“My God. That’s why you’re just sitting here, isn’t it? You want to be found. You want Spencer to call you out.”
Again, he said nothing.
Her brother wished to die. It was an admission that should have wrung her heart till it hurt—and it did. But it also angered her beyond belief.
“Have you considered anyone but yourself, with this plan of yours? I know you loved Hugh. We all loved Hugh. His death devastated the entire family. So now you would inflict that devastation on us again, by goading my husband into a duel?” Her voice shook. “I tell you now, that will not happen. Spencer is not a murderer, and I won’t allow you to make him one.”
She smoothed Claudia’s hair. “And this girl is fifteen years old, Jack. I don’t care whose idea it was, or what assumptions you were laboring under when you took her from the house. Nothing excuses this.”
“I know, I know.” Jack hugged his own knees and rocked himself. She thought she heard him weeping.
The sound only frustrated her further. Her brother wasn’t the frightened, ill-used, powerless child in this room. That role was Claudia’s, and in his self-centered myopia he’d done nothing to help the girl. For God’s sake, she was pregnant, terrified, chilled through with rain, and Jack was keeping her huddled in this drafty tower. He hadn’t even offered her his coat.
Strangely enough, Amelia was glad of it. That small example of thoughtlessness might be inconsequential compared to his other misdeeds—but it was this final ounce of selfishness that tipped the scales. For many months, she’d believed she could save her brother if only she loved him hard enough. But she saw her error clearly now. She’d accused Spencer of being insular, but Jack was the one incapable of seeing beyond his own grief. Other men lost brothers, friends, even children and wives—and still avoided abject dissolution. Why Jack had stumbled into the chasm when others managed to skirt it, she would never know. But she finally understood it was beyond her power to pull him out.
She murmured to Claudia, “Do you feel well enough to stand?” At the girl’s nod, Amelia hooked a hand under her elbow. “Come, then. I’ll take you home.”
“What about me, Amelia?” Jack asked weakly. “What becomes of me now? You’re so fond of telling me what to do.”
She shook her head as she helped the girl to her feet. “I don’t know, Jack. I truly don’t know.”
Chapter Twenty-two
In the final black hour of night, Spencer crested the ridge of forest and began his descent toward Briarbank. The moon shone brightly now, though a mist still hung over the earth, blanketing the ground with moisture.
The scent of powder clung to his clothing. His boots were spattered with blood. His limbs were boneless with fatigue, and the early morning air was so humid, he felt as though he were swimming through it. Struggling, flailing. Drowning.
He could only pray Ashworth or Bellamy had succeeded where he’d failed.
He passed the stables on his way to the house. He was almost afraid to turn his head as he walked past the small, humble horse barn—but he made himself do so, wondering if he would see either of the other men’s horses returned. He didn’t. But what he did see chilled his blood.
Captain was missing. Amelia’s steady gelding, gone. He’d been tied near the barn entrance, and with the moon so bright, Spencer ought to have been able to glimpse his gray coat from here. Nothing.
His legs—or rather, the numb, wooden stumps currently occupying his boots—quickly pumped to life, propelling him toward the barn. He rushed inside, looking frantically from stall to stall. No Captain to be found. Oh, Christ. She barely knew how to hold the reins. Surely she hadn’t dared to take the horse out herself. With her inexperience and these conditions, to do so would have been an invitation to disaster.
His breath came quick and panicked now, and with every inhalation pain stabbed his side. He pressed an arm to his ribs, wondering if he’d broken just one, as he’d initially thought, or several. Wincing in pain, he half ran, half stumbled out of the barn and toward the cottage. The windows were dark, save a faint light from the library window. He moved toward it, drawn by that warm glow that seemed the embodiment of hope itself. Leaving the paved walk, he headed straight for the window and peered inside.
There she was. Seated in a chair by the wall of bookshelves, a sheaf of papers in her hand. Alone.
Gratitude swept the last bit of strength from his knees. He propped a hand on the wall for support, sucking in a lungful of air and relief. If he’d lost her, he couldn’t have borne it.
Well, she might be lost to him yet, after tonight. And God only knew where Claudia was right now. But he stood there for a moment, gazing through the window glass at her pale, lovely profile and trying to imagine he wouldn’t emerge from this night a complete failure at protecting everyone and everything he’d ever loved.
He went to the door and found it unlatched. Within seconds he stood in the entry of the library. His jaw worked a few times, sliding his thirst-thickened tongue over a tooth that had jarred loose. He couldn’t think of a word to say.
“She’s here.” With shaking fingers, Amelia swept the papers aside. “Sleeping upstairs. She is safe.”
Relief flooded his lungs, until his chest ached with it. Still, he couldn’t find words. So he crossed the room, knelt before his wife, laid his head in her lap, and wept.
“Oh, Spencer.” Her fingers smoothed the hair from his brow. “Lord, you smell of death. And you’re all scratched and bruised. What’s happened to you?”
“It’s nothing,” he said, curling one arm around her legs. “Captain is gone from the barn. When I saw it, I thought perhaps you’d …” He clutched her tighter, feeling that moment of black terror more keenly than before. “God, Amelia. You must promise to never leave me.”
Her fingers stilled in his hair. His heartbeat scudded to a stop, as well.
“I have news,” she said at length. “It will be difficult for you to hear.”
He wanted to keep his face buried in her skirts out of sheer cowardice, but he forced himself to sit back on his heels, rub his bleary eyes clear with one hand, and face this “news” like a man.
She pressed her lips together, hesitating. “There is no easy way to say this.”
“Then say it straight out.” He propped his arms on either side of her skirt, bracing himself for the worst.
“Claudia is with child.”
“Claudia. Claudia, with child?” Emotion struck him in the chest. Several emotions, as a matter of fact, hitting him one after the other in quick succession, like a series of punishing blows: shock, disbelief, sorrow, guilt. Fury. A dozen questions tumbled in his mind, but only one really mattered. “Whose?”
“Not Jack’s,” she said hastily. “It couldn’t have been. It was her music master in York.”
“I’ll kill him,” Spencer bit out.
“What good would that serve? The man doesn’t even know. And from Claudia’s own account, it seems the tutor seduced her, but she was not … unwilling.”
The mere idea of a man touching his ward sent nausea rolling through his gut. “She’s fifteen years old. A child.”
“Not any longer.” Amelia grasped one of his hands and folded it in both of hers. “She’s so frightened, Spencer. She’s known for some time, but she’s terrified of how you’ll react. Just the same, I think she meant to speak with you. Earlier.”
Earlier. When he and Amelia had been … otherwise engaged in this very room and they’d sent her away. And afterward, Spencer never had spoken with her as promised. Truth be told, he’d been avoiding speaking with Claudia for weeks.
“The elopement was her suggestion,” Amelia continued quietly. “But Jack seized the idea eagerly. He’s desperate for funds; she was desperate to conceal her pregnancy. It was a ridiculous plan, and I think they both knew it. They didn’t make it any farther than the castle gatehouse, in the end. That’s where I found them, wet and chilled through.”
“You climbed up there? In the middle of the night?”
“Well, the idea did cross my mind to take Captain, but I realized quickly what a stupid notion that was.”
“Thank God.” He bent his head to her lap again. “I should have known you were too clever to attempt a stunt like that.”
She laughed a little. “If it had been just my safety at stake, I might have been tempted to try, but …” He felt her sigh. “I know you must blame me for this. If only I hadn’t insisted Jack stay, he—”
“Don’t,” he said, lifting his head to capture her gaze. “Don’t blame yourself. Nothing excuses Jack’s actions.”
“I know,” she said in a rush, squeezing his hand. “I know.”
“It’s my right to deal with him, Amelia. He all but kidnapped and ruined an innocent girl, and he must be made to face consequences for it. You can’t keep protecting him any longer.”
“I … I’ve already sent him away.”
He rocked back on his heels, stunned.
“For both his good and yours. This can’t end in violence.” Averting her eyes, she swallowed hard. “I’ve promised to meet with him soon. I let him borrow Captain, but I swear you’ll have the horse returned to you.”
“Blast the horse.” As if he gave a damn about the horse. He’d give every last stallion, mare, and gelding in his stables this instant to undo this night’s events. “Where’s Jack gone?”
She wouldn’t look him in the eye. “Spencer, you know I can’t tell y—”
“You can. And you will, because I’m asking it.” He grabbed her chin and forced her to face him. Devil take it, he couldn’t abide this any longer. “You have to choose, Amelia. I’m damned tired of always coming in second to that brigand, watching you squander all your sympathy and tenderness on him. This time, you cannot be loyal to us both. He abducted my ward. Either you tell me where Jack’s gone and let me deal with him, or …”
“Or?” Red rimmed her eyes.
“Or you leave. You go to him, and you leave me. I can’t keep doing this.”
All throughout his brain, alarms trumpeted, trilled, blared. Recant, you idiot. Take it all back, before she realizes what you’ve said. He knew, rationally, that he’d just made the most impulsive, ill-calculated, goddamned foolish wager of his life, forcing the issue now. Asking her to make such a choice on a morning when lives and futures hung in the balance. But his brain wasn’t making the decisions at the moment. His heart was speaking for him, and his heart was in shreds. He needed her—all of her. And if she couldn’t give him everything, he’d best face it now and start learning to live with the pain.
Her eyes told him her answer, long before her lips could form the words.
“I’m sorry. I must go to him this morning.”
The alarms in his brain muted, one by one, leaving only a low, mournful bugled dirge: It’s what you deserve, you witless fool. Now she’s leaving you. This morning.
It was nearly morning, wasn’t it? Faint light seeped into the room, illuminating the sweet, familiar features of her face. God, she’d always been so lovely at daybreak. Even that very first morning, in the carriage. He’d decided then and there to marry her, claim her, make her his own. And somewhere between that dawn and this one, he’d grown to love her best when she clearly belonged to herself. It just wasn’t in him to force her to stay. He wanted her willing, or not at all.
Dawn might be breaking over the river bluff, but a dark, endless night loomed inside Spencer’s soul. He stared down at the crescents of blood and grit beneath his fingernails, the milky white quarter-moons of hers.