Part 38 (1/2)

Her warm hand settled on his arm, stroked softly. ”What was your third mistake?”

”Not telling him about the broken axle,” Gavin confessed when his throat cleared enough to allow the pa.s.sage of words. ”I knew the carriage was in a dangerous condition, and I didn't say a word. I couldn't. I knew my father would be furious.”

He closed his eyes to block the memory. It didn't work.

When he reopened them, Evangeline's expression was horrified.

”It was already suppertime,” he explained. Or tried to explain. Truly, no explanation would ever be acceptable. ”I planned to have the axle replaced first thing in the morning. How was I to know my father planned to dine elsewhere? That he'd promised my sister he and my mother would set out that very night with gifts for her baby? The carriage was waiting. Ready. Had I been thinking, I might've guessed, remembered. But I wasn't thinking.” He swallowed thickly. ”And now I can never forget.”

Evangeline clapped her hands over her mouth, paled, backed against the wall.

”Which is how,” he forced himself to continue, ”within an hour of our shouting match, my father and mother headed out at twilight in a deathtrap. They were far too disgusted with me to say good-bye, so I didn't know they'd left until I heard the screams.” He took a deep, shuddering breath. ”My mother was thrown from the carriage. She died in my arms. My father and the horses slid over a curved precipice into the river below. That night, my brother inherited the viscountcy. He never forgave me.” Gavin smiled humorlessly. ”I never forgave myself. How could I? I'd killed our parents.”

She looked like she might be ill at any moment.

”People talk,” he continued. Lord, did they. And why not? He'd given them plenty to talk about. ”By dawn, the tragedy was common knowledge, as was the asinine threat that preceded it. My brother's first act as viscount was to evict me. I couldn't blame him.”

Evangeline shook her head, groped for the door, stumbled out into the corridor.

Gavin's flesh chilled in terror. He'd told her the truth, and now she was as horrified as everyone else. He'd warned her he wasn't a good person. He'd warned warned her. her.

He shoved the folded parchment into a pocket and sprinted after her. She wasn't far, just outside the door, hugging herself, back to the wall. When he came to stand in front of her, several heart-stopping moments pa.s.sed before she finally met his gaze.

”Did you tell everyone you hadn't meant for your parents to die?” she asked, her voice wooden, her eyes dull.

”David was too angry to speak to me. I rode to Rose's, to tell her Mother and Father weren't coming, to tell her why. She already knew. Wouldn't let me in.” He shrugged. ”I didn't care about anyone else's opinion. Didn't realize the gossip would matter. By the time mourning was officially over and I made my first attempt to rejoin Society, it was too late. Even my tailor gave me the cut direct. Everyone. I was an outcast. And I deserved no better.”

Evangeline hugged herself tighter. ”What did you do then?”

”I went to work. I had nothing else to do, nothing to live for. Then I moved to Braintree and Bocking. Eventually bought a home, turned a profit, remembered my love of art. And then, barely a month ago, I discovered the depth of one's pockets correlates inversely with the length of the ton ton's memories.”

She frowned. ”What do you mean?”

”I mean, the sister that spent years refusing my letters decided to come calling with her family. A baroness who hadn't spoken to me in a dozen years suddenly wished to leg-shackle me to her daughter. Even another death couldn't deter the Rutherford clan from eating my food and depleting my whiskey. I wasn't a person. I was a scandal sheet and a pocketbook. An object of derision, wealth, and fear.” Gavin hesitated, fighting the sensation of his heart in his eyes. ”Then came you.”

He reached for her.

She flinched.

Part of his soul died.

”You'd better go.” Evangeline stared at him for a moment, then looked away. She motioned down the hall with one listless finger. ”Susan can't hold Francine captive forever.”

”I promised you a carriage to anywhere you chose, but...don't leave me. Please.” He reached out, gripped her tense shoulders. His voice trembled with desperation. ”I need you.”

Her gaze lowered. She said nothing.

He released her, backed up a step, paused just in case...

She didn't move.

With a heavy heart, Gavin gave up. He'd known from the start his hopes had been set too high. He didn't deserve her. He didn't deserve happiness. And what was she, if not his source of happiness? Without her, his life would be nothing once again.

He gazed at her for a long moment. At least he would have her portrait. Those impa.s.sioned brushstrokes would forever remind him of the short time he had loved her-and those precious moments when he had been loved back.

No matter where she went, she would always be the keeper of his soul. He would love her until he died, and ever after. He couldn't help it. She was everything to him.

Her continued silence was worse than screaming epithets at him, worse than a thousand knife wounds. But there was nothing he could do to change the past. He'd spent over a decade trying, and still remained the worthless cur he'd been at seventeen.

Evangeline closed her eyes.

At least he'd met her, known her, loved her. No matter she could no longer bear the sight of him, he'd never regret the days he'd lived with her presence.

She'd told him to hurry, to confront Francine. Very well. He could at least do that. He'd do anything she asked. He'd prostrate himself at her feet, declare himself her slave for eternity if only she would forgive him his many, many faults and let him touch her once again, kiss her, hold her.

Perhaps...perhaps if he just tried hard enough, he could somehow redeem himself in her eyes. Enough to warrant a second chance. Was it possible? He had to believe there was hope. Hope of a future with the woman he loved. He had had to believe there was hope. to believe there was hope.

If there were none, he would die.

After a final glance at her downturned face, Gavin ducked behind the closest secret panel and slipped into the shadowed network of pa.s.sageways between the walls.

Chapter Twenty-Six.

Too late. Why was he always too late?

Gavin forced himself not to throttle the Stanton chit. ”Where the devil did they go?” he asked for the third or fourth time. ”I thought you were watching her.”

”I meant to watch her.” She quivered before him, hands wringing, eyes tearing up behind her spectacles. ”She was already gone by the time I came downstairs. Mr. Teasdale's gone, too. They summoned their carriages before breakfast.”

”I don't care about Teasdale,” he thundered, smas.h.i.+ng his fist into the closest wall. ”I care about that b.i.t.c.h Francine. Where the h.e.l.l h.e.l.l did she did she go? go?”

”I don't know,” she cried. ”I told you I don't know! Ask your sister. They were talking before breakfast. Maybe-”

He spun away from her and set off in search of Rose. She wasn't in the dining room. She wasn't in her bedchamber. She was upstairs in the nursery, reading stories to the twins. Jane and Nancy perched on either edge of the sofa beside her.

”Number one,” he announced by way of greeting. ”Where is Francine Rutherford?”

Five pairs of startled eyes gazed his way.

”On her way to one of their country properties, I believe,” Rose responded hesitantly. ”Why?”

”Number two,” he continued without answering her question. ”Why the h.e.l.l did you and Nancy ask the girls to lie about where you were the night your husband died?”

”Wh-what?” Nancy's face paled. ”We didn't-”