The Old Maids' Club 02 - Pariah (32 page)

“I’m
not
afraid of you,” she said, her tone laced with a stubborn determination.

That was precisely the problem. Or at least part of the problem.

“It is too dangerous for me to be there, even locked in my chamber. But if we were married? If we were to share a bed?” He shouldn’t have mentioned sharing a bed with her. Not while she was wrapped up tight in his arms. Not while her warmth left his entire body enflamed with need. Roman gave himself a mental shake, trying to force the errant thoughts from his mind. “How could I protect you from myself, love? I could not live with myself if I ever hurt you.”

She shook her head, as though that would be enough to alter his decision.

“I love you too much to see you come to any harm.”

Bethanne pulled away from him and spun around, her expression as thunderstruck as he felt after his admission. “This is not love,” she said with as much vehemence as he’d ever heard her muster.

Then she turned again and fled through the falling snow, taking the only remnants of his heart with her.

After Bethanne left, Roman had resumed chopping wood until there was no more left to chop. He’d gone into Hassop House, thinking to put something in his stomach, only to discover he couldn’t have eaten a thing if he’d tried. Being inside the main house had all the servants on edge, so he’d left as fast as he could.

He had a groom saddle a horse, and he took off into the snowy night.

Roman had no idea where he intended to ride—he just needed to ride. To clear his thoughts. To somehow convince himself that he was doing the right thing.

He would never have doubted it, if not for the sheer disbelief and pain upon Bethanne’s face as she’d left him.
This is not love
. Her words haunted him at every turn, and no amount of physical exertion had yet managed to exorcise them from his mind.

It was bad enough that he’d blurted the truth out before he’d taken the time to think about what he was saying, but for her to completely and utterly disbelieve his confession left him an empty shell of a man, a carcass left to rot.

Yet, was that not what he had been all along? At least since his return from the Continent, he’d hardly been more than a hollow replica of the man he’d formerly been. He’d not confided in his family about how very real the nightmares he faced were to him, thinking to protect them from the atrocities of war and the failure he’d become.

Indeed, Roman hadn’t confided in anyone at all, and certainly not in Bethanne. How could he share such evils with her? She had far too many worries of her own without adding his to her list.

This is not love.

It was love that had forced his hand. How could she not see it? Because of his love for her, he must protect her. Were he a man so base as to worry solely about his own lust, he would marry Bethanne without a second thought, nighttime episodes be damned.

Roman rode for hours, back and forth over the hills surrounding Hassop, thoroughly heedless of his destination. When tinges of pink and purple lit the backs of the hills from behind the clouds, he finally stopped…only to realize he’d stopped in front of the cottage. Since it was almost dawn, there really wasn’t a better place for him to be, he supposed. After all, he was to meet Shelton at first light.

As he dismounted and took his horse to the stables, he had to chuckle. He hadn’t named a second, not that he had any earthly idea whom he might. Shelton had neglected to do so as well. They hadn’t discussed terms or weapons.

Not that Roman would be uncomfortable with either pistols or swords. He was more than merely trained in the use of both. It would, however, make the proceedings smoother if they’d sorted some of it out. He’d been too caught up in his worries about Bethanne and how she would face the rest of her family after all of this was said and done, however, and it seemed Shelton might have been too blinded by his rage.

This might prove to be the oddest duel known to man.

Once his horse was settled, Roman started across the white-blanketed lawn toward the clearing beside the cottage, only to draw up short when Lady Rosaline’s scream rent through the pre-dawn air.

Without hesitation, Roman spun on his heels and sprinted for the house. After dashing up the steps, he slammed headlong into the front door, which didn’t budge. “Damnation,” he muttered. Perhaps he oughtn’t to have fixed the locks after all. They’d locked him out. Or at least
someone
had done so, and it would only take Roman one guess to determine which someone that might have been.

He pounded his fists on the doors, even as Lady Rosaline’s screams grew louder and more frantic. Feminine voices mixed with Shelton’s panicked baritone.

“Let me in!” He could only imagine how a man such as Shelton, one so reckless and quick to unleash his temper, might react to one of Lady Rosaline’s episodes; none of Roman’s imaginings on the matter were particularly pleasant.

Finally, the lock turned and the door fell open, and Roman dashed past a wide-eyed Joyce.

“She’s in a right state, my lord,” the cook said as together, they rushed up the stairs. “It’s one of the worst I’ve ever seen.”

Based on the numerous such events Roman had experienced, both Lady Rosaline’s and his own, that was an ominous sign, to say the least.

When he finally reached her chamber, he bolted through the open door and took a quick assessment of the situation. Shelton was trying to forcefully restrain Lady Shelton, while both Bethanne and Mrs. Temple tugged at his arms.

“My Christopher!” the lady cried. “I must get to my Christopher.” She thrashed on her bed, trying to free her limbs from the man’s grip.

“I will not let you leap from the window.” Shelton tightened his hold, which only served to elicit a pained gasp from Lady Rosaline.

Bethanne tugged on her brother’s arm more determinedly than before. “You’re hurting her, Isaac.”

If this wasn’t stopped at once, Lady Rosaline would have bruises covering her entire body.

“Enough,” Roman said calmly. The last thing any of them needed was for more heated emotion to be added to the situation.

Shelton’s furious eyes flashed up to meet him. “Get out of my aunt’s house at once.”

“Please, Isaac.” Bethanne sent a panicked look in her brother’s direction. “He can calm Aunt Rosaline.”

“Oh, sir! You must help me.” Tears filled Lady Rosaline’s pleading eyes. “This madman is keeping me from my intended.” She never ceased her fight for freedom.

Finally, Shelton gave a brief nod, the corners of his mouth working downward.

Roman held his arms out before him, moving toward the mass of bodies on the bed with a great deal of caution. He didn’t want to startle Lady Rosaline, and he didn’t trust Shelton yet. Lord only knew what a man so rash might do if he felt threatened.

“Christopher, you say?” He kept his tone conversational. That always worked best with Lady Rosaline. “Would this be a Christopher Jackson?”

“What’s he doing?” Shelton muttered beneath his breath to his sister.

Roman noticed that the man eased his grip at least slightly, however. That was good.

“Oh, yes. Do you know him?”

Inch by inch, step by step, Roman crept closer to the bed, continuing his now well-rehearsed conversation with the lady.

Shelton gawked as he observed the interaction between the two, a bemused and slightly dismayed expression upon his face.

A moment at a time, Lady Rosaline gave up her fight…and Shelton accordingly relinquished his hold upon her person. By the time Roman sat on the very edge of the bed, the lady was calm with the knowledge that her beau had not returned for her, and Shelton stood beside her bed with his hands hanging at his sides.

“And you will let me know the moment he’s arrived?” Lady Rosaline beseeched him.

“The very instant, my lady.”

She reached over and grasped his hand within both of hers. “You truly are a very kind man.”

He smiled at her. “We’ll all leave you to sleep now, if you wish.”

With a nod, she said, “That would be lovely.”

As one, they all headed for the door with the sun’s rays guiding their path. Dawn had arrived. It was time for Roman to answer Shelton’s challenge.

“Joyce, would you mind terribly staying with her until she’s asleep?” Bethanne asked softly, just before they reached the corridor.

“Of course not, Miss Shelton.”

Once they were all outside the chamber, Roman pulled Lady Rosaline’s door closed.

“How in God’s name did you do that?” Shelton asked in a tone of disbelief.

Bethanne censured him with her eyes. “Not here, Isaac.”

With a begrudging shrug of his shoulders, the younger man started down the stairs. He jerked his head as an indication that they should follow him.

Wearily, Roman made his way down with Bethanne by his side. Mrs. Temple followed in their wake. His fingers itched with the need to comfort Bethanne, to touch her gently on the back, and he desperately wished to pull her into his arms, but somehow he refrained.

When they reached the landing, Shelton crossed his arms and glared at Roman. “Well? Care to explain yourself?”

The sanctimonious bastard was back.

What could he possibly explain? Shelton had seen for himself what had taken place. There was no further explanation he could give.

After looking first to Bethanne’s exhausted visage and then to the daylight peeking through the windows, Roman scowled. “I believe we have an appointment, do we not?”

“No!” Bethanne darted between them, the foolish woman that she was. She faced Roman and placed her hands on his chest, as though to stop him. Her lower lip quivered. “Please, you can’t go through with this.”

The delicate touch left him reeling, sending awareness skittering along his spine.

He forced himself to ignore the need raging through his body, then removed her hands from his person, passing them into Mrs. Temple’s care. “This is between your brother and me.”

Shelton met his eyes and gave a curt nod.

Roman swallowed his anguish over leaving Bethanne in such a state. There was nothing he could do to alleviate her anxiety. Turning to Shelton, he said, “I’ll meet you in the clearing, then. Mrs. Temple, please stay with Miss Shelton.”

Before she could try yet again to stop him, Roman left the cottage and crossed the field, leaving what remained of his heart and humanity behind him.

The door closed behind Roman, and it felt as though the door closed to her heart at precisely the same moment.

Clearly, Bethanne couldn’t change Roman’s mind about the duel. He claimed to love her…but how could a man who loved her possibly think subjecting her to such a thing between him and her brother would be what was best for her? She’d hardly slept a wink all night, lying in bed restlessly debating her options.

His fears about placing her in danger weren’t unfounded. Bethanne could understand them all too well. That didn’t mean she shared his fears—far from it—but she’d seen enough to understand why he’d object to marrying her.

No, Bethanne couldn’t fathom a single argument she could give Roman to change his mind. That left only Isaac. And after her night spent tossing and turning, and fruitlessly hoping to discover a solution, she’d come to a conclusion: the only option left available to her was the very thing she’d promised Miranda she’d never do.

This realization left Bethanne’s stomach roiling. She’d sworn to her sister she’d never reveal her secret, but could she possibly put two lives at risk in order to keep silent? Revealing the truth would mean betraying her sister’s trust. With each passing tick of the clock, more bile built within Bethanne’s stomach until she feared casting up her accounts.

Isaac looked at her, a wave of sympathy sweeping over his features.

“Mrs. Temple, would you bring us some tea?” he asked. Then he put an arm around Bethanne’s waist and pulled her with him into parlor. “You’re crying again.”

Blast, she hadn’t realized she was. It was happening almost non-stop since last night.

“I’d hoped you would have had it all out of you by now.” He sat on the sofa and pulled her down beside him, then wrapped one arm around her back and drew her close, offering her the awkward sort of comfort only a brother could give.