She flinched at his expletive. It was wrong to coarsen it, but he didn’t understand – had he been deluding himself? She seemed to have changed her mind overnight. Had he misunderstood everything? Every look? Every touch? Every word? Did love mean something different to her?
Was she like Lady Hurst? In the dark, she could pretend his scars didn’t exist, but now she regretted it in the cold, grey dawn?
It was the only explanation.
“Rosalind, how did you think this would play out? That we would have a furtive affair under your guardian’s roof? That I would say I love you and then leave you? What manner of man do you take me for?”
Sad green eyes stared at him. “You are a good man. And that is why I am not going to marry you. Nothing will change my mind.”
“And what if you are with child? I spent myself deep within you, Rosalind. As deep as I could go.”
He heard the hitch in her breath at his words.
“I have heard the maids talk of a tea that can be taken this morning, just in case. I’m sure I ca–”
“Tea. A goddamn tea!” Fury thundered through him, and he grabbed hold of her upper arms. “Rosalind Trewent, I have seen prostitutes of sixteen years, blood draining from their bodies, life ebbing from them because of an ill-prescribed tea. Do youtrustyour apothecary? Do youtrusthe won’t put in too much tansy? Do youtrustthat he hasn’t had too much gin? That his hand won’t tremble? Too muchteaand you will haemorrhage till there is no blood left in you.”
He let go, his body trembling in fright and rage, and stormed from the bed, shoving his legs into carelessly strewn breeches. “I cannot stay here and listen to this,” he snapped, throwing on his crumpled shirt, tearing the delicate cotton.
“Lucas, I didn’t mean–”
“No, Rosalind.” His voice fell to a murmur. When anger took him he often became hushed, and Rosalind seemed to at least realise this, as she sat dejected and silent in the bed whilst he gathered his remaining clothes. “I do not want to hear any more.”
He tried not to watch as she drew the coverlet over her naked body, which shivered with the cold. He tried not to notice the tremble of her hands, and he tried to ignore his own wet eyes as he slammed the door behind him.
The landscape lay barren, cold and severe. The snow had stopped falling but the earth still rested beneath it, frozen solid. Fitting, as that was how she felt. From the drawing room window, she watched Lucas stride out of the house, anger evident in every step and every swing of the arm as he made his way to the stables.
Only moments later, she heard the thud of hooves fading into the distance. She hoped Ridges had put snow shoes on the horse and that Lucas had told him where he was headed, or even taken Billy with him…
Putting out a palm to the windowpane, she relished the icy cold biting into her hand. She had made her decision in the dark of the night, her heart thudding in fear, her father’s screams ringing in her ears: Satan’s spawn.
But it was the right decision. In time, Lucas would see her for what she was: mad, insane, cursed. It had been futile to believe they could be together and now she had hurt him so. Misery swept through her.
What had she done?
Footsteps and she turned. “What have you done, Rosalind?” Benedict’s voice was soft.
“I…” She wanted to say that everything was as it had to be, but she couldn’t because tears clogged her throat and fell from her eyes.
“Oh, Rosalind, my girl.” Benedict enfolded her in his arms. She hated herself for her weakness and her tears, but they weren’t for her – they were for Lucas.
“I hurt him, and I didn’t mean to. I thought… I can’t… He’s better off without me.” And she blubbered into his shoulder. “I love him so much,” she garbled against the delicate blue wool of his jacket. “I…I feel so alive and happy with him. He makes me feel loved and complete. It hurts when I’m not with him and yet I cannot.”
She felt him take a deep breath, sigh and then a hand reached up to stroke her hair. “I’m so very sorry, Rosalind. I know how that feels. We are both in a mess – I am in love with another man’s wife.”
Rosalind looked up through misty eyes, frowning.
“Daphne loves you.”
“Does she? Yesterday, before dinner, she explained that she will not go to Scotland with me. In fact, she wants to travel to Wales to stay with relatives…without me.”
“Oh.”
Benedict swallowed and looked away.
“But Rosalind, you can find happiness. Why do you not tell him everything? And I mean everything.”
“I’ve never told anyone but you. How can I? What do I tell him? Even if he accepts my curse and maybe we marry, then what? What if his peers ever found out I’d been in an asylum or the servants talked? What if something happened to Lucas? I would be taken back there. I cannot… I cannot ever leave Stonebridge. I’m safe here with your protection. Nobody here knows my past, my curse. I’m safe.” She buried her sniffing nose into his shoulder.
