Hannah, on the other hand, had often lost herself for hours in a book. The day before she was killed she’d come to this very store and spent nearly half a month’s earnings on a new publication by a new author. He still had the book, tucked away with a few other personal belongings he’d chosen to keep before donating the rest of her things to a local orphanage.
In his darkest moments when he’d missed his wife with an ache that resonated all the way down in his soul, he would take the book out and put it on the table and imagine Hannah’s smile when she returned from a long day of work and saw it waiting for her. Sense and Sensibility, the only book in her beloved collection that would forever go unread.
“When my mother was young, it was common for suitors to give the women they were courting a book,” Amelia explained as she leaned against the shelf and flipped through the thick pages of the botanical journal. “In the back they’d often leave a special note. A sonnet, or a poem, or a declaration of their love. I enjoy finding them. It’s rather like a treasure hunt.”
Tobias didn’t bother to contain his snort. “And ye think a bloke would really give his sweetheart a book called” – he squinted at the gold embossed title peeking between Amelia’s fingers – “The Seven Different Common Varieties of Ferns and their Practical Medicinal Uses?”
Bluidy hell, what a mouthful.
“You’d be surprised,” Amelia said mildly. Then her eyes lit up. “Here! Come look at this.”
He waited for her to give him the book. When she didn’t, when she kept it pressed against her belly, he had no choice but to sidle up next to her until their arms were touching. The top of her ostrich feather tickled his nose as he bent his head to get a better look at the handwritten inscription in the upper left hand corner of the very last page.
“To my darling Josephine,” he read aloud. “Know that every time you read this, I am thinking about you. Until we see each other again, my love. Always yours. Lord Traverson.” He rocked back on his heels. “That’s the best a nabob can come up with?”
“I think it’s romantic,” Amelia argued as she brushed her thumb across the elegant signature before gently closing the book. “What would you write?”
“What would I write?” Tobias repeated dumbly.
“Yes.” The ostrich feather slid down the side of his neck when she tilted her head back in challenge. “If you were to give me a book, what would you write it in it?”
An uncomfortable prickling sensation filled his chest. Avoiding Amelia’s gaze, he stared at the ground instead, focusing on an ugly brown rug that was nearly worn through to the floorboards. “I wouldn’t write anything because I’d never waste me money on a journal about bluidy plants.”
“You’re skirting the question,” she pointed out.
“Aye,” he said irritably, “because it’s a stupid question.”
“Why Mr. Kent,” she purred, the velvety softness in her voice causing the prickling in his chest to spread down to his loins. “I do believe you are afraid.”
“Afraid of what?” he said, jerking his chin up to glower at her.
“Of revealing that you might actually feel something for me.” She flicked her tongue across her bottom lip and had him swallowing back a groan. “Or am I supposed to presume your being here is a complete coincidence?”
“If I felt something for you, I damn well wouldn’t write it in a book.”
“Then what would you do?”
“I’d tell ye!” he roared.
Amelia blinked. “There’s no need to shout. I’m standing right next to you.”
Yes, she was, which was part of the bluidy problem, wasn’t it? He couldn’t think when he was this close to her. At least not anything that wouldn’t make the devil blush. Even with Hannah he’d never been a man of many words, nor one who easily shared his emotions. After her death it became easier to simply stop feeling all together. Or at least, to stop feeling any emotion that wasn’t fueled by his thirst for revenge. Then he met Amelia…and ever since he’d been feeling too much.
Passion, annoyance, lust, fear, excitement, jealousy. They were all jumbled inside of him, fighting to get out. Fighting to be free of the box he’d locked them in. The box he’d locked himself in. For what was a man without emotion? Without feeling? Without anything driving him except for hate?
A monster, he thought silently. That man was a monster. He was a monster.
But maybe…just maybe…he didn’t have to be. Because maybe, at long last, he’d found the person who had the key he so desperately needed.
The key to the box.
The key to his heart.
The key to escaping the demons that haunted him.
“I’d tell ye,” he repeated through clenched teeth, his eyes fierce and dark and deep, “that the first moment I saw you I knew I wouldn’t be satisfied until I tasted the sweet nectar of your lips. I’d tell ye that I’ve thought of you every bluidy day and every bluidy night since.” He cupped her jaw, his thumb brushing across her soft cheek as the book she was holding fell to the rug with a dull thump. “I’d tell ye that I know you’re too good for the likes of me,” he continued huskily, “and a better man would recognize that and let you go. Then I’d tell ye that I’m not a better man. And then…then I’d do this.”
He kissed her softly, his mouth barely touching hers. When he stepped back his gaze was fathomless, his lips twisted in a bitter smile that felt achingly hollow.
“I’d tell ye all that,” he murmured, “if I felt something for you.”
“Tobias…” Confusion flickered across her fair features and nestled in a small groove between her brows. “What–”
“I need tae go,” he said abruptly.
Her eyes widened, then narrowed. “Absolutely not. You can’t tell me that and then run away. There’s no carriages to jump out of up here.”
No, there weren’t any carriages.
But there was a window.
“Tobias!” Amelia hissed his name and ran after him as he stalked to the end of the book row. Dust filled the air when he shoved aside musty-smelling curtains and unveiled a window just large enough to squeeze through. A narrow metal railing led down to the alley below, no doubt installed after the Great London Fire had trapped thousands in burning buildings just like this one.
The window hadn’t been opened for quite some time and it let out a creak of protest as he shoved the glass pane upwards. Beside him Amelia made a similar sound.
“This is ridiculous. You came to me. For what reason?” she fumed, blue eyes flashing as she pinned her hands to her hips, fingers bunching in the fabric of her skirt. “What game are you playing?”
“No game,” he said quietly.
“Then what?” she cried. “Why do you keep doing this? Coming, and then going. Kissing me, and then telling me it can never happen again. I don’t understand. Is this what you do with all the women you fancy? Keep them dangling on the end of a line to be pulled up and dropped at will? Because I’m not a damn fish to be tossed back in the pond when you suddenly change your mind!”
“There isn’t anyone else I fancy.” Even that small admission caused the muscles in his abdomen to clench. “There hasn’t been anyone in a long time. There are things about me ye don’t know–”
“Then tell me,” she interrupted. “Just tell me, Tobias. Surely that would be better than continuing to run away. Whatever it is, whatever secrets you’re hiding, just tell me what they are and we can overcome them together. I know we can.”
His jaw tightened. She made it sound so bluidy simple and easy, but there was nothing easy about his past or Hannah’s death or his quest for vengeance. There was nothing simple about the violence that simmered within him. Violence that could hurt Amelia in more ways than one if he ever allowed it to spill out.
It had been selfish of him to come here. He could see that now. Leaving would be the kindest thing he could do for her. The only thing he could do. Because until he found a way to silence his demons once and for al
l, she wasn’t safe with him. And he should have known better than to seek her out in the first place.
“I can’t,” he rasped, swinging one leg over the window ledge.
“Tobias, wait–”
But he was already gone, sliding out of the window and down the narrow fire escape with the fluidity of a shadow. He could hear Amelia shouting his name, but he didn’t look back as he ran down the alley. He couldn’t. Amelia may have very well held the key he needed…but some things were never meant to be unlocked.
Chapter Twelve
“And then he left. Again.” Sighing, Amelia bit into a Banbury cake still warm from the oven as her aunt clucked her tongue and shook her head. They were sitting in a small corner table at Lady Tinicum’s Tea For Me, a cozy little shop that offered an assortment of sweat treats in addition to the usual coffees and teas one expected to find in such an establishment.
“I still can’t believe I slept through all that,” said Aunt Constance.
Amelia lifted a brow. “We both know you weren’t asleep.”
“I’m sure I don’t have the faintest idea what you’re talking about.” But a secretive smile curved Aunt Constance’s lips as she leaned forward and helped herself to her third chocolate scone. “Why do they make these so delicious when they do nothing but add girth to your waist?”
“For the same reason they make handsome men so infuriating.” Brushing a crumb from the corner of her mouth, Amelia pursed her lips in silent contemplation. She was furious with Tobias. But more than that, she was furious with herself. How many more times would she be lured in by his dark charms, only to discover there was nothing of substance behind them? “I wish he’d fallen and broken his ankle,” she muttered. “Then we’d see how fast he could run away from me.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“No, Auntie, I don’t. I just wish…”
“You wish what, dear?” Auntie Constance prodded gently.
“I wish I could feel the same way for one of my suitors as I do for Tobias. Any one of them would make a perfectly suitable husband by the ton’s standards. They’re simply…”
“Not the man you’re falling in love with,” her aunt said kindly, reaching across the table to place her hand on top of Amelia’s. “Are they?”
“I never said I was falling in love with him.” But if that were true, why couldn’t she meet her aunt’s gaze? Shoving the remainder of the Banbury cake into her mouth, she stared down at her plate, pretending to study the small pink roses entwined along the edge.
She wasn’t falling in love with Tobias.
Was she?
No, her mind rejected even as her heart fluttered.
“You didn’t have to, dear. It’s written all over that beautiful face of yours. You look exactly like I did before I ran away with my Harold, and your mother when she–” But with an abruptness that left an unnatural chill in the air, Aunt Constance cut herself short. “Chocolate scone?” she offered, holding up her plate.
Amelia ignored it.
“My mother when she…what, Auntie? When she met Father, you mean?”
“Yes, of course. When she met your father.” But this time it was Aunt Constance who glanced quickly away, causing the back of Amelia’s neck to prickle with suspicion.
“Was there someone else she loved? Before she and Father were married?” Amelia’s mother had never mentioned a rival for her hand and her heart, but then Vanessa had always been oddly reluctant to speak about her past.
“No, there was never anyone else before your Father. Are you feeling tired, dear? I think it’s time we return home and take our afternoon–”
“Was there someone after?” Amelia asked quietly, and her stomach twisted when Aunt Constance’s cheeks paled. “There was, wasn’t there? A man my mother loved after she and Father were married.”
Amelia had known for a long time her parents were not happy. It wasn’t exactly something they attempted to hide. And she’d also wondered, although the thought always filled her with shame, if her father didn’t keep a mistress during his trips abroad. But she had never imagined – not once – that her mother might be the one who had strayed from their marital vows.
“It happened a long ago.” Still avoiding eye contact, Aunt Constance stirred some sugar into her tea.
“Who was he?” Amelia asked in a hushed voice, her mind whirling with unanswered questions. “How long did it last? When did it end? What did he–”
“I’m sorry, dear, but I can’t tell you anything else. I shouldn’t have even told you this much.” Grimacing, Aunt Constance took a sip of tea. “You know that my tongue always tends to run away with me when I imbibe in too much chocolate. If you want to know more, you’ll need to ask your mother.”
Amelia snorted. “You know that isn’t going to happen.”
“Then perhaps the best thing you can do is let it go. As I said, it occurred a long time ago. Everyone has moved on.”
“Did Father know?”
Aunt Constance’s cup hovered in front of her mouth. “I really can’t–”
“Did he know?”
“He found out, yes,” Aunt Constance said reluctantly. “And that’s really all I can say.”
Amelia slumped back in her chair. At least now she knew why her mother was so miserable in her marriage. She’d fallen in love…after she became a duchess. And she’d risked everything – her title, her husband, her place in society – to pursue a forbidden relationship that she’d somehow managed to keep secret all these years.
It was positively flabbergasting. But what was even more shocking was that her mother, her prim, perfect, marry-for-wealth-and-title mother, had once been in love.
“You’re right, Auntie.” Gathering her belongings – they’d stopped at several shops before arriving at Lady Tinicum’s – Amelia stood up. “We should go home.”
The two women linked arms as they left the tea shop. Both lost in their own thoughts, neither one noticed the long dark shadow that fell in step behind them.
Tobias didn’t know where to go after he left the bookstore, so he went to the one place he hadn’t been since Hannah died.
Home.
The tiny two bedroom house on the outskirts of London had cheerful blue shutters, a leaky roof, and a front door that had the bad habit of sticking on rainy days. It sat in the middle of a small plot of land, the drive riddled with puddles, the yard – what there was of it – haphazardly tended, the yellow rose bush his father had brought his mother to celebrate their twentieth wedding anniversary so overgrown that it was creeping up past the front window.
Laundry hung from a line, white shirts billowing in the breeze. Chickens scratched at the ground, ignoring Tobias as he walked past. His heart in his throat, Hawke’s advice ringing in his ears, he dragged off his hat and tucked it under his arm before he made his way to the front door and, after a long hesitation, rapped his knuckles against the grainy wood.
It opened almost immediately and a young, freckle-faced woman with a baby dangling on her hip and another clutching her skirts popped her head out. “Da! I told you not tae forget your…T-Tobias,” she stuttered, her dark eyes – eyes that mirrored his own with tiny flecks of amber in the irises – widening with shock and disbelief. “Is – is it really you?”
“Aye Margaret May,” he said gruffly “It’s me.”
“I canna believe it,” she whispered.
Neither could Tobias. The last time he’d seen his youngest sister she’d been wearing pigtails. Now she was a woman fully grown…and it looked as though he had a new niece and nephew. Crouching down, he held his hand out to the small toddler hiding behind Maggie’s dress. He and Hannah had always planned on a home filled with children. It was one of his deepest regrets that they’d never gotten the chance, for he knew Hannah would have been a wonderful mother.
It just was another piece of her future that had been stolen.
Another chapter of her life she would never be able to live.
But ma
ybe…maybe Hawke was right. Instead of driving himself to the devil with his unending quest for vengeance, perhaps he could honor her memory in a different way. Tobias bowed his head. All this time he’d pursued revenge in the hopes that it would ease the ache inside of him. That it would take away his pain. That when The Slasher was finally caught and justice was at hand, Hannah – and her memory – could rest in peace. That he could be at peace. But there was no peace to be found in pushing those he loved away. No peace to be had in stripping away his heart piece by piece until there was nothing left but a dark, dull lump of coal.
You’re better than this, Kent. So be better. If not for yourself, then for Hannah.
Would Hannah want him to live like this?
It was a question he’d never dared ask himself, because he already knew the answer. His wife had been gentle as a lamb and she would never want him to sacrifice his well-being, even if it meant finding the man who had murdered her. She would want him to be happy. She would want him to be with his family. She would want him to find love again.
Maybe that was how he could best honor her memory. Not with more death and destruction, but by simply living as she would have wanted him to. Without guilt. Without fear. Without destroying what little piece of his heart he had left.
He still wanted The Slasher for pay for his crimes, and he still wanted to be the one who made him do it. There was no denying that part of himself. No shoving it down deep into a place he could ignore. But maybe…maybe that wasn’t all there was. Maybe there could be more. Maybe he could be more.
If only he dared to take that first step out of the darkness and into the light.
“Bridget, this is your Uncle Toby. He’s – he’s been away for a very long time. Say hello, sweetling. It’s all right,” Maggie said, smiling down at her daughter when she peered up at her mother with wide, wary eyes.
A Dangerous Temptation (Bow Street Brides Book 5) Page 14