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He let his head fall back in frustration, staring up at the narrow slice of blue sky above the alley. The view felt right, as if he were sinking beneath the ground and clawing uselessly at the earth.
A few deep breaths later and he only felt more determined. A quick look ensured that not one other soul graced the alley. Aidan tried the lock one last time, dared another glance around, and then he slammed his foot into the door as hard as he could. It shook and creaked, but the lock held. Offering a quick, unspoken promise to pay for the repair, Aidan put all his strength into one hard thrust with his foot, and the wood cracked and gave. He tugged it open and half the lock fell to the brick ground.
Dark silence greeted him. No outraged cries, no pounding feet. Just silence. He hesitated for a moment, foot poised on the threshold, worried what he might find inside. But stillness had never been his gift, so he moved forward, checking the shop first, and finding nothing out of order.
He made himself take the stairs at an even pace, though he kept his footsteps light. At first, Kate’s rooms looked perfectly normal too, but as his eyes adjusted, he realized something was . . . off. Her neat parlor was still neat, but things were out of place. He pushed the curtain back from the small window to let in more light. The first thing he saw was a crate packed with books and plates and silver . . . and the folded chess set he’d given Kate. Next he saw a bare table where there had once been a clock and a flower vase. A small chest sat next to the table, and Aidan crouched before it and slowly raised the lid.
It was clothing, packed carefully as if for travel. Men’s clothing.
All his muscles seized up and he jumped to his feet, letting the top fall shut. He turned to the bedroom, but there was no relief there. Kate’s bed, small as it was, took up most of the space, and he did not want to look at it. Not now. But there was nowhere else to look. The small dresser had once held her brush and comb and mirror. They were gone, along with the pots of cream and powder and the pins that held her hair. And at the foot of her bed, another chest, this one standing open and filled with Kate’s clothes.
Her husband was here, and she was leaving. Going away from Aidan without a word. Again.
The strength he’d always felt in her, the passion and certainty . . . What had that been? Nothing solid. Nothing real.
She’d rather go back to India with a man she didn’t want than stay here and fight for their love. She was angry at him, hurt, and so she’d leave again.
Barely able to feel his own movements, Aidan turned away from the bedroom. He turned away from her. She was someone else’s wife now. That was what she’d chosen. He would’ve fought the world for Kate, but he couldn’t fight her.
Aidan was tempted to find a tavern and drink until the serving wench seemed a fine idea. Or he could get himself invited to a dinner party and make friendly eyes at the women until one of them took him home.
But no. He wasn’t going back to that, not even for the sake of loving Kate. It was killing him, slowly turning his insides to dust.
He closed the alley door as best he could and walked away, blind to the people around him. He could do this. He could. It wasn’t so bad as being told that she’d died. And he was older now and sick of grief. This would be easier to bear. He was done with her.
But as he walked through the morning, through the streets that had become as familiar as his own, he looked up and she was there. Distracted, frowning, her hand rested on a man’s arm though her head was tilted away from him.
Aidan didn’t want to see him, but his eyes had a will of their own. They slid up the man’s arm, up to his shoulder, and his neck, and then his face. Younger than Aidan had expected. Much younger.
Kate’s chin kicked up, and his gaze was drawn to her. Her eyes widened, her lips parted in horror, and she stared at Aidan as if she could will him gone with just a look. But he didn’t disappear. In fact, his feet became rooted to the ground and he stood in their path like a tree.
She did not touch her husband easily. Her hand lay stiff on his sleeve and she kept distance between them. Sadly, Aidan found this satisfying. Small comfort when she was married to the man. But then he remembered her words about being broken like a mare, and Aidan felt ashamed. She might not be brave or
strong, but that did not mean she should be miserable. Sudden, fierce hatred for this man rose up in Aidan’s chest like a serpent unfurling. The need to strike tightened all his muscles and his hands rose.
Kate’s face paled. She tried to shake her head, but her husband caught the movement and followed her gaze. Aidan’s eyes locked with his, and he saw the man’s knowledge as if it were a fire sparking to life in his dark gaze. In that one moment, her husband saw everything, and Aidan realized his horrible mistake.
The knowledge in those dark eyes had already blazed to fury and hate. Aidan welcomed it, but it would be turned on Kate soon enough, and Aidan couldn’t let her pay for their transgressions.
So instead of tipping his hat and allowing them to pass, Aidan held his ground and let his anger show.
“Mrs. Hamilton,” he said, though her name emerged as a low growl.
She didn’t respond. Aidan raised an eyebrow.
“Katherine,” her husband said, his gaze not leaving Aidan, “why don’t you introduce me to your friend.”
Katherine. Aidan wanted to slap the sound of her name from this man’s mouth. The fact that he had more of a right to say it than Aidan did . . . that only turned his anger to rage.
“This is Mr. York,” she whispered. “Mr. York, this is . . . Mr. Hamilton.”
The man’s mouth smirked.
“Are you going with him?” Aidan asked her simply. Please say no. Please say no so I can take you away from this.
Her eyelashes fluttered.
“She’s coming home,” her husband said, and Aidan’s rage curled around his heart and squeezed.
