The carriage pulled to a stop in front of Abigail’s home.
Weston smiled at both of them. “My work here is done, so I’ll leave you to attend some business of my own. I assume you’ll keep me apprised of any further developments?” His mouth curved in a small smile as he watched Stephen. “Since you’ve recently improved your communication skills.”
Stephen didn’t bother to answer.
“Good day, Miss Bradford.” Weston alighted from the carriage, leaving Stephen alone with Abigail once again.
“Well then...” After a brief glance under her lashes at him, Abigail reached for the carriage door. “I’ll take my leave as well—”
Stephen grabbed her wrist. “Not so quickly. You and I have far more to discuss.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Abigail froze at Stephen’s words, her heart pounding a staccato rhythm. “I have no wish to be berated further.” She only wanted to see to Thomas’s injuries and then retire to her bed and pull the covers over her head. Anything to put this day behind her.
“Believe me, your point has been made,” she added, trying dismiss the feeling of unease that crept over her.
“I don’t think it has.”
“How so? Are you hoping for an apology?” Those green eyes were impossible to read. “Very well.” Truth be told, she did owe one to both him and Thomas. Her actions had caused more harm than good. “I’m terribly sorry I put you and everyone else in harm’s way.”
He leaned forward, anger emanating from him in waves, causing her to catch her breath. “Do you have any idea what could’ve happened if Weston and I hadn’t come along?”
Guilt flooded her as she thought of Thomas’s battered face, of the fear that had enveloped her as those men held them. “I’m grateful you were there. I can’t thank you enough for saving us.”
“Abigail.”
When he said her name in that tone, it made her shiver. “I said I’m sorry.” She knew she should let the matter subside, but she couldn’t. “I only intended to follow you long enough to see where you were going. You are far too good at keeping secrets. I feared this would be one more you didn’t intend to share. I’d wager you found more than rats in Simmons’ lodgings.” She waited for him to deny her claim, hoping he would.
He glanced away for a moment, and she had her answer.
Shocked, she could only stare at him in disbelief as tears filled her eyes.
“It’s true then,” she said, her heart sinking. “I trust you with my very life, but you don’t trust me enough to share what you’ve learned.” She bit her lip so she wouldn’t say the next words out loud.
I love you but you don’t love me.
How could he when he didn’t even trust her?
“Listen—”
She held up her hand, hardly able to see for her tears. Her heart ached, making it difficult to draw a breath. “You’ve kept so many things from me. About you. About the things you’ve discovered.” Even as she spoke, she knew how right she was. She could see it in his eyes.
“I need you to—”
She shook her head, anxious to escape before she lost the brittle hold she had on her emotions. “I don’t want to hear another half-truth.”
“If you’d but listen for a moment.” He took her hand but she wrenched it free, unable to bear his touch.
“No.” Her breath came out in a shudder, but she forced herself to continue. “I hereby release you from our agreement. I will protect my family myself as I’ve always done. Your assistance is no longer needed.” She shoved open the carriage door and stepped down.
“Abigail!”
Her name on his lips only made her hurt more. Tears blurred her vision as she looked at him one last time. “A footman will see you home. Goodbye, my lord.”
She quickly shut the carriage door behind her, wishing she could so easily shut out the pain in her heart. She told the footman who’d come out to meet the carriage to take Thomas’s place and drive Stephen home.
Numb, she turned her back on the departing vehicle. She hooked her arm through Thomas’s and moved toward the steps. “Thomas,” she said, her voice trembling, “I am so terribly sorry for putting you in danger.” She stopped on the landing and looked at his swollen eye. “I promise you that—”
“Miss, it’s me who should apologize,” Thomas interrupted. “I should’ve kept you safe and I didn’t.”
Ponsford opened the front door, glancing between her and Thomas. “Miss! What’s happened?”
“Can you please see to Thomas’s injuries?” She patted the footman’s shoulder, her guilt making it difficult to look at his swollen features.
The butler’s expression was full of concern. “Are you hurt, miss?”
“I’m fine. Please see to Thomas. He can fill you in on the events of the afternoon.” She dashed up the stairs toward her room before Ponsford could argue further.
Irene stepped into the hall as Abigail reached her bedroom door. “Abigail?”
Despite the concern in her voice, Abigail shook her head and held up her hand, hoping Irene understood. The last thing she wanted to do at this moment was talk. She shut her door and leaned against it.
Not since her father died had she hurt this much. Her entire body ached with an intensity that had nothing to do with the men whom she’d fought. With slow, careful movements, she moved to her bed and curled into a tight ball, trying to hold together the shattered pieces of herself even as tears poured down her face. Stephen’s lack of trust tore at her. She thought he’d cared for her, that he would’ve done anything to protect her.
That perhaps he’d come to love her.
She’d finally found someone who could thaw the frigid core inside her. The part of herself that she’d locked away after her father’s death so she’d never have to experience this level of pain again. Stephen had bypassed her defenses and stolen her heart. To learn that she meant nothing to him was more than she could bear.
She buried her face in her pillow and wept, wondering if she’d ever be whole again.
***
Stephen watched outside as the light of dawn revealed tendrils of fog slithering along the street. The wisps rose slowly to engulf the entire area, smothering everything until it appeared as though the world ended at his front steps.
Appropriate, Stephen thought as he rubbed his aching forehead. Fitting weather for the darkness inside him that had reared its head yet again. He closed the curtain in his library to keep out what little light the day held and turned to pace the room as he’d done for hours.
His demons had returned in the middle of the night. This time, his will to beat them back had fled.
He simply didn’t care. What was the point?
Tired to his bones, he dropped into the chair behind his desk. All his efforts to help others had proved futile. He hadn’t been able to save anyone—not the missing boys, not Abigail or her family. He’d given it his best and come up empty-handed.
What game had he been trying to play? He was no hero. Why did he even try? Despair filled him as he heard Abigail’s words yet again. I release you from our agreement.
He knew she’d released him from far more than that. His relationship with her had been built on lies. One had to tell lies in order to keep secrets.
She’d obviously realized he was a fraud, playing a different game than the one she’d asked him to. How could he not try to find out who was behind Simmons? The man wasn’t capable of anything more than a simple burglary.
He reached for the glass of brandy at his elbow but thought better of it and shoved it back. He’d been drinking for hours and felt no different. It hadn’t numbed his pain. With his head in his hands and his elbows on the desk, he closed his eyes.
Winston and the other servants had left him to his misery last night. He knew he’d acted like a mad man, but he couldn’t seem to help himself when this darkness descended.
He had to get a hold of himself. To find the determination to wade through the despair
again. Yet the pain was so much worse this time and no longer confined to his head. His chest felt as though it had a gaping hole that would never be filled. He knew it was from losing Abigail. He ached at the thought of never seeing her again, of never holding her in his arms. He’d disappointed her and he didn’t see how he could make it right.
Then it dawned on him.
The anguish he felt was far more than loneliness or guilt. Abigail had captured his heart. He loved her with every fiber of his being.
He thought he’d been guarding his feelings so carefully but she’d filled him with reasons to live, to trust, to love.
He’d thrown all that away, so intent on doing what he thought best that he hadn’t taken enough care with her. He’d kept his secrets for so long, he’d forgotten how to share with someone...how to trust someone. He hadn’t told her about the rock they’d found under Simmons’ bed, hadn’t told her about the boys who’d vanished from the workhouse, nor what he knew of the lunar meteorite.
He didn’t deserve her. He’d known that to begin with and now he had proof.
Bloody hell. What was he to do?
With a heavy sigh, he stretched out his legs before him and rubbed the back of his neck, trying to find relief from the pain that gripped him so tightly.
The missing boys still needed him, even if Abigail didn’t. That meant he had to pull himself together. The memory of Abigail’s fingers on his temples, of her soft voice speaking to him made him miss her all the more. Perhaps he could try the technique she’d used to help him.
He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. As he drew slow, deep breaths, he tried to remember what she’d said to him. He pictured the gray space, trying to relax each of his limbs.
So tired, he thought and focused on the heavy feeling, allowing himself to sink into the chair. He lost track of time as he continued to drift through the endless gray, her quiet voice guiding him along, offering him comfort.
“What are you doing?” Light filled the room as the drapes were jerked open.
Stephen bit back the oath he’d been prepared to deliver at whichever servant had been brave enough to interrupt him only to find Weston staring at him as though he was a newly discovered oddity.
“Is there some reason for this...pose you’re in?”
Stephen looked down and realized he was sitting with his arms stretched out and palms up, his legs sprawled before him. Embarrassed, he sat up in his chair, wondering how long he’d been sitting there. “It’s a bit early to pay a call, isn’t it?”
“Have you become a member of the Society for Psychical Research? I hear their monthly meetings are fascinating.”
Stephen ignored Weston’s sarcasm as he realized that he felt better. His headache had eased, the blackness had lifted significantly. “I’ll be damned.”
“Most likely.” Weston continued to stare at him. “Care to explain?”
Stephen considered changing the subject but then remembered the damage keeping secrets had already caused. “Do you have headaches?”
“Doesn’t everyone?”
“No. I mean since the experiment.”
Weston watched him for a long moment. “Sometimes.”
“Mine are rather severe. Very hard to function when one comes.”
His friend nodded. “I know what you mean.”
Stephen rose, deciding that was as much as he could share on that topic for the moment. “What brings you here so early?”
“I’ve found someone who might be able to help us identify the rock that you found at Simmons’.”
Relief flooded Stephen. A breakthrough at last. “What are we waiting for? Let’s go.”
“Do you want to send a message to Miss Bradford?”
Stephen looked away as sorrow struck him anew. “Miss Bradford has terminated our...agreement.”
“Agreement? That seems an odd way to describe your relationship.”
“However you’d describe it, it’s come to an end. Probably for the best.” Why couldn’t he get his heart to understand that?
“But we’re so close to unraveling Simmons’ scheme. Did you tell her about the missing boys? About why we think he wants the meteorite? Surely she understands that you need Simmons to lead you to the next player in this mystery, that there’s some sort of connection with it all.”
Stephen said nothing. He hadn’t told her any of that. He’d thought he was somehow protecting her by keeping his suspicions to himself. Now he realized he’d been an idiot to do so.
“Good God, man. What’s with you and your secrets? No wonder she ended it.”
“Let’s just say I’m not used to sharing information.”
Weston sighed. “Nor am I. Perhaps we can both work on that. So what is your plan?”
Stephen considered his options. In truth, there was only one. “I intend to save her anyway. Simmons must be stopped along with the mastermind behind his plan.”
“Excellent.” Weston slapped him on the back. “Let’s see where this path leads.”
***
“What is on your agenda for the rest of the day, my dear?” Irene asked from the settee in the drawing room.
Abigail looked up from her tea, well aware Irene had been studying her, waiting for an explanation for her behavior of the previous day. She knew the dark shadows under her eyes told of her sleepless night, and she couldn’t hide her melancholy. She’d managed to avoid her stepmother most of the day, but they always shared tea each afternoon when they were both home. “I’m staying in this evening.”
“I thought you were going to the Smithby’s ball.” She sipped her tea, her brow puckered in concern.
“I’m not feeling up to it. I’ve sent my regrets.”
Irene nodded, clearly waiting for Abigail to say something more.
Abigail set down her tea, deciding it best to tell her the truth. Or at least part of it. “My...ah...association with Lord Ashbury has come to an end.”
“I’m terribly sorry to hear that. May I ask why?” The sympathy in her expression caused a lump in Abigail’s throat.
She looked away to stare out the window, deciding how to explain it. “We didn’t agree on the correct method of removing the threat of Simmons.”
“Oh dear. If Lord Ashbury is no longer helping us, then who is?”
“We will have to rely on ourselves.”
Irene visibly paled. “Are you certain this is wise? What about the guards he posted? Are they gone as well?”
“I suppose so, although I haven’t checked.” Abigail drew a shaky breath. “I intend to speak with Simmons and propose some sort of agreement with him. In exchange for the stone he wants, I’ll request he leave us alone. That he never bothers us again.”
“Abigail! Honestly, what are you thinking? How can you trust the word of a murderer and a thief?” Irene’s voice rose as she continued, “His agreement to your trade would mean nothing. Why would you think otherwise?”
“I hope that once he has what he wants, he’ll keep his distance. He’ll have no reason to threaten us anymore.” Abigail was taken aback at having to defend herself. Yet she had to admit the logic that had seemed sound as she’d lain awake in the middle of the night, now sounded ridiculous.
“We still don’t know why he wants the stone. That makes it all the more suspicious. I think you should reconsider. What happened with Lord Ashbury? He seemed quite reliable.”
Frustrated, Abigail moved to the edge of her chair. “He was never forthcoming with information and I had to constantly ask him to report new developments to me.”
“For goodness sake! He’s a viscount, not an employee. How can you possibly expect him to act in any other capacity?”
Abigail hesitated. She hadn’t considered that.
“Darling,” Irene said with a frown, “I think you should reconsider. Having a man in your life means relinquishing control, letting go of the details in some situations, trusting him.”
“I did trust him,” Abigail protested.
Abigail refused to consider the truth of that. “My agreement with Lord Ashbury was for him to warn off Simmons and instead, he spent his time trying to discover who else is involved.”
“That makes perfect sense.”
Abigail stood and paced the room, trying to gather her thoughts, to separate her emotions from logic. “I only want Simmons gone. I can’t stand it anymore. If anything happens to you or the girls...” She couldn’t finish the thought let alone the sentence.
Irene rose to take Abigail’s hands in her own. “But don’t you see? If we don’t get to the bottom of what Simmons is really after, then he could come back. And if he’s up to no good, then he might hurt someone else.”
With a heavy sigh, Abigail closed her eyes as the truth of her stepmother’s words sunk in. “You’re right. We need to follow through the whole affair and stop him. But we can’t simply wait to see what he does next. Action of some sort is needed.”
“Then you’ll get back in touch with Lord Ashbury?”
Her eyes flew open at the thought. “No.” She couldn’t deal with that. She hurt too much already. “There has to be another way. Someone else who could help us.”
“Do you have anyone in mind?”
“Perhaps Mr. Nesbitt could be of assistance. He recently had some interaction with the police.” Abigail hoped he’d formed some sort of relationship with whoever had come to investigate the break-in at his office. Maybe together they could convince the police of the threat Simmons posed. She already felt better for having a plan even though it was still forming.
“Does Lord Ashbury still have the stone Simmons wants?”
Abigail had almost forgotten that. “Yes. I’ll send a message requesting he return it.”
Irene tipped her head to the side, studying Abigail. “Does your riff with Lord Ashbury involve something more than this business with Simmons?”
Abigail paused, wondering how much to say. “I do have feelings for him, but I fear he doesn’t return them.”
Unraveling Secrets (The Secret Trilogy) Page 26