Chapter 28
Rob went through the next day in a reverie, utterly stunned and yet not entirely shocked that his beautiful, spirited, resourceful wife had saved herself.
That did not stop him from never leaving her side. Wherever she went, he went. Whatever she desired, he supplied. He could not stop touching her. For he understood how close he’d come to losing her. He was never going to let that happen again.
He’d wanted to kill Jamie Heath, but Richard had made it plain that he would take care of his brother. And knowing Richard, Jamie was in for hell.
Soon, he’d have to visit Heath to make sure Jamie would never darken their door again. But even he felt certain that the highwayman who had caused such fear would never see them again. What had been meant as a simple act of revenge had gone completely awry.
And Rob also knew that it was he who had put his wife in danger by living so closely to the wild side of the world. The prophecy of his father slipped through his mind. That he couldn’t escape the pain he would cause others. The mere thought caused his stomach to roil. It had been so easy to condemn his father and his debauchery.
Still, the destruction had taken root in his heart in a way he never thought it would. By trying to keep her away in the end. Oh, he might argue that it was because he’d been a highwayman. But if he had not forced her to search for him in the dark of night, if he had not tried to protect her from himself, she never would have gone after him and been taken.
Much to his dismay, and despite this realization, after several days of utter attention, she had grown silent. She had then turned to him and asked him to give her a bit of peace.
Stricken, he’d done as she asked. What else could he truly do? Then to his utter horror, she’d let him know she was going down to the country. . . alone.
Standing by himself in his study, he wondered if he had somehow destroyed his marriage. His life since his father died had been one of utter chaos. Now, it seemed it still was.
There was no one to blame but himself.
He’d driven her away. Trying to protect her. . . no, himself.
That was it, wasn’t it? He’d been trying to protect himself from further pain. What a bastard he was. Just as his father had said he would be.
Suddenly, he knew what he had to do.
Rob strode from his study and took the stairs two at a time until he stood before her bedroom door. He squared his shoulders and knocked.
There was a long pause then she called, “Enter.”
He slipped into the room, catching sight of her sitting before the fire, reading. The gash on her hand was healing nicely. It hardly needed a bandage now at all.
She lifted her gaze. “Yes, Rob? Do you require something?”
Was this what he’d done? Driven them to such small exchanges? Yes. That’s exactly what he’d done. He’d pushed her away.
“We must speak,” he said, really having no idea how he would reach her but determined to try.
Her brows lifted. “Indeed?”
He nodded and then he crossed and knelt before her, ready to offer up his soul on a platter if need be to make amends. “I—I don’t know how to say what needs to be said.”
She closed her book. “Say it. Nothing can be worse than what has already occurred. Can it?”
He gave a tight shake of his head. “I’ve been so afraid of disappointing you and myself. I was ready to waste our entire lives.”
She stared at him patiently.
“My father was a terrible man. So was my brother. I cannot tell you what they did to our family. My father told me I’d never escape it. And I believed him.”
“Rob, you’re not a terrible man.”
“Not yet,” he whispered.
Her eyes shone with tears. “Rob—”
“No, I must say this,” he cut in, driven now. “So, I was determined that I not hurt anyone, especially not you. But that is exactly what I did. No matter what I chose, I hurt you.”
A tear slipped down her cheek. “And yourself.”
“And myself,” he agreed, hating that he had been the source of her pain. “But I cannot bear to lose you. You are the only good thing in my life. The only thing which makes me feel hope.”
Her eyes shone and she looked away. “I don’t know. We were such good friends—”
“We can be again, don’t you think?” he queried, willing her to try again. Willing himself to believe he could try.
“Can we? I was ready to be.”
He pressed his lips together. “I wasn’t. I thought I had to push you away to keep you safe. But it didn’t work. I miss you.”
“Are you now ready?” she asked softly. “Ready to be friends? Ready to not push me away?”
He drew in a rough breath, afraid, afraid to open his heart but he forced himself to nod. “I want that more than anything. Can you help me?”
Her face softened and another tear slipped down her cheek. “I can try. But you cannot shut me out.”
“I promise.”
“Do not promise,” she protested. “But I must ask you something.”
He tensed, then nodded, knowing he had no choice, not if he was to try to repair all that had befallen them.
“Why are you so determined not have children? Perhaps I can understand if you explain it to me. For even in lovemaking, you are distant, the way you control yourself.”
He looked away, hating that she was correct.
“I made a vow.”
“I beg your pardon?” she whispered, aghast.
“I vowed I would never have an heir.”
“Why would you do such a thing?”
“My father, in a stupor, instructed me to get an heir before I died. . . because he said my destiny was inescapable, just like his father, himself, and my brother. I could never do that to a child. I could never. . .”
“What if our child is destined for pain? Does it matter, truly?” she asked softly.
He blinked, not understanding.
“Who among us is not acquainted with trouble?” she asked, taking his hand in hers. “Should we as a species not have children because we fear they will bear our worst traits? Or shall we chance it, and do all we can to shower our children with love and understanding so that they might grow? A plant kept in darkness will wither and twist. But one given good earth, light, water, and attention? It will thrive. It does not matter if there is something wrong with it. We can teach it how to be the best it can be.”
He peered at her, trying to comprehend. Trying to grasp the idea that he had completely forgotten that she would be the mother of their child, that she would guide their child and teach it. To love, to be, to see this world as a beautiful thing.
“I’m afraid,” he said at last.
“As am I. But that does not mean I shall give up, Rob. I shall never give up.”
“On me?” he asked, hardly daring to believe it.
“On us. On our family,” she said firmly. “For despite the fact you see that darkness in you, I see the light. I see the way you are kind to people. How you love your mother and sister and would do anything to protect them. How you took care of me when we were children. That is who you are. Who you always will be. And that will be the sort of father you are, too. If you can have children.”
The feel of her hand in his was a balm to his soul. But he could not lie to her. “I don’t. . . I don’t know.”
“You don’t have to know today,” she replied, her eyes bright with a fervent honesty. “You need only say you will choose love, not fear. I was given very good advice recently. There is what I can accept and what I can’t. I cannot accept a life of fear, Rob. So, I will continue to believe that you will one day embrace love. But until then, I think it best that I go to the country.”
“You’re still going?”
“Until you know what you truly want?” Sadness tinged her gaze. “Yes. And I want you to think about something when I am gone.”
“What is it?” he asked, bereft.
“Do you wish a child? Do you wish to hold your babe in your arms? To teach the child to toddle, and laugh, and see the world as a wondrous place and not one of shadow? Do you wish to love for the rest of your life? Until you can answer that, whether it be yes or no. . .” She looked away for a moment then met his gaze with unflinching resolve. “We must be apart.”
With that declaration, he felt swallowed up again by a yawning chasm. She was asking him what he wanted. He didn’t know. He knew he didn’t wish pain, but beyond that. . . he had no clue. And that, he knew, was why she was going away.
“I understand, Harry.”
“I will miss you,” she whispered.
“And I you,” he replied. And then he slipped from her room without a kiss or another word. For he knew neither would do any good.