Part 55 (1/2)
Stark pain showed on Lyan's face. How harsh and sharply cut his features were, now that he'd matured from a youth to a man.
”Why would he hire you, if he was the one to arrange for her to disappear?” she asked.
”To make it look like he's innocent. Or because she escaped his trap. He might genuinely have no idea where she is. I'm going to trace the route to Gretna again, now that I know who her suitor is. I hope they are hiding somewhere along the way and I can find them.”
”I would like to come with you.” She had to know Maryanne was safe. And she could help Lyan. For a start, she knew what Peabody looked like.
”On one condition,” he growled. ”I want you to promise you won't help my sister, Laura, if she asks you to help her elope.”
She swallowed hard. Nothing had escaped him in the past. That hadn't changed. ”Of course not. But why do you think she would run away rather than ask your permission?”
His brow rose sharply. ”Because sometimes women do d.a.m.ned illogical things.”
”All right. I agree. But I have conditions for you.”
”Indeed?”
”No more kissing. No more touches. That's behind us, Lyan. There can never be anything between us again.”
”Why did you do it, love? Why did you run out on me before I came back for you? I thought apparently like a blind fool that you intended to be my wife.”
Estelle jerked her gaze from the carriage window, where she had kept it fixed for several hours. Lyan sat across from her, and he had looked out the opposite window ever since they had entered the carriage together. Each time she'd stolen a surrept.i.tious glance, she'd discovered he was not looking at her.
Which was for the best. To feel anything else, any sort of girlish pang, was a stupid and irresponsible thing. She had long stowed away the desires and foolish fantasies that always began with the words ”what if”. From the moment she'd made her choice to run away, then discovered she was carrying Rose, Rose had been what she'd lived for.
Her future had been mapped out. Decided. It was not to be changed. But what she could do was help shape the futures of others.
She did owe him some sort of explanation, but although she'd had ten years to think about it, she had never come up with an account that satisfied her. ”I did it so I could have what I have now.”
”What do you have now?” he asked, and she wondered if Lucifer sounded like this like smooth-flowing brandy and chocolate when it bubbled in a cup when he promised dreams in return for souls.
She cleared her throat. As though just a little more time would clear away the heat wrapping tentative fingers around her heart, the yearning blossoming between her thighs. ”My business. Enough money upon which I can survive. My daughter. I suppose what I have is success and security.”
”But you have no husband. No one to protect you.”
”I protect myself.” She managed a smile. ”You, of all people, must remember I am capable of that.”
”Aye,” he answered with a breathtaking grin of his own, one that carved dimples deep enough to make her knees quiver. ”I still bear a few scars to prove it.”
She had forgotten what this was like. For ten years, she had worked every minute of the day. Her needle would flash through cloth late into the night, while she would be desperately blinking to keep her eyes open. Hour upon hour. Day upon day. She had carved out a formidable reputation amongst the ton for her gowns. But she had not had a friend. And from behind a mound of fabric and patterns, she had watched Rose grow into a beautiful, quickwitted girl.
”I've never forgotten our wedding night,” he said softly. ”For ten years, I've considered myself married to you.”
That startled her. ”But you have the reputation of a rake.”
He groaned. Though they'd lit lamps within the carriage, which made looking out the windows quite useless, shadows still lurked in the corners. He leaned back, letting the gloom hide his face. ”There were times the need got a bit too much, I'll admit that. But I never fell in love, Sally. Never once.”
”Oh heavens, Lyan. I wish you had.” For then she could have forgiven herself. ”How much longer until we reach the border?”
”We'll have to stop for the night. We'll find an inn along the road, and leave in the morn, as early as possible.”
”An inn.” She took a deep breath. ”Separate rooms, of course.”
”Of course? We made marriage vows. We had a wedding night.” He leaned forwards. The teasing note in his voice did not reach his eyes, which glittered in the lamplight like cold gla.s.s.
”Ten years ago,” she said. ”And our vows were not spoken in a church or before a vicar.”
”The pa.s.sing time makes no difference. And the intention of marriage vows, love, is for husband and wife to make a promise to each other. Does it matter if it is not in a house of G.o.d?”
Estelle trembled. He had always been able to do this to her. Bring out emotions or desires she did not want to face. ”Legally it does. I am not your wife, Lyan. I will never be. I do not consider our marriage to be valid. I ran away from you. Isn't that reason enough for you to think it invalid too? Don't you want to admit our vows meant nothing? For that means you would be free.”
”Ah, Sal, but that's the irony. I'll never be free of you.”
The Rose and Crown was the third inn at which they'd stopped. It looked more prosperous than the other two, with many coaches rumbling in and out of the yard. Coachmen drank ale around the water troughs, singing to the tune of a jauntily played fiddle.
Estelle had been commanded to stay in the carriage. But she ignored Lyan, hopped down, and hurried inside after him. He was leaning on a counter, in deep discussion with the innkeeper, a thickset bald man with a large stomach and enormous arms.
Lyan turned at the sound of her footstep. ”Ah, my wife.” He did the introductions. One key dangled from his hand.
”I said two rooms,” she muttered.
”And there is one available. You can sleep in the stable if you'd like, but I'd prefer a bed.” Then his voice dropped even lower. ”They were here two days ago. Peabody and Lady Maryanne. She wore a heavy veil, but the man matched the description of her suitor. He took a room for them as husband and wife, and she was seen fiddling with a wedding ring.”
Estelle felt such relief; it was like taking a long breath of air after loosening a corset. It surged in so quickly it left her light-headed. She wanted to believe she had rescued Maryanne. She wanted to believe she had carved out another happy ending in a world sadly lacking in them. But relief, like a breath, ended. ”They could have been posing as married but had not yet-”
”After heading to Gretna six days ago? I suspect they would have raced up there, stopping only when necessary. They could have reached it in two days. No, I think they were wed and were returning to London.”
”But why didn't they get there?” Estelle whispered. Her body ached from the tension of sitting in a carriage and trying not to look at the man who had sat opposite.
”That's the mystery,” he agreed. ”But dinner first, and a night here. You look as though you are ready to fall to the floor. And you, my love, can have the bed.”
It was unsettling to have him lying on the floor. Rather like having a sleeping tiger in the bedroom. Moonlight slanted in through a s.p.a.ce between the threadbare drapes. Estelle hadn't slept. She lay on her back, staring up at the silvery light that flickered over the dark ceiling. She wore a thick, unflattering flannel nightgown, b.u.t.toned to her throat.
”You aren't sleeping.”
Lyan's matter-of-fact statement had her jerking up the worn sheets. He was on his knees beside her bed, elbows resting on her mattress. Watching her. He had stripped to his trousers. The last time she'd seen him, he had been a lad of seventeen. Strong and well built, but nothing like . . . like this.
”I'm intrigued,” he continued. ”Why do you help young women run away? Is it because it worked so well for you?”
She flushed. ”No. It's because I want them to find the one thing I turned my back on. Love.”
In the stark bluish light, he looked haggard. Haunted. ”Before I caught you in your house, I took a peek at your daughter.”
Indignant, she sat up, fisting her hands at her sides. ”You had no right-”
”She was sleeping didn't see me. I know she's mine, Sal. I wanted to see if you would finally tell me. But you won't, will you? You'd have let me go to my death without knowing I have a child.” He shoved back his hair. It was loose and fell in coal-black waves around his shoulders. ”Why, Sal?”
She hugged herself. This was a mistake. She should never have put herself in a position where she was alone with him. She'd believed she trusted him. But she'd never seen any man look as wounded, as tortured as Lyan did now.
”I . . . I have finally given her some happiness.”