While You Were Spying (Regency Spies Book 0) (42 page)

She looked into his eyes. Heat radiated from his body, scorching her, leaving her nearly breathless. But she didn’t wrap her arms around him as she yearned to, didn’t kiss him as she wanted. Because, though she knew Ethan could help her heal from Roxbury’s abuse, had already helped her more than he would ever know, there was nothing between them if he didn’t trust her. There was only a void if he couldn’t open himself to her, break down his walls, and trust her unconditionally.

She cupped his face in return. “And, if
you
trust
me
, Ethan, I can make you forget
her
.”

He scowled and stepped away, and she closed her eyes. The pain was no longer fresh, just a dull twinge to remind her that their marriage, her dreams of love, were hopeless.

“But you won’t even let me try, will you?” she whispered, trying to stop her lip from trembling. “You’ll never let me in.” She said it more for herself than for him because she needed to accept it, to believe it, or face this heart-wrenching ache over and over.

He went to the table near the fire, lifted his drink, and held it, dangling it in one hand at his side.

“I love you.” She saw him stiffen. His back was to her, but she went on anyway. “I loved you the first time I saw you. I prayed, hoped, wished, you might come to love me too.”

He was silent, staring into the flames.

“But that’s too much of a risk for you, isn’t it? You’ll rush headlong into danger for the Foreign Office, but you won’t risk your heart.”

He sipped his drink.

“Love can’t be one-sided, Ethan. I want what you’re offering, but I can only go so far on my own. We have to make this journey together. Or neither of us makes it.” She went to the dressing room door, pulled it open. “I’m walking back to my ivory tower now. When you decide you want a wife rather than a fairy-tale princess, you know where to find me.”

She shut the door behind her and stumbled, dazed and numb, into her room. She didn’t even undress before climbing into bed. She lay in the semi-darkness, seeing nothing, knowing Ethan wouldn’t come to her, but praying for it all the same.

Her eyes burned from unshed tears and exhaustion when the first streaks of gray shot through the black of the night sky. She heard Ethan’s door open, heard his steps in the hall. For the briefest of instants, he paused before her door. She gripped her pale sheets in her hands and squeezed her eyes shut in silent entreaty. Then the floorboard creaked and she heard footfalls receding.

He was gone. As if to confirm it, she heard Destrehan’s hoof beats on the drive. She listened as they grew fainter, curling herself into a ball under the covers. She wondered dully if he’d ever return to her—not that it mattered. He’d never really been hers at all.

F
rancesca rubbed her mittened hands together in a vain effort to keep them warm. She scanned a bare patch of ground covered with brown heather in front of her. December in Yorkshire seemed colder than those she remembered at Tanglewilde.

“If everything meets with your approval, Lady Winterbourne,” Mr. Brown said, “I’ll have the men start digging the hospital’s foundation tomorrow.”

Francesca stilled her hands and tried to focus on Winterbourne Hall’s steward. “I’d like that. If the men work quickly, we can have it laid before the ground freezes.”

Brown nodded. “The weather has been unusually mild for this time of year, but I would still feel more secure if we waited until spring.”

“I know.”

Brown had warned her countless times that mid-December was not a good time to begin a project like the construction of her hospital. But how could she make him understand that now, with Ethan gone, she needed the hospital more than ever? She needed something to distract her from her loneliness. Something to make her feel useful, necessary.

She looked at Ethan’s steward. He was a good man and was undoubtedly giving her good advice, but she simply didn’t want to wait. Sometimes the benefits outweighed the risks.

She thought of Ethan.

And sometimes they didn’t.

“So, you’ll start tomorrow?” she asked.

“Yes, my lady. First thing—”

A loud yipping interrupted them as Lino, followed by a huffing Pocket, scampered up the path. She bent, scooping her little bundle of energy into her arms.

Lino wriggled happily, stretching his skinny neck to lick her face. Francesca laughed and smiled at Pocket who had finally reached them. “It looks like he eluded you again, Pocket.”

Pocket panted and attempted to catch his breath. “He seems to have an aptitude for escape, my lady,” he wheezed. The valet frowned with obvious disapproval at the dog in her arms.

“And what is he trying to escape this morning?” She scratched Lino’s ear, and the puppy snuggled against her.

“I believe the dog heard one of the footmen mention a”—Pocket glanced at Lino and lowered his voice—“a B-A-T-H, madam.”

“I see.” Francesca nodded soberly. “That would do it. Lino hates ba—water.”

“Yes.” Pocket eyed the dog again. The valet’s puckered lips reflected his opinion of anyone—animal or human—who did not appreciate the merits of a good scrubbing. Then Pocket turned his critical eye on her. “Oh, dear.”

Francesca followed his glance down her mantle and saw the streaks of dirt Lino’s paws had left. She brushed at them futilely while Pocket reached inside his tailcoat.

“Allow me, your ladyship. You will only rub in the dirt.” The valet opened his coat and withdrew two hard brushes from his waistcoat.

“My lady, if there’s nothing else, I believe I will ride over to the Ingletons’ farm,” Brown said.

“Of course, Mr. Brown. Did Mrs. Ingleton have her baby yet?”

The steward shook his head. “No, your ladyship. Mr. Ingleton is quite beside himself with worry.”

“Oh, dear,” Pocket murmured, holding Francesca’s mantle between two fingers. Francesca wasn’t certain if Pocket was lamenting the state of her cloak or Mrs. Ingleton’s difficult pregnancy.

“I’ll call on her myself this afternoon, Mr. Brown.”

“I’m certain the Ingletons would appreciate that, my lady.”

Francesca smiled, but didn’t feel any sense of pleasure. Though she cared about each of Ethan’s tenants, her visits were not from a sense of obligation or duty. She made the rounds of the cottages and small farms daily because the task distracted her from the ever-present thoughts of her absent husband.

Pocket gave her mantle a last sweep with his hard-bristled brush and dropped the garment, tucking his precious instrument back in his waistcoat. Francesca pressed her lips together and swallowed. From the corner of her eye, she saw Pocket’s mouth curve in sympathy.

She didn’t want sympathy, and so she focused on the house in the distance—Ethan’s house—and tried not to contemplate spending years here without him. She’d give him until Christmas, she decided, and if she’d had no word from him by then, she’d begin to make other plans.

Perhaps she’d take a trip to London while her hospital was being built, attend medical seminars and learn new practices to apply in her hospital.

One thing was certain. Though Ethan might have abandoned their new life and his home, she would not do the same. She might be tempted to retreat to Tanglewilde and the comfort of her family, but she knew that would be a mistake. She had to be strong, to make a life for herself—with or without Ethan.

“I
can’t thank you enough for coming to visit Mrs. Ingleton and me, my lady.” In the yard outside his small home, Mr. Ingleton helped Francesca mount Thunder. “It means so much to her to have a visitor—and such a distinguished visitor at that.”

Francesca blushed. “Well, perhaps next time, there will be one more Ingleton for me to visit.”

“I sincerely hope so, my lady.” Ingleton threw a worried look at his cottage. “I sincerely hope so.”

Francesca leaned down and patted his shoulder. “Everything will be fine. Look, here comes Mrs. Pateley right now. I’m certain she’ll tell you the same.”

Ingleton turned to watch the midwife’s gig approaching. She waved, and Ingleton and Francesca returned the greeting. “Well, I’ll be off now.” Francesca knew that she’d never make it home if she waited and properly greeted the midwife.

Mrs. Pateley loved to talk. And talk. Her ability to prattle on rivaled on that of her mother, and as she’d had a letter only yesterday from her mother threatening a visit, Francesca was already scheming how to keep the two from meeting.

“But I promised to escort you to the Hall, my lady,” Mr. Ingleton said. He sounded a little hesitant now that he’d seen the midwife.

“Oh, that’s not necessary.” Francesca relieved him easily of the burden. “Thunder will have me back in no time.”

“But his lordship—” Ingleton began.

“Besides, I know you’ll want to hear what Mrs. Pateley has to say. Undoubtedly, Daniel is on his way here right now, and I’ll meet up with him on the road.”

A look of relief flashed across Ingleton’s features, and Francesca felt a pang of longing. His concern for his wife touched her. Anyone could see how much he adored Mrs. Ingleton.

Francesca urged Thunder forward. “Good day, Mr. Ingleton.” She nodded at the midwife as she passed her. In fact, she wasn’t even out of sight of the Ingletons’ cottage before she allowed Thunder his head. The wind slapping against her face freed and invigorated her.

Thunder had flourished here in Yorkshire. When she looked at him now, she could hardly believe he was the same horse from Skerrit’s barn. That skinny, neglected animal had cowered, fearful of the slightest noise or movement. This animal stood straight, ran fast, his chestnut coat gleaming with health.

She laughed, feeling some of her unease leech away. Ethan had forbidden her to leave the grounds of Winterbourne Hall alone, but she had done so today. Daniel, her usual companion on her daily rides or visits, had a habit of being late and she had not felt like waiting. His tardiness wasn’t the footman’s fault. There was so much to be done at the house that really it was ridiculous to take him away from his duties in order to escort her to visit a harmless pregnant woman.

Though she looked for Daniel, she didn’t pass him on the way back to Winterbourne Hall. Francesca told herself it was because she didn’t return by the most direct path. Instead she guided Thunder around the edge of the property until she saw the old Norman castle looming in front of her.

Slowing Thunder, Francesca circled the ruins, trying to imagine how it must have looked when it was first built and what the lives of its inhabitants were like.

She was imagining a fair-haired Saxon maiden peering from one of the towers, searching the moors for her Norman warrior when a shiver of unease crept down her back. Someone was watching her.

She twisted in her saddle, studying the countryside around her but she saw nothing and no one.

She took a deep breath to steady herself. She had no reason to feel anxious.

She heard hoof beats and spotted Daniel. Shaking off her unease, she spurred Thunder forward to meet him.

“I’m so sorry I was late, my lady. The magistrate—”

Panic wrapped tight fingers around her heart and she leaned forward in the saddle. “What’s wrong?”

“Mr. Fletcher and Mr. Gore had it out again. Fletcher is accusing Gore of shooting him in the leg and Gore is claiming self-defense.”

“Oh good Lord.” Francesca shook her head. With Ethan away, her duties at Winterbourne Hall had doubled. At Tanglewilde she knew the tenants, knew everyone’s history and grudges. But everything here was new to her, and she was constantly wondering how best to sort out the chronic problems that arose. For a fleeting instant, she wished Ethan was there to help her.

But he wasn’t, she told herself firmly, and it was up to her to keep this estate running. After all, Winterbourne Hall was her home now.

She turned Thunder toward home and, with Daniel following, urged the horse forward. She only looked over her shoulder once, suppressing a shiver at the apprehension that wouldn’t quite go away.

E
than threaded his hands through her long, thick hair, bent his mouth to hers, and plunged into her sweet, inviting depths. She overwhelmed his senses, and when her body clenched, hot and wet, around him, he lost all coherent thought. In the swirl of sensuality surrounding him, restraint vanished. His willpower had never been any match for the charms of this enchantress.