The Falcon and the Sparrow (32 page)

And at that moment, he knew.

He knew that he loved her.

Dominique folded herself into the admiral’s strength. His heart beat strong and quick against her cheek as she lay upon the fast rise and fall of his chest. Spice and tobacco tickled her nose. She drank in the scent like medicine and sank into him, releasing all the fears, all the tensions, all the nightmares of the past month. Savoring his strength and protection, she allowed her tears to flow unabashedly.

She had thought all was lost. Though she had struggled against Lord Markham with all her strength, he was far too powerful. When he had forced her against the wall, his brandy-drenched breath spewing over her in a poisonous cloud, his hands groping in places no man had ever touched, she had resigned herself to her fate. Raw terror had begun to numb her senses to protect her from what was surely to come. Then she had heard the door open, and in walked the admiral.

The look on his face, the absolute fury of it, resurged in her mind. He had come for her. He had been concerned enough to seek her. But how had he found her? it did not matter. He was here. He had saved her virtue. And as she nestled against him, she thought of no place she would rather be. “Thank you, Admiral,” she whispered into his black waistcoat.

Grabbing her shoulders, he pushed her back from him and peered down at her, concern flickering in his eyes. “Did he hurt you?”

Dominique shook her head and looked down, suddenly ashamed of the whole incident. Grabbing her torn gown, she held the severed pieces together over her exposed undergarments.

“I believe I have already seen your petticoats.” Chase’s chuckle settled over her like a warm blanket. He brushed a lock of her hair from her cheek and caressed her skin with his thumb.

Heat flushed over Dominique. Her heart jumped. She gazed up at him, overcome by the intense emotion she saw in his eyes. He had lowered his shield once again. Behind it waited a man of great
strength, as well as great kindness.

His gaze shifted to her lips, and she remembered their kiss, the warmth of his mouth on hers, the feel of his breath on her cheek, his stubbled jaw rubbing against hers, and the new sensations that had burned within her. Confusion twisted around her heart. Her breath quickened. What was she doing? God help her, she wanted the admiral to kiss her again. She wanted to feel his arms around her. She wanted to spend time with him, to get to know him, to fill that empty place within him.

But she couldn’t.

She could never allow herself to love this man. She could never allow him to express the tenderness now burning in his gaze—a tenderness that made her weak in the knees and frightened her at the same time. For in a week she would betray him.

Dropping her gaze, she took a step back. “We should go.”

“Indeed. You have been through quite a bit this evening.” He grabbed his topcoat and threw it over her shoulders, buttoning it down the front. “This should cover your gown until we can pass through the crowds.”

Dominique swallowed a burst of emotion. The kindness of his protective gesture made what she had to do much more difficult.

He extended his arm and gave her a roguish grin that melted her heart. “Never fear, milady. I shall have you safe and sound at home in no time.”

“Admiral—” Dominique hesitated, feeling suddenly nauseated. She glanced up at Chase and forced out the rest of her sentence, each word stabbing her heart as it passed through her lips. “If you don’t mind, I would prefer Mr. Atherton escort me home.”

D
ominique dropped the spade into the black soil and began hacking away at the clumps of hardened dirt. The scent of fresh earth wafted over her, coupled with the fragrance of sweet roses from a large bush lodged in the corner of the tiny yard. Cracked pots filled with withered plants lined the gravel pathway, and a weed-infested flower bed spread out toward the kitchen door as if begging for help. Dominique sighed and brushed her hair from her face. The tiny clearing at the back of the house was yet one more part of the Randal home that had suffered in Melody’s absence.

“You really do not have to do this, miss.” Larena sat on a carved stone bench pressed against the back wall, holding small pouches of herb seeds on her lap. “ ’Tis the scullery maid’s job.”

A horse neighed from over the brick wall that barricaded them from the stables and carriage houses beyond.

“I know ’tis not proper, Larena, but I want to teach William how to plant seeds and inform him of the importance of herbs.” Dominique stopped to catch her breath, realizing she had not worked outdoors in quite a while—not since she had helped her mother tend to their garden in Portsmouth.

“When do I get to help you, Miss Dawson?” William’s bright blue eyes sped to hers as he crouched beside the square patch of dirt.

Dominique gazed at the sundial littered with leaves, then up at the sun, now nearly halfway across the sky, and wondered why
on the one day she had decided to work outside, the ever-present veil of fog had gone on holiday. Wiping the perspiration off her forehead with her sleeve, she resumed her task.

“You see, William, the soil must first be prepared by loosening and sifting it before we plant the seeds. That is what you are going to do.” She gave him a look of proud excitement. “The most important part.”

William grinned, his chubby cheeks dimpling as he inched closer to the raised garden.

“Do not fall in the mud, William,” Larena warned, “or Mrs. Hensworth will turn me into a goose for dinner.”

“A goose?” William giggled, and Dominique could not help but smile.

She had decided to teach William as much as she could about life, literature, music, and the love of God before she left him—as much as any six-year-old could absorb, that is.

Left him.

Sorrow burned in her throat. She glanced down at the boy as he dipped a finger in the dirt a few feet away and examined the globs that clung to his skin, then looked up at her with that mischievous grin that reminded her so much of his father. She knew without a doubt that she would leave a large part of her heart behind with William.

And with the admiral.

Chop. Chop. Chop. She slashed at the soil, wishing with each forceful blow that she was slicing into herself. For two days she had wallowed in self-loathing over what she had been forced to say to the admiral that night at the Drury. After Mr. Atherton had escorted her home, she had collapsed into bed and wept until morning, wept not just for the frightening meeting with the Frenchman, not just for Lord Markham’s terrifying assault—the thought of which still sent her trembling—but for the look on the admiral’s face when she had told him she preferred Mr. Atherton to accompany her home.

She could not dispel the vision from her mind. His smile had instantly fled from his lips, his strong cheeks had sunk inward, and
his jaw had hardened into a tight mass of twitching muscles. For a second, she thought she saw pain burn within his eyes before he erected the familiar cold shield and agreed to her request without a trace of emotion in his voice.

At that moment, her heart had crumbled into a million pieces, and she was not sure it would ever come back together again.

She had remained in bed the entire next day, excusing herself with complaints of a headache, but truth be told, she had hoped to avoid an encounter with the admiral. Now that it was Monday, she could rest assured that he would be gone most of the day at the Admiralty—and for the remainder of the week, for that matter. Only the evenings would present some difficulty, but Dominique felt confident she could find enough reasons to excuse herself from attending dinner and keep to her room as much as possible. Surely the admiral would not protest after she had spurned his affections so vehemently.

It was not just for him that she hoped to avoid any contact. Truthfully, she did not think she could handle gazing into those brown eyes, not only because of the pain she had caused that might still be lingering there, but because she did not think she would be able to resist him if he opened himself up to her again. She could no longer deny that her affections for the admiral had blossomed and were nigh to a point where they began to smother her reason. And her reason must remain intact—for Marcel’s sake.

In less than a week, she would see her brother again, and they could begin their life anew. In the meantime, she must avoid the admiral at all costs, for if fear of her predicament did not kill her, if shame at her betrayal did not, then surely her broken heart would.

She slashed the soil again and again.
Father, why have You put me here—to break everyone’s heart, including my own? Why am I so weak, so useless?

“I believe you have killed it, Miss Dawson.” Larena snickered behind her.

Dominique shook the morbid thoughts from her head and stared down at the mutilated soil. “Well, yes. Indeed. It does appear so.”

William chuckled. “Is it my turn now?”

“Absolutely.” Dominique smiled.

The boy gazed up at her, but his eyes suddenly shifted above her head and brightened. “ ’Tis Father!” He waved his plump little hand with exuberance.

Dominique dared to glance over her shoulder. Up above them, behind the french doors of the morning room, stood the admiral, looking quite dashing in his blue navy coat. He did not wave, nor did he smile. Dominique’s heart lurched in her chest nonetheless.

She darted her gaze forward. What was he doing home? Warmth flamed up her neck and onto her face, both at his intense perusal and at the memory of being in his arms the last time she had seen him.

“Why, miss. You don’t look well.” Larena giggled. “ ’Tis some grand effect the man has on you, I would say.”

“Sacre bleu, Larena. ’Tis the heat is all.”

William’s gaze shifted between Larena and Dominique. “Do you like my father, Miss Dawson?”

Dominique froze, unsure of how to answer the young boy’s bold question, then decided on the truth. “Of course I do, William. I like him very much.”

Chase took a puff of his cheroot and exhaled the sweet, pungent smoke in a cloud that obscured his view. He waved it aside, not wanting to lose for a moment the vision of Miss Dawson and his son below.

“What are you staring at?” Katharine lifted her skirts and stormed to the window.

“Of all the…Mercy me, will you look at her? Why, she is a filthy mess. Upon my word, that is no way for a lady to behave. Do not say I did not warn you, Chase.”

“Personally, I find it quite charming. A woman unafraid to get her hands dirty. Very refreshing, indeed.”

“You cannot be serious.” Katharine snorted. “Not after all that she has done.”

“Do remind me, sister—just what, pray tell, has she done?” Chase cocked a brow in her direction but quickly returned his gaze to the garden below. He watched as Miss Dawson knelt on the stone pathway and took William’s hand in hers, then gently helped him poke a hole in the dirt and drop a seed therein. The boy’s wide smile and beaming admiration as he looked at Miss Dawson sent a flurry of emotions through Chase: adoration, appreciation, and a deeply embedded pain. He rubbed his heart as if he could ease away his agony, but to no avail. He had a feeling the pain of her rejection would never subside and would indeed linger within his chest year after year right alongside the pain of Melody’s death. He turned toward his sister. “I have not seen a shred of your supposed evidence against Miss Dawson.”