisive nod. “Understood.”

  “We’ll make a good team,” she said, then, “Give me a minute,” and hurried up the stairs, leaving me alone in the entrance hall with the stroller.

  The seat was flat, the baby girl tucked in tight and fast asleep. I bent over the rosy-cheeked angel, breathed in the smell of powder and milk, my heart softening to butter. She was the reason we lived like we lived. Why we wanted change, but not too much, not so much that it meant the end of babies being born, the end of mankind.

  When Rose returned, I resisted her efforts to rush me out again. What I had to say was not for public consumption. “I won’t keep you long, I’m just curious. What are you going to do with the councilman’s handprint?”

  “I’m not as high up on the totem pole as you imagine.” She fussed with the baby as she spoke, but did glance sideways at me. “I’m not privy to all the details. I can promise you, though, it will be used wisely and to good effect when the time is ripe.”

  “When will that be?”

  “Every rebellion needs a spark, Georga. We’ll know it when we see it.” She released the stroller brake, preparing to move us toward the door.

  “What about Beth?” I said quickly. “Have you seen her again?”

  “I haven’t, but she’s doing fine.” Rose gave me a terse smile. “We’re monitoring the situation.”

  I returned the terse, unyielding smile. “I risked everything for the Sisterhood today.”

  “And we’re both grateful and impressed,” she said. “You’ve proven yourself a valuable addition.”

  “I don’t want a pat on the head, Rose, I want you to stop brushing me off. Like you said, I’ve proved myself loyal and capable. You said we were a team. When will you start trusting me?”

  She sighed. “Very well.”

  I waited.

  “I honestly don’t know what the plan is for Julian Edgar’s handprint, only that obtaining it was a critical step.”

  Disappointment flickered, but I did believe her. She didn’t know. “What about Beth? How is she really doing?”

  “Okay, for now,” Rose said. “I sent Ron to have a chat with Beth’s husband. He took a couple of friends along. Bullies are cowards, and if there’s one thing a bully’s really afraid of, that’s a bigger bully.”

  My smile turned genuine. “Ron’s your husband, right? He’s also in the Sisterhood?”

  “He doesn’t know anything about the Sisterhood, no, but he is a good man, not the kind of man to stand by and watch when a woman is being mistreated.”

  I cycled all the way home with that smile on my face, couldn’t seem to turn it off. Beth was going to be okay, maybe not perfect, but maybe in a better place than when I’d found her. I’d completed the dreaded assignment, successfully, and delivered Julian’s handprint to the Sisterhood.

  Apparently I didn’t always make a total mess of everything.

  It was a wonderful feeling, this feeling that anything was possible. Roll on tomorrow and Sector Five, I was so ready for it.

  *

  I was creaming the mash for my Shepherd’s Pie when Roman returned, a good hour earlier than normal. Had he come to check in on me? To fight some more? Eyeing him warily as he came to lean in, elbow on the island counter, I decided not. The storm in him seemed to have blown itself out during the course of the afternoon.

  “We should talk,” he said.

  I added a pinch of salt and creamed some more, my eyes on the mash, my focus on the texture. “Because that worked out so well the last time?”

  He grabbed my wrist, stilling me.

  My gaze shifted to where his fingers braced my hand, not rough or bruising the tender skin, but still an order to stop what I was doing and pay attention.

  “I’m trying to apologize here.”

  “Oh, so that’s what you’re doing.” Instantly regretting the snark, despite his poor manners, I softened my tone to sincerity. “I don’t want your apology, Roman. You did nothing wrong.”

  He released my wrist, shoved that hand through his hair and kept it there. “I frightened you, earlier, when I came into your room.”

  “Frighten is a strong word.”

  “Your reaction was strong.”

  “You didn’t frighten me, not exactly, not like that.” I dragged the casserole dish closer. “It’s just…”

  Just what, Georga? I did a mental eye roll and scooped dollops of mash over the browned lamb mince.

  “Yes?” said Roman.

  I shot him a look, smiled, looked down again. “Okay, this is kind of awkward, but I’m just going to say it, then it’s said.”

  Heat stung my cheeks. Next time, just take the apology and shut up. I busied myself spreading the mash with a fork.

  “That’s it?” he drawled, his voice honey rumbled over gravel.

  My gaze went to him.

  My pulse stalled.

  His head was cocked, that hand still shoved in his hair, his mouth tilted into a warm smile that pressed the hollows of his jaw deeper and fed molten silver into his eyes.

  I set the fork down, steadied my palm on the counter. “You don’t want me, or don’t want to want me, whatever, but I’m attracted to you and when you kissed me, it felt good, amazingly good and when—if something ever does happen between us, well, I don’t want anything that I know is going to be so beautiful start out as something so ugly.”

  His smile faded, left most of its warmth behind.

  I swallowed, shrugged. “That’s what frightened me.�
�

  “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. ”I lost control. It won’t happen again.”

  “It was mostly my fault.”

  “You’re not responsible for my actions. Never.” He reached over, placed a hand over mine. Our eyes met. “What I said about Brenda, that still stands, but the rest of it was my ego lashing out. I wasn’t enough for you, and you allowed Daniel to see that, to see my shortcomings and the holes in my marriage.”

  “It wasn’t like that, nothing happened and nothing will ever happen,” I told him. Only, it wasn’t enough, half lies and omissions, not when he’d bared himself to me. “I needed to sit down for a minute and Daniel helped me. Nothing was done, nothing was said that could point to any holes in our marriage, but there was an intimacy I shouldn’t have allowed. And there was a moment where I thought, where I wondered what Daniel and I might have been.”

  Roman’s hand pulled off mine.

  “I’m sorry,” I said to him. “I’m not in love with Daniel, and I’m certainly not as attracted to him as I am to you, but a part of me does sometimes think about it, that he would be an easier man to live with.”

  “Easier than me.”

  “Seriously, do you blame me?” I gave a small laugh, then turned serious. “If you’re not enough for me, Roman, it’s only because that’s your choice. You don’t give me anything of yourself.”

  He looked into my eyes, considering, processing. “I don’t like it, but I don’t blame you.”

  And since we were being so honest with each other… “Is there someone else?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Are you in love with someone else?” I asked point-blank, thinking about his artist. “Is that why you didn’t want to marry me?”

  He straightened, widening the gap between us. “There’s no one else.” Shoved a hand through his hair again. Didn’t quite meet my eyes. “There was someone, a long time ago.”

  It might have been a long time ago, but clearly she remained in his heart. “You loved her that much?”

  “Not enough to keep her trust in me,” he said, the warmth thinning from his eyes, from his face, from his voice. “I couldn’t protect her. I couldn’t keep her safe.”