A cold wind blew across the chalky crags, swept over the barren grounds of Harmony Hill in a soft sighing moan. Winter still lay upon the land, but already there were signs of the coming spring in the tiny buds of crocus that poked purple and yellow heads through warming soil.
Celia stood at the window looking out over the garden, waiting. It seemed she had been waiting for so many days for him to return. Oh God, he had been so distant lately when she ached for him to regard her with something other than that polite detachment that made her want to provoke him into any kind of emotion, even anger.
But there was no honest emotion, not even when they’d been wed at Gretna Green just across the border into Scotland, an “over the anvil” ceremony that was swift and legal and long overdue, if Jacqueline was to be believed. It still shocked Celia, the haste with which he had taken her from his father’s home, the earl’s body not yet cold in his bed, his “grieving” widow left to tend the details that were always necessary when a peer died.
He had silenced her brief protests at the impropriety with his mouth, then his quiet, controlled lovemaking, so that by the time they arrived in the tiny village, she had no more objections, only a kind of numb complaisance.
Yet it’s not the same, she thought with a despairing sadness that enveloped her. He does not look at me as he once did, and I don’t know what he truly thinks!
They existed in an empty life now, save for the nights when he came to her bed, usually with the smell of brandy on his breath, sometimes gentle with her and sometimes with a passion bordering on violence as he took her, his hands rough and demanding.
She had tried once to explain her lies to him, how she had not trusted even her cousin to understand the years of grief and pain and rage after her mother’s death, but Colter had not let her. Instead he had stopped her, his voice fierce as he said, “He’s dead now. Leave it be, Celia.”
No, he would never understand, not at all. There was a wall between them she wasn’t certain she’d ever be able to tear down. Why had he married her? Guilt? Or love? She had to know, and it was obvious Colter would not tell her.
So she’d sent an invitation to Jacqueline to visit. Perhaps her cousin could help her understand.
When she recognized the Leverton crest on the carriage rolling to a halt at the front door at last, Celia left the window to go and greet her cousin.
“Ma petite,” Jacqueline said, sweeping into the hall to press her cold cheek against Celia’s, dark hair a vivid contrast against pale. “How wonderful it is to see you again! Now come, we must have hot chocolate and you will tell me how it is to be a countess, and how happy you are with your so-handsome husband.”
Celia waited until the servant left the parlor to lean forward and pour hot, fragrant chocolate into the Sévres cup that Jacqueline held out. Their eyes met briefly before her cousin’s glance skidded away, as if she was afraid to look too closely into her eyes.
“How is Carolyn,” she asked, a mundane question to ease the tension, “and dear Jules? They are well, I trust.”
“Oh, yes, very well, and Caro sends her regrets. She is so busy lately, tending the details of the wedding and all that is to be done before—The king sent a lovely gift, a huge silver urn engraved with his crest, though what she will do with it, I am not at all sure. A vase for flowers, perhaps.” Jacqueline sipped her chocolate, and the cup rattled slightly in the delicate saucer, sounding as brittle as her voice. “And you, my dearest? All is well with you?”
“I don’t know. Oh, there’s so much I have to say and I don’t know where to begin, or even if I should, but you know it all now, or I think you do—”
Leaning forward Jacqueline put a hand on her arm. “Yes, ma petite, I know all. I found the document, the charges against Moreland, though he was Northington then. I should have confessed when you returned to London, but everything happened so fast, and Northington—oh my, now he’s Moreland—was so anxious to wed you that there never seemed to be the right time.”
“Yes, he was very anxious to marry me,” Celia said, and noted that Jacqueline’s gaze shifted away again. “Perhaps you can tell me why.”
“Why? Oh, it must be obvious, ma petite. He is such an impetuous, forceful man, and obviously so much in love with you. Why, he was a very devil until you returned!”
“Tell me the truth, please. I know there’s something you aren’t saying. I have to know. I have to know! It’s so different now, and I need to know why.”
Distress creased Jacqueline’s face, and her hand shook slightly as she placed the cup and saucer back on the footed silver tray. “I only meant to help you, Celia, I swear it. It seemed the right thing to do, and it is, truly it is…You will be happy, anyone can see that you are both in love!”
“Oh God.…” Her whisper lay between them, and in the cheery glow of the parlor fire, Celia saw the truth in her cousin’s eyes.
“It wasn’t for love! He married me because he had to.…Oh no, how could you? How could you do that to me?” Surging to her feet, she fought a wave of grief and nausea, sick that he would agree to it, sick that he would go through with it. What had he thought of her? It was no wonder that he’d left so quickly. “Oh God, what have you done,” she moaned, and Jacqueline leaped up in distress, knocking over the chocolate pot.
Dark brown liquid splashed over her yellow silk gown and onto Celia’s green silk skirts, but she ignored it.
“Ma petite, it was for the best, don’t you see? People had begun to talk. No amount of explanation could account for your disappearance, and the whispers…You were ruined! Don’t you understand? And it was so obvious that you love him—Please don’t hate me!”
“Hate you? I could never hate you, but now I’ll never know if he is married to me because he loves me or because of his honor—and I once thought he had no honor! Oh God!”
Her laugh bordered on hysteria, and she clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle the unnatural sound.
Jacqueline knelt beside her, her hands clasping Celia’s tightly, her eyes earnest and swimming with tears. “Did I not tell you once that my Jules thinks highly of him and he is never wrong about people? Oh my lovely child, after all that you’ve suffered…you should have told me about Léonie, for I would have understood. As will he.”
“No, that’s just it, don’t you see? He knows. He knows and he still married me. Now I know why…after all that was said, those horrible things…even his own mother. Oh, you should have seen his face! We were there when his father—the man I have hated for so long—had another of what the physician called his seizures. Shock brought it on, his mother said, but I think it was guilt. Perhaps he did have a conscience, after all.”
She rose from the settee, moved jerkily toward the fire to warm hands that had gone cold as ice. “Afterward—oh, it was all so…so civilized, with the countess offering me tea or chocolate, and Colter standing there like a stone statue, with no emotion or blame or accusations. But his eyes were so empty and I knew he had to wonder why I was there, but he never asked.”
“Because he had to know, petite.” Jacqueline’s voice was soft, sympathetic. “Northington has never been what one would call oblivious to things, and he had to realize that you wanted to confront his father.”
“And realize why I came to England. My entire time here has been based on lies—lies to you and to him. How can we live together with all those lies between us?”
“You won’t,” Jacqueline said frankly, and rose to put her hands on Celia’s cheeks, palms warm and comforting. “When he returns, you will talk to him and the lies will be behind you.”
“Yes, if he returns. He never told me where he was going and I don’t know if he wants to come back.”
“Of course he does! Celia, you mustn’t torture yourself with all this guilt. Yes, you should have been honest, but it is understandable why you were not. Speak frankly to him, and I know all will be well.”
Green silk rustled as Celia surveyed her stained skirts with hands that shook only slightly, and she managed a smile. “I know you’re right. I’ve been a coward and it’s time to face him and the truth. We must start our lives without lies.”
“You are so strong, child, and so brave. Oh, yes, don’t look so surprised. Not many would have the courage to do what you have done, and I know Léonie would be proud of you. You have her courage.”
“Maman never lived a lie.”
“Léonie St. Remy was practical enough to live a lie in order to survive. Do you think we were allowed to leave France during the Terror? No. We had to lie, and steal, and cheat to escape, but we did what we had to because we knew it was the only way to survive. Now.” She came to Celia and took her arm. “Enough of this. When he comes, you will tell him all the truths. There will be no more lies between you.”
No, there would be no more lies, Celia thought. And if there would be no more at all between them, she would deal with that, too. There was really no other choice. Like Maman, she was a survivor, but now it would be the truth that gave her freedom, not lies or vengeance, or even love. God help her, she loved him so. He must know that, must feel it when she was with him, and if it was enough, if it made up for all the rest, then they had a chance.
And if it did not…
“Let me ring for James to come and clean up the spilled chocolate,” she turned to say to Jacqueline, and smiled a little at the look of chagrin on her cousin’s face. “If this is the worst that happens today, we should be grateful.”
“Such a lovely pot—Chelsea ware?” Jacqueline asked as she stared down at the spreading stain and porcelain pot lying on its side on the rug, her tone curiously serene. “An interesting pattern.”
No one answered Celia’s ring, and she moved to the half-open door of the parlor to call for Renfroe. Silence muffled the entrance hall, no sounds from either the elderly butler, Barbara, the housekeeper, or from James, whom Colter had installed in the house as a sort of footman and bodyguard.
Puzzled, she moved across the gleaming floor toward the double doors that led down to the kitchens. The only sound was her footsteps, an eerie absence set her teeth on edge. It was never this quiet, this tense, as if waiting.
As she moved down the short, narrow stairwell to the kitchen, she heard a muted sound as of a sob, and paused, her heart thumping with alarm.
Before she could move, Renfroe appeared in front of her, his eyes wide with distress as he staggered forward.
“Whatever is the matter?” She reached out for him, but as she did, she saw from the corner of her eye a movement behind her and tried to move. It was impossible in the tight corridor, and she heard Renfroe cry out a protest as an arm slashed down to strike her against the side of her head.
Reeling, Celia tried to keep her balance, but it all happened so fast. She heard everything as if through a wall of water, moving away from her and then back, waves of sound receding and darkness slowly claiming her so that she saw nothing, heard nothing.
The raw day mirrored his mood as Colter reined in his mount on the crest of a chalky ridge that ran above the English Channel. Sea winds dampened his hair and misted on his face. Broadstairs lay below. A sandy scythe of land cupped stone buildings that staggered up the steep hill guarding the bay. On the wooded ridge, warning towers of the Revenue House kept watch for smugglers.
He found Harvey at the Albion in Broadstairs, nursing a pint and not seeming very surprised to see him.
“I’ve been expecting you,” he said, indicating an empty chair across from him. “Was it much trouble finding me?”
“Not much. I inquired at every public house between here and Dover.”
A faint grin wavered on Harvey’s mouth; red-rimmed eyes met his briefly before looking away. “I suppose you’ve come to call me out.”
“I’ve thought about it.”
“Yes, it seems fair enough, I suppose.” He lifted his tankard and drank deeply. “No need for me to be sober for it, I’ve not a chance either way. No match for you, old boy, and that’s a fact.”
Colter’s eyes narrowed. Anger had eased with the past month of contemplation, but not the need for answers.
“I tracked Easton to Dover. It seems he’s fled England again, gone back to France,” he said when Harvey fell silent. “You should have gone with him.”
Harvey blew out a wet sigh. “It’s not as if we’re boon companions. Christ, I don’t even like the man. He was just a means to an end. A man with the blunt to ease my debts.”
“And did you? Did you ease your debts, or only create more.”
“Ah, therein lies the rub.” His smile was rueful, a bit embarrassed. “I’m done up all over town and don’t have the coin to pay for more than a few pints here and there. They get on to you after a time, see, and a gentleman can only go without paying for so long before innkeepers become nasty about it.”
“You were paid to put Celia aboard a ship to America. Yet she’s still here.”
“Yes.” Harvey nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, that was probably unwise of me, but I just couldn’t do it. She was right when she told me that there are prices too great to pay in this world. I’ve been a bastard, a thief and probably worse, but I’m not low enough to deport a woman whose only crime was grief. It seemed that she’d suffered enough. And I knew how that felt.”
“Where is he, Harvey? Easton—you know where he went.”
“Yes, I suppose I do.”
“Tell me where he is and I’ll see that the magistrate shows mercy.”
“Oh, no, old boy, I know well enough what happens to men who are so foolish as to betray their mates. Tied to a pole at low tide and red-lighted, and I like my lights still on, if you please. I’d rather take my chances at twenty paces with you. It’s much more merciful and swift a death than the slow agony of drowning inch by inch.”
Colter rose from the chair he’d straddled, stared down at Harvey with a sense of pity. “You’re already dying inch by inch. At least make it worthwhile.”
Struggling to his feet, Harvey stood swaying for a moment, face pale and jaw set. “You’ll free me from life before I have to endure another day, I presume, so let’s get on with it. No sense in having you accused of killing a man too far in his cups.”
“Oh, no, I think it will serve my purpose far better to let you live, Harvey. It’s a slower death than even that of a smuggler’s fate.”
The bleak illumination in his eyes was ample evidence that he recognized the truth. “Damn you,” he whispered hoarsely. “Damn you!”
“Where is he, Harvey? Tell me.”
After a moment, his mouth worked into a determined line and Harvey said quietly, “Still in England. Waiting for you to be careless.”
And Colter knew then where Philip Worth had gone.
He rode back the way he came on a night that cleared to show millions of stars salting the sky, taking the road south from Broadstairs. He had a long way to go, too long, back through Ramsgate and Sandwich before he even got to Dover. Before he could get to Celia, who waited for him at Harmony Hill, his wife now, a bargain kept.
But he hadn’t married her only to keep his bargain with Lady Leverton.
Sweet Celia, with eyes as green as the sun-struck sea, with courage and heart and qualities he’d never appreciated. He’d been stupid. It shouldn’t matter why she had come to England, or that she hadn’t trusted him enough to tell him about her mother and his father. God, what a sordid debacle his father had made of things!
It had been all he could do to keep from killing him.
If death hadn’t come so quickly to the earl, maybe he would have. His father had caused grief wherever he’d gone, and worse, he’d left behind a legacy of hate and lies.
Maybe it was time he admitted to Celia how ashamed he was of his own father. Christ, she was more courageous than he’d ever guessed, keeping the truth to herself, determined to confront a man who had destroyed her mother and had the power to destroy her if he chose. What courage that had taken—and he’d been too caught up in his own deceptions to recognize it. It was time he told her how much he admired her. And that he loved her. They’d start over.
But first he had to ensure her safety. His father had been right about Philip Worth, perhaps because it took one rogue to recognize another. And now that Colter knew Easton had no scruples, he knew that he had to get to Celia before his uncle did.