Kate tore frantically through the new stack of papers that had been delivered to her shop that afternoon. Door locked and lamps blazing against the dusk, she spread them out over her countertop and searched every page, every word for any hint of the investigation. Gerard was alive, she knew that much. The “vicious assault” against his person had been described in detail in the papers months before.
She’d been terrified at first, and then horribly confused. She hadn’t been named as the attacker. Not exactly. Instead, Gerard had happily spread a fantastical tale about a late night attack on the plantation, the night after his father’s death. He’d never seen his assailant, and could not say who’d struck the brutal blow. But his young stepmother, so recently widowed, had gone missing that same night. He was “deeply concerned” about her disappearance, especially considering the timing.
He hadn’t exactly damned her, but he’d skillfully painted a picture that could reveal her to be a villain or a victim . . . and it all depended upon his next words about her.
Despite her utter dismay, Kate was hardly surprised. Gerard had always been clever. Frightfully so. He’d framed this story so that he could damn her or save her. He now held the power.
The first bundle of papers that Mr. Cain had collected detailed the attack and the first days of the search for the missing Mrs. Gallow. Gerard had pleaded with the good English folk of Ceylon for help in the search. But that had been months before. He wouldn’t have left it at that. So Kate scoured the papers in front of her, terrified she’d find nothing, and equally terrified for news.
Her eyes caught on a familiar name and stuttered to a halt. Her name. And Gerard’s. A quick note that Mr. Gerard Gallow had sailed to India after finding evidence that Mrs. David Gallow had been seen there. The ambiguity had become less neutral and more suspicious. “Mr. Gallow refuses to address the question of whether Mrs. David Gallow was in distress during her journey or whether she fled Ceylon willingly.”
So Gerard had followed her to India. And if he found where she’d been in India, then he might follow the trail here. More worrying yet, though she’d written to the solicitor in London who’d asked so many questions about Hamilton Coffees, he hadn’t responded. She’d written again and received no response. It felt wrong. It felt . . . threatening.
Had Gerard hired that man to find her? And for God’s sake, what would that mean?
Her hands flew over the papers as she traced the lines, checking for more news. There was none, but these papers were still months old. Kate needed more information. She needed more clues. Perhaps Gerard had given up his search. Perhaps he’d already moved on to maligning her name, accusing her of things she’d never done.
You wanted him dead. . . .
That hadn’t been true, but she’d still felt terror at his words, because even though she hadn’t hurt her husband, she did know something about his death that she couldn’t reveal. He’d never recovered from the injuries he’d suffered in that riding accident and had been bedridden for most of those seven years after. But it hadn’t been illness that had killed him.
Her hands began to shake, so Kate pressed them hard to the papers and tried to calm her heart. But her mind was racing. How could she have willingly entombed herself in such blithe ignorance since she’d landed in England? How could she have hidden beneath the bedclothes like a child? She’d thought herself so clever, moving here and changing her name. She’d been a fool.
She traced the pages for a third time, still searching for her name. Then she turned the pages over and looked again. But there was nothing.
She needed more recent news. Just as she reached for her stationery to write a note to Mr. Cain, a loud knock banged through the room.
Kate startled, jumping so violently from her seat that half the newspapers slid to the floor. “Oh, my,” she breathed, looking in dismay from the scattered newsprint to the locked blue door. Knuckles rapped against the wood again, and she pressed her hand to her throat as if she could hold back her raging pulse.
Silent as a hunting cat, she moved her feet across the floor toward the front window. Once there, she edged the curtain back. Light slanted from her window, and just as she meant to jerk the curtain back into place, a man stepped into the light, his hand raised in greeting.
“Thank God,” she gasped, pressing her fingers even tighter to her throat as all the air seemed to leave her lungs.
Mr. Penrose. Not Gerard or the constable or whoever else might track her down. Just Mr. Penrose.
She unlocked the door and let him in.
“Mrs. Hamilton. Good evening. I apologize for disturbing you—”
“No, of course not.”
“Are you quite well?”
She dropped her hand from her throat and hid her trembling fingers in her skirts. “I’m perfectly well, thank you. Can I help you with something? Are you—?” It suddenly occurred to her what Mr. Penrose’s appearance must mean. “Is Mr. York returned already?”
“No, I’m here alone, I’m afraid. But Mr. York asked me to deliver this letter personally.”
Kate’s first reaction was relief. Relief that Aidan wasn’t here to see her exposed. But the relief lasted only a heartbeat. Then she desperately wished he was nearby. Within reach. So that she could lean on him and feel safe. As safe as she’d felt when she’d been seventeen and so sure of their place in the world.
Mr. Penrose gestured and she looked down to find his arm outstretched, offering the letter. She made herself reach for it slowly. “Thank you for coming out in the cold to deliver it.”
“My pleasure.” He offered a little bow before turning to leave.
“I’ll let Miss Cain know of your return.”
He didn’t turn back, but she saw the hesitation in his next step and the edge of his jaw bloomed pink. “Please pay my respects to her. Good evening, Mrs. Hamilton.”
“Good evening, Mr. Penrose.”
She waited until he’d shut the door behind him before she sprang forward to throw the bolt. While she was still standing next to the door, she tore open the letter and clutched it in her hands as she devoured it.
“Next month,” she breathed. He wouldn’t be returning until
next month?
Now she really didn’t know what to feel, though her heart was voting for aching sorrow.
She missed him, and even though she should be glad he wasn’t coming, she felt only loneliness. Even with all that Aidan didn’t know about her, he still knew her better than anyone in the world. But the things he didn’t know . . . those were the anchors pulling her down. And Aidan was her lifeline. He always had been.
The end of his letter offered an invitation, and in that invitation, Kate found her answer. He would be in London for a few short days before he had to return to his family home for his mother’s birthday.
Kate traced the words with her fingers. She could close the shop for a short time and run to London. Perhaps she could track down that solicitor. Perhaps she could even tell Aidan the truth.
But what was the truth?
Yes, her husband was dead, but did that mean she was free? Gerard’s threat hung over her like a sickle, threatening to sever her from everything she’d built.
You wanted him dead
. His hand had curved around the back of her neck, fingers stroking the tender flesh beneath her ears.
I saw you go in. . . .
She hadn’t known what to do. Gerard’s eyes had always followed her. Always, from the moment she’d first set foot on the plantation. At first, she’d thought he might be a friend. She’d been wrong.
Though she’d pled with him that night, swearing he was wrong, he hadn’t seemed to hear her. He’d pulled her closer, and then he’d pressed his mouth to her neck. “I’ll help you,” he’d breathed. “I won’t tell them what you did.”
Kate had been frozen in horror, her hands pressed to his chest, useless against his strength.
“I didn’t do anything,” she’d sobbed. He hadn’t believed her. And he hadn’t let her go.
She’d hoped Gerard would come to his senses, but she’d hoped in vain.
Would Aidan help her if she told him? Would he even believe her? Even if he didn’t, he would help, but how could she do that to him? How could she let him risk his family’s reputation by protecting her? And his own reputation . . . the business he’d worked so hard to build could be ruined if the world thought he’d become involved with a murderess.
She had a day or two to think. In the meantime, she needed to help herself, so she sat down to write her note to Mr. Cain, requesting more papers from Ceylon.
Aidan descended purposefully late, eager to avoid spending a full six hours with the horde that had descended upon his brother’s home. The air buzzed with the excitement of the impending announcement, despite that half the guests had already guessed what it must be. They milled about, reminding him of a choppy ocean as he waded in.
He’d timed his arrival perfectly. The very moment a footman handed Aidan a glass of whisky, the orchestra played a flourish and the room went silent. He was in the middle of congratulating himself on his genius when he saw who stood at his side.
“Aidan.” Patience Wellingsly’s voice chimed like a bell, pretty and soft and free of any intimacy despite the use of his name. “How are you?” She stared straight ahead, not granting him a glimpse of her beautiful eyes.
“Patience. I’m well. And you?”
“I’m perfectly well, thank you. I saw your sister and Mr. Bertrand. They seem well-suited.”
“They are.”
Patience cleared her throat and he watched her throat work as she swallowed. Aidan turned away, looking forward again, and said a small prayer of thanks when his brother began to speak. Edward thanked his guests for coming, while Aidan tried hard to lose his awareness of the woman at his side.
It wasn’t the same shame he’d felt when faced with Lady Sarah. Patience Wellingsly was a widow, after all. There was nothing particularly shameful about what they’d done.
It wasn’t distaste or disgust that he felt. She was a lovely woman. Older than him by nearly ten years, but still beautiful. Still vibrant.
But his skin felt too tight as he stood inches from her body. He’d danced with her. Flirted. He’d lain in her bed and entered her body. And now it felt wrong.
He was in love with Kate, and whatever insatiable needs he’d had in the past, he wanted only her. Wanted to have only been with her. An impossibility at this late date, but he could do everything in his power to be sure that he was only hers from now on.
He turned to Patience, meaning to make a pretty farewell. “You look as lovely as always, Patience.”
Her eyelids fluttered and her gaze slid briefly to him. “I spoke to Jude Bertrand before his marriage. Or rather, he spoke to me.”
Despite his intention to excuse himself, Aidan cocked his head.
“I was lonely in London, and I apologize if you felt pursued.”
“Of course not. I daresay I could outrun a woman in dancing slippers.”
Her mouth curved briefly up. “I wanted to say that I’m not lonely anymore, and I’m only sorry we ruined our friendship.”
Surprise flashed through him. Did she feel just what he did? That it was different to use someone you actually liked? “I’m sorry as well, Patience.”
She smiled more genuinely then, and faced him fully. “You look happier, Aidan. Much happier. I’m glad.”
“Thank you.” And with that, she walked away, relieving him of the rudeness of excusing himself. Aidan felt a weight leave his chest and he drew a deep breath just as Edward announced Cousin Harry and the Honorable Miss Samuel. A brief murmur took the crowd, but they settled into silence quickly as Harry informed the mob that Miss Samuel had agreed to be his wife. “I cannot tell you how happy and proud this makes me,” Harry said, looking awfully happy and proud for a man who’d spent months trying to decide between Miss Elizabeth Samuel and her cousin, Miss Nanette Samuel.
But perhaps it would end with real love. Perhaps they’d be happy forever.
Aidan kept his sneer to himself. He’d been cynical for so many years that it seemed the habit had settled in to stay. He took a sip of his drink and tried not to feel like an arrogant ass. When Cousin Harry raised a glass of champagne, Aidan raised his glass as well, determined to play the part of an enthusiast.
And when he spied Miss Nanette Samuel easing her way through the crowd toward him, Aidan was glad he’d pretended enthusiasm. He did not like her, and he was pleased that Harry had chosen the other cousin. Nanette was a young woman, but her eyes had an edge of hardness he recognized from his years of debauchery. Unlike her cousin, Nanette was an heiress and a true beauty, but he could already see the years of her life spread out before her. An advantageous marriage, the requisite two heirs, and then the boredom. The ennui. The bitter affairs.
Looking at her made him tired, but Aidan offered a polite bow. “Good evening, Miss Samuel. You must be thrilled for your cousin.”
“Yes, I’m sure it’s a lovely match for her.” Though she smiled prettily, the message was clear. Harry might be a worthy suitor for her cousin, but Nanette had set her sights higher.
She looped her arm through his, and Aidan slanted a wary look at the hand she spread against his sleeve. “We are to be cousins now,” she crooned, subtly turning him for a stroll around the ballroom. “Yet I feel I don’t know enough about your family.”
“What is there to know?”
“Your brother has yet to take a wife. Why is that?”
Ah. Here was her plan. “I gather he hasn’t fallen in love.”
“Love? You Yorks are all so very romantic.” She tilted a flirtatious smile in his direction. “Sentimental, even.”
Aidan waited for his muscles to turn to rock beneath his skin. She was undoubtedly referring to his ancient grief. Making a weak witticism about what he’d lost.
He waited for the tide of anger that would devour all his other feelings as it always did. But instead of fury, he found himself beset by mere irritation. Narrowing his eyes, he drew to a halt and waited. She gave him a puzzled look and tipped her head toward Edward.
“If you’ll deliver me to your brother, I’d like to tell him how pleased I am that we shall all be family.”
He didn’t make a pleasant reply, but he did march her directly to Edward, who raised an eyebrow in question.
Nanette’s smile grew stiff at the edges and her fingers dug into Aidan’s arm in clear irritation at his less than delicate approach, but she looked beautiful, all the same. She smiled coyly at Edward. “Our families get on so splendidly that I can’t help but thrill at the idea of this alliance, Baron York.”
Edward offered only the barest pleasantries, and Aidan fought off the urge to warn his brother against this woman’s claws. Edward seemed disinclined to be trapped by them, after all. And Aidan had moved on to a more urgent concern: how to escape from this party early without offending his family. Though perhaps they couldn’t be offended. They expected it of him. They called him sensitive and impatient and moody. But really, all he’d ever been was angry. Angry at himself and his mother and the ton. And truth be told, angry at Kate. For running off. For dying. For throwing his love in his face as if it meant nothing.
Now he could forgive it all, but he still wanted to leave the party. He was measuring the distance to the door when a footman stopped before him, offering a tray. Upon it sat one plain square of neatly folded paper. “Sir, you asked to see any correspondence immediately?”
“I did.” And this was his ticket out of the ballroom. Aidan took the letter and held it conspicuously at his waist as he slipped toward the door. He’d congratulated Harry and Miss Samuel before the guests had arrived. His duties were done. No one would miss him.
As soon as he slipped into the corridor, Aidan turned the envelope over and studied the script. It was Kate’s writing, he was almost sure of it, though it wasn’t quite the same. The girlish loops were narrowed to more insistent points. The drawn-out flourishes now disappeared into impatient stops.
Aidan felt a swarm of sparks swell beneath his fingertips as he eased the seal open and unfolded the letter. He was so aware that it was his first letter from her in a decade that it took him nearly a full minute to decipher the message within the words. When it finally got through, he read over the lines again to be sure he had it right.
Kate was coming to London. To see
him
.
Allowed the space and time to think, Kate was changing her mind, it seemed, about him and about their relationship. She was open to more. She must be, to risk a trip to his home in London. His mind spun with the possibilities, and when he looked up to see Jude Bertrand stepping from the ballroom, Aidan latched on to the biggest possibility of all.
“Jude. Might we speak in the library for a moment?”
Jude’s brows lowered warily. “As long as you don’t plan to apologize again. That was painful enough the first time.”
Aidan, embarrassed that he’d behaved badly enough to necessitate an apology, snapped at his old friend. “I’d acted terribly and I owed you an apology.”
“Yes, well, I’m sure the circumstances of my betrothal to Marissa—my
last
betrothal to Marissa—absolved you of any bad behavior on your part. I was happy to escape with my bullocks intact.”
“You may thank my sister. She insisted we let you keep them, though I assured her they were worthless.”
“Ha.”
“Now,” Aidan snapped, “will you come to the library or not?”
“I see you’ve used up all your pleasantness for the evening. Good thing I’ve no use for it.” Jude walked toward the library, his steps light as a stalking cat despite his intimidating size. Aidan had called him a lowborn bastard—and worse—just a few months before, but Jude had seemed to forgive him without another thought. His easy pardon only made Aidan feel more churlish. Jude had been a good friend to him, and it dishonored Aidan to admit he hadn’t thought the man worthy of his sister.
“I am sorry,” he said again as they stepped into the library.
“Oh, for Christ’s sake, man. Leave off. You seem to think me as sensitive as a child.”
Aidan felt his mouth turn up at the edges. “Perhaps I’m only afraid I’ll never be allowed to visit your mother’s salon again.”
“Waxing sentimental over Marie?” Jude asked, referring to one of the beautiful courtesans Aidan had met there. Jude’s mother was a former French courtesan, famous for her beauty and for the love of a certain duke. Jude was the product of that union, and seemed entirely comfortable with his unusual heritage. And now Aidan was counting on Jude’s odd family for help.
He poured two drinks and handed one to Jude before inclining his head toward the chairs nearest the fireplace.
Jude shot him a suspicious look, but he sat down and raised his glass. “To marriage,” he murmured, and Aidan winced.
“What’s wrong?” Jude asked. “Finally being forced to the altar?”
“Not at all. It’s something entirely different.” Aidan had clearly not poured enough whisky as he found his glass empty too quickly.
“Well?” Jude prompted.
“I . . . It seems . . .” He stumbled to a halt, unable to think how to start. “Can I count on your discretion?”
“Haven’t you always?” Jude scoffed.
Aidan managed a sick smile. “Yes, thankfully. But this is . . .”
“Entirely different?” Jude finished.
“Yes. It’s about Katie. The girl I once meant to marry.”
“The one who died?”
“Yes. Except that she isn’t dead.”
Jude’s expression hardly budged as he shook his head. “Pardon?”
“She didn’t die. Her family sent her to India and concocted the story of the shipwreck.”
“What?
Why?
”
“I’ve no idea, and Kate refuses to contact her family, so perhaps we’ll never know.”
“You’ve been in touch?”
“Yes.” He let his gaze rise to meet Jude’s. “I’ve found her.”
“Well, my God, Aidan! That’s wonderful!”
Aidan let the smile spread over his face. “It is. She’s alive and well and living in Kingston-upon-Hull, of all places. I happened by her on the street.”
“You’re kidding.”
“I’m not. But please don’t tell another soul. Only Edward knows.”
“What about Marissa?”
“I can’t tell her yet.”
“Aidan . . . she’s my wife.”
“I know, but I can’t tell her yet. It’s complicated. More than complicated.”
“By what?” Jude asked.
“The reason I told you . . . I don’t wish to involve you. . . .”
“But?”
“But . . . I wondered if your father would be willing to help petition Parliament for a divorce.”
Jude’s entire body, alert and tense, relaxed slowly into the seat back as his face turned from thrilled to serious. “Ah. Complicated, indeed.”
“She was sent by her father to marry him, but they’re living separate lives now. He’s still in India.”
Jude frowned into the fire.
“I’m sorry,” Aidan murmured. “I know it’s hopelessly hypocritical, after I accused you of having no honor, of not being a gentleman. . . . Now I’m here telling you I’m in love with another man’s wife. But I thought she was dead. And now I have her back. . . . Do you think you can understand that?”
“Jesus, of course I can. Save your apologies. If I found Marissa after ten years’ separation, do you think I’d let anything keep me from her?”