A Perfect Secret (13 page)

Genevieve let out a shaking breath. Sheltered from curious eyes, she unclenched her hands from her cloak and pushed back her hood.

Christian touched her hand briefly but pulled away. “Would you rather have waited in the coach? I could bring you something to eat.”

She shook her head. Leaving now would only draw attention. She’d been foolish to think she could go out in public. But she’d spent the last several months locked inside and had been impatient to leave such restrictions. She swallowed and lifted her head.

Christian’s concerned face filled her vision. “What is it?”

“I ….” if she told him she thought she’d seen one of Wickburgh’s men, it might worry him needlessly. “I thought I saw someone I knew.” She lifted her shoulder in a loose shrug as if to dismiss the matter.

Christian straightened. “Are you sure?”

“No, I’m not sure it was he.”

“Did he see you?”

“I don’t think so.”

He nodded, his brows drawing together slightly. “I won’t let anyone hurt you, Jen.” His quiet, intense tones edged through the last of her fears.

Christian would keep her safe. Though she didn’t deserve it, she had somehow garnered his commitment to protect her. If only she’d been able to protect him from the heartbreak she’d inflicted on him. But perhaps they’d moved past all that and they could both rebuild their lives apart. Surely she could find somewhere she’d be safe.

She tried to of think something she could do for Christian, some way to repay him, or at least thank him, for all he was doing for her. At the moment, helping his sister was the only thing she could think of. Perhaps another opportunity would present itself. Of course, she’d never truly repay him; all she could hope for was a meaningful show of gratitude.

“Are you too tired to continue traveling tonight?” he asked. “We could stop here.”

She shook her head. “I want to get there as quickly as possible.” She snapped her mouth closed. It wasn’t fair to inconvenience Christian to satisfy her desire to put as many miles as possible between Wickburgh and her. “Do you wish to stay the night here?”

“Not necessarily. If we stop now, we’ll have to find an inn again tomorrow night. If we go a few more hours, we can reach Rachel’s cottage tomorrow night. But there’s no need to rush.”

She dredged up a smile. “No, no need to rush. It’s not as if we’re racing to Gretna Green with enraged relatives on our heels determined to stop our wedding over the anvil.”

If only they were. But none of that mattered. Finding a place where she could be safe was all that mattered.

He let out a half-hearted laugh. “No, fortunately.”

Because he no longer had any desire to marry her? Or merely that he was glad they didn’t need to rush? It didn’t matter. She’d be a fool to hope he had any romantic feelings for her.

As the serving girl opened the dining room door to bring the food, the noise from the main room blasted in. Genevieve tensed. Wickburgh’s man might be waiting out there. She went perfectly still, careful to look straight at Christian and keep the back of her head toward the door. The maid left, closing the door behind her.

Genevieve let out her breath, removed her gloves, and picked up her fork. Christian tucked into his meal like a man who hadn’t eaten all day. In spite of herself, Genevieve smiled. He’d always had a healthy appetite. She found that quality endearing.

After eating, they stood. She eyed the door, knowing she must go through it. With her hand on Christian’s arm and her hood carefully over her head, she navigated through the crowded inn. No one approached. As they returned to the carriage, Genevieve glanced back. No one seemed to notice them. And of that man she thought she’d seen, there was no trace.

“You’re jumpy.” Christian handed her into the carriage.

“I fear I’m not far enough away yet. Someone might see me.”

“Are you well-known in the area?”

She settled her skirts on the seat. “No, my face is not known at all. I never left the house.”

He halted with one foot on the step and one hand on the doorway. “Never?”

She shook her head.

“Why? As the wife of a viscountess, surely you were expected to make calls, see to the tenants, throw balls and such.”

Genevieve’s first inclination was to side step the issue. But she was so weary of all the secrecy between them. “He forbade me to leave the house. He wanted me where he could always find me. When he had to check on any of his other properties, or attend Parliament, he always took me with him and locked me away when we arrived.”

“He locked you away? You were a prisoner?”

She offered a wan smile and lifted a shoulder in a shrug. She couldn’t bring herself to reveal those times when Wickburgh kept her locked away with only her cat for company and a twice-daily visit from her maid.

Christian’s hand on the doorway curled into a fist and a muscle in his temple pulsed. A moment later, he got inside the coach facing her. As the carriage began moving forward, he ran a hand through his hair thoughtfully. She wanted to touch his hair, his face. She longed to feel his arms around her, ached for him in a way she hadn’t ached for any other man. All her suppressed desire brought on by her long separation from Christian returned in raging force.

But that was wrong. Even though she was fleeing a husband she never loved, she was still married. Used. Damaged. More unworthy of Christian than ever.

He leaned forward and looked her earnestly in the eye. “As I said, I’ll see you safely to Rachel’s and then onto a boat for the continent. You’ll be free of him once and for all, I vow it.”

Sorrow edged against her like the lapping of waves that she’d had to give up such a wonderful man. “You are a true gentleman. A perfect gentleman.” Realizing what she’d just said, she pushed back the encroaching sadness to tease him a little. “Do your brothers still call you the ‘perfectly perfect Christian?’”

His mouth quirked. “Grant does occasionally when he’s in a particularly foul mood. Of course, Grant is always in a foul mood.”

She smiled. “I’m not certain I wish to meet Grant, but he is right about something; you are perfect in at least one way—so far you have been a perfect gentleman and a perfect knight.”

He looked uncomfortable. “I’ll try to live up to that high ideal but fear I’ll fall woefully short.”

“Better than a long fall, don’t you think?”

He smiled. “Yes, I suppose if one must fall, a short fall is preferable to a long fall.”

They grinned at each other.

Well being crept over her. She was safe, and she and Christian were conversing comfortably at last. “Well, you are as close to perfect as I’ve ever known. And I mean that in the best possible way.”

His smile faded and that intensely focused stare returned. He moved to her side of the carriage, his thigh brushing against hers, his presence large in such a confined space. Her heart gave a leap and began pounding against her ribs. The flickering light from the carriage lamps illuminated his face and gave him a warm glow.

He peered into her face as if seeking answers there. “Do you remember the soiree at Lady Everette’s house?”

She blinked at the odd question “Yes. Why?”

“When we were in the Everette’s gardens, we were talking and strolling and everything seemed fine. Suddenly, you asked, rather desperately, if we could go back inside.”

She dug through her memories to recall the event. “Yes, I believe I remember that day.”

“When I questioned you, you said you were unnerved by Lord Wickburgh, that he always watches you. You seemed rather discomfited by it.”

She gathered her cloak closer as if putting on a shield to protect her from his questions. But sooner or later, he would probably figure it out. What would she do, then? She couldn’t keep lying to him. “Did I?” she hedged.

“I offered to have a talk with him, but you begged me not to.” That intense gaze drove in deeper. “It causes me to wonder; why would you later marry a man who clearly frightened you?”

She opened her mouth, and then closed it. Focusing on her hands in her lap, she made a point to adjust her gloves.

He kept talking, as if voicing his thoughts helped him to understand them. “At the time, I assumed he was merely fascinated by a beautiful girl. But later, I had the feeling he was rather obsessed with you, in an unhealthy way.”

He was right, of course, but what could she say? He was obviously trying to make some sense of her cruel rejection. But she had to protect her father’s secret.

He pressed on. “I assumed once he learned of our engagement that he would back off.”

She looked up at him then. “He … made his intentions known and I saw the … wisdom in his offer. My letter should have been quite clear.”

His eyes drove into hers with painful intensity. “In your letter, you stated you’d had a change of heart about us—I believe you used the word ‘fickle’—and you said that we didn’t suit, and that he met your ideal for a husband. But when I went to stop the wedding, you claimed to have been secretly engaged already and you were merely enjoying my intentions.”

She went very still. “You must be mistaken.”

“No, you were very clear on that point. As clear as you were on choosing to marry a lord instead of the youngest son.”

She swallowed. That last statement must have cut him cruelly. Which is why she’d used it as a last effort to convince him to leave. If only she could tell him the truth! Her eyes stung. “I’m sorry I hurt you. I truly am.” She looked away to hide her collecting tears.

“Why did you marry him? And please don’t insult me by repeating any of those lies you told me in Bath. There was more to it, I know there was.”

Her heart pounded so hard she feared it would knock her off her seat. Something inside her collapsed, and she could no longer keep up the ruse. “I wish I could tell you. But I can’t.”

“He forced you to marry him, didn’t he?”

The fight left her. She couldn’t lie to him anymore. She owed him the truth—at least, part of the truth. “Yes.”

He let out his breath in a low, weighted exhale. “At last, something makes sense. How? What did he hold over you that would force you to marry him? I cannot believe your parents made you to do it.”

“No. They were against it.” She looked up at him desperately. “I cannot tell you more. I made a vow.”

He blew out his breath and dragged a hand through his hair. “I wish you’d told me you were in trouble. I would have found a way around it.”

She said nothing. There was nothing she could say.

“Did he ravish you?—is that why you felt you had to marry him?”

“No.” Her face burned at the idea of Christian believing she’d lost her virtue before marriage. But he clearly did not believe she’d been at fault; his expression was searching, desperate even, but without any trace of accusation or judgment.

He said nothing for a long time, only chewed on his lower lip. She followed the motion of his teeth touching those full lips that had once kissed her so softly, with such heat. It seemed like a century ago instead of only a year.

“You’re here now,” he said quietly, “and I’ll keep you safe from him, I give you my word.”

She did not doubt it. The weight of her deception eased a little, and one corner of her heart filled with light and hope.

CHAPTER 14             

The following day, as late afternoon sun bathed the countryside in golden light, the Amesbury-crested coach arrived in front of an unassuming cottage in the middle of a vast, windswept moor. Christian’s fingers itched to draw it, to capture the texture of the wood, the crumbling brick wall running beside the cottage, the bracken and crowberry. His last visit had been too brief to indulge himself.

He glanced at Genevieve. She peered out the window, her eyes alight. He admired the curve of her cheek, the wisps of auburn hair that curled around her face. She hadn’t jilted him. She hadn’t thrown him over for a titled lord. He wanted to sing with joy. A great burden he’d been carrying lifted. It didn’t change the fact that she was married. But it changed everything inside his heart. They could never be together of course, not as long as she remained married, but at least the pain of her rejection faded. For now, that was enough.

As the carriage rolled to a stop, Genevieve raised her brows in surprise. “Your sister lives here?”

“I warned you it was humble.”

“It’s perfect. He’ll never think to look for me here.” Her smile reached dazzling proportions. “It’s absolutely charming.”

He stared at her with open-mouthed surprise, completely undone at the beauty of her smile. That he could have provided her with a place to feel safe enough to smile so brightly brought warmth flooding over him. Her eyes locked with his and her smile faded, replaced with an uncharacteristic intensity. He tamped down the urge to trace a finger along her cheek. It would not do to rekindle old feelings for Genevieve. Knowing she’d been forced to marry Wickburgh did not make her any more available to him. But at least she hadn’t callously thrown him over. The knowledge healed over the deepest of the wounds in his heart. Perhaps he wasn’t beyond redemption.

As they stepped out of the coach, a chill wind blew from the moor carrying the scent of heather and clean earth. She shivered. “I’m glad I have a heavy cloak. It’s colder here.”

“It’s always windy here. “He held out an arm. “Let’s get you inside.”

Mrs. Fletcher, a plump, motherly woman waved from the doorway. “Mr. Amesbury! I’m so glad you’ve come.”

As Genevieve walked at his side, she seemed to step strangely. It wasn’t quite a limp, but it wasn’t her natural graceful stride, either.

He slowed his steps. “Are your shoes hurting your feet?”

She smiled up at him. “No. They’re a little too big. But they’ll do.”

He made a mental note to take her to the cobbler. No lady should have to wear ill-fitting shoes.

As they reached the door, Christian gestured to Mrs. Fletcher. “This is our indispensible housekeeper, Mrs. Fletcher.  Mrs. Fletcher, meet Mrs. Jennings.” He let out his breath in relief that he hadn’t stumbled over her alias.

Mrs. Fletcher beamed at Genevieve. “Welcome, Mrs. Jennings. I’ll be glad to see Miss Amesbury with someone to keep her company. I hope I can enlist your aid in reminding her to eat.”