“What will I do?” he asked. “This isn’t a question for me alone, Elizabeth. If he learns you know what he’s done, your beautiful back won’t take the punishment mine has. You won’t survive what he has his people do to you.”
At the moment, survival was unimportant to Elizabeth. Inside she was already battered, and she was already dying.
“We have to get away. Use new names. Find a new life.”
It was the first time Elizabeth hadn’t paused to consider Havenhurst before making a decision. “Where?” she asked in a shattered whisper.
“Leave that to me. How much money can you get your hands on in a few days’ time?”
Tears dripped from her clenched eyes because she had no choice. No options. No Ian. “A great deal, I suppose,” she said dully, “if I can find a way to sell some jewels.”
His arms tightened, and he pressed a brotherly kiss on her temple. “You must follow my instructions exactly. Promise me you will?”
She nodded against his shoulder and swallowed painfully.
“No one must know you’re leaving. He’ll stop you if he knows what you mean to do.”
Elizabeth nodded again; Ian would not let her go easily, and never without weeks of probing questions. After their torrid lovemaking, he certainly wouldn’t believe she wished for a separation because she didn’t want to live with him.
“Sell everything you possibly can without raising suspicion. Go to London; it’s a big city, and if you use another name and try to make yourself look as different as you can, you aren’t likely to be recognized. On Friday take a hack from London to Thurston Crossing on the Bernam Road. There’s a posting house there, and I’ll be waiting for you. Your husband will launch a search for you once your disappearance is noted. They’ll be watching for a blond woman, and if they find me. I’m as good as dead. If you’re with me, so are you, if he finds you first. We’ll travel as man and wife; I think that will be the best way.”
Elizabeth heard it all, she understood it all, but she could not seem to move or feel. “Where are we going?” she asked numbly.
“I haven’t decided yet. To Brussels, maybe, but that’s too close. Maybe to America. We’ll travel north and stay in Helmshead. It’s a little village on the seacoast, very secluded and provincial. They only get the newspapers irregularly, so they won’t know of your disappearance. We’ll wait for a ship going to the colonies up there.”
His hands tightened, moving her away. “I have to leave. Do you understand what you need to do?”
She nodded.
“There’s one thing more. I want you to quarrel with him—in front of someone, if possible. It doesn’t need to be anything serious—just enough to make him think you’re angry, so that when you leave he won’t set investigators on your path so quickly. If you disappear for no apparent reason, he’ll start searching for you at once. The other way will buy us time. Can you do that?”
“Yes,” she said hoarsely. “I imagine so. But I wanted to be able to leave him a note, to tell him”—tears clogged her throat at the idea of writing Ian a note; he might be a monster, but her heart was refusing to let go of her love at the same speed her mind was accepting Ian’s treachery— “to tell him why I’m leaving.” Her voice broke, and her shoulders began to shake with wrenching sobs.
Robert gathered her into his arms again. Despite the comforting gesture, his voice was icy and implacable. “No note! Do you understand me? No note. Later,” he promised, his voice softened and silky, “later, when we’ve made good our escape, you can write to him and tell him everything. You can write volumes to that bastard. Do you understand why it’s imperative that you make it look like you’re leaving over an ordinary quarrel?”
“Yes,” she said hoarsely.
“I’ll see you Friday,” he promised, moving away from her and kissing her cheek. “Don’t fail us.”
“I won’t.”
* * *
Mechanically going through the motions of living and survival, Elizabeth sent a note to Ian that night announcing her intention to stay overnight at Havenhurst so that she could go over the books. The next day, Wednesday, she left for London, her jewels in a velvet sack concealed beneath her cloak. Everything was there, including her betrothal ring. Scrupulously adhering to the need for stealth, she had Aaron drop her in Bond Street, then she took a rented hack to the first jeweler she saw in a neighborhood where she wasn’t likely to be recognized.
The jeweler was impressed with what she had to offer. Speechless, in fact “They’re all exceptionally fine stones, Mrs . . . .”
“Mrs. Roberts,” Elizabeth provided with a kind of dumb inspiration. Now that nothing mattered anymore, it was easy to lie and dissemble.
The amount he offered her for the emeralds sent the first stab of feeling through her, but it was only a sense of mild dismay. “They must be worth twenty times that much.”
“Thirty, more like, but I don’t have the clientele that can pay those lofty prices. I have to sell them for what my clients are willing to pay.” Elizabeth nodded numbly, her soul too dead to bargain, to point out to him that he could sell them to a Bond Street jeweler for ten times more than he was paying her. “I don’t keep this kind of money around. You’ll have to go to my bank.”
Two hours later Elizabeth emerged from the designated bank with a fortune in notes filling the large sack and her reticule.
Before leaving for London she’d sent word to Ian that she intended to spend the night at the house on Promenade Street, using as an excuse a desire to do some shopping and look in on the servants. It was a lame excuse, but Elizabeth had passed the point of rational thought. She followed Robert’s instructions automatically; she did not deviate or improvise; she did not feel. She felt like a person who had already died but whose body was still ghoulishly propelling itself around.
Sitting alone in her bed chamber on Promenade Street, she stared blankly out the window into the impenetrable night, her fingers idly twisting in her lap. She ought to send Alex a note to tell her good-bye, she thought. It was her first thought of the future in almost two days. Once the thinking began, however, she wished it hadn’t. No sooner had she decided she couldn’t risk writing to Alexandra than her mind began tormenting her with the single remaining ordeal before hen She still had to see Ian; she could not avoid him for two more days without awakening his suspicion. Or could she? she wondered helplessly. He had agreed to let her live her own life, and she’d stayed at Havenhurst occasionally since they’d been married. Of course, the reason had owed to foul weather, not whim.
Dawn was already lightening the sky when she fell asleep in her chair.
When Elizabeth’s carriage drew up at Havenhurst the next day she half expected to see Ian’s in the drive, but everything looked normal and peaceful. With Ian’s money available, Havenhurst was filled with new servants; the grooms were walking a horse by the stable; the gardeners were laying mulch on the dormant flower beds. Normal and peaceful, she thought a little hysterically as Bentner opened the door. “Where have you been, missy?” he asked, anxiously searching her pale face. “The marquess sent word he wants you to come home.”
Elizabeth should have expected that, but she actually hadn’t. “I can’t see why I must, Bentner,” she said in a strained voice that was supposed to pass for annoyance. “My husband seems to forget we had a bargain when we wed.”
Bentner, who still resented Ian for his past treatment of his mistress—not to mention for the assault on Bentner’s person the day he forced his way into the house on Promenade Street—could not find any reason to defend the marquess now. Instead he trotted down the hall on Elizabeth’s heels, stealing anxious glances at her face. “You don’t look well, Miss Elizabeth,” he said. “Shall I have Winston make you a nice hot pot of tea with some of his delicious scones?”
Elizabeth shook her head and went into the library, where she sat down at her writing desk and composed what she hoped was a politely evasive note to her husband stating her intenti
on to remain at Havenhurst tonight to finish working on the account books. A footman left with the note shortly afterward, with instructions to make the carriage trip in no more than seven hours. Under no circumstances did Elizabeth want Ian leaving their house—his house—and barging in here in the morning—or worse, tonight.
After the footman left, the nerves that had seemed numb in Elizabeth came to vibrant life with a vengeance. The pendulum on the old grandfather clock in the hall began to swing ominously faster, and she began to imagine all sorts of vague, disastrous things happening. Sleep, she told herself; she needed sleep. Her imagination was running rampant because she’d had so little sleep.
Tomorrow she would have to face him, but only for a few hours . . . .
* * *
Elizabeth snapped awake in a terrified instant as the door to her bed chamber was flung open near dawn, and Ian stalked into the darkened room. “Do you want to go first, or shall I?” he said tightly, coming to stand at the side of her bed.
“What do you mean?” she asked in a trembling voice.
“I mean,” he said, “that either you go first and tell me why in hell you suddenly find my company repugnant, or I’ll go first and tell you how I feel when I don’t know where you are or why you want to be there!”
“I’ve sent word to you both nights.”
“You sent a damned note that arrived long after nightfall both times, informing me that you intended to sleep somewhere else. I want to know why!”
He has men beaten like animals, she reminded herself.
“Stop shouting at me,” Elizabeth said shakily, getting out of bed and dragging the covers with her to hide herself from him.
His brows snapped together in an ominous frown. “Elizabeth?” he asked, reaching for her.
“Don’t touch me!” she cried.
Bentner’s voice came from the doorway. “Is aught amiss, my lady?” he asked, glaring bravely at Ian.
“Get out of here and close that damned door behind you!” Ian snapped furiously.
“Leave it open,” Elizabeth said nervously, and the brave butler did exactly as she said.
In six long strides Ian was at the door, shoving it closed with a force that sent it crashing into its frame, and Elizabeth began to vibrate with terror. When he turned around and started toward her Elizabeth tried to back away, but she tripped on the coverlet and had to stay where she was.
Ian saw the fear in her eyes and stopped short only inches in front of her. His hand lifted, and she winced, but it came to rest on her cheek. “Darling, what is it?” he asked. It was his voice that made her want to weep at his feet, that beautiful baritone voice; and his face—that harsh, handsome face she’d adored. She wanted to beg him to tell her what Robert and Wordsworth had said were lies—all lies. “My life depends on this, Elizabeth. So does yours. Don’t fail us,” Robert had pleaded. Yet, in that moment of weakness she actually considered telling Ian everything she knew and letting him kill her if he wanted to; she would have preferred death to the torment of living with the memory of the lie that had been their lives—to the torment of living without him.
“Are you ill?” he asked, frowning and minutely studying her face.
Snatching at the excuse he’d offered, she nodded hastily. “Yes. I haven’t been feeling well.”
“Is that why you went to London? To see a physician?”
She nodded a little wildly, and to her bewildered horror he started to smile—that lazy, tender smile that always made her senses leap. “Are you with child, darling? Is that why you’re acting so strangely?” Elizabeth was silent, trying to debate the wisdom of saying yes or no—she should say no, she realized. He’d hunt her to the ends of the earth if he believed she was carrying his babe.
“No! He—the doctor said it is just—just—nerves.”
“You’ve been working and playing too hard,” Ian said, looking like the picture of a worried, devoted husband. “You need more rest.”
Elizabeth couldn’t bear any more of this—not his feigned tenderness or his concern or the memory of Robert’s battered back. “I’m going to sleep now,” she said in a strangled voice. “Alone,” she added, and his face whitened as if she had slapped him.
During his entire adult life Ian had relied almost as much on his intuition as on his intellect, and at that moment he didn’t want to believe in the explanation they were both offering. His wife did not want him in her bed; she recoiled from his touch; she had been away for two consecutive nights; and—more alarming than any of that—guilt and fear were written all over her pale face.
“Do you know what a man thinks,” he said in a calm voice that belied the pain streaking through him, “when his wife stays away at night and doesn’t want him in her bed when she does return?”
Elizabeth shook her head.
“He thinks,” Ian said dispassionately, “that perhaps someone else has been taking his place in it.”
Fury sent bright flags of color to her pale cheeks.
“You’re blushing, my dear,” he said in an awful voice.
“I am furious!” she countered, momentarily forgetting that she was confronting a madman.
His stunned look was replaced almost instantly by an expression of relief and then bafflement. “I apologize, Elizabeth.”
“Would you p-please get out of here!” Elizabeth burst out in a final explosion of strength. “Just go away and let me rest. I told you I was tired. And I don’t see what right you have to be so upset! We had a bargain before we married—I was to be allowed to live my life without interference, and quizzing me like this is interference!” Her voice broke, and after another narrowed look he strode out of the room.
Numb with relief and pain, Elizabeth crawled back into bed and pulled the covers up under her chin, but not even their luxurious warmth could still the alternating chills and fever that quaked through her. Several minutes later a shadow crossed her bed, and she almost screamed with terror before she realized it was Ian, who had entered silently through the connecting door of their suite.
Since she’d gasped aloud when she saw him, it was useless to pretend she was sleeping. In silent dread she watched him walking toward her bed. Wordlessly he sat down beside her, and she realized there was a glass in his hand. He put it on the bedside table, then he reached behind her to prop up her pillows, leaving Elizabeth no choice but to sit up and lean back against them. “Drink this,” he instructed in a calm tone.
“What is it?” she asked suspiciously.
“It’s brandy. It will help you sleep.”
He watched while she sipped it, and when he spoke again there was a tender smile in his voice. “Since we’ve ruled out another man as the explanation for all this, I can only assume something has gone wrong at Havenhurst. Is that it?”
Elizabeth seized on that excuse as if it were manna from heaven. “Yes,” she whispered, nodding vigorously.
Leaning down, he pressed a kiss on her forehead and said teasingly, “Let me guess—you discovered the mill overcharged you?” Elizabeth thought she would die of the sweet torment when he continued tenderly teasing her about being thrifty. “Not the mill? Then it was the baker, and he refused to give you a better price for buying two loaves instead of one.”
Tears swelled behind her eyes, treacherously close to the surface, and Ian saw them. “That bad?” he joked, looking at the suspicious sheen in her eyes. “Then it must be that you’ve overspent your allowance.” When she didn’t respond to his light probing, Ian smiled reassuringly and said, “Whatever it is, we’ll work it out together tomorrow.”
It sounded as though he planned to stay, and that shook Elizabeth out of her mute misery enough to say chokingly, “No—it’s the—the masons. They’re costing much more than I—I expected. I’ve spent part of my personal allowance on them besides the loan you made me for Havenhurst.”
“Oh, so it’s the masons,” he grinned, chuckling. “You have to keep your eye on them, to be sure. They’ll put you in the poorh
ouse if you don’t keep an eye on the mortar they charge you for. I’ll have a talk with them in the morning.”
“No!” she burst out, fabricating wildly. “That’s just what has me so upset. I didn’t want you to have to intercede. I wanted to do it all myself. I have it all settled now, but it’s been exhausting. And so I went to the doctor to see why I felt tired. He—he said there’s nothing in the world wrong with me. I’ll come home to Montmayne the day after tomorrow. Don’t wait here for me. I know how busy you are right now. Please,” she implored desperately, “let me do this, I beg you!”
Ian straightened and shook his head in baffled disbelief. “I’d give you my life for the price of your smile, Elizabeth. You don’t have to beg me for anything. I do not want you spending your personal allowance on this place, however. If you do,” he lied teasingly, “I may be forced to cut it off.” Then, more seriously, he said, “If you need more money for Havenhurst, just tell me, but your allowance is to be spent exclusively on yourself. Finish your brandy,” he ordered gently, and when she had, he pressed another kiss on her forehead. “Stay here as long as you must. I have business in Devon that I’ve been putting off because I didn’t want to leave you. I’ll go there and return to London on Tuesday. Would you like to join me there instead of at Montmayne?”
Elizabeth nodded.
“There’s just one thing more,” he finished, studying her pale face and strained features. “Will you give me your word the doctor didn’t find anything at all to be alarmed about?”
“Yes,” Elizabeth said. “I give you my word.”
She watched him walk back into his own bed chamber. The moment his door clicked into its latch Elizabeth turned over and buried her face in the pillows. She wept until she thought there couldn’t possibly be any more tears left in her, and then she wept harder.
Across the room the door leading out into the hall was opened a crack, and Berta peeked in, then quickly closed it. Turning to Bentner—who’d sought her counsel when Ian slammed the door in his face and ripped into Elizabeth— Berta said miserably, “She’s crying like her heart will break, but he’s not in there anymore.”