“No, we do not,” she said, with such finality his throat clenched tight as a fist, cutting off his air. “You took us beyond friendship and we cannot go back. And now…” She choked on a sob. “I cannot make love to you now, so we have no marriage either.”
He froze, the beat of his heart faltering. “
“I would resent you every time you sheathed yourself in a French letter or withdrew to spill your seed. To know that you will not allow me to carry your child-”
Catching her about the shoulders, Gerard attempted to shake some sense into his wife. Isabel retaliated with a booted kick to his shin, causing him to swear and release her in surprise. She raced swiftly back to the waiting landaulet, and he hurried after her as fast as decorum would allow. Just as Isabel clambered without assistance into the equipage, his mother stepped into his path.
“Witch!” he growled, grabbing her by the elbow and yanking her roughly aside. “When I depart today, I am leaving you here.”
“You like this property, so refrain from looking so horrified.” He loomed over her, making her cringe. “Save your horror for the day you see me again. I pray you never do, because it will mean that Isabel would not take me back. And if that happens, even God himself will not be able to spare you from my wrath.”
He threw her aside and followed the fleeing landaulet on foot, but found his way repeatedly blocked by reveling villagers. When he finally arrived at the manse, Pel had already taken the traveling coach and departed.
Fighting a near crippling fear that he had damaged Isabel’s love beyond repair, Gerard saddled a horse and gave chase.
Chapter 20
Rhys waited in the hallway of the wing that housed Abby’s rooms. He paced nervously and tugged at his cravat, but never took his gaze away from her door. His coach waited out front, and the servants were loading his trunks. Time was growing short. He would be leaving soon, but refused to do so until he had spoken with Abigail.
He had been trying all morning, to no avail. He had attempted to take the seat next to her at breakfast, but she moved too quickly, picking a chair bracketed with guests on either side. A deliberate avoidance.
Blowing out an impatient breath, he heard the lock turn, then Abigail stepped out. He pounced.
“Abby.” Striding toward her quickly, he noted the pleasure that lit her eyes, before she lowered her lids and shielded them.
Damned wench was playing at something, and he would get to the bottom of it, by God! Make him fall in love with her and then toss him aside, would she? He would see about that.
“Lord Trenton. How are you this-Oh my!”
Catching her elbow, he dragged her down the hall and into the servant’s stairwell. He paused on the tiny landing and looked at her, noting the slight parting of her lips. Before she could protest, he drew her to him and kissed her, taking her mouth in near desperation, needing her response like he needed to breathe.
When she whimpered and surged into him, Rhys had to bite back the shout of triumph. She tasted like sweet cream and warm honey, a simple flavor that cleansed his jaded senses, and made the world fresh and new. He had to tear himself away, something he barely managed after spending a miserable, sleepless night without her.
“You will marry me,” he said gruffly.
Abby sighed and kept her eyes closed. “Now, why did you have to ruin a perfect farewell with that nonsense?”
“It is not nonsense!”
“It is,” she insisted, shaking her head as she looked at him. “I will not say yes. So please, cease.”
“You want me,” he said stubbornly, rubbing his thumb across her swollen bottom lip.
“For sex.”
“That is enough.” It wasn’t, but if he had her beneath him whenever he wanted, perhaps he could reclaim the ability to think. Once he could think, he could plan to win her. Grayson was bumbling along that path. He could simply follow the trail of crushed greenery.
“It isn’t,” she argued gently.
“Have you any idea how many unions have no passion at all?”
“Yes.” She set her hand over his heart. “But I do not believe that passion will be enough to bear the things others will say about you taking an American to wife.”
“Curse them all,” he grumbled. “We have more than passion, Abby. You and I rub along well. We enjoy each other’s companionship even out of bed. And we both like gardens.”
She smiled and his heart leapt. Then she dashed it to pieces. “I want love, and I won’t settle for less.”
Rhys swallowed hard. It was obvious she did not love him, but to hear her say it aloud was painful in the extreme. “Love can grow.”
Her lip quivered beneath his thumb. “I do not want to take the chance that it won’t grow. I must feel it, Rhys, in order to be happy.”
“Abigail,” he breathed, pressing his cheek to hers. He could win her heart. If she would only give him the chance.
Unfortunately, before he could press further, a door opened on a lower floor and the sounds of two maids speaking to one another rose up to them.
“Farewell, my lord,” Abby whispered, before rising to her toes and gifting him with a bittersweet kiss. “Save that dance for me.”
Then she was gone, and the sudden emptiness in his arms was echoed in his heart.
Pulling into the drive before the Hammond estate, Isabel was relieved to see Rhys’ black lacquered coach preparing for departure. After spending the last hour soaking her kerchief over the demise of her marriage and her broken dreams, she needed her brother’s shoulder to cry on and advice on how to proceed.
“Rhys!” she cried, descending the steps with the help of a footman and running toward him.
He turned with a frown, one hand set at his waist, the other rubbing the back of his neck. He stood tall and proud, his mahogany hair capped with a hat, his long legs sheathed in trim, fitted trousers. To her aching heart, the sight of her brother offered comfort in and of itself.
“Bella? I thought you had left for the day. What has happened? You’ve been crying.”
“I am riding with you back to London,” she said hoarsely, her throat raw. “I can be ready within moments.”
Looking over her head, he asked, “Where is Grayson?”
She shook her head violently in answer.
“Bella?”
“Please,” she murmured, lowering her gaze because his compassion and concern threatened to instigate a torrent of tears. “You will turn me into a watering pot in front of the servants. I shall tell you everything, once I’ve refreshed myself and collected my abigail.”
Rhys muttered an oath under his breath and tugged at his cravat. “Make haste,” he growled, shooting an anxious glance at the front entrance. “Please believe that I don’t mean to be harsh or uncaring, but truly ten minutes is all I can spare.”
Nodding, Isabel hurried into the house. Everything she had with her could not be packed in ten minutes, so she splashed water on her face, took what she needed to be comfortable on the long drive, and left a note for Grayson to see to the rest of her belongings.
At any moment, she expected her husband to appear and the anxiousness of waiting made the cold knot in her belly tighten. She felt rushed, off-kilter, breathless. Her entire world was spinning without the steady core she thought she had discovered in Gray. She should have known she would be lacking in some way. This tightness in her chest that made her dizzy was her own fault. The reality had always been there-she was too old for Gray and he did not trust that her body could give him the children she knew he desired. If she were younger, she doubted he would have such fears about her health.
