Or lain in wait for her to be truthful with him, at long last. A cold certainty splashed through her, like she’d fallen into the river.
“And you don’t wish to go with him?” Dovey asked.
Oh, she wished. Her heart scraped in her chest with the longing to go with him. Toss everything aside and follow with nothing but her shawl and her shoes. To live with him however he wished, without shame or recrimination, basking in his attention for as long as he chose to bestow it.
She’d put herself at a man’s mercy before, and look what that gained her. And if she left, what would Dovey and Cerys and the others live on? How would they make do without her? While she was off enjoying the bliss of Pen’s arms, her friends at St. Sefin’s would be subject to the scorn and whispers of the town. Merchants might deny them business, shops deny them custom, if they thought St. Sefin’s was a disorderly house. They could starve.
She couldn’t protect them if she left. She had to stay here and bargain for their lives.
“I won’t go with him,” Gwen whispered. “I can’t.”
“But his family.” Dovey’s eyes widened. “What if he wants to marry you?”
Then her worries for the fate of St. Sefin’s would be over. Gwen’s laugh was feral. “How could he? He’s aviscount. I’m—” She held out her arms.
“There might be a child,” Dovey said, frowning.
Gwen’s heart lifted and slammed against her ribs. How she would adore sharing a child with Pen. “But I can’t conceive again, not after—” She swallowed hard. “I’m sure of it.”
Gwen left the heap of linens on the bed to retrieve later. They lay crumpled and empty, like her heart. She’d stolen time with Pen, and now she had to account for it.
Dovey handed her the cloth bag. “At the least say goodbye.”And see what he means to do with us, she didn’t need to add.
Ross stood in the kitchen, looking baffled and ill at ease. Was he inspecting the place? Wondering if he ought to raise the asking price?
“We still want to buy it,” Gwen said, forcing out the words. “If he’ll allow it.”
Ross’s brows drew together. He was a young man, but there were already habitual creases on his face. What worry he must have been through while she’d hidden Pen away from the world for her own selfish purposes. Even his mother and sister—well, stepmother and sister-in-law—had come looking for him. What she had done to him, to those who cared for him, was unforgiveable.
“Penrydd doesn’t keep mistresses,” Ross said.
Gwen gave a strangled snort. “He’s not celibate.” The man had experience and great skill as well as ingenuity. She had reason to know.
“No, but—he’s never—er, kept anyone,” Ross said. “What he offered you—” He trailed off as Mathry came out of the stillroom with a small jar.
“Camphor for his lordship’s wounds,” Mathry said. She held the jar out to Ross with a shy smile. “Miss Gwen gave it him, and it seemed to help.”
Ross stared at Mathry as if he’d never seen a female in his life. “Er—thank you.”
Gwen went outside. Clouds rolled up from the bay, streaking the sky with lead. Pen stood beside Barlow, on the side of his people, while apart from them stood hers, Evans and Mr. Stanley with the boys. Widow Jones and Mother Morris sheltered under the strawberry tree with Cerys. Ross and Mathry followed behind Gwen. Everyone she cared about on earth was there to witness her betrayal. And her judgment.
She shuffled, her feet heavy with dread, across the dirt and grass toward Pen. She held out the bag.
“I deceived you,” she said. She, who insisted she prized truth. “I doubt you can forgive me.”
He’d tricked her in return, but it wasn’t the same. She didn’t know how to tell him that coming to his bed hadn’t been an attempt at bargaining. It had been nothing but the wish to be with him, as free as Adam and Eve in their first days.
His face was hard and flat. She’d never seen him so unapproachable. She swallowed against the hot agony in her throat.
“I wanted you to see us.” She forced out the words. “I wanted you to…”
Stay here. Be with me. St. Myllin’s arms, she couldn’t saythatin front of all these people.
He raised a brow in that contemptuous way she hated. This wasn’t her Pen. He’d reverted to the haughty viscount. His eyes narrowed for a moment, making her think he tensed against some unwanted thought of mercy. But he pushed it down.
“Wanted me to fetch and carry for you, I presume,” he drawled. “I hope I earned my keep.”
Tears of shame stung her eyes. She’d hurt him. She never meant to.
