Chapter Twenty-Three

H ope collapsed on the bed, completely exhausted. Outside, the afternoon had given way to evening, the sky darkening rapidly as heavy drops of rain began to fall. Given the coming night, the change in the weather and their weariness, not to mention that of Samuel's poor horse, Samuel had suggested that they should remain at the inn overnight before travelling back to Hayton Hall the next day. Hope had nodded her agreement; indeed, in her shocked state, nodding was all she seemed able to do. Samuel appeared to sense this, and with a reassuring smile he'd taken charge, requesting everything from rooms and food to a bathtub and some clean clothes. Once the constable had arrived and George had been taken away, Samuel had escorted her upstairs before leaving her to wash and change with the assistance of a maid he'd managed to secure for her.

‘It's all over now, Hope,' he'd said, cupping her cheek with his hand. ‘You're perfectly safe. I will just be downstairs in the parlour and will check on you in a little while.'

Now, lying on the bed and listening to the soft crackle of a small fire burning in the hearth, Hope pressed her eyes shut, replaying his words in her mind. She was perfectly safe, and it was all thanks to him. Samuel Liddell had been her rescuer, not once but twice. Weeks ago, he'd saved her from probable death in the woodland near his home, and today he'd saved her from a fate worse than death—a life spent with George. He'd ridden across the country to find her, and put himself in harm's way to save her from George's awful clutches. Then he'd taken her in his arms and he'd kissed her—a kiss which had told her in no uncertain terms that he loved her, before speaking words which left her in no doubt that he meant to ask her to be his wife.

But how could he mean to marry her, when she'd lied to him about who she was? How could he, a wealthy gentleman, want to wed a low-born actress and the daughter of an outlaw?

A knock at the door caused her eyes to fly open and her heart to race. Her head might know that she was safe, but it was clear it would take some time before her fight-or-flight instincts realised that too. Hope forced herself to take a deep, calming breath. More than likely, it was the maid returning, having left a short while ago to take the bathtub away.

‘Come in,' she called out, pulling herself upright. She glanced at the plate of food the maid had left for her, a veritable platter of cheese, cold meats and bread which she'd barely begun to pick at. Her stomach, it seemed, hadn't realised that she was safe either, if the way it continued to lurch was anything to go by.

To her surprise, however, it was not the maid's face she saw peering round the door, but Samuel's. He smiled at her somewhat sheepishly. ‘Sorry—the maid said you were dressed,' he said. ‘But I will go if you're resting.'

‘No, it's all right. Please, Samuel, come in.' She offered a smile to mirror his. ‘I doubt I will manage to sleep anyway.'

Samuel slipped inside the room, closing the door softly behind him. ‘It doesn't look like you've managed to eat much either,' he observed, nodding towards the almost full plate. He pulled a chair up to the bedside before sitting down next to her. ‘How are you feeling?'

‘Like I've been hit over the head, kidnapped and shackled, so, all in all, I think I have had better days,' she replied.

‘What? He hit you over the head?' Immediately, Samuel leapt to his feet, gently brushing her still-damp hair back from her forehead and looking for signs of injury.

The feeling of his fingers against her scalp did strange things to her insides. ‘My father did,' she explained. ‘Apparently I wasn't a very cooperative kidnap victim so it was all he could do to silence me.'

‘You were unconscious? I will summon a physician at once.'

‘Samuel—' gently, she captured his hand with her own, lowering it and bringing it to rest at her side ‘—I will live. I do feel somewhat better after bathing and putting on clean clothes.' She smoothed her other hand over the skirt of a grey dress which felt about two sizes too big for her.

Samuel raked his eyes over her attire. ‘Ah—yes. I'm afraid it was all the innkeeper's wife had to offer.'

She grinned at him. ‘It is fine. I have grown accustomed to borrowed clothes.'

Samuel shook his head in embarrassment. ‘Please, do not remind me.' He squeezed her hand ever so gently. ‘When we return to Hayton, Hope, we shall visit a dressmaker in Lowhaven and you shall have a complete wardrobe of your own—I promise you that. And, despite your protestations, I am going to have a physician attend to you before we travel. I cannot believe your father did that to his own daughter.'

She felt her smile fade. ‘George shot him—my father. He shot him, just before he took me away. He will be dead by now.'

Samuel nodded gravely. ‘I'm afraid he is,' he replied. ‘I went with Charles to his cottage, to look for you. He was near death when we got there. He just about managed to tell us where George was taking you before he...before he passed.'

For a long moment Hope pressed her lips together, putting her feelings in order. Holding back her tears. She would not weep for that man—not after all that he had done.

‘At least he told you that,' she said in the end. ‘And at least he did not die alone.'

‘Oh, Hope.' Samuel slid on to the bed beside her, wrapping his arm around her shoulder and drawing her near. ‘You really are a remarkable woman, do you know that? Truly remarkable. The life you've lived...the things you must have seen...'

‘My life has been no worse than the lives of many men and women across England, Samuel,' she countered softly. ‘Most people's experience of life is closer to mine than it is to yours. Not everyone grows up with a free trader for a father, but most know something of hardship.'

He nodded. ‘You're right. It reminds me that I am fortunate but also...well, very sheltered. I have not had to be brave like you.'

She chuckled. ‘I wouldn't say that. Just hours ago you wrestled a pistol-wielding madman to the ground, or have you forgotten about that already?'

He pulled her closer, placing a kiss on the top of her head. ‘Oh, I haven't forgotten. That was probably the bravest and the best thing I have ever done.'

‘Probably the most reckless too. You could have been killed.'

‘I confess I wasn't really thinking about that. When I saw you through that kitchen window, all I could think about was getting you away from that monster and back with me.'

She looked up at him then, meeting those lovely grey-blue eyes. ‘I'm glad you did, Samuel. I'm glad you found me.'

‘I almost didn't.' His expression grew serious. ‘When I first realised you were gone, I thought you'd left of your own accord, that after our conversation the night before you'd decided to leave. I wouldn't have blamed you if you had. You poured out your story to me and, instead of comforting you, I held back. I hesitated. Then I let you leave without saying all that there was to say.' He shook his head at himself. ‘It was unforgivable.'

‘No, it's not. It must have come as a shock to learn that the person you'd welcomed into your house wasn't who she said she was at all.' She paused, swallowing hard. Preparing herself for complete honesty. Preparing herself to face up to what she'd seen in his eyes that night. ‘It must have been disappointing too, to learn that I am so far beneath you in status. Indeed, you'd have every right to be angry with me.'

‘I cannot deny that it came as a shock, but I'm not angry, and certainly not disappointed. You hid your true identity for very good reasons, Hope—reasons far better than the foolish ones I had for borrowing my brother's title. Indeed, you're the one who ought to be angry with me. As for disappointment, surely you know me well enough by now to understand that neither wealth nor connections are of much interest to me. It is companionship, it is the meeting of like minds, it is love—those are the things I want. Besides, you do yourself a disservice to speak about yourself in such a way.'

‘I'm an actress, Samuel,' she reminded him. ‘No better than a courtesan or a harlot, as I recall your friend Mr Gordon once saying. And, even worse than that, I'm the daughter of a criminal. I doubt it's possible to have a more dubious background than that.'

He caressed her cheek, lifting her chin gently and placing a brief, soft kiss upon her lips—a kiss which, despite their heavy conversation, left her wanting more. ‘You're a beautiful, intelligent, strong and resourceful woman,' he replied. ‘You are admirable, Hope—truly. You have survived everything that life has thrown at you. Indeed, against all the odds, I'd say you've flourished. You are clever and you are cultured and you are brave. That is what I should have said to you when you told me your story.'

She raised her eyebrows at him, trying to ignore how her heart sang at his words. She would not get carried away, no matter how sincere his sentiments sounded to her ears. ‘So why didn't you?' she asked.

He sighed. ‘Partly because I felt ashamed of myself. If I hadn't been so busy pretending that I was a baronet with a big estate then perhaps you'd have found me more approachable. Perhaps you would have told me the truth sooner.'

She smiled sadly. ‘I doubt that very much, Samuel, although I do wish I had.' She frowned, searching his gaze. ‘You said that was part of the reason. What was the other part?'

Samuel breathed out an embarrassed chuckle. ‘The other part was the fact that we were in my bedchamber, late at night and only half-clad. You'd made some remarks about how gentlemen had treated you in the past, about what they had expected, and...and I did not want you to think I was just another gentleman seeking to take advantage of you.'

‘You would never have done that,' she replied. ‘You've always been impeccably good and decent towards me.'

Samuel nodded. ‘Nonetheless, Hope, I was still a man standing in his bedchamber with a beautiful woman. Believe me, it took all my self-restraint not to kiss you or take you into my bed.'

Such loaded words made her cheeks colour, as did the realisation that she wished he had. She tried to suppress the thought, reminding herself that there were a hundred other matters they ought to be discussing. How he couldn't possibly wish to marry a base-born actress being top of the list.

Before she could say another word, however, Samuel sat upright and released her from his embrace. ‘I should probably leave you to rest. We can talk more tomorrow. You need to sleep if you're going to be fit for the ride back to Hayton.'

‘Don't.' She touched him lightly on the arm. ‘Stay awhile—please. I know I am safe here but I'd rather not be alone.'

For good measure she shuffled over, patting the sheets where they lay over the space she'd made. She watched Samuel hesitate, his gaze switching contemplatively between the bed and her. He was a gentleman to a fault—a true, proper gentleman. That was one of the things she loved about him. It was also one of the reasons why she knew that in the cold light of day, when the dust had settled on the chaos and terror of today, he would realise that he could not marry her. If, indeed, he had not realised that already. After all, he had not broached the subject again. Hope pushed the thought from her mind; there was little point in dwelling upon that now. Samuel was right—she needed to sleep and, whether it was wise or not, she wanted to have him by her side.

After several moments of deliberation, something apparently made up Samuel's mind. ‘All right,' he said, sliding back on to the bed beside her and taking her into his arms once more. ‘I will stay, just until you fall asleep.' He kissed the top of her head as she nestled under his chin. ‘I love you, Hope.'

‘I love you too, Samuel.'

Hope closed her eyes, overcome by the comfort and reassurance she found in this intimacy, as well as the myriad of other, less familiar feelings she felt stirring within her. But even as she relished his warm embrace, her doubts and her fears continued to niggle at her. He loved her and she loved him, and yet she feared that would not be enough. She would not be enough and, sooner or later, Samuel would come to his senses and see that whilst Hope Swynford could have been his wife, Hope Sloane never could.