Chapter 7

She wasn't there the next day. Or the following day. Or the few that followed.

But Easton was.

As he gathered up his things and returned to the townhouse, he knew Miss Carter was hiding, not just from the threat she imagined from the stranger, but from whatever danger he might offer as well. Whatever she was trying to secret herself from was terrifying in her mind. It hurt him that she didn't trust him enough with her secrets so he could offer his help.

Instead, he kept going to the beach each day, hoping that she might dare to return, or at least reach out to him. He was starting to wonder if he wasn't hanging on to a false hope.

But if there was one thing Easton could say about himself, it was having patience. He was willing to do whatever it took to earn Miss Carter's regard. The problem was time was starting to run thin. The lease on the townhouse ran out after two more weeks, and as yet, he was no closer to discovering the truth about the true Vanessa.

Until today.

Clavely opened the door for him when he returned. "My lord, this came for you while you were out."

He handed him a missive and immediately Easton's heart began to pound. The only people who knew he was here were his sister—who wouldn't write to him for any reason—his cousin, Lord Stanton, who was currently sailing around the world with his new bride, and the man Clavely had hired to look into anything relating to Miss Carter. Could it be that he'd finally gotten a lead?

He murmured his thanks to the butler and opened the letter as he headed for the study. This was something he wanted to peruse in private, and in here, he didn't have to worry about any servant walking in unannounced.

Lord Fane,

I regret that I have not yet uncovered anything of import regarding Miss Carter…

Easton blew out a heavy breath, but as he continued to read, his instincts sped up.

While I have been in London, there has been some local gossip about a woman who has been missing for several months. She is the wife of a prominent magistrate in Nottingham. Her husband, Mr. Frank McGavin seems to be a respected magistrate, but I believe the opposite to be true. He has offered a sizable sum for his wife's return, but it has not stopped him from consorting quite openly with his mistress. I can't yet say if these circumstances are connected. The only reason I mention it now is that the ladies share the same first name—Vanessa—and her maiden name was Bond. Make of this what you will. I will continue doing my part to research further.

Easton slowly folded the letter. He sank down into the chair behind the desk and laid his elbows on top. Steepling his hands before him, he wondered if there was the possibility that they were, indeed, connected. He thought of the fear he'd spied in Miss Carter's eyes. It certainly didn't match the distress of a respected magistrate who was concerned for the welfare of his wife.

Then again…

He had known many people who adopted a fa?ade to gain what they wanted. In this instance, however, was it Miss Carter or Mr. McGavin who wasn't telling the truth? Just because she seemed upset, doesn't mean that she wasn't a talented actress who was playing a part. There were more women than not who resented being married to a man not of their choosing. If Miss Carter despised the man she'd wed, who was to say she wouldn't come to the Society as a place of refuge? To start over? If he had been unkind to her, no doubt the results would be the same. What he had to figure out now was who to believe.

He withdrew a sheet of paper and replied to his contact.

* * *

Vanessa looked out her window and saw the viscount heading to the strand, as he had done every afternoon. She allowed the drapes to fall into place as she paced back to her easel. She had to find a way to get a hold of herself. She'd already gained the concern of Miss Stratford and Miss Grantham. It wouldn't be long before they would start asking questions. They had been good at letting her maintain her solitude, but she knew it wouldn't last forever.

Then there was Lady Beauvais. The countess had told her that the gallery was nearing completion and inquired if the viscount might have anything to display. Vanessa had offered some sort of noncommittal reply, but she would have to give her an answer very soon. Unfortunately, that would mean speaking to the viscount, and she wasn't entirely comfortable doing that just yet. Not if there was a stranger outside, waiting to approach her the moment she stepped foot outside.

She hadn't noticed anything odd for a few days now, so perhaps it had been a pickpocket hoping to target easy prey. That was the regrettable thing about running from someone like Frank: She never knew what dangers lay in store for her.

As if the dangers she harbored for Lord Fane weren't bad enough. Her entire room was filled with images of him. Not only was the finished landscape with his profile enough of a distraction to see every day, but she had started to sketch him in various poses. Try as she might, she couldn't quite perfect the upturned smile on his face, nor the right shade of his unique amber eyes.

Gathering her things, Vanessa decided she'd had enough hiding for the time being. She wanted to see the viscount, and she wanted to return to the one place that had offered her any sort of comfort since she'd left Frank.

She headed downstairs and walked out the door, her steps determined as she made her way to the strand. She didn't glance around guiltily but kept her chin held high, as if she had nothing to conceal, should anyone be watching.

The sun was high overhead and a bead of perspiration trickled down the center of her spine. She hadn't realized how warm it had gotten, but it was mid-August, the last heat wave of summer in its desperate attempt to hang on a bit longer.

She turned a corner and spied her special alcove, but when she expected to see Lord Fane with a brush in hand, he was sitting on her rock and looking out over the water's horizon.

"Do you not paint when you come here?"

He shook his head. "Not since the day you left."

She wasn't sure how to respond to that, so she brought up the only other topic she could think of to say. "Lady Beauvais was inquiring if you were prepared to show something at the gallery opening."

His eyes were steady on her. "Not anything that would be sufficient for the rest of the world to see."

She paused in setting out her supplies. "I never meant to take away your newfound inspiration."

"I know."

She inclined her head and continued about her task. She had to do something with her hands or else she would go mad with the awkward silence that followed.

"Might I ask you a question?"

She stopped once more. "Only if I get to choose whether or not to answer."

"Very well." He paused. "Is a man by the name of Frank McGavin familiar to you?"

Vanessa gasped, her supplies falling out of her numb fingers as she started to back away. "How do you know that name?" she choked out.

He said nothing, just continued to regard her in that same steady manner.

She pointed a threatening finger at him. Without retrieving her things, she said, "Stay away from me!"

Vanessa turned and took off running across the sand, but it dragged down her progress. It didn't help that her feet felt as though they were encased in lead. She stumbled more than once, gaining a curious glance from those she passed on the way.

She had nearly made her through the sand when she lost her balance and fell to her hands and knees.

She remained there until a dark shadow fell across her. When the viscount knelt beside her, and asked in a gentle tone, "Are you ready to talk now?" She realized that she had no other choice but to agree.

* * *

After Easton had helped Vanessa to her feet, he led her to his townhouse where they could speak in private. There he instructed Clavely to retrieve their belongings from the strand, and then he took her to his private sitting room. He hoped she could talk openly there, and not regard him as just another stranger out to do her harm. Thankfully, the mystery man had been absent in recent days.

When he opened the door for her, she walked inside and sank down onto a nearby settee. She put her head in her hands, but he didn't think she was crying. She likely felt defeated.

He walked over to the sideboard, thinking that a drink to calm her nerves might be in order. "Would you care for a sherry?"

"Yes, thank you." Her voice cracked slightly as he brought the requested drink to her, holding out a crystal tumbler.

She accepted it and drank half of it in one large gulp before she held it in her hands. He was glad to see that they were no longer shaking. "Better?" he asked.

Her mouth twisted. "Not really, but I feel as though I won't shatter into a million pieces now."

He sat down across from her and asked softly, "Who is Frank McGavin?"

She closed her eyes as if to gain strength, and then she looked him directly in the eye and said, "My husband."

It was as if he'd been kicked by a horse. The breath left his lungs in a rush as he tried to absorb this revelation. Although he had suspected it from his informant's letter, he hadn't believed it to be true—until now.

"We were married about three years ago, just before my father died. It was supposed to be a marriage of convenience, but he was the only one in the union that it was convenient for."

Easton did his best to keep his mind open, but the bitterness in her tone was unmistakable. He had the feeling he wouldn't like the rest of her tale. "What do you mean?"

She pinched the bridge of her nose as if she was starting to get a megrim, but at least she was talking. The more she spoke, the more she seemed to relax, as if she was grateful to be rid of the burden that had been dragging her down all these months. "I had just turned six and twenty, firmly on the shelf by most standards, but I had not been actively seeking a suitor. Caring for my father was a full-time commitment. But I suppose you will have to know my entire history before understanding why I broke my vows to honor and obey." She swallowed but continued. "Carter was my mother's maiden name. She and my father, Mr. Edward Bond, grew up in Nottingham. My mother died shortly after my birth, and afterward, my father fell into a downward spiral from his grief. He started to imbibe heavily. As I grew up, I began to realize that he blamed me for her death, and could hardly bear to look at me. He said I favored her too much. It was as if her ghost had returned to haunt him. I think he tolerated my presence for so long because my governess was charged with most of my care."

She straightened and wrapped her arms around her waist, as if protecting herself from those horrid memories. "As I got older, I began to understand the devastation I had been ignoring until then. I was finally mature enough to see the decline—and know the reasons for it." She closed her eyes momentarily, and Easton had to clench his fist to keep from going to her to offer her the comfort she had obviously been denied from her own father. "One night he was deep in his cups and screamed at me, called me an abomination for taking his beloved wife away. I was twelve, and although I was hurt, I could feel the sting of guilt, wondering if he was right."

She opened her eyes again, but she looked at the floor rather than him. "From that day on, I decided to devote myself to his care, certain that I could somehow win his love. I was wrong." Her lips twisted. "For years, I sacrificed everything of myself. I was his maid as much as any of the other servants in the house. I secretly worked in the evenings after he drank himself into slumber, hoping to gain enough funds to find a way to manage on my own. I knew he wouldn't offer me the freedom I was starting to crave. I used an assumed name, doing my best to conceal my identity, but I'm sure everyone knew who I really was. But they allowed me to stay. Whether they felt sorry for me, I'm not certain. I think they knew I had to find a way to survive, to escape the horror I faced each day, watching my father fade into oblivion."

She exhaled slowly. "The summer I turned six and twenty, my father decided he'd had enough of my presence. He had discovered my secret, and in a rage, he ordered me out of the house. When I returned from the pub one evening, I discovered that he'd bartered me to the local magistrate for a case of fine French brandy."

Easton muttered something about a bastard beneath his breath, but she didn't seem to hear or didn't allow his words to break through her consciousness.

"He told me that Frank McGavin was a good match. He was well respected, and it was time I wed and stopped being a disgrace to the family. I didn't want to marry him because I'd heard terrible rumors about his behavior, and had even witnessed his carousing at the local pub where I worked. I never thought he'd really noticed me, but he was eager to make me his bride. Three weeks after the banns were read, my trunks were packed, and I was united in marriage to Frank."

Easton didn't really want to know, but he knew he had to hear the truth, however sordid it might be. And he could tell by the devastation on her face that her union to McGavin wasn't something she was proud of sharing. "I noticed that Frank drank heavily after the ceremony, although no one seemed to question the excess, believing that he was celebrating his nuptials. It was so much worse than that. When it was time for us to retire for the evening, I waited patiently and when he arrived—" Her voice cracked, and Easton suddenly wanted to commit murder. "It wasn't a pleasant experience, but I told myself that our relationship would improve over time, that we could grow to love each other. It steadily got more miserable. He took on a mistress, and then he started to have fits of rage that would rival that of my father. But whereas my father never struck me, Frank had no such qualms. I wasn't allowed to paint, and I didn't want to leave the house and suffer the gossip from the villagers who were well aware of my situation. But because Frank was a magistrate, his word was law in all things. I had no choice but to endure. Until a loyal friend sent me a letter with the clipping of the article about the Society. Generally, Frank opened my mail before it got to me, but that day I was lucky enough that he had spent the night with his mistress. I sent my application to the Society, and the reply came a week later."

Easton tried to absorb all this information. He no longer had any doubt that Vanessa was the victim in this scenario because she spoke with such terror in her voice that it couldn't be anything else. Before he said anything else, he had to know one thing. "How did you escape?"

* * *

Vanessa thought back to that fateful night with trepidation, but she was done with the lies. It was some relief to unburden herself, and whether or not Lord Fane decided to return her to Frank, she was going to tell him the whole story. "Fortune smiled on me again when the approval to join the Society arrived. I wept with a mixture of relief and gratitude as I held the letter against my chest. I had finally found a way to leave Frank. Before then, I'd had ample opportunity to plot my escape, so with a valise packed, I invited him to my chamber after dinner. I told him that I wanted to put the past behind us and become the wife that he deserved. It nearly made me sick to utter such fabrications, but he didn't question my motives. When he opened the door to my room, I was hiding behind the door with a candlestick. I struck him over the head with it."

The viscount stilled. "You didn't murder him." It wasn't a question, but more of a statement, as if he was disappointed she'd done the deed instead of him.

"No. I placed a mirror in front of his mouth and his breath fogged the reflection, so I knew he was alive. But I also knew that I couldn't waste any time. I gathered my single bag and ran out the front door and down to the stable. I didn't even wake a groom to saddle my horse, but rode astride and bareback as far and as fast as I could manage. I had checked the schedule for the mail coach out of London to Cornwall and knew it was my best chance. I only stopped to let the horse rest and do the same, as well as nibble on some cheese and ham I'd taken from the kitchens for the journey. It still took me two days, and the entire time I was on the coach to get to the coast, I was scared to death that he would somehow find me."

She shook her head. "I won't go back to him, and I fully intend to keep that vow at all costs, so if you think to alert him to my whereabouts—"

He snorted with disgust. "I would sooner hand you over to the devil himself."

Vanessa wanted to trust his word, but she had never had much luck trusting men in the past, so it was difficult to do so now. "You will keep my secret?"

He got up and began to pace, as though he was too restless to remain where he was. "I honestly wish you had killed him. He doesn't deserve to live for treating you in such a manner, and forgive me for saying it, but your father wasn't much better."

She wanted to defend her father, but in the end, she couldn't argue with the truth. "You're right, but I can't condemn him fully because I know the love he held for my mother was strong and true, whereas Frank—" She couldn't finish that sentence. She could hardly speak his name without wanting to retch.

"Do you think the stranger we saw is working for McGavin?"

Vanessa hadn't wanted to face the possibility, but it had certainly crossed her mind. She wouldn't put it past her husband to do whatever was necessary to drag her back. Her absence had likely made him appear a fool, and since she'd struck him, he would be out for blood. "I… don't know, but I wouldn't be surprised. It's what has kept me hidden inside the Society these past few days. Every time I heard voices downstairs, I froze, terrified that he would appear at my door. I know he'll find me. It's only a matter of time." She shuddered as she put her head in her hands. "It's hopeless."

A pair of strong hands grasped her upper arms. "I won't hear that sort of talk," Lord Fane said with such fervor that she looked up and saw his amber eyes nearly glowing with determination. "I will protect you."

She smiled sadly. "What can you do? I am his under law, under the Church of England and God. There is nothing that can be done. I will stay at the boarding house until I'm discovered, and then I'll have no choice but to go back and accept my fate."

"I won't allow it." He shook her lightly. "Do you hear me? I won't allow it."