Abigail Jones (Chronicles of Abigail Jones #1) (17 page)

TWENTY-ONE

I entered the library as I had so many times before. Yet there was a new hesitance to my approach—an awareness that everything had changed between the man standing in front of the fireplace and myself. I paused at the threshold, my throat tightening as I took him in. He had his forearm propped against the mantle, his strong physique bent as he contemplated the fire. He lifted his head; flames continued to leap in his eyes as he stared at me. Slowly, I closed the door behind.

"Abigail," he whispered.

My heart ached to hear my name from his lips. But I did not move. Time seemed to crystallize between us; only the snap and crackle of the fire marked its passage.

"Please, you must sit," he said finally. "You should not be standing so recently after your injuries."

Though I could not explain it, the wounds I had sustained a week ago had healed completely. 'Twas not only my arm that no longer ached: my entire body from head to toe felt as limber as it ever had. As I walked to the settee Hux indicated, my feet moved in a strangely innervated step.

I sat, and, after a moment, Hux took the wingchair adjacent to me. Brim-full of emotion, I found I could not look at him. My eyes went first to the portrait above the fire, but the smirking smile—so eerily familiar to the one I had seen last night—twisted my insides. I redirected my gaze to the fireplace, the play of gargoyles and roses in stone, and tried to calm my pounding heart.

"Abigail, please. Look at me."

The deep resonance of his voice flowed powerfully through me. Nerves needling with pleasure and fear, I did as he asked. His eyes captured me as they had always done; they washed everything away, everything but my awareness of him. I was drowning in those depths of blue. Drowning as I had been since the very first time we met, though I had tried to hide this fact from myself. From him. Lord only knew I could not bear his revulsion—or his pity.

"Abby," he said, "how did you find me last night?"

Uncertainty gripped me. I thought of the disgust and fear which had greeted my abnormality in the past, and my mouth went dry. I loved him; would he despise me if he knew? If I told him I could hear the voices of evil in my head, that I could feel their sensations, that their foul lusts possessed me ... Sweet heavens, he would be repulsed! Mayhap he would think
I
was allied with these demonic spirits ...

Quaking, I knew I could not tell him—not until I had answers for myself. Self-preservation, the habit of a lifetime, took over. "I—I heard the screaming from my room. Your door was open, and I went in. The door to the—the passageway was ajar, so I followed the sound of the voices to the tower room."

I waited, my heart rampaging in my chest. As lies went, 'twas not an accomplished one. My true reactions I could hide with a degree of proficiency; outright lying was another matter completely. How I wished I had thought ahead to fabricate a more elaborate tale. Biting my lip, I bore his slow scrutiny as best as I could, certain that the fire on my cheeks would give me away.

Apparently he believed me, for after a moment he asked, "Do you hate me?"

Hate him? My chest seized in a bittersweet spasm. He did not know my heart, then; for this one mercy, I should be glad. "No," I said in suffocated voice. "I don't hate you."

"You should. I would not blame you if you did. Only—" he stopped, his fingers gripping his thighs. "There are things I must tell you, things I have never shared with another living being. I owe it to you, Abby—you, who have seen me through unnatural horror." His stark gaze pinned me. "And yet I fear to tell you; I fear to burden you with the sins of my soul."

I understood the question he was asking, the decision he was leaving to me. Dare I know this part of my employer? Dare I risk further intimacy with this man to whom I already felt a terrifying attraction, a potent and dangerous bond? Dare I expose myself to the pain of what could never be?

Yet he needed me—I could see it in the tautness of his posture, the stillness of a man used to shouldering his own burdens. And he had hired me for this purpose, I suddenly comprehended: for what was a secretary, if not a repository of secrets? Though we could never be lovers, a different sort of intimacy could bind us. It was all I could have of him; it would have to be enough.

"Tell me." The words left me half-sound, half-breath.

His eyes closed for an instant. I could see the muscle leaping in his jaw, the tension between concealment and exposure drawn harshly across his features. "You are certain?"

"Yes ... I want to know."

"Very well, then." His eyes lit with feverish intensity. "You will know everything about me, Abby. All that I was and what I am. And you, with your goddess' eyes, your unimpeachable spirit—you will judge me as you will."

My throat closed. If only he was right; if only the fabric of my soul was as spotless as he described. It had to be true, I told myself fiercely. I would keep out the darkness, shut it out with my mind as I always had.

"'Tis none but God who can judge you," I said.

"God—what has He given me but trouble?" Hux gave a mirthless laugh. "But I digress. You have many questions, I am sure, about the extraordinary events you witnessed this evening. But I must take you back further, to the start of the story so you may fully understand. For this, I must beg your patience."

Sitting back, I nodded.

"The tale begins with two boys, the sons of a wealthy earl. Though the two brothers were born three years apart, they might have been twins for their closeness of mind and spirit. The older boy was named John; I was the younger."

These facts I already knew from Mrs. Beecher. To keep her confidence, I said, "'Tis not common knowledge, your having a brother."

"The world knows little of it. My family was living in Yorkshire at the time. And John—he was only thirteen when he died." His gaze grew unfocused; I could sense him withdrawing, being pulled inexorably into the past. "He was the good boy, the proper one, you see. The earl and the countess adored him—everybody did, myself included. You'd have thought such a paragon beyond bearing, but there was no righteousness, no smallness in John. I cannot count the times he took the blame for some mischief I caused. How many times he stood up for me. I followed him as faithfully as a pup, right to that last day."

I tried to assimilate this new image of Hux. Not the born leader as he seemed to be, but a dark-haired boy who'd adored his older brother. Who'd follow him anywhere. The words Mrs. Beecher had seen echoed in my head:
Forgive me, forgive me, forgive me
...

I felt my mouth dry. "What happened that day?" I asked with quiet trepidation.

"It was winter. For a fortnight, we had been closed in by snow storms. The chill of the wind was such that it could freeze exposed flesh within minutes. I was bored beyond belief in the nursery. John, he could read and do his lessons all day long—but I could hardly stand to sit still. I begged him to go outside with me. I whined and pleaded until he could refuse me no longer."

"I made up a story to tell our tutor—I was good at that—so that John and I could make our escape. We dressed in our warmest clothes; I still remember the matching navy wool jackets and red woolen scarves. We left the house through a back way, one that led to a meadow and beyond that a lake."

Hux's hands were fisted now upon his lap, and I could see the bone of the knuckle shining through the skin. "It was the lake, you see, that I pestered John about. I wanted to see if it had turned to ice. And it had." His voice drifted into the quiet chill of that day. "It was beautiful. A giant black mirror. It was so still, so quiet. I could not wait to run across it."

My throat constricted; my pulse leapt with foreboding.

"John, being the cautious one, told me not to. But I scoffed at his warning. I called him a coward and took off over the ice. I was going to show him how brave I was—how, for once, I could do what my older brother feared to. I remember crossing back and forth the first time, the feeling of flying over the smoothest glass. 'Twas so grand that I did it again. John was shouting at me from the bank. I didn't listen. I didn't even hear the cracking until it was too late."

"My God," I whispered.

"I fell in. The panic I felt—I cannot describe it. The blackness, the icy water rushing over my head and into my lungs. I struggled to stay afloat as the weight of my clothes dragged me down. I couldn't breathe, I was sinking into the cold, the darkness—and then something grabbed hold of me. A force that propelled me upward toward the light. The air sliced into my lungs, and I found myself coughing, lying upon a cold, solid surface."

"It was John," I said numbly. "He went in after you."

Hux's face was as still as the lake that haunted his memories. "Somehow, he managed to get both of us to the shore. I don't know how long we lay in the snow. Not more than half hour, I suppose—later I was told we were lying side by side when they found us. Still wearing our matching coats and scarves. They rushed us back to the house. I do not remember much else for the delirium that took me."

"When I came to myself days later, the first person I asked for was John. I could tell by Nurse's reaction that something terrible had happened—and yet even then I could not fathom it. I could not imagine my older brother being anything but his vital, perfect self." Hux's chest rose and fell in rapid waves; his eyes were sheened with moisture. "The earl was the one to tell me. He came into the sickroom the next day, and I cannot describe the look upon his face. The helpless rage. He could hardly look at me as he spoke."

"
John is crippled, and you are the cause of it.
Those were his only words. Then he left."

I saw the shudder run through him, and I could bear it no longer. I went to him, kneeling between his knees, taking his head upon my shoulder. He did not resist me; he leaned into the small comfort I could offer. I could feel the dampness of his cheek against mine as I stroked his hair, his shoulders. As I held him the way his father should have done.

After a while, he pulled me from the floor, and I went willingly. It seemed natural to have my arms circling his neck as he held me fiercely; I suspected I was his only anchor to the present. I waited for him to regain his composure, for I knew the tale was not nearly finished.

"The surgeon had ... he'd had to amputate one of John's legs, where the frost had eaten into the flesh. The cold had taken hold of John's mind as well; he was never the same boy he once was. He lived in constant pain. He had uncontrollable fits; many days, he had to be strapped to a wooden chair to prevent injury to himself. Three years my brother survived this way ... until, one day, Nurse found him."

"What happened?" I whispered.

"There was an empty bottle beside the chair. Laudanum," Hux said in a thick voice. "Someone had left it out. And John he—"

I held him more tightly. I had not the words to soothe. Not this.

"It was ruled an accident," he said at last, "and John given a Christian burial. But I feared the truth of what my brother had done, what
I
would have done in the face of such suffering. I prayed for his soul, Abby. To this day, I pray for him."

"He is blameless," I said. "As are you. God must see that."

Hux did not speak for several moments. "We were lost without John. Things deteriorated from that point on between the earl and me. The countess, too—for she did as her husband bade. They did not wish to see me. But given that I was now the heir, they could not be rid of me entirely. So I was sent away to schools. I spent holidays in the care of servants or the homes of friends."

I understood now the source of the kinship I had always felt with him. He knew loneliness the way I did. The isolation imposed by loss and feelings of defectiveness. I entwined my fingers with his.

"As I grew into manhood, my behavior took on a similar trajectory—it, too, deteriorated." Hux's grip tightened over my hand and my waist. "I took as my friends other young rakehells prone to drinking and debauchery. I passed my time in taverns and brothels. I was easy to anger; I cannot tell you how many of my nights ended with my fists bloodied. Everything you have heard about me is true: I sinned with a vengeance. I drank, gambled, and whored with a wildness I can neither explain or excuse."

But I could. Explain it, that is. "How long did it take—for your parents to take notice?"

Hux's head turned swiftly. Something blazed in his eyes. After a moment, the line of his mouth lost some of its bleakness. "My Athena, she misses nothing," he said softly. "You see what it took me many years to understand. I knew only the anger I felt—the loneliness and the guilt. And I blamed myself."

"You wanted your parents' affection," I said, "and that is the natural longing for a child. Or even a man."

"I did not deserve it," Hux said roughly, "not after what I had done to John. But I suppose you have the right of it. In my heart, I wanted my parents to see me once more. If not to forgive, then at least to acknowledge in some way that they had another son—one who still lived. My behavior succeeded in that. They could no longer ignore the scandals I was causing and the damage to the Huxton name."

I remembered what Mrs. Beecher had told me. "So they sent you away again."

"The continent, this time. The Grand Tour—with the express purpose of getting their recalcitrant heir out of their hair."

"It didn't work, did it," I said.

"It made me angrier. I did not understand my fury then—I merely acted upon it. Like a beast caught in a trap, I'd have torn off my own leg to be free of that anger. I ran with a trio of hell-raisers, and I did what I did best. My friend Reginald had the reputation for drinking, Marcus for gambling—and I for ..." Hux paused, his throat working, "my prowess with women."

He fell silent. I realized he was waiting—for my reaction. I was hardly surprised by his statement. From everything I knew, seduction was a skill he did indeed excel at. Yet the self-loathing in his voice made something in my chest clench. I was seeing that far from being a carefree libertine, Hux was a man who held himself responsible for a great many faults. Who judged himself harshly. Who punished himself with more regularity and force than the gossips ever could.