Hold Your Breath 02 - Unmasking the Marquess (24 page)

The single sheet of vellum fluttered into her world, shattering the month of utter happiness she was immersed in.

A letter from her father.

A letter requesting a meeting.

Delivered to the door at the Charles Street townhouse Killian had just bought for the children, it was short. No explanation. No accusations. Just a simple request that she meet with him that afternoon.

Reanna immediately halted the workers bringing in furniture to the Charles Street house. Weeks of converting the spaces into many bedrooms were over, and all the house needed now was proper furniture. But Reanna needed stillness. Quiet. So she sent the workers home.

After an hour of sitting silently in an empty room to compose herself and work through the myriad of implications the letter set forth, Reanna managed to make her feet move and she walked to Killian’s—hers now as well—townhouse.

Killian’s study door open, Reanna stepped into the room, silently assessing him behind his massive walnut desk. Papers were strewn across the surface, and Killian’s eyes were immersed in a short stack before him. His eyebrows pulled together, she had seen that look on his face often, usually directed at her. The look of intense concentration.

She tempted herself for a moment with the thought of slipping out to see her father without telling Killian. She could go and come back and Killian would never know.

But if he found out…betrayal would be all he would see.

She wasn’t about to do that to him. He had finally and completely enveloped her into his life, and she wasn’t about to throw it away because of what she knew was going to be a difficult conversation.

With a slight shake, she stepped further into the near-empty room. “I see your new settee was delivered.” She sat down on the edge of the wine-red velvet cushions, palms testing the comfort.

Killian looked up, bright smile crossing his face as his eyes swept over her. “And this exact picture is what I was waiting to see. You sitting on it, the color a perfect contrast to set off your hair, your eyes.” His look turned ravenous. “You should know that aside from you sitting there, I do have other activities planned for that particular piece of furniture. Shake the armrest.”

Reanna reached out and grabbed the rounded wooden armrest, pulling on it. She looked up at him. “Sturdy.”

An indecent smile overtook his face.

Heat instantly flooded Reanna’s core, but she clamped down on it. Killian would be in no mood after he heard what she had to say. “I would think you would still be worn out from this morning.”

His eyebrow crooked. “Have you ever known me to be worn out?”

“No.” She tried to force a smile, but knew it didn’t reach her lips.

His eyes narrowed at her. “What is it? Something is upsetting you.”

She stood, pulling the note from her father from the apron at her waist. She walked to Killian’s desk, silently setting the vellum lightly in front of him.

It only took seconds for him to scan the letter. And in those seconds, she saw her whole world crumble with every twitch of Killian’s face. Disgust. Anger. Betrayal.

He looked up at her, brown eyes hard. “You are showing me this for a reason. Do you wish to meet with him?”

Not able to force words, she nodded.

Killian shot up, moving around the desk to her. “You do not know what he could do to you, Ree. You do not know the man he is.”

The lump in her throat broke free. “And you do not know the man I know him to be, Killian.”

He grabbed her upper arm, fingers digging into muscle. “Do not make me forbid it, Ree. Do not. I will not chance your safety.”

“Truly, Killian? Forbid? Are you going to lock me in a room as well? What sort of a man are you?”

“I am a man trying like hell to be worthy of you and—”

Her forefinger went over his lips, cutting his words. “I never wanted you to be a better man, Killian. I just wanted you to be a man that I could love. That could love me.”

His mouth clamped shut, his jaw twitching.

Reanna wedged her fingers under his grip on her arm, loosening his hold until she could pull his hand from her. But she kept her fingers entwined in his, trying to control her own fury that had exploded.

“Killian, you have given me more freedom than a wife dare ask of her husband. And what has happened, even with all that freedom? I am yours, Killian. Yours. I chose you above everything. In spite of everything. I chose to trust you. So I am asking you now. Trust me. He will not hurt me.”

“You do not know what he is capable of, Ree.”

She stepped in, closing the distance between them, her hand going along his jaw. “And seeing my father does not threaten anything between us.”

He dropped her hand, spinning from her, heaving as he walked over to the window, staring at the street below.

Reanna closed her eyes, bracing herself where she stood. “I have never asked you this, Killian, but I am now. The duel. Would you have killed my father?”

Minutes ticked by as she stared at Killian’s wide shoulders, breath held. He didn’t turn back to her.

“Yes.”

Reanna exhaled. “And today? If he were before you right now, and you had a pistol in your hand. What would you do?”

He looked over his shoulder at her. “Ree...no. Do not ask me…”

“I need to know, Killian. What would you do?”

“I would kill him.” His fingers rubbed his neck as he turned fully to her. “It is the truth, and I cannot deny it, nor apologize for it. My mother, my father—their deaths demand it. I can give no quarter to your father. I must honor what happened to my parents, Ree. Right—wrong—it is the only way I know how.”

Her breath cut into her lungs. The sharpness of it burned before she took an additional breath, steadying herself against his words. She gave a single, crisp nod. “I love you Killian, all of you. And if that comes with you…I hate it. I hate it…but I accept it. I have to.”

He closed his eyes, head to the coffered ceiling.

“But how can you wish me to accept you as you are, and not allow me to give the same margin to my own father? Am I to not accept him as he is? He has never done me harm, Killian. I have to trust in that.”

His eyes came down from the ceiling, pinning her. “Don’t go...please...stay.”

Her arms crossed over her stomach as she turned from him. She couldn’t be steadfast looking into his eyes. “I have to go, Killian. I know you do not understand, but he is my father, and regardless of what he has done, I love him.”

“I love you.”

Her head snapped to him. “What?”

“I love you.”

He had never spoken those words to her.

“Killian…no…please, not like this. That is unfair...don’t make me…”

“Stay. Stay, Ree.”

“Killian, my heart, my soul, you have them. Do not lose faith in that. But I have to go. I have to think.”

“So you will not see him?”

She bit her lip, the raw honesty making her voice rough. “I do not know. I am sorry, Killian. I have to go.” She turned, taking a heavy step to the door.

“Wait.” He walked over to the desk, pulling open the top drawer and grasping a sheet of vellum. He held it up to her.

Reanna recognized it immediately. The monogram at the top. Her handwriting. It was the last letter she wrote him from Holloton.

“You have to know, Ree, it was not you that lost faith. It was that I never allowed it. I never had it. I have kept this letter by me—all of them—since the night of your feet.”

He stepped around the desk to stand in front of her. “You did believe in our love—even if you convinced yourself you didn’t. You always have. If you see him—if you go—whatever he says to you. Believe in us. Come home to me.”

Reanna looked up at him, his face etched in pain, pleading. She wanted to reach out. To touch him. To promise the world to him. But she couldn’t move her arm. Couldn’t overcome the war going on in her heart.

Only her feet would move, and when they did, she closed her eyes to him, and walked out the door.

He made no motion to stop her.

~~~

She sat on the window seat in a second level room at the still empty Charles Street house, staring down at the street below. Carriages, carts, horses, and people streamed by in the sunlight, but her eyes saw very little of it.

She had sat in indecision for hours. And with that indecision, she had decidedly made a decision.

Two o’clock, the meeting time her father had requested, came and went, and Reanna sat on the window seat in the Charles Street house, not moving.

She sat, attempting to come to terms with the fact that Killian so had her, she wasn’t about to disappoint him. Wasn’t about to make him worry. Wasn’t about to make him question her loyalty. For that was what meeting with her father would mean to Killian. A betrayal. There was no way around it.

And she refused to have Killian think she would betray him. Not choose him. So she had to come to terms with the fact she would never see her father again.

Now she just had to go home and tell him.

A bustling form below moved to the front steps, catching Reanna’s eye. She recognized Miss Collier coming up to the door before she could knock.

Reanna stood and flew down the stairs. Miss Collier coming here could only mean something was wrong at the Brook Street house. She opened the door before Miss Collier could rap the knocker a second time.

“Miss Collier, what is wrong?”

The distress on Miss Collier’s face was obvious.

“Thank the heavens, you are here. I have looked everywhere for you. It be little Eddie, Lady Ana. He slid down the banister and crashed hard. The doc is there, but the boy keeps crying for you. I got this hack.” She pointed over her shoulder with her thumb.

“Quickly, then.” Reanna grabbed Miss Collier’s arm and hurried down the stairs to the waiting coach.

Reanna was in the hack, landing on the backward facing cushions before she realized she faced a dark figure shrunken into the back corner of the hack. She blinked hard at the sight, her eyes flying from the figure to Miss Collier, and back again.

“Father?” Her head swiveled to Miss Collier, who now stood on the coach step in front of the carriage door. “Miss Collier, I do not understand...what?”

Miss Collier shrugged her wide shoulders, and the distressed look on her face vanished. “I be doing the job I was hired to do, m’lady. With this, I be done with you and your brats.”

Reanna shook her head, trying to track what was happening. “Brats? But…”

Miss Collier stepped down from the carriage and closed the door.

The opposite carriage door opened, and another man jumped into the coach. Before Reanna could react, the carriage started to move.

“Father, what is this?” Reanna leaned forward, staring into the shadow at her father. His aging startled her. The deep lines in his face showed him to be much older than the last time she had seen him more than a year ago. Much of his hair was now gone, with a few white tufts still sprouting at the crown of his head.

She looked at the man next to him. He looked vaguely familiar.

The man driving the curricle. The one that had almost run her over. The gold tooth. “Mr. Nettle?”

“Pleased that you remember my name, Miss Halstead.”

“It is Lady Southfork.”

He shrugged, smirk on his face.

Her eyes shifted to her father. “Father, what is going on? Why?” She pointed at Nettle. “And you know Miss Collier?”

“I do, child. I did need to see you, and she was my guarantee in making that so.”

A chill ran down Reanna’s spine. Her brain had finally caught up with her discombobulation, and a sudden fear set into her chest. “Your guarantee? Father, please, tell me what is going on.”

“I need you to come with me, Reanna. I cannot have your refusal in doing so.”

“No. Not like this.” She grabbed the handle on the door. Damn the moving carriage, she was getting out of here.

A vise grip clamped onto her wrist, twisting it away from the handle.

“I did not want to do this the difficult way, child, but I will.”

“The difficult way?” Her eyes went wide.

“Yes.” Her father reached back and punched her.

~~~

Reanna slumped into the corner cushions of the coach, black to the world.

Halstead looked over at Nettle as he settled back on the bench. “The other issue. Is it taken care of?”

“Yes. He is down.”

Halstead settled his hands on his lap. “Good.” He turned and opened the curtain on the carriage, staring out at the passing townhouses, ignoring his other passenger.

“I don’t think I need to remind you, Halstead, but I want her broken,” Nettle said. “I have invested much in your plan, and I want her worth it. If she even utters his name, I don’t need to tell you what I would do to you. You are a dead man.”

Without a glance at Nettle, Halstead let the curtain drop into place, and sat back, staring across the carriage at his inert daughter.