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Bronwyn. Ah, God, he did not want to leave her. But leave her, leave all of them, he must. All his life he had lived under the shadow of his father, the shame at having that man’s blood in his veins fairly eating him up inside until he hated himself almost as much as he had hated who had sired him. He could not let that happen to the girls, could not allow such degradation to crush their spirits, especially not after all they had already been through. And he could not allow Bronwyn to be tainted by it either. For while their life together thus far had been idyllic, there would be no holding back the ugliness of the world forever. Owens and Lady Brindle had been proof of that.
But no amount of reasoning would soothe the longing in his soul that he might stay with them all forever.
Sighing, weary down to his bones, he nevertheless straightened his shoulders and urged his mount on. The sun was setting, the forest that surrounded the long drive growing shadowed. He would have one last dinner with them all, say his farewells, and retire so he might prepare for his departure. And then in the morning, before dawn broke, he would be gone, and they would finally be able to live lives free of him and his father’s stain.
What he did not expect as he neared the manor house, however, was a lone rider coming toward him. But even if he had not recognized the woman, the parrot on her shoulder would have given her away: Miss Seraphina Athwart, proprietress of the Quayside Circulating Library. The one who had threatened him with that crypticthe Oddments are watchingon the day of his and Bronwyn’s wedding.
Surely they could acknowledge one another and be on their way. But as he went to pass her, she pulled her horse up, blocking his path, and all hope for a quick leave-taking from her disappeared like a puff of smoke.
“Miss Athwart,” he murmured. “I hope you are doing well.”
She glared at him, her opinion of him plain on her face. “I am, in fact, not doing well, Your Grace,” she said, her words clipped and furious. “And can you guess why I am not doing well?”
Frustration surged, and all manner of sarcastic answers flew through his mind. In the end, however, he remained silent. There was no use in adding fuel to the already blazing fire of her anger.
“Please do correct me if I am wrong,” she continued, “but I believe I did warn you on your wedding day not to break Bronwyn’s heart.” She straightened in her saddle. “And now, sir, you have done just that. And I will not stand for it.”
Why, he wondered desperately, did her words only awaken a faint hope that Bronwyn might truly have come to care for him? But no, he thought wildly, trampling that hope as surely as an elephant tramples the grasses at its feet, that was an impossibility.
He scowled at Miss Athwart, praying it hid the turmoil within him. “I assure you, I have not broken Bronwyn’s heart. In fact, I have done everything in my power to make certain she would not be affected.”
She scoffed, a rude sound that echoed through the trees. Her parrot repeated the sound—and no wonder, for it was one he must have heard daily from this Fury of a woman.
“Then you do not know my friend at all. For she is in pain.” She gave a low growl of frustration, one that made her mount dance. “If I were a man, I would call you out,” she spat.
He had no doubt she would at that. But Miss Athwart’s anger was his least concern. Was Bronwyn in pain, as she said? Ah, God, he truly was a bastard, as selfish and unworthy of love as he had always known, for the idea made that sputtering hope in his chest flare brighter. If her heart was breaking, it meant she had fallen in love with him, just as he had with her.
No, he told himself furiously, desperately, he did not want Bronwyn to have fallen in love with him.
“You are wrong,” he managed, his voice hoarse.
“I am not wrong,” she replied. “And you shall make it right.”
“How the devil am I to make this right?”
“You forced her into this sham of a marriage,” she snapped. “You have trapped her, as surely as if she were held in a locked cell.” For a moment her expression transformed to one of deep pain. In the next minute, however, the fury was back in place, burning brighter than before. “You made a vow to her, Your Grace.”
“And I am trying to keep that vow,” he gritted.
“You are not,” she spat. “Else you would stay with her. But no, you are thinking of only yourself.”
“I am trying, for once in my miserable life, to not be selfish!” he cried, the words bursting from him before he could hold them back. “Everything I am doing is for her. If I was thinking only of myself, I would stay and make a life with her. But Bronwyn deserves so much better than me.”
Miss Athwart gaped, as if seeing him for the first time. “My God,” she whispered. “You have fallen in love with her.”
His hands tightened in shock, his horse shifting in agitation beneath him. He hardly noticed for the roaring in his ears. “No,” he replied, shaking his head violently. “Of course not.”
“You have,” she insisted. Her brows drew together, confusion plain in her face. “Why, then, are you leaving her?”
Ah, God, this woman saw to the heart of him. She did not even know him, and she could recognize what he was trying so desperately to hide. He had to escape her presence before he gave even more of himself away.
Drawing upon every ounce of self-control he had left, he straightened and stared down at her. Once more he was the dangerous gaming hell owner, and she recognized it if the alarm in her eyes was any indication.
Yet instead of bringing him comfort that he was finally returning to himself, he felt as if he had slipped into clothes that no longer fit.
“You are wrong, madam,” he said with as much darkness as he could muster. “And I would appreciate you not to involve yourself in my marriage. Bronwyn and I have an understanding, and I expect you to respect that. Good day.”
With that he urged his mount on, passing her without another glance. He could do this, he told himself as he rounded a bend in the road and the lights of Caulnedy shone through the deepening gloom. He would get through the evening, and would not visit Bronwyn’s bed, and tomorrow before dawn he would finally be through with this place and all the heartache it gave him.
