“Thank you, Tiffen.”
“I’m always happy to pay off my debts. We’re even now, Grantham.” With a solemn nod, he closed the door behind him.
Roane gave Helen one last squeeze then let her go. “We must hurry.”
“Hurry where?” she asked, bewildered.
“To safety. We cannot stay.” He threw her a glance, noticing she was still pale. Then he crossed the room to repack his saddlebags. “I’ll gather your things, shall I? We leave in sixty seconds.”
“But you did nothing wrong.” Still, she wasn’t moving.
He tossed his shaving kit in the bag. “If only that mattered. I am a bastard and a felon, Helen. I have no use for the law.”
She looked around the room, dazed. Harrington lay on the floor in a growing pool of blood. “I must find Mittens.”
Roane made a hurry along motion with his hands, but she didn’t move.
“Helen,” he admonished, stuffing her riding clothes in his bag. “We haven’t time.”
She looked at him, her eyes empty as glass. “I cannot go.”
He swore under his breath. She was unnerved and not thinking clearly. “We haven’t a choice.” He yanked open the secret door seamlessly fitted into the wall and she gasped. “It leads into the stables. No one will see us leave.”
She shook her head again. “I cannot go, Roane. Not like this.”
“You have to come with me.” He grabbed her arm. There was no way he was going to leave her.
“I don’t have to do anything you say.” She struggled away, her tone sharper.
He smashed his lips into a line. “Do you know I argued with my sister just like this, moments before I was caught and deported?”
“All this revenge and violence, I haven’t a stomach for it.” She backed away, wrapping her arms around herself and shaking. “I need a moment. I can’t think.”
“I don’t have a moment. I love you, Helen. I will take care of this. Come with me, now.” Another surge of panic pumped through his blood. Why wasn’t she listening? He tried to reach for her arm.
She crossed to the other side of the room, holding her elbows. “James loved me, too, and what good did that do? I take care of myself, Roane. And I don’t want to run from this.”
He stared at her, too frustrated for words.
She lifted her chin and looked him straight in the eye, her gaze clearer now. “Remember what you said in the barn? That you must let go of your past and live a new future? Let it begin here and now, Roane. Stay and tell the truth. If you run, they will only hear Harrington’s account and assume you are guilty. You will always be an outlaw.”
“They will assume I am guilty anyway, truth be damned. I cannot go back to gaol.”
“Of course you’re not going back to gaol. I’ll stand by your side. And Tiffen. We’ll do this together. We will make them believe in your innocence.”
“You don’t know what you are saying, Helen. You’ve lived a life of privilege and advantage; you couldn’t know what is best for me. Are you coming with me or not?” It hurt to breathe through the ache in his chest.
She bit her lip, tears shining in her eyes.
She wasn’t coming. He should have known. In the end, everyone left.
“This is goodbye, then.” He struggled to push the words through his throat.
“Why wont you listen to me?” She stomped her foot. “You demand I do what you say yet you wont listen to me. How do you know I can’t help you?”
Voices sounded in the hallway, then heavy footsteps. He hadn’t time for this.
“I’ll never forget you, buttercup.” He traded his gun with Harrington’s, threw his saddlebag over his shoulder, and pressed a pouch into her cold hands. “Tell the magistrate the truth of your identity. Pay him to return you home safely to London.” He took her face in both his hands and planted a hard kiss on her lips. “I love you, Lady Helen Gladstone. Say goodbye to me. Please.”
She shook her head, her eyes bright with tears, and for a moment he thought she’d refuse him. He dropped his hands and stepped away, but she grabbed his arm. When she spoke, her voice was quiet as a raven’s wing slicing through the dusk. “Goodbye, Roane Grantham.”
His heart, it was sliced open. “Goodbye, buttercup.”
He slipped through the secret door and disappeared into the darkness.
***
Helen was numb as she watched the scene play out before her. The magistrate burst into the room, the doctor only minutes behind. Both men took one look at her—pale and shaking and innocent as she could be. They believed her story without hesitation.
She brushed over Roane’s involvement, never mentioned him once, in fact. She claimed Harrington had kidnapped her, using the rope marks on her wrists as proof. She said he’d finally let his guard down, and she’d grabbed his gun and shot him. Roane had acted quickly, switching the pistols. He was not new to this game.
Tiffen must have been listening through the wall, for he supported her story with lavish details. Harrington, still unconscious, was tended to by the doctor and taken into custody, charged with threatening a peer.
Helen moved to a new room and sat before the fire, waiting for Roane. The danger had passed, certainly he would return, probably through some secret crack in the wall.
He never came.
The next morning, eyes red from crying, she climbed into the private coach she’d hired. With two deputies riding alongside for protection, she set out for London.
Her eight thousand pounds in hand.
The first leg of her journey, she picked at the food Tiffen had insisted she take along, though she wasn’t hungry. The hills rolled by—placid in the distance—and all she could feel was the endless, empty days of her future passing one by one.
She had been successful. Had lived through an adventure, saved her family and their dependents, proved her own strength.
And she felt miserable.
The two deputies grew increasingly nervous throughout the day, as if they sensed danger. Helen wondered more than once if Roane was following them. She opened the window and looked for him, even tried to signal to him from her chamber that night. He did not come.
The second day, she no longer tried to eat. She could barely breathe. And she had no choice but to admit the depth of what she’d lost.
She loved him.
She loved Roane. She loved how tender he was, and brave, and perceptive. She loved how he was considerate of her needs, even when he didn’t want to be. How he showed the world a laughing face, when behind his smile he carried scars.
She loved him so much she felt ill.
If only she’d admitted the depth of her feelings when she’d had the chance.
Yes, he was trouble. Yes, he was imperfect and afraid in his own way. And, yes, he was gambling his entire future on horseflesh, the same vice that had been James’s ruin.
But none of that mattered. Why hadn’t she seen that yesterday?
Instead, she’d turned him away when he needed her.
People leave. I’ve learned to move on…
She leaned her head against the squabs and wept.
The third day, she wept more, her only relief the small bits of disjointed sleep that overcame her.
When they reached London, the two deputies were jovial and chatting between themselves. They no longer feared they were being followed.
Roane was gone, if he’d ever been there.
Disappeared from her life. A ghost of a memory, now. A mere shadow in her heart.
Chapter Twenty
One Month Later
Helen sat at her dressing table and studied her reflection in the mirror. Corsets and coiffeurs, velvet and silk, she was returned to the height of fashion. And this just to go riding.
Her breeches-clad adventure through the Pennines seemed lifetimes ago. And Roane nothing more than a dream.
She sighed, picturing the flash of his smile, the ti
lt of his head as he teased her.
“Are you ready, Helen?” Harry stood in the doorway, dressed in buff breeches and riding boots.
“Hmmm?” She looked up at her brother, blinking him into focus. He was fresh-faced and in the peak of health. Since her departure and subsequent return, his worry for her had proved a sobering effect. He stayed in most nights with her and escorted her when she wished to go out. The cynical part of Helen believed he was just beholden to her for saving the earldom from financial ruin, but the other part of her believed he’d finally woken up.
They didn’t talk about James’s death, but it was always there between them. Maybe Harry had learned from it as well. Reformed or not, Helen still didn’t trust him with the eight thousand pounds, and thankfully he didn’t press her for control of it.
“You look ready.” Harry wrinkled his brow. He was accustomed to her strange moods these past few weeks. She’d told him a very selective version of what had happened, but he could tell something more was wrong. He’d stopped asking for details of her journey, finally just muttering he hoped she’d tell him the truth one day.
“Yes, of course.” Helen forced a smile and stood. “I’m ready.”
Mittens got up from his seat by the window and stretched.
Mittens… he was the only real memento from her adventure.
That and the endless ache in her heart. It seemed she wasn’t as adept at forging ahead as Roane was.
Did he even think of her at all?
Harry touched her arm, and she realized he’d been speaking to her. “Truly, I am growing worried, Helen. Might I finally send for the doctor?”
“No, no.” She waved her hand. She was healthy. She’d had her courses. There was no illness or…other effects from her adventure. Just a broken heart.
“If you won’t talk to me, is there anyone else? A friend, perhaps?”
Her pulse was loud in her ears. She’d been considering her plan for days, since seeing a familiar name mentioned in the gossip columns. But dare she?
Yes, yes, her heart cried. She had to talk about him with someone, someone who knew him. Otherwise, he truly was no more than a dream. “Are you acquainted with the Earl of Radford?”
Harry twisted his lips. “I’ve been introduced to him. He’s very involved in Parliament. Why do you want to talk to him, Helen? Are you in some kind of trouble?”
“No.” She shook her head hard. “It’s actually the Countess I wish to meet. I…we have a friend in common.”
Her brother narrowed his eyes. “If you think it will help with this…melancholy, let us go there now.”
She nodded, her pulse banging through her. Was she really going to talk to Roane’s sister? What in the world would she say?
Helen was halfway to the door when her brother stopped her. “Don’t you wish to change? We should take the carriage if we’re to pay a call.”
A laugh bubbled through her. From what Roane had told her about his sister, the countess would hardly care what she wore. “No, lets go now, before I reconsider the wisdom of my plan.”
***
Harry by her side, Helen waited in the elegant foyer in Mayfair as the footman presented her card. According to the papers, the Earl and Countess of Radford had returned from the continent a few days prior.
Helen had no idea if Roane’s sister had heard from him, but she needed to ask. She needed to know that he was settled. That his arm was healed.
Anything, truly. She just needed to say his name out loud.
“The countess is in,” the butler drawled.
Helen stepped forward, motioning for Harry to wait. “I’ll be but a moment.”
Her heart in her throat, Helen entered the well-appointed drawing room. The Countess of Radford was seated on a chintz-covered divan.
“My lady,” Helen said with a quick curtsey. “Thank you for receiving me. I fear you may find me horribly forward, for we have never met, but I must ask something only you could know.”
Lady Radford raised her dark brows. “You have intrigued me, Lady Helen. Please, sit.”
Helen perched on the edge of a chair. It took a number of breaths for her to gather her courage. “I made the acquaintance of your brother.”
“My brother?” The other woman drew back, surprised.
“Yes. Mr. Gratham.” For a frozen moment, Helen worried that Roane had lied about his relationship to the countess. They certainly did not look like brother and sister. Roane was golden, with blond hair and light amber eyes. He looked British through and through. Lady Radford, on the other hand, had darker coloring, with sable-brown hair and almond shaped eyes.
“You know Mr. Gratham, Lady Helen?” The countess tilted her head. “I shouldn’t be so surprised. Roane is forever shocking me. Would you care for tea?”
“No, thank you.” Helen was far too nervous for tea. “I must…that is…have you heard from him? Is he well? I last saw him a month ago and the manner of our parting was rather…abrupt.”
The woman frowned, obviously confused.
“I fear I hurt his feelings,” Helen rushed to add, lest Lady Radford think ill of her brother.
Her hostess relaxed back with a warm smile, as if readying for a long chat. “Oh, I must hear this.”
Helen wondered how much to reveal. “We quarreled, you see. He wanted to…run from an awkward situation. I wanted him to stay.”
“Good for you.” Lady Radford nodded. “I do think I like you, Lady Helen. Tell me, have you brothers?”
“Two.” An ache passed through her heart as she thought of James.
“Then you know what trouble they can be.”
Helen would have laughed, were she not so nervous. “All too well. I cannot understand why Ro—Mr. Grantham would choose trouble. But, I fear I pushed him and, well…”
The other woman patted her hand. “I did get a letter from him. A most welcome letter, truly. He was in Lincolnshire when he wrote.”
“Did he purchase his land, then?”
“I believe he did.” Lady Radford waved to someone in the hallway. “Cat, do come in and meet Lady Helen Gladstone.”
A beautiful blonde woman entered wearing a green riding outfit in the height of fashion. “A pleasure to meet you Lady Helen Gladstone…” She tilted her head, her blue eyes warm and kind. “I know your brothers. I was sorry to hear of the earl’s passing.”
“Thank you.” Helen said quietly.
“Lady Helen was just asking about Roane.”
“She was?”
The countess studied Helen, making her palms sweat in her gloves. “I do believe he broke her heart.”
***
Hours later, Roane entered his sister’s drawing room, resisting the urge to loosen his cravat. Mazie was holding her curly-haired toddler, little Peter, and speaking with one of the servants.
War was about to start.
Well, not war, but a ball.
He’d prefer war.
“I’ve never seen you suffer such nerves.” Mazie glanced over at him with a smile. “Or appear so well-dressed. You look very handsome.”
Roane crossed toward her and tousled his nephew’s hair. “I’ve faced worse. But having you by my side is all the support I need.”
“I will always be by your side.” Mazie kissed him on the cheek, then leaned down and kissed Peter on the cheek as well. “Mommy and daddy will tuck you in later, chouchou. It is time for you to sleep.”
“I go with Mommy.” Peter frowned and popped his thumb into his mouth, obviously tired.
“May I take you to the park tomorrow?” Roane touched his nephew’s chubby little hand. “I’ll show you how to climb a tree.”
“He’s a bit young for climbing trees.” Mazie shot him a reproving look. Roane repressed a laugh—she was obviously a doting mother. “But that is a lovely idea. Tomorrow we will all go to the park, even baby Evelyn.” She kissed Peter’s cheek again. “Now off to bed, or you will be too t
ired to ride the carousel.”
Peter tried to protest as his nurse carried him upstairs, but he was half-asleep already. Mazie watched him go, then turned her full attention to Roane. “I still cannot believe you just appeared on my doorstep yesterday. I feel as if I am dreaming. I missed you terribly.”
“And I missed you. I promise never to be gone for so long again.” Roane pulled his sister to his side and gave her a squeeze. “I came as soon as your boat docked.”
He’d come as soon as he’d gotten his thoughts straightened out.
He wasn’t the type to push through life with brute force—he bent life to him, he coaxed the river.
After the Harrington incident, however, he’d begun to fear the river couldn’t be changed. That one could erect a dam, try to alter the flow of the water, but one good storm and the river resumed its original course.
He feared he’d always be an outlaw, living on the fringes. And what kind of life would that be for a family?
Mazie leaned into him. “You are certain about this?”
“Absolutely.” Roane shifted on his feet. “Remember that night in the gardens, the night Radford found us? You told me you wanted to be mossy.” They shared a strained laugh. It had been a difficult night, each of them fighting for what they thought was best. In the end, Roane had been captured and deported to Australia and Mazie had stayed to face her challenges with the man she loved. “I thought you’d gone daft, I mean, mossy? But then you said a rolling stone gathers no moss and…I….well, now I understand. I feel the same. I am done running—there is nothing to run from anymore but myself.”
“You want to be mossy, too?” she teased.
“Covered.” He smiled, knowing his sister would understand. “There is a lot I have to answer for. And I can only hope—but yes, I am ready. I want to be mossy.”
“Being mossy is wonderful, but it is not easy.”
“I don’t need life to be easy. I’ll take the wonderful and difficult over being a bastard. Or being a convict and a rogue.”
“Roane, you aren’t any of those things.”
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