Chapter Twenty-Three

And you would call me a coward, Liam thought as he stared down at the note on Rebecca’s desk.

He’d come down here with the others, once he’d told them of Mellors, intent on finding some way to convince Rebecca not to leave again, intent on at least apologising to her for the hurtful things he’d said, only to find her gone.

He hadn’t believed it—she had promised she would not go just yet, and still here he was, in rooms empty of all but her scent.

Her scent, her keys and this blasted note.

I am sorry, Liam.

But talking more will not change the fact there is no other way. I will not live another moment in fear, knowing he is circling this house, waiting for a moment to strike.

Forgive me my harsh words. You are the man I thought you were, and more. I hope you find a way to peace, and perhaps some day even happiness.

Rebecca

The note crumpled in his hand as anger, regret and fear pounded through his veins. He dropped himself into her chair and stared unseeing at her desk. He didn’t deserve this—any of it. Not her contrition, not her pleas for his own peace and happiness.

He crumpled himself, then, into the piles of paper and ledgers on her desk, the force of all he felt crushing him.

Despite his vow, he had failed her.

Just as he’d failed Hal, and Angus, and Peter, and his mother. As he’d failed everyone in this house, everyone on the estates, and worst of all, himself. Rebecca could never stop running, could never find peace or happiness but for a moment if she was lucky, and yet she wished all that for him.

God...

Yet again, everything she’d said had been nought but the truth. The truth he had so blindly, vehemently, refused to see. He was a coward. He was running. He would become the man he’d feared he was. If he continued down this path he would never have a chance at being the man she’d seen when she looked at him. The man he’d always searched for, always longed to be.

And what the Devil had he been running to all this time? All he’d seen for so long, like a shimmering mirage in the distance, had been freedom. But after that? He’d never imagined what would come after that. He’d never given it second thought, what precisely he would do with that freedom once he’d earned it.

‘Instead of staying, and fighting to make that world yourself, you would run again.’

No. No more.

Rebecca was right. He had a title, means and power. For once in his goddamned life, he would use it for good.

Hope flooded his breast and he rose, giddy, and nearly drunk on it. He had the power to set her free, if not himself.

He would go to the magistrate, and discuss her situation with him. They would find a way to give her life back to her. He would spend every penny of his fortune, leverage his title for all it was worth. He would stop her running, and so he would, too. He would break Mellors, ensure her safety, and then he would find her, and...

Tell her.

What she did with that freedom—whatever life she wished for—he would offer it to her. He would offer her himself. Whether she wanted him or not would be up to her.

Feeling as if he might burst out of his skin with the promise of what could be, Liam marched out of her office and to the stables.

You will be free, Rebecca. We all will be.

‘I hope you find the room to your taste,’ Francis purred as he showed her into the disgustingly ornate chamber.

Rebecca was well aware of the Viscount’s eyes on her, of their triumphant, gleeful gleam. She wished she could give him a more convincing performance of indifference, but it had taken every ounce of strength she possessed to leave Thornhallow, and write that note.

Those words had been the hardest yet the truest she’d ever written. Her meeting with Fate—Francis—had put everything with Liam into perspective. She might not agree with his plans, might have felt betrayed by them—still, she knew him. Knew his soul.

Really, it was a miracle she hadn’t soaked that note with tears. And now she truly had nothing left. Nothing left to pretend, or to fight. Francis had broken her; he’d won as she’d always known he would. He was far from finished, but the breaking of her body would be nothing compared to the breaking of her spirit.

It doesn’t matter anymore. Liam and the others are safe. Liam will live. He will have a chance to begin again.

‘If it isn’t, I’m amenable to suggestions.’

‘I rather expected a dungeon somewhere,’ she managed to say. ‘Not a guest room in your house.’

‘Why ever not?’ Francis chuckled, gliding around the room, sliding his fingers across the counterpane and tassels of the bed curtains. ‘You are my guest. I’m not a monster, Rebecca. Life will be good for you, you’ll see.’

‘You will, of course, keep your end of the bargain,’ she said flatly.

‘Of course,’ he said smoothly, slinking over to her. ‘I’m a man of my word. The people of Thornhallow will not be harmed. I will be good to you, so long as you are good to me.’

A spidery finger toyed with a stray tendril of her hair, before running along the edge of her jaw and neck. Rebecca closed her eyes, unable to bear the look of greedy, possessive lust in his eyes. The smirk at the corner of his lips. The flick of his tongue over his teeth.

‘Whatever you wish,’ she assented feebly.

‘Precisely.’ Francis straightened, sought her gaze and kept his eyes locked on hers. ‘Mrs Pearson will be up later to prepare a bath and dress you for this evening. Dinner will be at eight. Mind you keep out of trouble until then.’

‘Yes, my lord.’

Francis’s eyes lingered on her lips, and he hesitated for a moment before he gently brushed his against them. A taste, a sample.

A smile, and then he left. Rebecca made her way slowly further into the room, unsteady, but unwilling to succumb to her weakness. Her feet would carry her, for they must. She would not falter. She would bathe, and dress, and eat dinner, and make conversation, and endure whatever came with grace, and courage, and above all, dignity.

For she had loved, and for a brief, inimitable moment, had felt loved by the best of men.