Chapter 28

CHAPTER 28

“ N ow, stranger, that’s a lonely look. You all right there, pet?”

At the gentle and rather motherly voice, Keith looked up from the table.

Sitting alone, he had been staring down into his glass for some time. His footman and groom had grown tired of his foul mood, something he couldn’t blame them for, and they had gone to share some drinks with the locals.

“Aye, I’m well enough,” Keith lied as he lifted the glass to his lips and downed the whisky.

“Sure you are, pet,” the soft voice said.

The woman was roughly his mother’s age. She must be working at the inn they had stopped at for the night, as she was clearing the table beside him as she spoke.

“I have a son about your age.” She gestured to him with an empty tankard. “I know a man’s moods well enough to know that when he’s staring into a glass so avidly, he ain’t all right, pet.”

He smiled rather sadly, amused by her words. “I will be all right, given time.”

“Ah, those are the words of a man who has made a decision and is already regretting it.” She put the empty tankards down on his table and sat opposite him, her bulbous chin in her hands.

“How can ye tell that?” Keith asked in alarm. “Ye read minds, Ma’am?”

“Only men’s.” She laughed. “That’s because one man’s mind is quite like another. Now, you…” She screwed up her face, clearly deep in thought. “You’ve made a decision you think is for the best, but you’re already drowning your sorrows in whisky, so your heart’s not in it, is it?”

Dismayed at how well this stranger could read him, Keith looked away. It was so late at night that the inn was nearly empty. Across the room was a table full of locals, where his footman and groom had joined them. Otherwise, the room was empty, apart from Keith and a few people who worked in the bar.

He’d ridden all day, determined to get as far away from London as possible. He hadn’t made as much progress as he would have liked, but the journey to Scotland was a long one and likely to take the whole week, at least. The farther from London he had ridden, the more his mood had darkened.

“You are too morose for this to be a matter of business,” the lady said thoughtfully, shaking her head. “No, this is an affair of the heart, isn’t it, pet?” She patted the spot above her heart.

Keith lifted his glass and was dismayed to find it was already empty. He put the empty glass back down on the table with a heavy thud.

“Now, now, I ain’t presuming to tell a gentleman such as yourself what to do, but would you forgive an older woman her musings for a minute?” she asked, pulling out a bottle of whisky she had tucked in the apron of her gown and topping up his glass.

He nodded as he thanked her for the drink.

“Pain of the heart never truly goes away,” she said softly. “It gets easier to deal with, but it’s like grief, you see? No one gets over it. We just learn how to live with it. How to mask it.” She smiled sadly and stood up, once more collecting the empty tankards. “Don’t live with a broken heart if you can avoid it, pet.”

She smiled at him affectionately once more and walked away, leaving him staring after her in surprise.

“What the hell just happened?” he murmured as he turned his attention back to his glass.

He tried not to think of what she had said. He even blocked out her words now that they kept coming back to him, as if she had printed the words on his mind with ink.

He dropped some coins onto the table to pay for the extra drink and then stood up from his seat. It was time to go to bed and forget this awful day, though he had a feeling that the empty bed would just bring back the memories of having woken up that morning with Celia in his arms.

Even now, he could remember her scent, the sweetness of the honeysuckle. He could remember too how soft her skin had been beneath his fingers as he ran his hands up and down her leg that morning, teasing her, waking her from her slumber, so he could take her one more time before he had to leave.

“You look lost in thought, Sir.”

“Listen, I—” Keith turned around, ready to tell the motherly lady that he didn’t need her prying into his life anymore. Only, it wasn’t the same woman.

Before him was a much younger lady, perhaps a year or two younger than Celia. She may have worked in the bar—though judging by just how revealing her gown was, with her breasts practically spilling out of the bodice, he presumed she had another thing she was peddling tonight.

“My name’s Sophie. And who might you be?”

Keith had no intention of answering her. She walked toward him so fast that he nearly tripped over the chair he had been sitting in. She reached for him and ran her fingers down his jacket.

“Lovely material.”

Then, her hand went for his chest. Acting on instinct, he backed away from her, putting the table between them.

“I’m married,” he warned her.

“No matter.” She followed him around the table. “Plenty of married men have still paid for a night with me.”

She offered what she probably thought was the most enticing of expressions, looking up at him from beneath her eyelashes.

Keith’s gut churned horribly. It was such a violent feeling that he felt bile rise in his throat.

Get away from me.

Suddenly, there was so much that was wrong about this situation. He should not be here without his wife, and he certainly should not be tolerating another woman flirting with him.

“I’m not that type of man. Pick a different man for yer hunt tonight.”

He swept away from the table and marched toward the nearest set of stairs. His mind was racing so fast that by the time he made it to his room, he was fumbling for the key.

Ah, Celia… if only ye were here now.

He pushed his way into his room and kicked the door shut behind him, then fell back on the bed with his hands in his hair.

He was no longer sure which was worse. Was it the courtesan approaching him, making him realize that he didn’t think he could ever have another woman in his bed again besides Celia? Or was it the motherly woman instead, the one who had glimpsed his grief and told him not to suffer it?

“If I go back, I could end up hurting her…”

Even as he said the words, a shocking memory flashed through his mind, one that he had surprisingly buried. It came back to him in a haze.

It was the night after his father’s funeral. He and his brother were getting drunk on their father’s wine, uncertain how to handle what was somehow a mix of grief and relief. They hadn’t known how to honor the memory of a man neither of them had really liked, so they made comical toasts to each of their father’s failings and drank themselves into oblivion.

Through this cloud of drunkenness, he suddenly saw their mother. Clothed fully in black, she had walked into the room, tutting at them, though she also smiled softly. When his brother fell asleep, she summoned a servant to help him to bed and moved to Keith to help him tidy up the last of the wine.

“What good do you think will come of all this drinking, Keith?”

“It’s just one night,” he had told her. “I’m thinking about how to look back on all of this. Aye, I’m also thinking… about how not to be him.”

“Not to be him? What do you mean?” She had nearly dropped a bottle of whisky in surprise.

“I mean everyone tells me I am his spitting image. That I grow more and more like him every day.” His mirth had abandoned him like a stone dropping down a hill, gone in an instant. He had wiped his brow uncertainly. “I don’t want to be like him. What if I treat my wife the way ye…” he had trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.

“Listen to me.” His mother had stepped toward him, placing her hands on his shoulders. “You are nothing like your father.”

“Mother, please ? —”

“You are nothing like him!” she had declared with sudden passion. “From the day you uttered your first word, it was clear you have goodness in your heart. Do you not remember the last time he tried to raise his hand to me? Do you remember what you did, my kind son?”

He had sighed, remembering it very well, indeed. “I stopped him.”

“Yes. You did.” She had patted his cheek affectionately. “Which is why I know you will never hurt the woman you love, because you risked yourself to defend me.”

The memory left him abruptly. He was back in his chamber, staring up at the ceiling with his hands over his face.

Was it possible his mother was right, after all? Was he depriving himself of happiness, even when there was no chance of him becoming his father?

He sat up in bed. He didn’t think it through, for he didn’t need to. Within seconds, he was racing to pull on his frock coat and a fresh set of boots. He bolted out of the room and raced back down the stairs.

The courtesan turned around with a smile when she saw him, but he didn’t even glance at her. Instead, he headed straight to his groom and footman, who were drinking with the locals.

“In the morning, follow me back to London,” he said to the footman as the groom choked on his ale in surprise.

“London?” the footman repeated. “I thought we were going to Scotland.”

“Change of plans.”

Keith walked away, heading toward the motherly lady, who now stood in the serving hatch, counting their earnings for the night. He dropped more coins through the hatch, paying for the rooms, though he no longer had need of his own.

“Going back to her, pet?” the lady asked with a knowing smile. “Good. Go mend your broken hearts.”

He chuckled at her words and walked away, heading around to the stables. He didn’t care if he had to ride all night and all day—he had to get back to Celia. He had to see her. He had to explain everything.

As he stepped out into the darkness, for a moment, it felt as though he was back at Lady Arundel’s house, watching as the mysterious lady who he now knew was Celia approached the lake and began to take off her clothes. Her spirit, her beauty, everything… from the moment he first held her in his arms, he was intoxicated.

We were always meant to be, Celia.

Keith was exhausted as he raced through London. This was already his third horse, for he’d stopped and paid for a fresh horse at each inn he had passed in order to keep up the pace. It was early evening, the orange light of the sunset streaking across the London rooftops as he approached his home.

He knew he was mad. He even knew it would take a lot for Celia to consider taking him back, but what else was he supposed to do? That lady in the inn was right—who wants to live forever with a broken heart when he had the power to make them both happy?

He steered the horse up the road, listening as it whinnied in objection, though it still obeyed him, turning toward his house. The gates were oddly open. He would have thought at this time of day they would be closed. Glancing back repeatedly at the open gates, he raced down the drive.

Outside of the front door, a carriage had been prepared. It was one of the lighter and faster models, and on the back, cases had been strapped down.

Who has come to the house?

He brought the horse to a halt beside the carriage as he realized that the carriage was, in fact, one of his own. He jumped off the horse, breathing heavily as he threw his frock coat on the ground. He was sweating from having ridden so hard for so long.

He wiped his brow and turned around sharply, looking for Celia and for a reason as to why this carriage had been prepared.

“All is prepared, Your Grace,” the housekeeper’s voice called from the doorway.

“Thank you.” Celia suddenly appeared.

She marched out of the house, dressed in a gown and pelisse, though it fluttered in the wind. She didn’t even flinch at that strong gust but pushed on, hurrying toward the carriage.

She was beautiful, her red hair barely contained by her updo. There was a fierceness in her expression, suggesting that wherever she was going, she was making this journey with determination.

A footman followed her out of the house, and she issued hurried instructions to him.

“We’ll depart at once,” Celia pleaded. “I can’t stay here anymore.”

“Of course, Your Grace.” He nodded and ran off, presumably to collect the driver.

She can’t stay? Is my home so awful to her now?

Keith felt like he had been kicked in the gut. He suddenly realized just how much it must have hurt her when he had left. It was this agony, this feeling that nothing could be right again in the world if she got in that carriage and rode away.

She reached for the carriage door, flinging it open. In her haste, it bounced off the wall, though she barely flinched in acknowledgment of the loud sound.

“Celia?” Keith called to her.

As she reached the bottom step, she spun around fast. The alarm on her face was obvious, her eyes wide. She even dropped her reticule, the material falling to the gravel with a soft thud.

As they stared at one another, Keith took in the sight of the carriage once again. There were so many cases strapped down to it that they had to be holding most of her clothes. He realized with horror where she was going.

“Ye were leaving? For good?”