by Darcy Burke
“He really is your brother then?” The hermit glanced at her skeptically.
Audrey dropped her gaze and filled her spoon with the aromatic stew. “Yes, he is. I’m quite proud of him.”
“Mr. Hughes,” the hermit said, “come in and join us.”
Audrey turned her head to look at the doorway. Ethan stood in shadow, the twilight casting a faint glow around him. He looked rugged and handsome, and she envisioned him living the life of a hermit in the more glamorous hermitage she’d seen before, with its columns, arched doorway, and multiple sparkling windows. Could he live like that? Would he want that?
Ethan moved inside and sat down beside Audrey on the carpet. He set his hat near the hearth and plucked up his bowl of stew and the third spoon with a nod of thanks to the hermit. Ethan shot Audrey a questioning glance, but she couldn’t comprehend what he was asking. Had he overheard the story she’d told? If not, she’d best inform him.
“My brother Wendell is going to be an excellent teacher,” she said. “He’s quite good at motivating young lads.”
Ethan’s nostrils flared, but that was the only indication that he was perhaps surprised or dismayed. Too bad. She was tired of taking only his directives. She’d chosen to come on this adventure and she’d been through quite a lot. If she wanted him to be a teacher instead of her fleeing a violent husband, he could play along.
“What will you be teaching them?” Peck asked before spooning stew into his mouth.
Audrey watched Ethan and wondered what he would say. He’d said he was supposed to attend Oxford and had sounded bitter about not going. Perhaps making him a teacher hadn’t been very thoughtful of her.
“A variety of things,” he said smoothly. “Though Greek is my favorite.” He said something in what had to be Greek, drawing Audrey to look at him in surprise. He was watching her with that edge of arrogance that never failed to heat her belly. “‘Education is an ornament in prosperity and a refuge in adversity.’”
Peck grunted. “I was fortunate enough to learn to read, but I don’t speak any languages beyond my native tongue.”
Ethan leaned slightly forward. “How does one become a hermit?”
“I suppose it must be different for everyone, but if you make enough mistakes and ruin enough chances, there’s not much left to do.”
Audrey studied Ethan for some sort of reaction, but he’d gone back to eating.
Peck finished up his stew, drinking the dregs from his bowl, and wiped his sleeve across his mouth. He stood and put his bowl and spoon on the table. “Just set your dishes here. I’ll wash them in the stream in the morning. I’ll be going out to hunt now. Make yourselves comfortable and leave whenever you wish.”
Audrey blinked at him. “You hunt at night?”
“There are many creatures that only inhabit the shadow hours.” He grinned. “Tasty creatures.”
Ethan nodded and laughed. “Right you are.”
Peck took a blanket from the end of his bed and set it next to Audrey. “I have just this one extra covering, but it’s better than none. Sleep well.”
After he’d gone and closed the door, Audrey turned to Ethan. “Why did you laugh? What do you know of nighttime hunting?”
“Plenty. The best game come out after the sun goes down. We hunters know this.” The gleam in his eye made her shiver. What could he possibly hunt in London?
She thought about what Peck had said about why he was a hermit, about mistakes and ruined chances. Misfortune had driven Ethan to a criminal life, something he would not have chosen otherwise. “You seem to have more in common with the hermit than I would’ve thought.”
“Mmm.” He spooned the last bit of stew into his mouth. “Are you finished?” At her nod, he took her bowl and deposited their dishes atop the table. “Why did you tell him I was a teacher? What happened to the story we planned?”
“‘We’ didn’t plan a story. You did. I didn’t want to be pregnant or abused.” She stretched her legs out in front of her. “Anyway, where did you learn to speak Greek?”
He stood beside the table and looked into the fire. “I didn’t. My father had several favorite quotes.”
“Would you have liked to learn Greek?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. I had a tutor who taught me Latin for a time, but I’ve forgotten most of it.”
A life interrupted by tragedy. That he was still here, still fighting for his survival was a testament to his self-discipline. She didn’t know much about the life he’d led but imagined he was someone important. Why else would men have followed him so far from London? “What sort of criminal are you?” she asked softly. “You said Gin Jimmy was a lord of crime. What are you?”
He turned his head to look at her. The firelight danced in his eyes. He shrugged out of his coat and folded it up, then placed it on the carpet that covered the dirt near the hearth. “Your pillow, my lady. You take the blanket as well.”
He wasn’t going to answer her. Again. She wanted to shout in frustration. She settled for glaring at him, but he wasn’t paying attention as he untied his cravat, pulled off his waistcoat, and made his own, smaller, pillow.
She ought to check his wound, but she was too annoyed. Besides, they’d left the poultice at Bassett Manor so there was nothing to do except inspect it. He’d begun to scratch at it, she’d noticed, which meant the wound was healing. Or so the innkeeper’s wife had told her.
He lay down on the carpet, his head on his waistcoat. She did the same, using his coat as her pillow and drawing the threadbare blanket over her. She was careful to keep at least a foot between her and Ethan. Then she rolled on her side, putting her back to him for good measure.
“I’m Gin Jimmy’s right hand. Or I was until I tried to double-cross him.”
Her breath hitched and she held it, trying to be extra quiet in case he said something more. When he didn’t, she rolled over and looked at him. His eyes were open, staring at the beamed ceiling.
“What did you do?” Fear for him quickened her pulse. No wonder men had followed him so far from London. If he’d gone against this crime lord, he would have enemies.
“I wanted to be Ethan Lockwood.” His mouth quirked into a wry smile. “A stupid dream, I realize now.”
“It’s not stupid. And it doesn’t have to be a dream.” She scooted closer to him. “You are Ethan Lockwood, aren’t you?”
He turned his head and looked at her. The searing gray of his eyes nearly burned her with their intensity. “I am who I am, Audrey. I’m a criminal who is wanted for murder and I doubt there’s a way I can redeem myself. I can’t seem to go even a couple of days without having to kill someone.”
She heard the pain and regret in his tone and longed to soothe it all away. “I’ll help you, however I can.”
His features hardened. “There’s no helping me. Any regret I feel at killing those men is because of you. I regret bringing you along and exposing you to my depravity. But know this: I don’t regret killing them. In fact, I revel in it. I rose to become Gin Jimmy’s right hand because I am smart and cunning and above all ruthless. Don’t ever forget that, and don’t ever think I’m someone I’m not. I am the hermit, Audrey. A solitary monster who’s chosen his lot and must endure it.”
She exhaled then, having held her breath through all he’d said. She wanted to argue with him, to again say it wasn’t too late to change, but so far he hadn’t listened.
He looked back at the ceiling. “Go to sleep. We’ve still four or five more days of travel until we get to Beckwith.”
Beckwith? The name was familiar ... Lord Sevrin’s estate in Cornwall. Where her friend Philippa lived.
Ethan put his back to her, signifying an end to their conversation, and perhaps their friendship, if that was what it had ever been. She rolled to her back and stared at the wood crisscrossing above her. At least he’d finally revealed some of himself, and he’d told her where they were going. A minor victory, but she’d celebrate it since it was the only one she had.
Chapter Eleven
The hermit Peck awoke early and departed the tiny cottage. Ethan opened his eyes after he left. He’d turned toward Audrey in the night. Now, he watched her sleep, her long, dark lashes fanned against her cheeks. The fire had died down, but still cast enough heat that her cheeks were pink and lovely.
He’d watched her sleep every night that they’d been together. The two nights he’d spent apart from her at Bassett Manor had been cold and lonely. He’d been annoyed at how quickly he’d grown accustomed to her company. He was right about being the hermit—he’d lived a solitary life for far too long and it galled him to rely on anyone else, let alone want to.
Did he want to rely on her? Trust her?
The temptation was there. She was so earnest in her desire to help him, to understand him, to vindicate him. All of it was so misplaced. He didn’t deserve that, especially from her. Which was why he’d continue to keep her at arm’s length no matter how badly he’d softened toward her.
And he had.
She occupied his thoughts as they rode each day and crowded his dreams every night. She was beauty and goodness and he desired her so badly he nearly shook with it. He was no better than a rutting beast. She wanted to improve him, and he wanted to shag her. Proof that he wasn’t worthy of her.
He just needed to get through the next handful of days until they reached Beckwith. Then he could deposit her with Sevrin, who would keep her safe. He’d take his leave and return to London to attempt to clear his name. How would he do that? Teague would stop at nothing to ensure he hung for killing the Marquess of Wolverton. And Ethan had made it easy for him. For Christ’s sake, Teague had found him standing over the dead body with a bloody knife. Ethan wiped his hands over his eyes and cursed his stupidity, as he’d done countless times since that night.
He’d crafted an elaborate plan in which Wolverton would be exposed as the head of a theft ring that preyed upon the elite of Mayfair, while at the same time appearing to have double-crossed Gin Jimmy, which would lure the crime lord out of the rookery. That last part had been the most difficult to manage. Jimmy stayed close to his usual haunts, where he was safe and protected. Getting him out of St. Giles so he’d be vulnerable had taken careful planning. But Gin Jimmy had learned that someone had set him up.
Ethan had tried to puzzle out how that had happened. He could only reason that Jimmy had arrived at Wolverton’s too late that night, after Bow Street—whom Ethan had anonymously tipped off—had already infiltrated the marquess’s home. Instead of being at Wolverton’s when Bow Street had arrived, he’d showed up after the fact. Probably, Bow Street had ignored Ethan’s tip to conceal themselves until after they’d apprehended the crime lord and consequently, Jimmy had seen them at the house.
It made sense that Jimmy had then gone on the hunt for Wolverton, finding him at Lockwood House during one of Jason’s notorious vice parties. Jimmy had killed one of Jason’s footmen, donned his livery to pass into the party unnoticed, then killed Wolverton. Ethan had gone onto the terrace just as Wolverton lay dying. The marquess had told Ethan that Jimmy was dressed as a retainer. Then Ethan had caught sight of the knife Jimmy had used. The hilt had been engraved with the letter J, which Ethan knew meant Jimmy, but which could also be interpreted as being for Jagger. He’d picked it up, intending to remove it from the scene, but that was when Jason and then Teague had come onto the terrace and discovered him.
In the eyes of Bow Street, Ethan was a murderer. It didn’t help that they’d also wanted to charge him with the death of Lady Aldridge, who’d died of opium poisoning at the hands of Jimmy’s underlings. Her husband had led a second Mayfair theft ring and had been killed last spring when he’d been in danger of being caught by a former magistrate. Jimmy didn’t want Aldridge or his widow telling the authorities about the intricate theft rings he’d built among London’s Upper Ten Thousand.
Audrey’s eyes opened and she blinked several times before focusing on him.
He tried to read her expression, but couldn’t. “Good morning.”
“Good morning,” she murmured. She sat up abruptly. Her hair had come completely undone, as it usually did in her sleep. The dark curls cascaded past her shoulders. She put her hands up and patted the mass.
He gathered up the pins on and around his coat and handed them to her. “Here. I don’t see a glass, and judging from the length of Peck’s beard, I presume there isn’t one.”
She held her palm flat to receive the hairpins. “I daresay you’re correct.” She smiled at him, and it was at moments like these that he wondered if he could truly choose a normal life. With her.
He shook off the ridiculous fancy and got to his feet. “I need to run outside.”
He took his time conducting a rudimentary toilet in the narrow stream running seventy or so yards away from the hermitage. He wondered if he’d run across Peck, but didn’t.
Perched on a rock, he leaned over and splashed water on his face. The sound of a gunshot nearly launched him into the creek. He leapt up and raced back toward the hermitage. If Jimmy’s men had found them again ... He nearly tripped in his desperation to get to Audrey.
As soon as he reached the clearing where the tiny cottage was settled, he stopped short. Four young dandies were circled around with their rifles. Peck and Audrey stood near the doorway to the cottage.
Everyone looked safe and whole. Ethan’s heartbeat began to slow.
One of the dandies turned. “This your brother, then?” He took in Ethan’s damp hair and shirtsleeves. Ethan hadn’t bothered to don his waistcoat or any of his other garments yet, while these men were decked out in their best hunting attire. Their finery grated on Ethan. His clothing and accoutrements back in London rivaled anything they were wearing. He might be a goddamned criminal, but he was the best-dressed one in London.
Audrey had managed to tame her hair into a sedate style. Dressed in Miranda’s dark blue gown that was too short for her, she looked like an inferior miss in hand-me-down clothes. Ethan detested that far more than his own inadequate costume. In different circumstances, he would gown her in the finest silks and drape her in jewels.
“Yes, this is my brother, Wendell,” Audrey said. “Wendell, these gentlemen are out for their morning hunt.”
“I heard the gunshot. I trust they’re not hunting hermits.” He didn’t bother masking his glower. What manner of idiots were they to be firing so near to the hermitage?
“No, no,” one of them answered jovially. “Just a misfire!” He didn’t seem to notice or perhaps he didn’t care about Ethan’s annoyance, which only served to irritate Ethan even more. Everyone paid attention to his reactions. It was generally accepted that agitating Jagger wasn’t beneficial for one’s health.
Ethan cut through the group of gentlemen and went into the hermitage. He quickly donned his waistcoat and simply tied his cravat. He pulled on his thoroughly rumpled coat as he walked back outside.
“If you weren’t such a delightful young lady,” one of the men was saying to Audrey, “I’d be inclined to report Peck’s behavior to my father.”
“What sort of ‘behavior’ is that?” Ethan asked, again not sparing the effort to keep the bite from his question.
“Having guests. We don’t pay him to entertain.”
One of the other men snorted. “That’s precisely why you pay him. To entertain us. And I’m thoroughly entertained by Miss Hughes.” He dropped a lascivious gaze at Audrey’s chest and it was all Ethan could do not to toss his dagger into the man’s throat.
“Ah, Wendell, we should perhaps be going,” Audrey said, touching his arm and drawing his murderous glare away from the man who’d offended her. Audrey’s gaze connected with Ethan’s and she widened her eyes to perhaps communicate with him to stop. Though Ethan wanted to eviscerate the man who’d ogled her, he recognized such foolishness, though satisfying, wouldn’t aid their cause.
He forced a smile at the dandies, his lips threatening to break under the exercise. “D
on’t blame Peck. He merely took pity on us as we were traveling through. It was quite late and my sister is in a rather delicate condition.”
He slid a glance at Audrey, whose face had paled. “Come, Sister, it is time for us to depart.” He went to their horses and loosened them from their tethers. Then he helped Audrey to mount.
Ethan offered his courtliest bow to the hermit, and pointedly ignored the others. “Thank you for your kind hospitality.” He swung himself up on his horse and led Audrey from the clearing.
They weren’t able to ride side by side until they reached the main road. Audrey wasted no time in riding abreast of him. “Why did you say that about my condition?”
“I wanted to mitigate any trouble our visit might’ve caused Peck.” And attempt to make her less attractive to their lewd attention.
“I don’t think it caused any trouble.”
“You heard what that fop said. He considered telling his father that Peck had somehow overstepped his role of hired hermit.” Peck was little better than a slave, it seemed. They weren’t so alike after all. Ethan enjoyed absolute freedom. He could do whatever he wished whenever he wished.
His body slumped as if he’d been kicked in the gut. No, he couldn’t. He couldn’t simply tell Jimmy he was through being his right hand, that he wanted to be a proper gentleman in Society as Ethan Lockwood. Jimmy would never let him go, would never free him from his criminal obligations. It was why Ethan had orchestrated his plan to bring him down in the first place. Only then would he be truly free.
Ethan and the hermit were exactly the same. Men who’d chosen a life in the hope that it would be an improvement, only to find they were little better than serfs of old.
“I’m not sure they really meant any harm,” Audrey said.
His hands tightened on the reins. “You might have if you’d noted the way they were looking at you.”
She snapped her gaze to his, then nodded, understanding his meaning. “I didn’t realize. No one ever looks at me like that.”