A Perfect Secret (12 page)

She held out her hands. “Very well. It appears that I must accept your charity for a time. I thank you. All of you.” She looked up at Christian. “How soon can we leave?”

“I had planned on leaving in the morning.”

“But don’t you think you ought to write to her first?”

“No need,” Christian said. “When we arrive at her doorstep, I’ll announce you are there to help her. She’ll welcome you, believe me.”

“You can’t leave that early,” Alicia interjected. “You’ll need clothes and supplies.”

Genevieve smiled. “I have nothing to pack. And as a secretary I won’t need much.”

Alicia’s brow wrinkled. “Oh I suppose not.” Her face lit up. “I’ll have more of my clothes and things made over tonight so you can take them with you. By the time I can fit in them again, they’ll be terribly out of date and I shan’t be able to wear them.” She offered a self-deprecating grin. “Bad form for a countess to wear old fashions, you know.”

As they discussed the details of the upcoming journey, the last of Genevieve’s reservations melted away and she basked in their warmth. In another lifetime, these people would have been her family.

If only her father hadn’t been the victim of blackmail! If only he’d been honorable instead of participating in that horrible mutiny! She pushed back her self pity and drew in a breath. It was done and it would not serve to dwell on what might have been.

She arose and bid them all a goodnight but Christian rose, too. “I’ll walk with you.” He held out an arm.

Hesitantly, she took it. She glanced at Lord and Lady Tarrington but they had fallen into a private conversation, their heads close together. As she put a hand on Christian’s arm, she kept her eyes on the floor. As they ascended the stairs, they fell silent. The idea of spending so much time alone with Christian as they traveled made her nervous. They’d have much time to squirm in awkward silence or perhaps try to rekindle the romance they once had. Neither of which was a good option.

“Thank you again for your help,” she said, breaking the silence.

“I’m glad you’ve decided to visit Rachel,” Christian said. “We’ll leave right after breakfast.”

She stopped walking as they reached the junction in the upstairs corridor and looked up at him. “Why are you willing to help me?”

He blinked. “Because you need it.”

“What do you want in return?”

His mouth dropped open. “You’re questioning my motives?”

“What could you hope to gain?”

“What do you think I want?” he demanded, his voice rising in anger.

“I don’t know, I have no money with which to pay you, a liaison? A mistress? After all, I’ve—”

“
What
?”

She flinched. 

Christian turned away and sucked in great gulps of air, his hands clenched and his shoulders stiff. “You don’t know me at all, do you?”

“I didn’t mean to insult your honor. I’ve done nothing but hurt you and put you in danger and yet you’re willing to do so much for me. I just don’t understand.”

“I feel duty bound to help you.” He softened his voice. “I can’t allow you to face that demon alone.”

She put a hand on his back. He tensed under her touch but didn’t move away. “Thank you. I wish I had something to offer you in return.”

“Helping Rachel will be repayment enough. Goodnight.”

“Good night.” She watched him walk away and disappear into his room.

Thanks to the Amesburys, Christian especially, she would find a place of safety and rebuild herself into a new, free woman. She’d be alone, but safe.

CHAPTER 12

As the Amesbury family coach began its journey to the Scottish border, Christian settled into the rear-facing seat across from Genevieve and steeled himself against her presence for two days. If he’d had any sense at all, he would have hired a companion for her and put her on the first ship leaving the nearest port, and walked away. But he couldn’t. Besides, she might help him convince Rachel to leave her isolation and do some traveling. Surely that would help her leave her sorrow behind. He had to do something to draw Rachel out of seclusion and sorrow.

Genevieve, wearing a deeply hooded cloak despite the pleasant day, cast several anxious glances out the window as if expecting an army to suddenly appear and attack them.

Seeing her so frightened touched his heart and nudged aside another piece of his anger for her betrayal in Bath. “We have two outriders escorting us, not to mention the coachman and footman who are both armed. As am I.” He lifted his coat to reveal twin pistols at his hips. “We’re quite safe.”

“I wouldn’t put it past him to be watching your house and following us.”

“I can’t imagine he would force you to go back with him, even if he did suspect you were here.”

“He would.” She said nothing more but continued casting furtive looks all around.

Perhaps she was right. In Bath, Wickburgh had watched her with such fanatical hunger that Christian could well believe Wickburgh had some sick need to keep Genevieve under his thumb.

They said nothing more for a long time as the carriage bumped along the rutted country roads. After passing several toll booths and changing horses twice, Genevieve’s tension eased and she began to look out at the countryside out of curiosity, rather than the frightened, furtive glances she’d been casting all around.

“Feeling better now that we’ve put some distance behind us?” he asked.

She smiled. “Yes. Much.”

He nodded while a dozen questions collided against his tongue. He clamped his mouth shut. He probably didn’t want to know the answers.

And yet he was missing something, some key piece of the puzzle that eluded him. If only he could find it, everything would make sense; Genevieve’s actions in Bath, her letter breaking off their unofficial engagement, her contradicting statements when he tried to stop the wedding, her clear misery now. Had Genevieve shared more than a few conversations with Wickburgh, she would never have willingly married such a man.

“Why is it that you’re so worried about Rachel?” she asked, breaking the silence.

He weighed his answers. “Right after our mother passed on, Rachel suffered a heartbreak and retreated from everyone. I fear if she doesn’t come home soon, she’ll turn into a complete recluse and remain mired in melancholy.”

“Has she always had such a scientific bent?”

“She has always been a self-proclaimed bluestocking, although never to this degree. I don’t think she cares so much about this project as it is that she needed an excuse to run away for a while.”

She stared at the wall behind him, her finger absently stroking her lower lip. “So you hope that I can help draw her out.”

He watched her finger caressing her lip, aching to touch those lips again and rediscover their warmth and softness. Foolishness. He pulled his attention away from her mouth. “I hope you and I can convince her to come home. Or to go on a grand tour where she might find a reason to return to the life of the living.”

She nodded. “I’ll certainly do what I can. But I cannot imagine I’ll have more influence on her than you.”

“You may be the voice of reason to whom she listens.”

“I’m not sure I’m the voice of reason,” she said softly.

He wanted to press her for an explanation but held back. He probably didn’t want to know. That she regretted marrying Wickburgh was clear, but whether she regretted
not
marrying Christian was another matter entirely. And he didn’t care. He’d promised to help her, and he would, but he refused to allow himself to care for her again. He would not give her another weapon with which to wound him. As far as he was concerned, she was a waif who needed rescuing. A damsel in distress. Nothing more.

“I can’t thank you enough for your help,” she said. “I know I am probably the last person with whom you want to spend time.”

“You don’t have to keep thanking me. In a way, I’m glad I found you.”

She looked up at him with wide, startled eyes.

He shrugged. “If I hadn’t, you would have drowned.” Someone else might have found her, true, but they would probably have returned her to Wickburgh immediately. And he almost chortled at the thought of denying Wickburgh something he desired.

“Maybe you should have let me drown.” She lifted her head in challenge.

“I couldn’t have turned my back on anyone. Even if I’d known it was you in the river, I still would have gone in after you.”

Her eyes shone in something that looked suspiciously like admiration. “You are a man of honor. Like a knight of old.”

He let down one of his shields and made a confession. “I always wanted to be a knight. I used to imagine I was battling a fire-breathing dragon and rescuing a princess, or sailing the seven seas, ridding the world of pirates.”

“You are well suited for either role. But I must warn you, if Wickburgh ever learns you helped me ….”

“Wickburgh doesn’t frighten me. And I always carry a gun, now.”

“Now? What do you mean?”

He hesitated, but there seemed no reason to hide the truth from her. “After I tried to break up your wedding, he sent his bullyboys after me as a warning not to cross him. I don’t go anywhere unarmed now.”

She leaned closer, her eyes traveling over his face. She reached up and touched his temple. “Is that how you got this scar?”

Her fingers traced his skin, sending the crackling of a lightning storm through him. He hadn’t been touched by a woman in so long, he’d almost forgotten that sweet pain of desire currently shooting through him.

But she wasn’t his. Nor did he want her.

He pulled away and found a semblance of a smile. “I have an even better one on my ribs.” He touched his side where he’d been knifed.

“I’m so sorry you were hurt.” Her voice cracked and she looked away, swallowing hard.

Tears? For his sake? “I don’t blame you.”

“Why ever not? Everything is my fault.” Her brow furrowed and her mouth tightened first in pain, and then she set her jaw in anger.

The carriage hit a large rut in the road and they bounced toward each other. He caught her as she started to fall off the seat. As they half sat and half kneeled on the floor of the coach in each other’s arms, the tension between them snapped and suddenly the drama of their history and their odd flight to the Scottish border seemed funny.

Christian started to laugh. She joined in. They laughed together, deep, full belly laughs. He’d forgotten the music of her laughter, the way her eyes glimmered and crinkled up on the sides.

The carriage began to lurch violently as if one of the wheels weren’t quite right. With a groaning of wood, the carriage pitched to one side. Christian braced himself and put a hand out to protect Genevieve from falling. Steeply listing to one side, the coach dragged its belly on the road until it scraped to a halt.

Christian threw open the door and got out, handing out Genevieve. The coachman was swearing enough to make Christian glance uncomfortably at Genevieve. “Easy, man. There’s a lady present,” he chided gently.

“Sorry, m’lady.” The coachman leaped off the driver’s seat and went to inspect the damage.

Christian crouched down next to him to get a look at the wheel. It was ruined beyond repair. “Good thing we always carry a spare.”

The coachman grunted. Christian took off his frockcoat and headed for the coach to toss it inside.

“I’ll hold it for you.” Genevieve held out her hands.

He handed it to her, rolled up his sleeves and got to work helping the coachman and footman remove the broken wheel.

The outrider appeared then and swung off his horse. “I’ll finish that, Mr. Amesbury.”

“No need,” Christian said lightly. “We’ve almost got it. Keep a sharp eye out for highwaymen.”

“Aye.”

They finished changing the wheel for the new one stored underneath the coach. Christian stood, brushing off his hands. He glanced at Genevieve who stood silently, looking down at his coat and running her hands over it as if she were caressing a lover. His throat tightened at the image. He flung it aside. They weren’t lovers. She was married to another man. And Christian would do well to remember that she had rejected him. 

CHAPTER 13

As the coach pulled into a posting inn to change horses, night fell, enshrouding the land in twilight. Genevieve stepped into the crowded posting inn, keeping her head lowered, and tugged once more on the hood of her cloak to ensure no one would see her face clearly. She curled her toes inside her shoes to keep them on. Even with three pairs of socks, the borrowed shoes were still too big and she found it impossible to walk naturally. Still, she tried to place her steps carefully. With his hand under her elbow, Christian led her through a room where shadows trembled in the dim candlelight. A man coming the other direction bumped her with his shoulder.

“Pardon me,” he rasped as he passed.

That voice sounded vaguely familiar. Releasing her hold on Christian’s arm, she stopped short and looked back. The stocky man wearing a coarse woolen coat paused in the doorway, stepping back as another pair of travelers entered. He nodded to the pair and turned his head slightly.

She let out a gasp and her blood rushed from her head down to her toes. That man looked a great deal like one of Wickburgh’s thugs. Quickly, she turned to hide her face. She couldn’t be sure. Maybe it wasn’t him. If it had been him, was this a chance encounter, or had he followed her? It would be just like Wickburgh to give the man orders to make his presence known to torture her before he made a grab for her. But no, surely not. Still ….

Christian spoke quietly to the innkeeper who led them to a private room. Careful to keep her face away from the main door, Genevieve followed Christian to the private dining room.

As the serving maid swiftly cleared the table of the previous diners’ meal, Genevieve sank down into the chair Christian had pulled out for her. With her head down and her back to the door, Genevieve sat waiting for the man who looked like one of Wickburgh’s men to pull her hood from her face and expose her secret. Her heart thundered in her ears. The smoke from the candles stung her eyes and the raucous laughter of locals and travelers closed in around her. A moment passed without the man accosting her. The serving maid finally left and closed the door to their private room behind her.