“I imagine it was easier to see me to the same room rather than airing out a different suite.” She shrugged self-consciously. “I apologize if I woke you.”
“My leg was feeling the miles I put on it today,” he explained. “I rose to stretch it out and to toss another log on the fire.” He studied her as she swayed slightly in place. “Are you well?”
“Just a bit worried about what tomorrow may bring and more than a bit sad because once I depart, I shall never be permitted these friendships again. I want to see the Beauforts’ first child—to enjoy the happy moments and to console my friends in the sad ones. To be…”
“A part of something others do not possess,” he finished for her.
“Yes,” she whispered through trembling lips. “I never realized how little…”
“None of us did,” he told her. “Orson calls it ‘the Lady Elsbeth effect.’ The woman had so much love in her heart… enough to love a ragtag group of misfits. She would have adored all the wives my brothers have chosen. The possibility of…”
“I should return to my quarters,” she whispered.
He noted the slight shiver as the chill of the passageway crept down her spine. Aaran wished he had the right to put his arms around her and hold her until all her fears from today and the worries over what to expect tomorrow melted into the shadowy hallway. It was truly a shame that Lady Freya could recognize the possible dangers of a life as part of Lord Macdonald Duncan’s family and still want it, but be denied it.
“Do you believe the highwayman will dare to return with both Lord Duncan and Mr. Hartley as members of my traveling party? Your brothers’ wives spoke of the fear they knew when they confronted their enemies—your brothers’ enemies.”
“It is a strong possibility the highwayman was simply a desperate farmer and the incident had nothing to do with all this intrigue,” he said with as much honesty as he could muster.
“You do not believe your words,” she accused.
For him to continue to speak of the highwayman being disengaged from all the drama his family had encountered of late was useless, so he offered no protest. Lady Freya may have only been in his life for a short time, but she was not one easily fooled.
She looked up at him with pleading eyes. “This person is someone who has insinuated himself into each of your lives and consequently into the lives of each of the women your brothers love.”
“Such is the reason I cannot in good conscience permit you into my life,” he said softly.
She shook her head in denial. “The problem with that reasoning is I shall always be a part of your life—a part of your memories, and you shall remain in mine,” she declared. “You are the only coward among us, Lord Graham. Each of your brothers recognized the danger and decided they would claim the women they affect for, to them, a day or a week or a year or a hundredyears together would be better than a lifetime of loneliness. You would deny us everything—every memory. Do you believe if Lord Duncan knew beforehand of his wife’s weak constitution that he would not have married her? Or loved her?”
Aaran balled his hands into fists at his sides to prevent his reaching for her. “I simply could not live with myself if you are harmed.”
“Yet, you can live with the knowledge I will be in Sir Patrick’s bed every night and will be tending to his house and his children and never to yours?”
Aaran heard the tears in her words and hated himself for causing her pain, but he held himself stiffly. His instincts told him that whoever it was who had struck his family had wanted him dead. Wanted Duncan dead. The others had been a means to reach them. He would not place her in the same danger as he and Duncan would eventually face. Whoever it was who wished harm on them would execute the worst on her in order to make him suffer further. There was no reason to it, but he knew the truth was so near.
“I apologize, my lord. I know you are acting honorably. You have your own responsibilities—to your family—your earldom—your brother—to everyone but yourself. For some mysterious reason, you believe you are not worthy of happiness. In your estimation, despite your numerous successes, your mother’s desertion was what you deserved.”
“That is enough, Lady Freya,” Aaran hissed. He balled his hands into fists, whether to strike out at the truth of her words or to reach for her, he was not confident. It might have been a trick of the light of the moon, but, unlike him, Aaran would have sworn Lady Freya opened her fingers as if to reach for him. Instead, she hugged herself by wrapping her arms about her waist.
“Forgive me, my lord,” she whispered. Her eyes met his and took his measure. Aaran felt lower than he had ever felt previously, even as the child of a simple tenant farmer. Then she blinked, releasing him. Unfortunately, before he could put two thoughts together, she crossed quickly to her quarters, entered, and closed the door behind her with a decided click of finality.
Aaran studied the hardwood door as his breath rushed out of his chest. In all his five and twenty years, only one other woman had turned her back on him with such finality. “Hell, Freya did not even slam the demme door,” he murmured, barely disguising the anger rushing through his veins. “Just a quiet click of the latch. An end of hope. Not a rout, but a whimper.”
He studied the wooden panel that separated them. Eventually, he reentered his own chambers, where he stood in silence, flexing and unflexing his hands. “She should not be made to follow her father’s instructions and marry a middle-aged baronet who means to use her as a breeding cow to provide him an heir. Moreover, she should not be forced to know danger from his hands. From any man’s hands, for that matter.
“I admire her stoic strength,” he admitted to the empty room. “Yet, she should not be made to… To what? Being with me would place her in a different type of danger, and the longer this madness continues, the more I am convinced that I am the reason Duncan was attacked. Somehow, in my multiple journeys among London’s unwashed or my ventures to identify the Luddites and God only knows what else or who else, I have brought down either God’s wrath or the Devil’s fist upon those I love. I cannot bring Lord Death to Lady Freya’s door, but I can offer her comfort tonight.”
Decision made, Aaran left his room immediately and crossed the hall to her quarters where he paused briefly, hand held high, prepared to knock, when she jerked open the door and stumbledback in surprise. His hand snapped forward to catch her forearm before she fell.
“What are you doing here?”
“I could not leave you.”
They said over each other.
“This is not forever,” he told her. “It is wrong of me to involve you in the madness I am confident my brothers’ wives have spoken of to you, for I cannot offer you more than a night of comfort. I can be someone to hold you while you sleep. Someone to drive away your fears.”
She stared up at him for what felt to be forever before she turned in the direction of the bed, crossing to the other side and tugging the linens down. “This is as close to an invitation…” she began—her voice quivered, causing Aaran to smile.
