The Secret Lover (31 page)

Only this time, she was not running. She was walking away, by choice.

In Cheapside, at a gentleman's club of second order, Caleb heard the gossip that Trevor Hamilton had gone in search of his missing father. It was rumored that the Frenchwoman had kidnapped the viscount. The men openly discussed her motives, all quickly coming to the conclusion that she meant to harm him by extorting money from him somehow.

Perhaps even to cause injury to his person. The discussion bothered Caleb greatly. They certainly did not know Madame Fortier, or that she had almost single-handedly led his father to improvement in spite of Trevor.

But neither did he know her, not really. Was she capable of such a crime?

It was hard to imagine, but as of two days ago, nothing was as it seemed.

Yet it was the second piece of gossip that truly disturbed him: that Lady Sophie Dane, formerly Lady Stanwood—an emphasis that raised more than one eyebrow—had apparently left on her own search. What Caleb found so disquieting about that was the fear that seemed to overtake him and constrict his breathing in an odd sort of way.

He feared for Sophie.

The fool woman had gone running after Madame Fortier and with Trevor in the apparent state of mind that he was, Caleb could only imagine the potential danger for Sophie. Regardless that she had all but destroyed him, he still loved her. Would go to his grave loving her—he could hot scrape that burn from his heart. How very odd, he thought in a detached way, that he still loved her so much he would do anything to see that no harm came to her, including chasing her halfway across England.

The irony of that was almost laughable, he supposed, but nonetheless, with a weary sigh of defeat, he tossed two crowns on the table, strolled out of the club, and headed home to pack a satchel.

On the banks of a gurgling stream, approximately fifteen miles north of the village of Gedling, Honorine spread jam on a thick slab of fresh-baked bread she had purchased in the village and handed it to Will. "
Voilà, mon
petit ami
."

"Thank you, darling," Will said, and taking the bread with his good hand, sank his teeth into it. It was, without a doubt, the most delicious bread he had ever tasted. He smiled at Honorine, then looked up at the azure-blue sky, silently naming the shapes he saw in the clouds, ecstatic that he
knew
the names. A few months ago he had not even known his own name. Since Honorine had come into his life, he was stronger every day, finding words in his brain he had thought lost to him forever, finding strength in his legs, his arms.

It was amazing and humbling, really, this miracle that had come to him by the grace of God.

Beside him, Honorine flopped onto her back on the blanket they had spread and folded her arms behind her head as she gazed up at the sky.

"This day, it is
très joli
," she sighed.

Will nodded, munched his bread. "Not as p-pretty as you, l-love," he said.

Honorine laughed, ran her hand seductively along his leg, which instantly stirred all the passion he felt for her. "You speak this English better than me!"

He grabbed her hand and squeezed it. She was a true godsend; he had not adored someone so completely since Caleb's mother more than thirty years ago.

He adored her so completely that he put her hand to his groin, let her feel the hardness there. Her blue eyes sparkled; she came up on one elbow, shaping her hand to the rigid length of him. "Umm… but this love, is it better than me?" she asked low, and suddenly pushed him on his back, coming over him with a gleeful laugh, her smiling face blocking the clouds from his sight.

Lucie Cowplain did not divulge the information he needed until he pressed ten pounds into her palm.

After that, it had been easy to find Sophie's trail. Caleb was making good time, given that she had almost a full day's head start on him.

The village of Stevenage had been the most productive so far. The tavern at which he devoured an unremarkable luncheon was immediately adjacent to the coach station. That station, he had guessed, supplied a steady stream of travelers in and out of the Hawk and Dove on a daily basis. This notion was confirmed by the woman who served the common room patrons, and fortunately for Caleb, she had an excellent memory.

"Oh me, aye, we seen 'em, we did," she said when asked about Madame Fortier and his father, bobbing her head so eagerly that thin wisps of her hair seemed to float about her face. "Thought it rather odd that the lady was driving. She gave the hostler
five
crowns to care for the horse, and the gent didn't seem to mind a'tall."

"Did anyone happen to notice their direction?"

"Oh, north, sir. They all go north from here." She nodded, started to walk away, but Caleb put his hand on her arm.

"I beg your pardon, madam, but I am also in search of two other people.

A gentleman, about my height, perhaps a notch or two shorter, a bit of silver at the temples? A wealthy gentleman—"

The woman grinned with all three of her teeth and wiped her palm on the dirty apron she wore. "Oh
aye
, I remarked him, I did—not many gent through here; a handsome one he was, too. And that coach, Lord! Never seen a coach so fine, not 'ere. Ask Mr. Litton—"

"Yes, I've seen the coach," Caleb interjected wryly. "Headed north I suppose?"

She nodded. " 'E'll have a time of it, that fancy coach on
these
roads!"

she added with a delighted cackle.

"And lastly," Caleb said, withdrawing five crowns from his pocket and placing them on the table. "Have you perhaps noticed a woman traveling alone today? She's quite attractive, perhaps a head shorter than me." He paused—how exactly did one describe Sophie? How did he capture the spirit within her?

"Aye?" the serving woman prodded as she slipped the five crowns into her pocket.

Caleb cleared his throat, drummed his fingers on the edge of the table.

"A woman of slender frame…"—
so slender that she fit perfectly within his
embrace… and beneath him
—"… and dark brown hair. And her eyes…"—

bottomless wells of passion
—"… her eyes are dark brown, like chocolate.

And… and she has a certain essence about her, a sort of radiance if you will." He glanced up at the woman. "Do you perhaps recall her?"

Grinning, the woman chuckled low. "Luv, had I seen a woman as you describe, I'd not forget her, I promise you that. But no, I ain't seen her, not

'ere. She sounds too fine for the likes of this," she said, gesturing to the common room around her. "Another ale, then?"

"No, thank you."

She shrugged, adjusted the tray at her hip and wandered off.

At the dry goods shop, Caleb had better luck. He bought a sack of oats for his mount and some hardtack, then inquired after Sophie. The proprietor there remembered her, remarking that she seemed rather prim in selecting two hard candies and some bread and cheese for her journey north. He had thought it odd, he told Caleb as he polished an empty jar, that a woman of her obvious stature was traveling alone, to Nottinghamshire, on a public coach.

To Hamilton House, then.

They were all headed for his father's estate, to the place where Caleb had once longed to live, longed to be accepted. His father and Madame Fortier may have already reached it, or would in a matter of one or two days. As for Trevor—assuming he knew where they had gone—he could conceivably arrive within twenty-four hours of his father with the viscount's coach and team of four grays.

Sophie, however, was another matter, particularly given that Caleb wasn't entirely certain she knew where she was going. Moreover, having availed himself of the public coach system on more than one occasion, he rather thought Sophie would be lucky to reach Hamilton House by the end of the week, and in one piece.

At least there was only one viable road going north, only one that the public coaches would take, and if he rode hard enough, he could conceivably catch her by nightfall.

As he rode out of town, Caleb marveled that he could not recall a time he had been of such single-minded purpose. Even the construction of his house had not consumed him so, in spite of the many hours he had devoted himself to it. That was, he had come to realize, only a diversion, something to occupy his hands and his thoughts, a monument to his success in the rail industry, a symbol to show the world that he was worthy.

But since Sophie had refused him the night of the Fortier ball, the house had left him feeling curiously empty. After two days of brooding over it, he had finally understood why that was so. For all his hard work, it was nothing more than a house. It was not a home, nor would it ever be, not without Sophie, not without her laughter and warmth to fill every room, every corridor. By chance, she had sat across the pond one day, and his life had been changed forevermore. He had begun to believe in life again, had begun to believe that love was possible for a man like him. He had begun to see her in every room of his home, of
their
home.

Now, he would never be able to look at the house in the same way. He rather doubted he'd even be able to live in it. Sophie had scored him deeply with her refusal, had lacerated feelings so old and so deep that he had wondered in the last two days if he might ever recover from it. The rejection had left him feeling heavy and old. Alone. Forsaken.

Yet here he was, chasing like a dog across the English countryside after her.
Why
he felt compelled to do so, he wasn't entirely certain, other than he vaguely understood, on some remote level, why she had refused him. It did not lessen the sting, did not ease his suffering in the least, and he thought that perhaps he had convinced himself he understood so that it might somehow deaden the pain. Yet the pain remained, nibbling away at the corners of his heart.

So why, then, was he chasing after her?

Because he loved her, adored her so completely that in spite of her rejection, he could not bear to see any harm come to her. It was that simple, that primal.

It wasn't hard for Sophie to learn where "home" was. Naturally, Lucie Cowplain knew everything about Hamilton House, right down to the fact that Millicent's cousin's sister was a maid there and found it excruciatingly tiresome, as there was hardly anything with which to occupy one's time. Somehow, that did not surprise Sophie in the least.

Having secured herself passage on a public coach, Sophie made herself as comfortable as she could on one hard wooden bench, directly across from an elderly couple who proudly informed her they were on their way to visit their son, a solicitor in Birmingham.

But in Biggleswade, the coach collected a woman and two children, which forced Sophie to squeeze onto the bench with the elderly couple.

The two children began bickering immediately, and continued on for the entire journey, seemingly without so much as taking a breath. Their mother attempted, in her near shouting, to silence the two, but she only managed to make them louder. Sophie exchanged more than one look with the elderly couple beside her, who looked as appalled as she felt.

When it became apparent that the two children were determined to make their journey miserable, Sophie settled herself in as best she could and tried diligently to block them, and everything around her, out of her mind. Unfortunately, all her attempts met with dismal failure—if she wasn't feeling the throbbing at her temples, she could not stop thinking of Caleb. Or her argument with Ann.

She was exhausted beyond reason; her journey had begun on the heels of a terrible row with Fabrice and Roland, who did not want to be left alone in the middle of a hostile
ton
. They wanted to accompany Sophie, but she could not afford the time it would take the three of them to travel.

She had finally convinced them to return to France if they must, leave the house to Lucie Cowplain. If and when she found Honorine, she would send word and arrange to meet them in Burgundy, at Château de Segries, the Fortier estate.

Her suggestion had caused Fabrice and Roland to howl with dissent; they all but clung to one another like frightened children, but Sophie had held firm, much to the amusement of Lucie Cowplain. "Ah, go and do what ye must then. I'll keep an eye on the lassies," she said with a sardonic smile.

As if that ordeal weren't enough to send her straight over the edge, she next had a terrible argument with Ann, who discovered her stuffing sundries into a portmanteau, and demanded an explanation.

"I am determined to find Honorine before something horrid happens,"

Sophie had flatly informed her older sister.

Ann's eyes rounded. "I beg your pardon, you mean to do
what
?"

"You heard me. I intend to find Honorine."

Surprise caused Ann to fall into an armchair. She gaped at Sophie, then at her bag. "It is
unseemly
," she began, gesturing wildly at the portmanteau. "This
will
not do. All of London will think you have run off with Trevor Hamilton. God, Sophie, can you not see how improper it all will seem? Have you considered what Trevor will think?"

What
Trevor
would think? That was, without a doubt, the final straw.

How had they all come to care so much for appearances at the expense of all else? She returned Ann's glare. "I am sick unto death of caring how everything
appears
to everyone else, Ann! I could not possibly give a whit what Trevor Hamilton will think, much less high society! And I cannot abide another untoward remark on Honorine Fortier's character—she has done nothing but show her kindness and support to Lord Hamilton when his own son considers him too infirm, and her thanks for that is to be denounced a criminal by all of England!"

"Her behavior has brought this on her! She has taken an ill man from his family without permission—"

"He is not so infirm—"

"He is hardly capable of making his choices, you cannot disagree! But be that as it may, you have your
own
reputation to think of, an offer from a gentleman—"