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He nodded and stood, briefly touching Abigail’s cheek and the top of Jamie’s head. “I need to go now, but I’ll write you in care of Sir Alistair Munroe.”
She nodded, her throat swelling.
He hesitated, and then said gruffly, “He seems like a good man. Munroe, that is.”
She smiled, although her lips trembled. “He is.”
Papa nodded and then he was gone.
Helen closed her eyes, her hand at her trembling mouth, on the very edge of breaking down in tears.
The carriage door opened again and rocked as someone climbed in.
When Helen opened her eyes, Alistair was scowling at her. “What did he say? Did he insult you?”
“No, oh, no, Alistair.” And she got up for the second time and crossed the carriage to kiss him on the cheek. She drew back and looked into his startled eye. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”
Chapter Nineteen
Princess Sympathy gathered all the magical things she could—spells, potions, amulets that were said to convey power—for she knew that if she were to face the sorcerer, she would need to be armed. Then she set off at night, all alone and without telling anyone in her father’s castle. It was a long and dangerous journey back to the sorcerer’s castle, but Princess Sympathy had her courage and the memory of the man who had saved her to guide her.
At last, after many weary weeks, she arrived at the grim black castle just as the sun rose on a new day. . . .
—from TRUTH TELLER
It took over a week to return to Castle Greaves. A week in which Helen and Alistair shared one tiny inn room after another with the children. She wouldn’t let them out of her sight, and he would’ve thought less of her if she had. Which was perhaps why, the very moment the clock struck nine on the night they returned, he was out of his room and pacing toward hers.
There was an urgency to his step not entirely explained by delayed lust. He wanted, needed, to reestablish his relationship with Helen. To make sure that all was the same as before the children had been stolen. He needed her on some basic level, and he didn’t want their time together to be over yet. He admitted this weakness to himself, and it only sped his steps.
Then, too, he was aware that she no longer had an external reason to stay with him at Castle Greaves. She had no need of employment, at least for the foreseeable future. Not with the cache of jewels she’d shown him one night in an inn. Lister, the bastard, had provided enough pearls and gold to last her a lifetime if she were frugal. And with Lister’s guns spiked, she need no longer hide from him, either.
Which begged the question, When would she leave him?
Alistair shook the depressing thought away, halting at Helen’s door. He gave the door a faint scratch. In a moment, it opened and she stood there in her chemise.
He stared at her mutely and held out his hand, his palm uppermost.
She glanced behind her and then took his hand, stepping into the hallway and shutting the door. He clutched her hand, probably too tightly, and led her quickly back to his rooms. He was already monstrously erect and aching with the need to claim her. He seemed to have lost whatever vestiges of civilization he’d ever had.
He’d barely closed his own door behind them when he swung her into his arms and brought his mouth to hers. Tasting her. Consuming her. Helen. She was soft on the surface, but underneath he could feel the strength of her muscles and bones, the strength of her core.
air shook his head decisively. “I doubt it. He renounced them in the presence of the king—and his heir. If nothing else, it’s in Kimberly’s vested interest to keep his father from acknowledging his bastard children in any way. If the rumors are true, Abigail and Jamie aren’t Lister’s only children out of wedlock. I’m afraid Kimberly will have quite a chore on his hands, making sure his father doesn’t give away the unentailed parts of his inheritance to various bastard half siblings.”
“Indeed.” The viscount grunted and rocked back on his heels. “By the way, I heard that Hasselthorpe was at the luncheon. I don’t suppose you got a chance to speak to him?”
Alistair nodded, his gaze on the carriage. “I saw him and briefly spoke to him.”
“And?”
He hesitated only a fraction of a second. As Hasselthorpe had pointed out, St. Aubyn had been Vale’s greatest friend. And besides, the man was dead now. Let the dead take care of the dead.
Alistair turned to meet Vale’s eyes. “He knew nothing pertinent. I’m sorry.”
Vale grimaced. “It was always a long shot, anyway. Hasselthorpe wasn’t even there. I ’spect we’ll never know now.”
“No.” The ladies had parted, the children and Helen turning to the carriage. It was time to go.
“It’s just… ,” Vale said quietly.
