The Runaway Countess (39 page)

Moving. All at once they were moving. No, not moving,
pouring
through the ballroom. Like cream, rich and smooth. And thick. There was nothing light about it, nothing fluttering or ornate. Simply melody, feeling, blood and breath. Dip and turn, glide and step. Heartbeat and violin.

His body moved perfectly with the music. His every intention flowed from his fingertips into her skin and became her own steps and rhythm. Everything that had passed between them in lovemaking was shared here, before hundreds of watchful eyes. The tenderness and grace. The mindless communion. The conversation between their bodies that had no need for words.

Her head back, she closed her eyes and let Trent lead her. She felt the movement of his body, his muscles bunching and stretching, the strain of the violin, then a turn. The music pulsed, up and down, slightly faster. He whirled her until her skirts swung wide, then pulled her through longer gliding steps.

He pulled her along with him in this beauty.

It was like a river, all of it, pouring through her. It poured over her. She felt it everywhere, on her skin, in her breath, streaming through her every motion. It poured over her and she was part of it. Inside it. Nothing separate. Impossible to be separate.

Everything in her opened, like wings. Like silk unfurling. She laughed and opened her eyes. He was watching her. No smile but no frown either. Just watching. All of him in it, the watching.

She could not dismiss it.

She could not ignore this connection between them, this force that came alive when they touched.

He was not a man to walk away from.

Candlelight from the chandelier gleamed off his dark hair and in the deep grey of his eyes. Their gazes held, his hand tightened on her back and he made a daring move, a long step and turn in one. Heaven. Freedom. Happiness.

She laughed and he laughed too. Here, on the dance floor, the Earl of Radford laughed with his prisoner in his arms.

Something had happened between them. Something even greater than her love for him, something beyond herself. Beyond her own world. She was not the center of it, but she was part of it. Intricately.

Inescapably.

She could run, but she would never be free.

It was inside her now. Part of her. Forever.

I would choose the fall over the innocence, I think. In the end it has given me a freedom I never dreamed of before.

She could let herself fall again. She could stay.

She could stay and love him, this beautiful man. Gorgeous, imperfect man.

His eyes turned to a smoky grey and his hands tightened, pulled her closer to him. “God, Mazie,” he murmured. “You cannot look at me like that in the middle of a crowded ballroom.”

Desire poured through her in one hot pulse of her heart.

What if she did stay? What if she trusted him? How she felt in his arms. Trusted this inescapable bond between them. This sense of belonging to something greater.

Could she—

The music ended.

With a squeeze of his hand, Trent released her and stepped back. Immediately she missed the intimacy of his body. His arms. She was alone with just the touch of air on her skin. He led her from the dance floor and she closed inward. Eyes were on them. She did not like feeling so exposed.

She wrenched herself together, gathered her independence around her like a blanket, like the sheet she had dragged off Trent’s bed the morning of their argument.

She forced a smile. “Thank you, Lord Radford. You dance like a dream.” For indeed, it was a dream. Because certainly it wasn’t real. “There is Catherine. Would you like to return me to my, ah, chaperone?”

He dipped his head toward hers and returned her smile. “I would like to dance with you again. I will find you in a bit. I promise.”

He would try to find her, but she would be gone.

Her pace measured and even, Mazie walked down the terrace steps to the graveled path. Torches blazed around her, offering no security of darkness, and she could not calm the racing of her heart.

Soon, she would be free. Truly free. She would ride away from Radford and, one day after her heart had healed, maybe laugh with Roane about their adventure.

She turned back toward the lit windows, wanting to catch one last glimpse of the man she loved. She did not see him.

Goodbye, Trent.

Her heart in her throat, she darted down a side path and gave in to the urge to hurry her steps. Finally, she was away from the lights and edging toward the dark shadows at the back of the garden.

She couldn’t believe she was free. Real freedom. Not the kind Mrs. Pearl espoused about responsibility and all. But the bodily kind. The running-in-the-woods-all-the-world-available kind of freedom.

“Roane,” she whispered. “Psst.”

He emerged from the blackness like mist. “Shh.” He pulled her deeper into the shadows until they stood behind the scrubby arms of a well-manicured bush.

Mazie bit her lip and scanned her brother for any signs of injury. Dressed in riding clothes and a simple neck cloth, he looked well. His sandy curls were a bit long, but he appeared hale and hearty. She threw herself into his arms.

“Guards are everywhere, Roane.” Tears pricked behind her eyes. For him, her worry, her gladness at seeing him well. For herself. For Trent.

“I know. I’ve been monitoring them. We’ll have to be” He drew back. “Are you crying? Did that bastard hurt you?”

“Of course he didn’t hurt me.” Not physically. “I am as well as can be expected.” He tightened his arms until her cheek pressed against his chest. Such a good older brother. “What about you? I have been so worried, Roane.” Her voice broke and a sob escaped her.

“I am unhurt, Mazie Daisy. No need to cry.”

She drew in a breath that lifted her shoulders, then let them fall as she exhaled. “It’s been a long night and my nerves are raw. Do you truly think this will work?”

“It has to. I couldn’t get to you at that blasted estate. Giltbrook Hall is a fortress.”

“It’s worse since your robbery in Radford.” She stepped out of his arms and swiped at her tears. “A clergyman? Why tempt fate with such a foolhardy move?”

He took her hand and pulled her deeper into the garden. “It is a long story, brat.”

She followed him as he wove through the shadows. “But you have made it all so much harder. It’s a bloody war out there tonight, Roane.”

“Ah, such language,
Lady Margaret
.”

She cuffed him on the shoulder. “I was imprisoned and Mrs. Pearl was under suspicion. Did you have no care that another robbery would make it worse for us?”

“It’s fine now. No need to get in such a huff.” His blue eyes were hidden in shadow, but she knew they would reflect bemusement. The man was a study in nonchalance.

“What about Ascot? What were you doing there?”

“You heard about that?”

“Yes, I heard about
that
. A small army of soldiers nearly captured you.” She pressed her lips together. She wanted to give him a good scolding. Her brother was too daring, too arrogant by half.

“I know I veered off plan but I enjoyed the challenge.” He looked over at her. “But, since you are so worried about me, we cannot afford to tarry a minute longer. We leave this night.”

“Where to?”

“America.”

“America? So far?” Gone was the feeling of rightness she had found dancing with Trent. Gone was the sense that everything was flowing as it should, that she was part of it all. She was left with this blind, groping confusion.

“It’s all set.”

“What of Mrs. Pearl?”

“She’ll join us. We’ll three disappear as if we died. Lady Margaret can suffer some great, tragic death if you want. We could report it to the papers.”

She frowned. Must they be so dramatic? Trentwould he believe it? Cat would suspect the truth.

She did not know if this was truly what she wanted. To disappear. To die.

And to start over as someone else.

It did not feel
right
. Her body
did not
feel right. It was more than nerves. It was emptiness. Loneliness. It was a life without roots, without weight. It was endless whirling with nothing to hold her down.

And it wasn’t freedom. Not in the true sense. How had she never seen this?

“Roane”

“There are men watching Mrs. Pearl’s cottage, so it’s been tricky. I’ve had to use Jones as my go-between.” He continued down the side of the gardens by the wall. It was hardly a path at all and branches reached out and snagged her dress.

“Roane” She tried to pull her hand from his, but he continued to drag her forward.

“She’s not thrilled to leave, but she understands.”

“Roane.”

He threw an annoyed look over his shoulder. “God’s teeth, Mazie. We can talk later.”

“Roane.” She looked behind her, where the glow of the gardens was still visible, then back at his shadow lost in the darkness. “I can’t go.”

He finally stopped. She couldn’t see his expression, but his hand tightened around hers. “What do you mean, you can’t go? You’ll love America. You’ve always talked about traveling.”

“But this is fleeing. And it’s not…it’s not responsible. Not to myself.”

“What is this nonsense?” He pulled her back into the gloom beneath a tree.

Mazie searched for a way to explain. It all felt huge and important, but she had no idea how to put it into words. How to take this raw hope, this breathless fear, and spin it into a thread of language. “A rolling stone gathers no moss.”

“What?” He shook his head and sent the barest hint of moonlight scattering through his hair. “Who wants moss?”

She
wanted moss. She wanted something to stick.

She wanted Trent.

She wanted love, the mess of hurt and mistakes. The longing and joy.

She would run from pain, from injustice, but she did not want to run from love. “I looked in a book. Moss grows where it is wet and dark and no other flowers want to blossom. It…it clings close together in lovely soft mats of life.”

“What?” Roane looked at her, his mouth agape. “I am worried about you. Being locked up has made you daft.”

“I’m not daft.” She inhaled, relaxed the knot in her throat. “It’s what Mrs. Pearl says, about being responsible for ourselves. We create our own freedom, no matter the circumstances.”

“Last I knew, you were hardly free, Mazie. This is nonsense.” He tugged on her hand. “Come along, you
cannot
stay.”

“That’s the point. Maybe I
can
stay.” She pulled her hand from his and pressed her palm to her eyes. She half-laughed, bewildered at her own thoughts. She did not know how this would work between Trent and herself. But she did not have to know. That was the best part. She did not need to imagine her future. She did not need to be in charge of anything but herself. She needed to give this life a chance and live it the best she knew how.

“
Maybe
you can stay? What the hell do you mean?” He was impatient as only an older brother could be.

She dropped her hand from her face. “I don’t know. Let me think.”

“We haven’t bloody time to think. Tell me, what do you imagine will happen if you stay?”

“He wants to marry me,” she blurted out. “Or at least he did. But only out of duty. Oh, it’s all so complicated.”

He was silent a long moment. “Who wants to marry you?” His voice was chilled.

Oh God, this was not coming out well. Rarely had she seen Roane so upset.

He stepped closer to her, towering over her. “Who, Mazie?”

“Trent.”

“
Trent?
The Earl of Radford? Our enemy?” He shook his head, momentarily mute. “What the hell are you thinking?”

She latched on to his jacket, begging him to understand. “You don’t know him, Roane. You cannot judge him.”

“I know enough.” He glowered at her. “Do you love him?”

“Yes.”

“Bloody, blasted…” Roane swallowed the rest of his curse with a grunt.

“He isn’t like his father. He fired Harrington.” She had to explain, make him understand.

“Did you tell him the truth?”

There was a beat of silence. “No.”

“Why not?”

She couldn’t answer. Haunting strains of music floated past them, pierced here and there by laughter.

“You cannot trust him, can you?” Roane stalked away into the moonlight, then came back to the shadows under the tree. “He would turn me in, hang me, wouldn’t he?”

Again, she did not answer.

He swore under his breath. “We are not going to talk about this any longer. You are coming with me. Tonight. Now.” He grabbed her hands.

Mazie dug her heels into the ground. “You run. Go now. I will stay and take care of Mrs. Pearl. We both know she is too old to flee. Besides, you are right, it is you they want and we would only slow you down. By yourself, you can escape. You should go now, Roane.”