Chapter 23

"Aaron!"

Dorothy flew into the study excitedly, reminding Aaron of a butterfly in a gauzy blue and gold summer dress. Without preamble or hesitation, she came straight to his side and stood up on her tiptoes to kiss his lips. Instinctively, his body responded and began to return her kiss before he forced himself to break away.

"No!" Aaron said firmly, his anger rising now in proportion to his unwanted desire and tenderness for his young wife. "You can't capture me that easily, Dorothy, whatever powers you might have imagined your undoubted physical charms hold."

"What?" she sputtered, utterly confused.

"Just because a man beds a woman doesn't mean that he becomes her slave, whatever some people might think. I won't deny that I enjoy your presence in my bed very much, but I still retain full use of my brain, my good judgment, and all other faculties."

Her beautiful face crumpled a little at his words, and it was all Aaron could do not to rush to her and lift her again in his arms. Then, she blinked back any tears and took a deep breath to compose herself.

"What are you talking about, Aaron?"

"I'm talking about you and your family conspiring against me."

"No," Dorothy said, with absolute certainty. "Never."

"Do you deny what I heard with my own ears this very afternoon?" he demanded.

"Or what you imagine you heard," she threw back, her temper now catching fire despite her best efforts, lit by the flames from his own.

"I was right outside the drawing room door, and I heard your damned brother talking about his grand scheme and how you should use your bedroom wiles to draw me in. I'm not deaf or prone to flights of fancy, Dorothy."

"You may not be deaf, but you're certainly suffering from selective hearing, Duke! You're just like my brother, listening to everything except what I say."

Aaron shook his head, still too hurt by the thought of her betrayal to think rationally about her response.

"I'm like your brother? You and your whole family are as bad as the Talbots. You're worse, in fact, because at least none of them inveigled themselves into my bed in order to deceive and betray me."

"No!" Dorothy shouted loudly, stomping her foot in frustration. "How dare you! That did not happen, you stupid, pigheaded man. If you'd bothered to listen more closely, or for longer, you would have heard Patrick expounding his usual nonsense and me refusing absolutely to cooperate with him."

"A likely story," he snarled.

"What is wrong with you, Aaron?" she questioned. "What is wrong with you that you can't accept that I come to your bed only because I want you? Is that so very far-fetched? Look at you. You're the most handsome man I've ever met, and maybe the kindest too, and the best in so many other ways… Why give me all these other ridiculous motives?"

"Ridiculous motives? I've seen people with the same motives. I've seen them pick my family and my estate apart in real life, in real time…"

"I'm not one of the Talbots! Even my idiot brother isn't that bad. Naturally, he asked for my help in bringing you in on his project. Naturally, I refused. It all sounds like nonsense to me anyway. I thought he'd float it with you in person eventually and you'd simply laugh at him, frankly."

"I don't believe you," he declared, trembling with the effort of holding back his intense and clashing emotions.

"You're tilting at windmills, damn you!" Dorothy swore. "Don't you see? You're like Don Quixote in the story, fighting dragons and monsters that aren't really there. I'm here, and I'm your wife, and I don't want to fight. All I wanted, more than anything, was you, Aaron Clark… All I wanted was you…"

As her final angry words became a sob, Dorothy turned away and raced out of the room.

Aaron stood there stunned for some minutes before he thought to follow her upstairs. He knew something was not right. In fact, something was very wrong, and he had the sneaking suspicion that it might well be something to do with him.

He cursed the hot tempers that both of them possessed, and their equally shared tendency to believe in their own absolute rightness.

Hastening to Dorothy's suite next door, he knocked on the door and received no answer. Trying the handle, he found that the door was locked from the inside.

"Go away!" her voice shouted from inside. "Go away and leave me alone, Aaron Clark. I don't want to talk to you anymore."

Putting his ear to the door, Aaron could hear faint, compulsive sobs that hurt him as much as they presumably hurt her. Knocking once more, he received no further response, and he finally walked back downstairs, helpless and heavy-hearted.

Aaron awoke the next morning with a heavy heart and a headache to match, sitting in one of the chairs in the library, with an empty bottle of brandy beside him. His mouth felt like sandpaper, and his head spun when he stood up.

Recalling the reason why he had spent the night alone in his library with only a bottle for company made his head hurt even more, his heart and conscience now aching too.

Alone there in the dark last night, he'd had the time and peace to mull over the events of the afternoon and reconsider all that he'd heard and understood. It led him to an awful and unavoidable conclusion—he believed Dorothy.

Even while he had bombarded her with hurtful accusations, she had been honest with him. Of course, her brother had tried to use her to get to him. She had not denied it, and Hoskins was the type who always had some scheme on the go. Nor would such a man hesitate to use less-than-honorable channels to further his interests, if he could.

But in this case, he could not, because Dorothy had refused to cooperate, just as she described. A short conversation with Toynton last night had confirmed this more firmly than Aaron could have hoped. The butler had seen Mr. Hoskins out and was able to quote to Aaron verbatim exactly what had been said between the two siblings upon parting.

Guilt-ridden, Aaron had tried again to knock on the door to Dorothy's room at around midnight. Again, she did not answer, although now her sobbing had ceased. He supposed his wife had cried herself to sleep and had taken himself back downstairs to seek out more brandy.

What a godawful night!

The library clock showed that it was seven in the morning, and Aaron decided to return upstairs in the hope that Dorothy might be ready to at least talk to him. He did not yet know how he could mend the bridge he had so comprehensively smashed last night, but he must try if she would let him.

"Dorothy?" he called, knocking on the external door to her suite. "May I come in? I have to apologize…"

Again, he received only silence in response, and he knocked once more. At the same time, his hand automatically tried the doorknob, and to his surprise, the door clicked open.

"Dorothy?" he said cautiously, peering around the doorframe but finding himself facing an empty bedroom.

The washroom, dressing room and sitting room were all equally empty. The bed itself was rumpled, but there was no other sign of recent occupation in the suite. Where could she be?

A brief search of the house's main rooms yielded no clues. Nor did a long glance out the second-floor windows into the garden and questioning of the maids and Toynton.

Disheartened, Aaron realized that Dorothy could easily have left the house while he was still in his drunken stupor and the rest of the household were in bed. But after the argument with her brother, where could she go, and who could she turn to?

With her hot-headed, impulsive nature, his wife might have gone anywhere, regardless of whether it was a safe place or time for a young lady to be outside, alone. Where could he even begin to look?

Aaron was sure of only one thing right now: if any harm came to Dorothy, it would all be his fault.

Dorothy had left the house silently in the first hour after dawn, before any of the servants were awake to note her departure. While she did not really know where she planned to go, or what she intended to do, she did know that she could not stay in that house for one more minute, and she could certainly not stomach another senseless conversation with Aaron…

Still, there were certainly people in the world worse off than herself, and she quickly spotted one such loitering by the gates of a neighboring house.

"You're out early today, young man," she said to the ragged-looking young boy.

Only around eight years old, he looked even more tired than Dorothy felt when she'd looked in the mirror upon waking up. Tears all cried out, her face had been pale and worn in the glass, although at least she had been able to wash it before coming out, unlike this grubby, little urchin.

"Messages, Miss." He nodded, wiping his nose with his sleeve. "There's always messages to run."

She did not correct his address, only hoping the poor child had not been kept out all night delivering these messages. He was thin and wary, although he attempted toughness with childish bravado.

"Have you run all your messages?" she asked.

"One more," the boy said. "I was just resting."

Dorothy took a few small coins from her pocket and handed them to the boy. "Well, when you do finish, make sure you get yourself a good breakfast. A growing boy must eat well."

His eyes grew wide for a moment, but then his hand closed quickly around the money.

"Thank you, Miss," he gabbled and then set off at a run, as if fearing at least one of them might change their mind about the money if he stayed too long.

At the end of the road, she spotted the child again at a distance, conferring excitedly with another ragged-looking boy, perhaps his brother. Dorothy smiled, knowing that she had given enough money for two breakfasts, and then walked on towards the park.

Perhaps she would simply walk there for some hours and then go to a respectable teashop while she gathered her thoughts and decided what to do next. At this moment, her husband's company was almost as odious as her brother's. But where else could she go?

The Hoskins family had cousins in Edinburgh, distant in both geography and relationship. Dorothy could hardly turn up on their doorstep unannounced. She had brought no traveling clothes out with her that morning, nor even enough money to last her more than a day.

No, Dorothy could not run away today, but at least she could give herself some peace from the unreasonable men who always seemed to surround her. Might one of her friends at least welcome her for luncheon or afternoon tea? She would send a message from the teashop later in the morning.

This last thought had popped into her head when she again observed a small ragged-looking figure, now on one of the park's walking paths, dashing between bushes as though trying to remain unseen. From this distance, Dorothy couldn't tell whether it was the boy she had first seen or the second boy.

For a moment, she wondered whether she should be afraid. The boys themselves seemed so small and harmless, only two children likely playing a game while they finished their messenger work. But for all she knew, they could also be lookouts for a gang of vicious men, whether knowing collaborators or innocent pawns. She had read of such things in the newspapers.

Dorothy did a quick assessment of her situation. While she still wore the gauzy blue and gold dress she'd worn last night under her light summer cloak, she had at least removed all her jewelry and carried nothing else on her person beyond the plain metal pins in her hair. Footpads would get nothing of value from her today and hopefully would see that quickly.

"Hi! You!" she shouted, turning abruptly towards the boy. "Why are you following me?"

The boy gasped in horror at being so rudely discovered and bolted away from his bush. Turning to run, he tripped and went sprawling on the path with a grunt of pain. Dorothy saw his face now and marked him more definitely as a brother of the first boy, maybe a year older, both dark haired with the same bright, little brown eyes and sharp, hungry face.

"I didn't mean any harm, Miss," the boy said, recoiling from her as he struggled to his feet, clutching his hand. "Honest, I didn't."

"Never mind that, your hand is hurt." Dorothy frowned, putting her hand on his thin, little shoulder. "Can you move it? Good. It's only grazed and looks worse than it is, I think. Come over to the water fountain with me, and we'll get you fixed up. I'm not going to hurt you, am I?"

The boy had been on the verge of bolting again but seemed convinced to stay put by Dorothy's stern but reassuring voice.

Running his grazed, little hand under clear water until the dirt and tiny stones were washed away, Dorothy then bound his palm with a clean white handkerchief.

"Don't you want this back?" he asked in surprise. "It's a nice handkerchief."

"You keep it," Dorothy replied gravely. "I think you need it more than me right now, don't you?"

She produced another silver sixpence from her pockets and passed it to the boy.

"Now, as I gave your brother money for breakfast, it's only fair I should do the same for you, isn't it? There should be enough there for another meal too, I believe."

The boy looked as surprised and uneasy as his brother had, making her believe they were sadly unused to even small kindnesses.

"Thank you, Miss. You didn't have to… but I… just thank you, Miss."

As they were talking, the sound of coach wheels nearby made Dorothy's ears perk up. Had her speculation about a gang of footpads not entirely been fantasy? Was this boy merely a distraction to put her off her guard?

Glancing up, Dorothy saw the well-kept carriage of a man or woman of high society, an unlikely vehicle for robbing or harassing lone women in public parks early in the morning. Seeing the outline of a hat and a woman's head through the window, she relaxed entirely. It was likely another woman, like her, come seeking peace from her menfolk in the park…

She turned back to the boy. "There, all is well with your hand. Keep it as clean as you can for the next few days. You can run along now and find your brother."

But the boy was looking at the carriage with an expression of troubled fascination, rather like a small animal might look at an unmoving snake, wondering whether safety lay in stillness or flight. His expression made Dorothy turn back to the vehicle again, noticing the now visible crest on its door before it opened and a slim blonde woman descended its steps.

As Dorothy gaped, the boy with the bandaged hand took off behind her and vanished from sight.

"Why, Dorothy, I did not expect you to be out in the park at this hour!" Lauren said Talbot sweetly.