A Lord Rotheby's Holiday Bundle (34 page)

“
Hours later, she hadn’t
come for tea. Mother didn’t say anything of it, so I didn’t ask.
But when she did not come to the table for supper, Father sent a
maid to fetch her from her chamber. She wasn’t there, though. She
was gone. The whole abbey was turned upside down with servants
searching for her. Father told me to stay put, but I knew where she
would be. She would be here—at the hermitage. Where we always came.
So I ran out of the house and all the way here. I was too
late.”

Quin’s voice hitched. A tremor ran
through the hand Aurora held. “You found her?” she asked softly,
holding him tighter when he tried to pull away.

“
Under the tree,” he said
and pointed to an oak just beside the hermitage. The lowest branch
was easily higher than three men standing on each other’s
shoulders. “She tried to climb it to dive into the river, but she
fell. There was so much blood. It pooled around her and fell into
the river. I still remember watching the trail flowing through the
water. It went on forever. I thought it was my fault.”

“
But you were just a boy!”
she argued, cutting him off. He couldn’t still blame himself for
such a thing.

“
I was. And I thought it
was my fault, because I’d convinced her to go riding with me that
day. But then I blamed my father. He drove her to it. Only years
later did I realize that it was no one’s fault. Only long after
Father had died and blaming him didn’t make me feel better
anymore.”

“
Did he blame himself?”
Aurora asked.

“
Perhaps. I’ll never know.
He had always doted upon her. When she was gone, he started to
drink. He became belligerent. Whatever he felt, whether it was
guilt or anger or grief, he took it out on Mother and me. Mrs.
Marshall was my nurse at the time. She tried to interfere once, to
stop him. Then she wasn’t my nurse anymore, but one of the maids. I
was on my own. But by the time I was twelve, I had started to get
taller, grow stronger. And I got a lot meaner, too. I was going to
be just like him.

“
One day, he went after
Mother. I got in the way and pushed him off her. He came at me
then, with his fists swinging like mad. I grabbed a candlestick and
knocked him over the head with it. He stopped, but I didn’t—not
until Mother pried me off him. Until then, I just kept hitting him
everywhere I could with that candlestick and wishing it was enough
to kill him. He eventually staggered to his feet and left. I never
saw him again. His horse threw him that night. He cracked his skull
open. I was only sorry it hadn’t been me with the candlestick to do
it.”

Quin looked in her eyes then. He
reached up and wiped a tear from her cheek with the pad of his
thumb. She didn’t even realize she’d been crying. “You’ve married a
monster, Aurora. I’m so sorry.”

~ * ~

Quin could have thrown himself from
that oak tree just then. Why had he told her all of that? Why had
he burdened her with his family’s horrifying past? It was bad
enough that it haunted him at every turn, particularly here at
Quinton Abbey, but now she would never escape it either.

“
I’m not sorry I married
you,” Aurora said. “You are not a monster.”

Her expression was sincere—clear,
bright eyes, even through the shimmer of her tears. She couldn’t
mean it. He must not have made her understand how depraved he had
become in that moment. How he had grown to be everything his father
had ever been. How she wasn’t safe with him.

Quin had to make her understand. “I
tried to kill him. I would have, if I were only bigger. I might…I
might hurt you. I wouldn’t mean to hurt you, but I
might.”

She took his hand in her own, trailing
her thumbs along the creases of his palm. “You were trying to
protect your mother. You did the right thing. I don’t believe for a
second that you would hurt me.”

Was she daft? Quin stood and paced to
the riverbank. “I almost did last night.”

“
But you didn’t.” Aurora
followed him. Ever so carefully, she took his hand in hers again.
“You won’t.”

He pulled away. “How can you be so
sure of that? How are you so certain that I’m not the monster I
believe—the monster that my father was?”

“
Look at me,” she implored.
When he didn’t, she took his face in her hands and pulled him to
her. “You are not your father. You are Niles Thornton—the brave boy
who protected his mother, now grown into a man. A man who, by the
way, does not strike women. You won’t hurt me.”

If only he was so certain. Quin shook
his head. “I can’t take that chance, Aurora. I love you too much.
If I ever hurt you…”

Her eyes widened. “You love
me?”

She didn’t return his words. Quin
couldn’t very well expect her love. He damned well didn’t deserve
it. But still, some small part of him had hoped.

“
More than I could ever
tell you with words. More than I could show you in a hundred years
of trying. And because of that, I need you to leave. Jonas will
take you away. Back to your father, if you’d like, or perhaps to
stay with Lady Rebecca and her family. Somewhere away from me.
Somewhere you’ll be safe.”

She should be relieved. She should be
on her knees, thanking him.

Instead, she appeared affronted. No,
that was far too tame a word. Aurora was livid. Her eyes turned to
flames that licked at him, burning him to the core. She crossed her
arms over her chest and planted her feet at shoulder’s width apart.
“That is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard in my life. I’m
not going anywhere, unless you leave. Then I’ll come with
you.”

She spun on her heels and marched
away, muttering beneath her breath something to the effect of,
“Damned insufferable brute, thinking he can order me around, needs
to learn a thing or two about how to treat a bloody
wife.”

He ought to follow her. He should make
her understand reason, or at least make her understand her place. A
wife ought not to contradict her husband’s commands in such a
manner, after all.

But instead of following her, all he
could do was laugh—a huge bark of a laugh that shook the leaves of
the trees around him and sent the birds aflutter. Quite a welcome
change from his mood of late. Hearing such unladylike vocabulary
from Aurora was a treat.

~ * ~

Send her home to her father, indeed.
What did the blasted man think that would solve? Nothing! That’s
what. If he sent her back to London, the gossips would double their
already increased efforts at sullying both their names, she
wouldn’t have a chance at giving him an heir (if that were even
possible—she still had her doubts), and Lord Rotheby would take
everything from Quin.

Ridiculous man. To tell her all about
his troubled upbringing, then to tell her he loved her, and then to
threaten to send her away? Over her dead body.

Aurora grumbled the entire way back to
the abbey. If anyone were to happen upon her, they’d think her a
madwoman.

With good reason, she must
admit.

Aurora was well on her way to becoming
that very thing, based on the way her husband was treating her at
the moment.

She neglected to stop marching when
she came through the door, peeling her gloves off and leaving them
and her bonnet with Forster. Instead, she continued all the way
through to the great hall, where Sir Jonas was enjoying his
breakfast.

He labored to rise when she entered, a
forkful of sausages halfway chewed in his mouth.

“
No, no, it’s quite all
right. Please remain seated.” She filled her own plate and joined
him, settling into a high-backed chair across from him. “Actually,
I was hoping we might talk.”

“
Of course, Lady Quinton,”
he said after he’d swallowed.

She took a small bite of baked eggs
and chewed while she debated how to word her request. Finally, she
blurted out, “Quin believes he will hurt me.” Sir Jonas looked
ready to interrupt her so she rushed on. “I don’t. But whether he
is right or I am, would you agree he is far less likely to do such
a thing if others are present?”

“
Others, ma’am?”

“
Such as yourself,” Aurora
suggested, sipping from her chocolate. “After all, he did manage to
restrain himself at least somewhat in your presence, did he
not?”

“
Of course. He certainly
would not want an audience. If he were to ever do such a thing,
that is.”

“
Indeed,” she murmured. An
audience? Her initial idea of asking Sir Jonas to stay, and perhaps
inviting Rebecca for a visit, seemed rather inconsequential
compared to the thought currently swimming around in her head. “I
believe I need a favor. I’ll need your promise to keep it a secret
from Quin.”

Perhaps having a swarm of people
around them would do just the trick.

Chapter
Twenty-One

19 May, 1811

The blasted man clearly
doesn’t know what’s good for him. He is so caught up in the past,
he can’t see the present, let alone think about the possibilities
for the future. Imbecile. Well, if he thinks the only thing that
can save me from him and his blasted temper is having someone else
around to witness it, then I’ll make certain he is surrounded.
Endlessly surrounded, in fact. By people he would never dare to
raise a hand against another living soul in their presence. I
absolutely refuse to cower. And I will not run back to my father
with my tail tucked between my legs. Quin needs to
understand
—
I am
not afraid of him. I might be afraid I’m falling in love with
him
—
head over
ears, and all that
—
but I will never be afraid of my husband. It is simply not in
my power to do so.

~From the journal of Lady
Quinton

After spending the entire morning by
the river, Quin finally trudged up the path toward the abbey. He’d
spent the time thinking, trying to devise a plan, but coming up
with nothing feasible.

He could order Aurora to leave. Jonas
would take her and be sure she was protected. Then she could be
safe, but Quin would be utterly despondent. The thought of not
having her by his side at night, of not being able to hold her, and
savor the faint rosewater scent of her hair, and feel the fluid
warmth of her body—it robbed him of his breath and felt as though a
mountain were suddenly atop him, pressing him into the
earth.

Quite simply put, he couldn’t live
without her.

Damn it all to hell and
back.

Which meant he was going to
have to somehow manage to
not
become his father. No telling what that would
entail. But the time to begin the process was upon him. The time
had also arrived to discover, once and for all, who had taken the
pages from Aurora’s journal.

When Quin came through the main doors
of Quinton Abbey, Forster was sending a monstrous stack of letters
off with a postman. “What is all that?” he demanded of the
butler.

Forster somehow managed to raise a
single, overly-arched eyebrow even higher than it normally rested.
“Her ladyship’s invitations, of course.”

“
Invitations?” Quin
drawled. “She can’t possibly think to accept them. We’re not going
back to London. Not now.” Who in bloody hell would be sending her
invitations all the way to Wetherby? Particularly when such vile
gossip was being spread about her. She ought to be a pariah in
the
ton
at the
moment, from what he could gather, not a social butterfly, being
invited to every soiree and ball and concert.

“
You misunderstand, my
lord. These are the invitations Lady Quinton is sending out for the
house party at Quinton Abbey. She said you insisted they go out in
today’s post, as you wanted as many people to attend as
possible.”

A house party. At Quinton Abbey. While
he was trying to learn patience and to stop relying so heavily on
brandy, no less.

This had to be Aurora’s idea of
torture.

“
I see,” he finally said.
He couldn’t very well take his frustrations out on Forster. The man
clearly thought he was doing Quin’s bidding by doing that of his
wife. “And where might I find my wife at the moment?”

“
I believe she is on her
way in to luncheon with Sir Jonas. I can order a plate prepared for
you as well, my lord.” The older man passed him a meaningful
glance, one that clearly said he intended to do so whether Quin
wanted it or not.

Quin only managed a nod in response,
before making his way to the great hall. As expected, upon his
arrival his position was prepared for him at the head of the table.
Aurora and Jonas were already seated on either side of
him.

“
Oh, how lovely,” Aurora
said as Quin stalked to his seat. “I was so hoping you would be
joining us for our meal.” Her voice didn’t hold even the slightest
hint of sarcasm.

For a moment, he envied that ability.
Then he grunted.

A footman placed a plate of cold
meats, cheeses, and bread before him. Only then did Quin
acknowledge his overwhelming hunger. He could eat an entire boar by
himself if given the opportunity. Perhaps he ought to have had more
than just brandy the night before.