Through the Smoke (37 page)

She gave a bitter snort. “We each have a family name to protect.”

But at what cost?

“What will you do now that you know?” she asked.

“I will do what I was going to do anyway,” he replied.

“And that is… ?”

“Tell your father I can’t marry you.”

The glass slipped from her hands but she didn’t even flinch when it hit the floor. He got the feeling she was too intoxicated to react abruptly to much of anything. Maybe she’d thought alcohol would help her get through the night. “But you must,” she whispered.

“I made the mistake of marrying for the wrong reasons once,” he said. “I can’t do it again.”

“But you could hang! The Abbotts will not go away simply because you want them to. If only you knew how determined they are.”

“I’m fully aware of what’s at stake.”

“You’re
that
certain you’ll be able to prove your innocence?”

“I’m not certain at all.”

“Then you’re willing to go to the gallows for this… shopkeeper?”

He drew a deep breath as he considered the question, but the truth was finally clear—at least in one regard. “If need be. Like you said, I’m in love with her.”

“At least you have half a chance of being together,” she said and swept from the room.

“Penelope.”

When she turned, there were tears streaking down her face.

“I wish you the best.”

She touched his arm. “Maybe I could’ve been married to you.”

“I’m sorry that’s not an option. But I don’t think it ever really was.”

“Then fight for her,” she whispered. “Do everything you can to be together. Do it for those of us who are battling far more than a class barrier.”

Chapter 21

The duke wasn’t happy when he left. He said Truman was foolish to turn away such an advantageous alliance. But Truman couldn’t do anything else. Maybe he was risking his neck, literally, but if he married Lady Penelope he’d be miserable every day of his life—and not because he didn’t like her. He liked her a lot more than he’d thought he would. He just couldn’t betray his own heart.

“You turned him down.”

Truman glanced over at Linley. His butler stood at attention beside him on the drive as the duke’s coach pulled away from the manse.

“Yes.”

“And if we are unable to find the paintings?”

Truman knew his disapproval stemmed from concern. “I’m taking a gamble.”

“One I fear you might regret.”

“Never,” he said. “I will take what comes but I won’t imprison myself in another loveless marriage. Have William saddle my horse.”

“Are you going to the colliery?”

“I’m going to the village to get Rachel and bring her home where she belongs.”

Linley gave him an odd smile.

“What?” Truman said, surprised by his sudden softening.

“Now I know that you have found exactly what you’ve always wanted.”

He thought of what Rachel had said when they argued yesterday:
How long would it be before you began to regret being with me?

How could he convince her that he’d
never
regret it?

She could be so stubborn.…

“The question is whether or not she’ll believe me.”

Rachel had locked the doors when she first arrived for fear Cutberth would show up again, but that gave her little security. If he had a key to the shop, he could easily have a key to her house. How had he gained possession of it?

She supposed if he really had been having an affair with her mother, Jillian could’ve given it to him. But Wythe could’ve provided it, too. Since the earl owned both buildings, he had a master, and Wythe was his steward. She couldn’t imagine he’d have trouble gaining access to any of the earl’s properties.

She stopped sweeping. What had she been thinking? Cutberth couldn’t have been the one to break into the bookshop. Why would anyone risk discovery by shattering a window if he could get in an easier way?

Before she could even attempt to solve that riddle, a knock drew her attention to the door and her earlier trepidation reasserted itself. She set the broom aside, hoping it was Mrs. Tate bringing nuncheon and not one of the hewers who’d sworn vengeance on her head. Cutberth, either.

The knock came again—brisk and insistent—before she could reach the door. “Rachel? Open up! Are you in there?”

It was the earl. A wave of relief washed over her, powerful enough that she had to put a hand on the wall to steady herself, but she wasn’t about to let him in. She wanted to see him too badly—knew, after another lonely night, and with only a series of lonely nights stretching indefinitely into the future to look forward to—that she wouldn’t be able to resist whatever he offered, no matter how unfair it would be to his betrothed.

“Go back to Blackmoor Hall,” she called. “Go marry the duke’s daughter.”

“I can’t,” he said. “I sent them back to London today.”

She couldn’t believe her ears. “They were here?”

“They arrived yesterday, just after we talked. And now they’re gone.”

“What did you tell them?”

“I broke the engagement, Rachel.” He rattled the knob. “Open the door.”

Weak with the longing she’d been holding at bay, she closed her eyes and slid down the wall to the floor. Now she really wouldn’t be able to deny him—or herself. “All the more reason you should leave.”

“I’m
not
leaving,” he responded. “Not without you.”

His certainty and determination gave her a brief flash of hope. “Did they find the paintings, then?” In some small corner of her mind, she’d held out hope that he’d be able to clear his name, that he’d come for her. Was this that dream, coming true?

She caught her breath as she awaited his answer.

“Not yet.”

“Have they searched the whole mine?”

There was a pause before he answered. “I’m afraid so. I received word just before I came here.”

Tears sprang to her eyes. “Then I won’t listen to you. Write the duke. Apologize and beg him to forgive you. I won’t let the Abbotts gain any greater advantage, won’t let you risk your life, not when marrying Lady Penelope could save you.”

“That’s my decision, not yours,” he said.

Suddenly enraged that he’d hold out something she wanted so desperately but couldn’t take, she got to her feet and opened the door. She intended to send him packing—and in no uncertain terms so that he would never return—but he forced the door out of her grasp as soon as he had the chance.

“Rachel, listen to me.”

“I won’t. I can’t. The best thing I can do, probably for both of us, is stay away—”

“Even if I can’t live without you?”

This brought tears to her eyes. “Don’t make it any harder. You said that to me once.”

He caught her arm. “Look at me.”

“No. I mean it. Go.” She tried to wrench away, but he wouldn’t let her. He brought her up against his chest.

“Stop fighting,” he murmured in her ear.

“But you’re ready for Bedlam if you think we have
any
chance—”

One hand fisted in her hair as he cut off her words with a kiss. The way he held her made it impossible for her to escape. She remained determined to finish her sentence in spite of that, but not for long. Once his arms tightened, the longing she’d been battling since she left took control.

Parting her lips and meeting his tongue with her own triggered an onslaught of emotion. He seemed to sense her need, seemed to feel plenty of his own and responded by kicking the door shut and carrying her into the bedroom.

“That’s it, sweet Rachel,” he murmured as he put her on the bed. “Trust me. I will always take care of you.”

Not if they hanged him. But she wouldn’t think of that, couldn’t even bear the thought of it. The familiar smell of him—horses and cold weather and sandalwood soap—evoked the most intimate of memories, making her burn to feel his skin against hers yet again.

“We are making a mistake,” she warned. The further in love she let herself fall, the harder it would be to recover. In this moment, she doubted she would
ever
get over him. She feared she’d die a lonely spinster, completely devoted to the only man she’d ever loved—and the one man only a fool would believe she could ever really have.

But she couldn’t resist such overwhelming desire, couldn’t even think straight while his lips were moving down her neck and his hands were sliding up her skirt.

“We are from separate worlds.” She wasn’t sure why she went back to that tired argument. To make him see reason? To remind herself?

Regardless, he was having none of it.

“Then it’s time for our separate worlds to become one,” he told her. “Marry me. I want you to be my wife, by my side no matter what happens.”

This
had
to be a dream—but if it were, Rachel didn’t want to wake up.

They didn’t take time to remove more clothing than they had to before he thrust inside her. She moaned as she arched back, reveling in that distinctly full sensation she’d known only with him. Truman was here with her now in the most intimate of ways. Maybe they were cheating the world and would pay later, but there was some sort of victory in the here and now, in the celebration of their feelings.

“You will be mine,” he said with a powerful thrust. “Regardless of where or how you were born, you are
meant
to be mine.”

She gripped his shoulders as she stared up at him. “Do you love me?”

“Would I risk everything for a woman I didn’t?” he asked.

Worry stole some of the enjoyment from her. “I fear you will regret it.”

His lips touched hers, briefly, tenderly. “I could
never
regret loving you.”

They fell silent after that as the tension grew. There was no reason to talk. The way he made love to her was different this time. It was far more desperate and hurried now that they’d almost lost each other, but there was as much commitment in his actions as in his words. When she reached climax, he smiled but didn’t even attempt to withdraw. He gave an animalistic growl, as if he were laying claim, closed his eyes and let go, willingly spilling his seed inside her.

Because Rachel had wanted to finish cleaning—it was her way of saying good-bye to the house she’d lived in with her family and to the memories it contained—the earl had gone on ahead, saying he’d send his carriage back later. And Timothy had arrived not long after to collect her and her meager belongings.

“Yer really goin’ back to ’im?” Mrs. Tate asked, scarcely able to believe it.

Rachel couldn’t believe it either, but she nodded.

“I wish ye the best, child. I’ve always wished ye the best.”

“I know. Thank you for your unfailing kindness.” She hugged Mrs. Tate as if that one brief embrace would have to sustain her for a long while. What lay ahead wouldn’t be easy. She could already guess that Mrs. Poulson wouldn’t welcome her in her new role. Nor would Wythe. Even Mary, her maid friend, and the kind butler, Mr. Linley, would be shocked and skeptical.
Everybody
would think the earl had lost his mind. She’d be treated as if she wasn’t good enough for him—and he’d be treated as if he was a fool for wanting
her
when he could marry into one of the greatest families in all of England.