Never Too Late (22 page)

Focusing on the horse gave her a moment to brace herself before looking down at the rider, at Alex. During the carriage ride, she’d resolved never to see him again, damn his bloody hide. She’d never been more certain of anything in her life. He’d nearly destroyed her. Everything from him—every word, every moment, every sensation—everything had been a lie. And she would never let him near her again.

But when she heard those sickening thuds just as she realized it was him, all her rationality and anger and resolve disappeared. Her heart seized. Fear for him . . . and love for him . . . gripped her so hard she thought she might go mad. It was a long moment before she could bring herself to look at his face. Her hands shook as she ran them over his throat lightly, looking for a pulse. She found one, fast but steady, yet his eyes remained closed.

The driver came up and handed her some salts he’d found in a traveling case. When she held them to his nose, he shook his head briefly and lethargically.

“Alex! Alex, can you hear me?” Desperately, she patted his cheek and brushed hair from his forehead. She wanted to shake him awake—rather violently, given her anxiety—but couldn’t risk causing him further injury.

He moaned as his hands reached for the one touching his face.

“It’s me, Alex, it’s Nora. Please, open your eyes.”

He mumbled something she couldn’t hear. She bent to his lips and whispered, “Say again, please. I’m here with you. What can I do?”

Then she heard it. No more than a breath.

“I’m sorry, my love,” he said.

She sank back on her heels and burst into tears. Between her sobs, she said haltingly, “You—you have to be all right. I—I can’t—I cannot bear to—lose you.”

He opened his eyes and smiled, actually smiled, at her.

“You cannot get rid of me that easily, love.”

She could not bring herself to smile in response, but the sight of him conscious eased her nerves tremendously.

After perhaps as much as an hour, she and the driver helped him to stand, and he seemed to suffer no serious injury. The driver assisted him matter-of-factly into the carriage and went to hitch Zeus to the back. Only after they were safely ensconced did she realize how much they must have revealed—she’d used his given name, for heaven’s sake. Her face burned with shame.

He rested his head back with a groan, wiping away all thoughts of external scrutiny.

“If it would make you feel better to lie down, don’t mind me.”

“No, being vertical is definitely better.” He shifted, though, and closed his eyes only to reopen them almost immediately. “Oh, mustn’t do that.”

“What happened?”

“When I close my eyes, I feel nausea. Not a good sign. A tutor at Eton always warned us during cricket that we should watch for nausea, dizziness, and blurred vision if we ever caught a good hard knock on the head. And we should avoid falling asleep if we do have those symptoms.” He groaned again, also not a good sign, considering the general British male’s “stiff upper lip.”

“I hate to sound uninformed, but what would that mean exactly?”

“It would mean I have a concussion, a brain injury.” He spoke flatly and stared at the ceiling of the compartment.

She gasped and made to move toward him. “That sounds serious. We must get you to a physician!”

“Not much a physician can do at the moment. There is no definitive treatment for it, except to immobilize the skull and give the brain time to heal. Some surgeons might even suggest drilling a hole in the skull, but I would prefer to avoid such a course. I am reassured by the fact that I have not lost consciousness.”

“But you did! When you first fell off Zeus, you were unconscious for several moments.” Several awful, awful moments.

He cursed and winced as the carriage hit a deep rut, jostling its occupants.

“We can’t continue on, Alex! We must get you out and give you time to recuperate.”

“Where? On the side of the open road? We will arrive in London soon enough; I shall rest at Devin House.” As she humphed loudly, he added with a wink, “You can nurse me there more comfortably than here.”

Suddenly, the painful facts that had been driven from her mind by concern for him rushed back with visceral clarity. She’d been so sure that the next time she saw him, if ever, she would not speak with him. So much for her resolve. She’d thought she couldn’t possibly bring herself to acknowledge his lying, deceptive existence. And yet none of it mattered when she saw him lying unconscious, when she feared the very real possibility of losing him. Her capacity for self-deception was apparently bottomless. She looked out the window at green fields and wildflowers as she considered a complex onslaught of emotions, guilt foremost among them. He had come after her. When she admitted the truth about her marriage, he had forgiven her unreservedly. He hadn’t made the truth public knowledge, which he easily could have done.

He’d said he loved her.

Yet she couldn’t trust any of it anymore, could she? How much of it had been faked? Was it all just a cruel and elaborate ruse?

When she finally looked back at him, she noticed his eyes were closed, his body slumped.

“Alex! Alex, wake up!” She rushed to grab his hand and pat it. When her gentle ministrations didn’t work, she slapped his cheek hard enough to sting her hand but not to rock his head. He raised his head a fraction, and his eyelids fluttered. “Alex, it’s me. It’s Nora. Can you hear me?”

He opened his eyes—thank God!—and she held his head in her hands, forcing him to look her in the eye. “Stay awake, Alex. Stay with me. Do you hear me? Stay!”

He nodded slowly.

“I’m sorry, Nora. I never wanted to lie to you.”

“Leave that for now.” She brushed hair away from his face, her heart seizing when he laid his cheek in her palm. “We’ll discuss it later. Right now, we need to get you to London, and I need you to stay awake. Talk to me.”

“About what?” he said sluggishly.

“Anything.” She cast about for a subject, any subject that might keep him talking. “Tell me what possessed you to get on that demonic horse. You know better.”

“Zeus is the fastest horse in the stable, by far. He was the only one who could catch up with you. Under regular circumstances, I would not take him, but I did not have a choice.”

Didn’t have a choice. How often had he used that reasoning? she wondered. Surely, that’s the excuse he would give for deceiving her. And yet here he was, having braved an animal of which he was terrified and getting injured in the process. For her. What a difficult life, indeed, if he didn’t have free will over any of the events that got him here.

The drive to London seemed endless and the roads abominably maintained. As they turned onto a smoother avenue, she noticed homes built more closely together. She kept him talking about nearly anything and everything, from his next planned speech in Parliament to the building of the railways to the actual costs of tea in China. She also managed not to touch him again. As much as it hurt her not to, she still could not trust him one whit. She’d get him to Devin House and see him properly cared for, and then she would sever their connections completely.

“Hit me,” he said abruptly, interrupting her thoughts.

“What?”

“Hit me. As hard as you can.” He looked clear-eyed and somber. Those eyes she’d found irresistible were a hard jade green, and she so wanted to give in. “It won’t erase the awful things I’ve done to you, but it might make you feel better.”

“You’re certifiably insane.”

“Do it. I deserve it.”

“That is indisputable, but I cannot.” She tore her gaze from his and folded her arms tightly across her chest. “You are already seriously injured. In any case, it would solve nothing, and the notion of touching you, even in violence, is too disgusting for words.”

He closed his eyes, but she could not help feeling he wasn’t done. They couldn’t get to Devin House soon enough. And yet, she wasn’t sure what made her heart ache worse—his utter perfidy or the imminent loss of him—and she hated herself for her weakness.

“Please, Mrs. Duchamp, you have been most kind throughout this journey,” he said without a trace of irony and, he hoped, only a little begging, when they arrived at Devin House. “It would be a great favor if you could assist me in getting settled. I fear I am still unsteady, and you seem adept at handling emergencies.”

She nodded tightly, and his heart thrilled at the tiny victory. He could not let her leave without offering her an explanation. Despite the many servants available, including his very capable butler Johnson, he made clear she was his guide and helper, and the others acceded to her directions. Soon enough, he was comfortably arranged on a sofa in the library with a copious tea placed before him.

“You must stay, Mrs. Duchamp, at least for tea. You have done so much and cannot have eaten in hours. It is the least I can offer as your incapacitated host.” The footman left the library doors almost closed.

Again, she replied with a single, decisive nod, unsmiling. In all her attentiveness, she’d spoken directly to his staff and spared only minimal words for him. Perched on the edge of her chair, she served them both tea. She made both without sugar or milk and placed his tea and a biscuit within his reach; he struggled to remember when she might have learned his preferences—which she’d captured exactly—especially since he did not recall learning hers.

“Nora,” he began, but she flinched at his use of her name. He closed his eyes against the sight, damning himself for his dishonesty. There was no other way but to spit out the truth before she abandoned him.

“It is my brother, Honoria. Withersby is threatening to expose my brother for sodomy, which I am sure you know is punishable by death.” He said it in a rush, the words sounding strange even to him.

“Are you sure, then, that your brother is . . . has . . .”

“Fool that I was, I hired Withersby to keep track of my brother when he first left home. Andrew is so fragile and naïve, you see. My mother was beside herself with worry the first month he was gone. I just wanted to make sure he was safe and did not run into trouble. Three months gone, reports came in that Andrew had formed a very close relationship with one of his former school chums, that they went everywhere together, that they were inseparable, that they eschewed the company of women. Then came the reports of visits to bathhouses of nefarious reputation.”

Her brows drew together. “But that’s all still speculation.”

“Somehow, Withersby managed to obtain a few photographs of them together. I have not seen all of them, but what I have seen is suggestive enough to raise suspicion. And my brother cannot be subject to suspicion.”

Her breathing was slow and deliberate. He watched her mobile face as she considered.

“I fail to see,” she said finally, “what that has to do with me and Evans Books.”

He forced himself to look her in the eye as he admitted, “Withersby ordered me to discredit you or else he would make public my brother’s disgrace. Andrew could be arrested, imprisoned, even hanged, and the scandal would destroy my mother.”

“Does your brother know all you do to protect him?”

“Of course not. I would never presume to talk with him about this . . . proclivity. He is my brother, and it is my job to protect him. Without fanfare. Without acknowledgment.”

“If you were my brother, I’d want to know what you know about me. I’d want to be told what slander people sling about me.”

“Funny, you care so much about what other people think.”

“That’s not true! I don’t—” She caught herself in the midst of her instinctive reply. And she thought about it. She always said it didn’t matter what other people thought of her . . . but it did. So much so that she deliberately camouflaged herself in the middle ground, not sharing herself, not standing out in any way, good or bad. She realized she’d rather be one of the faceless crowd because she couldn’t bear to put her best face forward and be found wanting. If she presented banality, there was no harm in being perceived as banal. If she aspired to more, then she might be deemed a failure.

“Your devotion to your brother is admirable, my lord, but the fact remains that you lied to me.”

“Yes, but I swear to you, Honoria, that I had nothing to do with the break-in. I was not a decoy. I was not using you.”

“I would like to believe you, but now I can’t trust anything coming from your lips.”

“You must trust me, Nora. I did mean to investigate whether you were the source of these papers, and I was ordered to stop you if you were. But since the moment I met you, I knew I would not stop anything you wanted to do, even if I could. I would never deliberately harm you. I have to protect my brother, but I will find a way to protect you both. I can convince him to stay in Greece or some other welcoming nation for an indefinite period. He enjoys travel; I shall continue to fund him abroad and set him up in some honest work.”

“You lied to me,” she repeated.

“Yes.” That was all he said. No apology. No expression of remorse. In the ensuing silence, he could see by her shifting expression that she accurately interpreted his tacit accusation. He wasn’t the only one who’d lied.

“Yes, I lied too,” she said, pacing to the far shelves, putting a display case and armchair between them. “But my lies were for self-protection. They weren’t aimed at destroying you.”

“Ah, but you have destroyed me, my love. You have utterly devastated me. You drive me to distraction. You are a cancer in my brain, and you lied too.”

He walked to her and laid his palm on her soft cheek.

“And yet, once you gave me the truth,” he said, “I sealed it within and kept your secret as my own.”

She moved away, nodding, but then added, “So you say. So far. All this time, you’ve been spying on me, seducing me. You had me convinced that you wanted me. I knew . . . I
knew
it couldn’t be real. You are quite the master thespian. And I am a desperate, dried-up fool. I hope touching me wasn’t too much of a hardship.”

“Do not do that. Do not dare doubt my affection for you. Every kiss was sincere. Every touch was honest. I love you.” His frustration grew exponentially as he followed her, as the impossibility of his position sank in. There was no way she could trust him now.