“Forgive him,” another said with a laugh. “He’s recently wed.”
The way she felt? She was about to be a widow. Not bothering to close the doors, Rose stalked the distance between them. She was so furious, so angry she barely thought straight, and wanted very much to lash out.
James carefully stepped around her and closed the doors. She ignored that, too.
“I felt it necessary,” he said to her silence. “I want to know where you are. No.” He shook his head but did not look the least contrite. “I don’t want you seeing your father. Not today, not tomorrow, not ever. And this is my way of preventing it.”
Rose narrowed her eyes further. All their talk of trust, of her agreeing to tell him where she went and with him, vanished like a puff of smoke.
“To keep me prisoner here?” she spat.
“He’s going to hurt you!” James retorted.
Rose jerked back as if he physically struck her. “James.” She sighed, angry and tired and so, so hurt. “You don’t know that.”
“I do!” he insisted. “And I won’t take a chance with you. Not with your safety…with your life. You may think me mad,” he continued and stepped closer.
Rose stepped back. She didn’t want his touch, didn’t want him anywhere near her. He sighed but nodded.
“Perhaps I am,” he said in a whisper. “But I know this will happen,” he said stronger, stridently. “As sure as I know my heart will crack in two if anything happens to you.”
His voice broke on the last words, and she did not doubt his sincerity. Rather, the sincere fear he had over losing her. It did not absolve him of his methods.
“This is unacceptable, James,” she shot back at him.
“You don’t understand,” he insisted, pleading now. “You don’t know what it’s like living your entire life knowing the woman you’re fated to love will be taken from you.”
Rose took a deep breath and released it in a long sigh. She pressed her fingers to her eyelids and struggled for patience.
“James,” she said tiredly. Grasping the thin threads of patience and control, she looked at him and grappled for words. “They’re naught but dreams. I won’t be taken from you. I’ve made excuses for the way you’ve acted since the moment we met!” she shouted, unable to keep her anger in check. “I’ve seen past this insanity that’s taken hold of you. But I won’t—I refuse—to be kept locked up.”
Her heart pounded and felt as if it broke. She loved him; even with his eccentricities and his paranoia, she loved him. Saw beyond all that and forgave him for acting mad. Still loved him, wanted him.
Even now, she wanted him.
“I refuse to be locked up in this house for the rest of my life,” she told him clearly and calmly and with such finality, it sounded like a death knell to her own ears. “Open these doors,” she ordered. “And don’t conceive of locking them again!”
“No.”
That one word shot between them as sure as a musket shot.
He left then, stalking from the room without another look, another word. Rose listened to him leave, unable to move. Shocked, her limbs numb with fear and pain and the harsh realization that her beloved husband had lost his mind, Rose stood there.
Outside his study, the sun shone brightly, and a faint breeze swayed through the budding trees. She stared at them, watching them move in the wind. Trapped as she was indoors, unable to feel the wind of her face or the sun on her skin, Rose stood in the study and broke.
It hurt, the area around her heart hollowed out and empty. She licked her suddenly dry lips but couldn’t feel them against her tongue. She wanted to move but remained frozen where she stood; she wanted to sit or to walk out of this room, but her legs refused to obey her commands.
She married a man who did not respect her or love her. How could he when he acted this way? When he locked her in the house over fears from a dream?
Her hands shook. Rose looked down and watched her fingers tremble but was helpless to stop it. Her world spun out of control, shifted beneath her feet as wildly as a boat in a storm.
She needed to leave. After this, after all they’d been through, all they’d created, he destroyed it. She couldn’t accept it, this behavior, nor could she allow James to believe this was acceptable. Ever.
She needed to leave.
Women of this station were weak and didn’t know what to do, how to live on their own. But she was not of this station and wasn’t afraid. She knew how to live, how to survive.
But she wouldn’t run back to her father. She didn’t know what Robert would do or James, if he ever found out where she’d run to.
Her first step was to figure out how to leave. With the servants obeying James’s every command, she needed to sneak out somehow. Looking over her shoulder, Rose listened carefully. James no doubt expected her to follow him upstairs. To continue this latest fight and then acquiesce to his wishes.
No.
Rose sucked in a deep breath and tried to fill her lungs as deeply as possible, but it felt shallow. Hollow.
She heard footsteps behind her, but knew they were not James’s. How long had she stood here? Rose swallowed and forced herself to turn and face her intruder. Mrs. Shelley stood awkwardly in the hallway.
“My apologies, Mrs. Hamilton,” the housekeeper said quietly. “In all my years here, I’ve never seen him like this.”
Rose nodded, though both women knew it wasn’t in defense of James but in acknowledgement of the other woman’s words.
“Do you know?” Rose asked then stopped and swallowed. “Do you know of his dreams? If these dreams, these visions, these tales he tells are real?”
Her voice rose with each word, but she couldn’t control that. She was tired and scared. Her heart hurt, and the image she had of the man she thought she knew, the man she loved, lay crumpled at her feet like broken glass.
Mrs. Shelley looked over her shoulder and closed the door behind her. Her movements were quick and silent, and when she moved the few steps separating them, she took Rose’s hand and gently held it.
“Yes,” she said in a near whisper. “Normally Mr. Hamilton was a pleasure to work for. An amusing sort. But,” she hedged, “there were occasions where late at night I heard noises.”
Her voice dropped further, but her touch remained light and comforting.
“I’d find him on the floor in the gallery, drunk on whiskey. In front of that painting.”
Rose didn’t need to ask which painting. She knew. The knowledge burned deep in her bones. She licked her lips again and nodded.
“He was not himself during those times. He was someone else.” Mrs. Shelley’s voice dropped even further. “I saw another in his eyes, a man I did not recognize. I’m not a superstitious woman, but what I witnessed in Mr. Hamilton those nights…” Her voice broke.
She trailed off as if the words themselves conjured this other man. Rose nodded, more in encouragement than anything. But she needed to hear what the housekeeper saw. She needed to hear all of the story.
Even if it further broke her heart.
“Tell me,” Rose whispered, her own voice breaking.
She swallowed heavily, her shoulders sagging as if the weight of the world sat on her. They’d been happy, so happy, and now…
“Tell me,” she insisted, stronger.
“It broke my heart,” Mrs. Shelley admitted. “I saw a man in pain, a pain I’ve not witnessed before. He truly believes he will lose the woman he loves.”
She looked up and met Rose’s gaze. “When he brought you home, married you, I knew you were different. Mr. Hamilton has known many women, but has brought home none save you.”
That touched Rose, the part of her that burned with anger and determination. The part that was not numb with grief and heartache.
“The doors today,” Mrs. Shelley said and gestured to the locked doors, “are a way to protect you. The man I saw on the floor in the gallery would do anything, anything, to keep the woman he loves safe.”
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Rose didn’t reply, and Mrs. Shelly eventually nodded and left.
She didn’t feel safe in this house. She felt trapped.
Chapter Twenty
UNTIL ROSE, JAMES preferred sleeping alone. He didn’t like women clinging to him in sleep and preferred to leave once the pleasurable part of the evening—or afternoon—finished. Rose changed all that. Curling around her, holding her after they made love, had become one of his favorite things to do.
Sleeping with her only to wake with her in his arms made him feel content in ways he hadn’t realize were even possible. The feel of her skin against his, the steady beat of her heart under his lips, and her breathy sighs as she woke had woven their way around his heart.
For the first time since they made love, weeks ago now, James slept alone. Or rather he tried to sleep. Rose hadn’t been in her bed when he’d gone up that evening. In retrospect, that shouldn’t have surprised him—she also hadn’t joined him for luncheon, tea, or dinner.
Scrubbing his hands down his face, James sighed and settled into bed, her bed, though she was not in her room. She avoided him, fine, but she couldn’t forever.
He closed his eyes and willed sleep to come. When he finally found sleep, it did nothing to ease his mind. Rather, his mind raced with visions of Rose. She was dead, her sightless gaze staring up at him. Even in fitful sleep, the aching loss clawed at his throat.
“Rose!”
He jerked awake, his heart pounding and lungs laboring for breath. She wasn’t beside him. Frantic, his mind clouded with sleep and fear, James scrambled from bed.
She left. No, she was taken. Taken from him, from her home. Desperate, he raced out of the bedroom. The silence closed in around him, too calm, too eerie. As if death shrouded the house.
He searched his bedroom, tossed the bedclothes, and flung open curtains to let meager light in. Empty.
James raced out of his room and to the next room. Empty. As was the next and the next.
Frantic, wide awake now, his limbs jerky with fear, he shoved open the final door in this wing. A little-used guest room. The door banged against the wall, the sound doing little to penetrate the hammering mantra: Find Rose. Keep Rose safe.
It crawled up his throat and choked him, tightening around his lungs and heart until he gasped for breath.
Where the hell was she?
“Hmm?” An indistinct mumble came from the bed.
Relief made his limbs weak, and he crossed the room on shaking legs. His heart calmed, and it was easier to breathe. He crawled into bed with Rose and settled behind her, tugging her close to him.
“James?” she asked, her voice thick with sleep.
“Rose.” He sighed and pulled her tighter to him.
She stiffened in his arms but didn’t try to pull back. He thought that a good sign.
“There are times when a man must do unpleasant things in order to protect what he cares about,” James said into her hair.
She pulled from his embrace and sat up, putting as much distance as the bed allowed between them. He felt her loss acutely but refrained from reaching for her.
“Unpleasant things?” she repeated, the words heavy with anger and sarcasm. “James, you locked me up! I wouldn’t have left. I couldn’t do the simplest things, to pay a visit to Octavia! These…these aren’t the actions of a rational man,” she said, and even in the darkness of the room, he saw her anger. Heard it in every word she spit.
She shook her head, a blur in the darkness. He curled his hands into fists and clenched his jaw to keep silent.
“Before you invoke these dreams, these visions, these…these imaginings,” she spat, “know I’ve heard all of it again and again. It does not excuse your behavior yesterday. I can’t live with a man who treats me this way. Who has no trust in me.”
“But you will live,” he said through clenched teeth. “I take these actions to ensure that.”
James took a deep breath; he ignored the mustiness of the room and the closed-in feeling. He needed to make her see reason. He needed her safe, protected, and knew only one way to ensure that—keep her in the house. Where no one could harm her.
“I take no pleasure in any of this and I don’t want to believe what I believe, but it’s there nonetheless.”
Rose shoved the bedcovers off and stood. James followed automatically but kept some distance between them. He needed to feel her, to assure himself she was alive and healthy, but some small part of him held back. Let her have this space.
“I don’t want to live my life in fear of a story,” she snarled.
Rose crossed her arms over her chest and he felt the heat of her glare. “I’m going to dress,” she said carefully, the anger a living thing between them. “And have breakfast, and leave this house today.”
He took a step closer and towered over her. It didn’t intimidate her and James knew it—was glad for it. He didn’t want to intimidate her, didn’t want to force her to bend to his will. He hadn’t fallen in love with a woman who did; he loved Rose.
His fiery, passionate, stubborn Rose.
James wanted to tell her that, wanted to tell her so many things, but all he focused on was her safety. His driving need to keep her safe and alive.
“I shall see Lady Octavia,” she continued, undeterred. “Possibly enjoy a walk in the park, and return when I see fit.”
His teeth grinding together, not in anger but stone-cold fear, he forced himself to remain silent for a long minute. The fear moved like ice through his veins, settling heavily in the pit of his stomach.
With absolute certainty, James knew if she left the house alone, he’d never see her again.
“I shall accompany you,” he said and nodded.
“You will not,” she retorted.
She stepped around him and left. James let her go. The darkness closed in and suffocated him, but he let her go. He didn’t know what else to do.
* * * *
ROSE CLOSED THE door to her bedroom. After a moment she turned the lock on the door. She didn’t want to rehash the same arguments with James. The same tired arguments about his unfounded fears for her safety.
Even if they did share a past life, even if she had been ripped from him then, his thinking that it might happen now, in their life here, was completely unfounded.
She sighed, suddenly tired. With heavy steps she crossed to the window seat and looked out over the still-sleeping city. Pressing her forehead to the cool glass, she closed her eyes and fought her fatigue.
She’d tossed and turned throughout the night, unable to stop thinking of James’s unreasonable behavior. And she missed him. Missed the ease they shared, the love and affection. Missed his laugh and his arms around her. Missed making love to him, the way his skin tasted beneath her mouth, the way he felt as he moved within her.
Tonight solidified it. Whatever she planned to do or say to him, it made no difference. How often could they have the same argument? It went round and round with no resolution. What she needed to do was change the circumstance. She needed to show James she was in no real danger. There was no danger, period.
“I need to leave.”
Saying the words aloud made them real. She thought about it off and on all day, but hadn’t truly considered it until now.
It hurt, the realization. As if she tore her own heart out. She was perfectly capable of surviving on her own and knew how to live off a meager allowance, certainly not afraid of working to support herself.
Her father hadn’t always had money, and Rose knew how to do much of what their servants now did. She knew how to add numbers and work in a shop. No, working wasn’t the problem nor was living on her own.
She didn’t want to leave James.
Rose sighed and pressed the heels of her palms against her eyelids. Her fingers curled against her scalp, and she tried to think of another way.
Leaving him, not forever, no. Just long enough to prove to James she was a capable woman. He didn’t know her, not really, not her pa
st. Didn’t know how she and Robert survived for years until the construction company her great-grandfather founded truly started to make money.
James knew women of his social class, not a woman used to making a pittance last an entire week.
Dread laid heavy in her belly even as sadness closed her throat. But there was no trust between them, and she needed that. Needed him to trust her and not lock her in a house, no matter how gilded it looked.
How could she love a man who did not trust her? How could she live with him, share a life with him, if his fears constantly pressed against them? Constantly eroded their happiness?
Rose took a deep breath and rang for her lady’s maid. She didn’t know the woman well enough to ask for her help. Given her experience with the servants in her father’s home, Rose wasn’t likely to trust the woman simply because Shaw was her maid.
No, she needed to do all of this—plan, execute it, and survive—on her own.
She couldn’t bring any gowns; that would be too noticeable. But she did have day gowns at the seamstress still. Wherever she ended up she’d no doubt need to buy a simpler gown, but at least she had something for the moment.
Hmm, she needed to take the carriage to the shops. And lie to the driver, poor man. She already had to convince James to let the man keep his job after he’d discovered her sneaking out to help her father.
Once in the shops, she’d need to gather her items and sneak out the back, hire a hackney, and leave.
Confident in her abilities, she waited for poor Shaw to appear. No doubt she still slept and, frankly, Rose wished she could go back to sleep as well.
Curling back onto the window seat, she closed her eyes. No, she didn’t want to leave James. That was the last thing she wanted. But she saw no other way to make him understand. She’d tried compromise and loving him. She’d tried arguing with him.
All it left her was exhausted and locked in her own house.
But she could write him a letter. She wanted to prove a point, not make him insane with fear. Not make him think someone truly had taken her.
Rising from the seat, she crossed to her desk. Taking a sheet of paper, she took a moment to compose her thoughts.
Improper Wedding: Scandalous Encounters Page 15