Chapter 26

Lewis loitered outside for a few minutes, keeping one eye on the passers-by while pretending to inspect the contents of the arched shop fronts at street level.

At the half-hour, he pulled open the doors in the left-hand arch and climbed the stairs to the library on the first floor. Another set of doors opened into a large, stunning room filled with light from the peaked glass ceiling. Filled too, of course, with books, the smell of paper and leather and ink and wood. For no logical reason, the beauty of the place seemed a good omen.

There were not many places she could hide. Lewis checked the alcoves and peered into the ladies’ reading room, earning black looks from its occupants. She wasn’t there.

He returned to the front of the room, selected a journal at random from the table display, and sat to read an article.

But each time the door opened he startled. With every swish of skirts he jumped, hoping—fearing—it was Anna. He couldn’t have said what the damned article was about.

He had no need of his pocket watch. A tall clock just across the room chimed ten.

Half an hour Lewis had waited. Should he take another turn around the room? Maybe he had missed her.

You sod. Stay put. You have the best possible view of the door. You can’t miss her, assuming she shows up at all.

He heard each tick of the clock, told himself not to look. Surely he must have missed the first-quarter chime…

No. It was only seven minutes past.

Sweat prickled his skin, though the room was not warm. The door opened again as someone left.

Ten minutes past ten. Another whoosh of cold air as the door was pushed open from the landing.

An older woman came in, short and thick. She glanced around, held his gaze for a flicker of a second as if she recognized him. As if she’d been expecting him. Had he seen her before? He wasn’t sure.

She held the door for someone else to pass through…

There she was. Dear God. What was he supposed to do? He couldn’t even breathe.

With no memory of getting there, he was on his feet. His chair knocked against the bookcase behind him. He stood still, staring at Anna like a starving man thrilling to the sight of a feast.

She stood at the desk returning her books, facing away from him. She’d pushed back her hood, but a cap hid her hair. If he hadn’t known better, he might have thought her merely fat, wrapped up in that gray woolen cloak. The garment was wet to a depth of several inches. Had she walked through all that ice? Someone should be taking better care of her.

He took a step toward her and felt a bruising pain in his leg as he bumped the heavy round table. A gentleman on the opposite side said, “Hey! Watch what you’re about!” Lewis saw him bend down to retrieve something from the floor, but he had no sympathy to spare.

The clerk’s attention shifted to the commotion Lewis had caused. Brows drawn together in censure, he left the desk and marched forward, spouting some ill-tempered drivel. Lewis hardly noticed. Because Anna turned, her frowning gaze following the clerk on his path across the room.

His heart made the same sort of thunk the chair had made. He sucked in a breath and couldn’t seem to let it out again. Her cheeks were red from the Yorkshire cold but they were too thin—seeing her face, there was no question of her being fat. Her eyes, showing no trace of blue amid the gray, had shadows beneath and ghosts within.

He’d forgotten how lovely she was—yet so, so vulnerable. Rage sizzled inside him. He did not blame Gideon for wanting her, but for the rest… Oh yes, for the rest he most certainly did. She might have gone to him willingly, but not wantonly. Sure as hell she did not deserve such misery.

Anna’s companion drew his attention, her hands fluttering. Sending him a message? Just a servant, yet clearly she had been expecting him, while Anna had not. It was her note, her plan.

What the devil did she mean by it? And what sort of signal was she sending now, with her grimaces and her gestures?

Anna’s unarmored gaze met his and time stopped.

Anna reached for Putnam’s arm but missed. The hard edge of the desk bit into the small of her back. She caught hold of the wood to keep herself upright.

She heard Putnam’s voice, the words indistinguishable through the ringing in her ears. Mist clouded her vision like fog over the Bristol rooftops. No, I will not faint in front of all these people! Murmurs of curiosity and criticism, like London. Lewis had been there, too, deflecting the gossip, forcing her to smile.

Why was he here? If he had to visit this particular library, why, oh why must he choose this particular time, on this particular day? She shivered and could not stop.

He was at her side—so strange, after all this time. His arm came over her shoulder, crossing to where her waist should have been on the opposite side, pulling her close, supporting her with his strength. Oh, she longed to lean into him, hang on tight, cry and cry until the oceans overflowed and swallowed everything.

“Hush now,” he whispered. “It’s all right, Anna.” The sound entered her ear like liquid, running warm and cold at the same time, down to her heart and beyond.

Anna summoned one of those smiles he’d taught her and he smiled in return, gentle and sad. “Good girl,” he said, in the same tone he’d used to calm the nervous horses outside Green Park. Were those tears in his eyes?

His voice grew sharp, authoritative. Lewis drew away, leaving her cheek cold where his breath had been. A question, something about a private room. She let him lead her where the desk clerk directed.

He seemed changed. Strong and sure, with none of the awkwardness he’d shown in London.

Behind them, Putnam asked someone for a glass of water. They passed into a workroom furnished with two hard chairs and a big table piled with books. More books lined the shelves along the walls. Lewis settled her in one of the chairs, one hand warm on her shoulder.

The clerk stood in the doorway wringing his hands. “Shall I send someone for a doctor, sir? What should I do? Can I get her something?”

His voice quivered with nerves. He’s probably afraid I’ll commit childbirth here in his library.

“No,” Lewis replied. “It’s only the surprise of seeing me. I’ve been searching for my sister all over England. All she needs is a few minutes to collect herself. Though a drop of brandy wouldn’t come amiss… No? Then you may leave us.”

When the door had closed, Lewis pulled the second chair close to hers. He sat facing her, their knees almost touching. She wished they did—she needed his warmth, his strength, longed to lay all her problems in his hands. As if he could solve them.

At the same time, she shied away from his scrutiny. The gas lamp shone far too bright. He must see all the lines, the fear, the sleeplessness…

“Your maid is getting some water. Is there anything else you need, Miss Spain? I shouldn’t have assumed—”

“Stanley.”

He blinked in confusion. “I beg your pardon?”

“It’s the name I’m using. Stanley. Mrs. Stanley.”

“Of course.” He nodded.

She looked down at her lap, pulling the cloak tightly closed over the drab gown, over her swollen belly. Where could they possibly go from here? So much to say, all of it impossible.

“Anna, I—”

“Sir John told you.” She heard the brittle accusation in her voice as she cut him off.

“His hand was forced. Jack let something slip. I had to know the rest.”

Lewis leaned forward, peering into her downturned face. “But the information I need, Sir John couldn’t give me.”

“And you’ll not get it from me.” Anna pressed her lips tight and sat as straight as she could, trying to appear dignified. Another impossibility.

She wanted to stand right up and walk out of the room, but he was too close. Her belly would hit him in the head. Maybe knock him insensible, and then she could escape. If she’d seen such an image in a cartoon by Gillray or Cruikshank, she would have laughed.

If she fainted on her way out the door, Putnam would arrive and find them both unconscious on the floor.

That should have been funny too. Anna fought down hysteria.

“Why are you here? This is the first time in a week I’ve left the house, and here you are.” I sound like a pouting child.

He gave a glimmer of a smile, just a spark in his eyes and a momentary quirk of the lips. “I’d like to say it’s fate. The truth is, I received a note this morning.”

“A note? From whom?” Now she sounded like a fishwife.

He drew a piece of paper from inside his coat. “Don’t know, but I’m thinking your maid.”

“Putnam?” Anna snatched the note from his hand.

Yes, Putnam, may the devil fly away with her! Putnam had offered herself as Anna’s combined abigail, nurse, and companion, though she must leave her comfortable position as Mama’s dresser. Anna had thought it meant she cared, thought she’d found someone she could trust.

What did Putnam hope to achieve? Could she possibly think Anna was worth the sacrifice of Lewis’s happiness, his whole life? It was sweet of her, but deluded beyond all belief. Anna was not worth a farthing.

A sound Anna had never heard came out of her own mouth, something between a bark and a sob. Perhaps she was going mad. Just this small taste of Lewis’s attention and she started falling apart.

Putnam came in carrying a glass of water. She hesitated at the blistering look Anna fixed on her, glanced down at the note in Anna’s trembling hands.

“How could you?” Anna’s voice trembled too.

Putnam said nothing, just watched her own feet as she walked to Anna’s side. Anna considered slapping the glass out of her hand, but she was too tired. Tired of the drama, the anxiety, the wishing that everything was different. Would her heart ever be light again? Could she ever smile because she was happy to see someone, laugh because something was funny? Dance in joy? Her imagination wouldn’t reach that far.

She slumped in the chair, sipped some water, even took a sniff from the vinaigrette Putnam offered. Not because she needed it, but because it was easier than refusing. She felt Lewis watching her.

The vinegar made her sneeze. He pressed a handkerchief into her hand and she blew her nose as hard as she could. Such a small act of rebellion. Since she no longer qualified as a lady, why should she worry about good manners?

He pushed back his chair and stood. “I thank you for your note, Putnam, though Miss… Mrs. Stanley feels differently. I don’t know how you found me, but—”

“I saw you at St. Peter’s last night and followed you to your inn, sir.”

“That was you?” He moved a few books around on the table, seemingly at random. “I gather you walked here? Have you no carriage?”

Anna forestalled Putnam’s response. “It’s only a matter of two blocks.” No reason he needed to know the depths of their poverty.

He looked down on her from what seemed an immense height. “You’ll be driving back. It’s insane to be walking on the ice in your condition.”

She gaped at him in astonishment. So imperious, not like him at all.

“And besides,” said the Lewis she knew, squatting beside her chair and reaching up to push a stray tendril of hair off her forehead. “You nearly fainted not ten minutes ago.”

Tears stung again behind her eyes. Her life had narrowed to a horrible dance between grief, rage, and terror. She’d built a wall and locked herself behind it with those fearsome partners.

There was no room for kindness. Kindness would kill her.