The Secret Rose (29 page)

“I had never enjoyed the rounds of balls and parties, so it didn’t bother me not to reside in London. Besides, Mother needed me. Her pregnancy wasn’t easy. Perhaps it was her age. Perhaps it was payment for her sin.”

He grasped her shoulders. “You don’t believe that,” he argued, his tone harsh. “God doesn’t punish like that. Bringing a child into the world is a risk to a woman, at any age.”

She turned her face away from him and wiped at the renegade tear that had escaped. “I knew the minute the pains started the birth would be difficult. On the second day, when the babe still showed no signs of coming, I sent a message for Father to come. The doctor held little hope for either of them.”

She swallowed hard. “Mother died without ever seeing Mary Rose.”

“Did your father arrive before she died?”

Abigail wrapped her arms around her middle. She remembered the pain, the fear. The cold emptiness death leaves in its wake. “I sent word to him in London of Mother’s death, but he didn’t arrive until two weeks later. He was a shell of the man I’d known as my father. He stayed only long enough to issue orders for Mary Rose to be taken to the convent for the sisters to raise. He left for London without ever seeing her, and circulated the story that the child had been born weak and had died.”

She lifted her face, no longer caring that tears streamed down her cheeks. “If only he would have claimed Mary Rose as his own, but he couldn’t bring himself to accept Stephen’s child. Yet he couldn’t live with himself because he’d abandoned an innocent babe.

“Every day he became more withdrawn and frail. He no longer ate or slept. I didn’t think it possible for anyone to will himself to die, but I know now it is. I saw my father fade before my very eyes, until there was nothing I could do to save him.”

“This is what he meant by his greatest sin?” Ethan whispered, waiting for her to reply. “Or is there more?”

Abigail’s blood turned cold. “What more could there be?”

He took a step away from her. “I don’t know, Abby. But there is. Isn’t there?” He stared at her, his eyes like penetrating daggers, his frown an angry warning.

“Leave it be, Ethan. Please.”

“I can’t. There’s more. It’s written all over your face. You’re as frightened as an animal caught in a trap. What else are you keeping from me?”

She clenched her hands into fists, the blood pounding in her head, her heart thundering in her breast.

He leaned over her, his breath a soft whisper against her neck. “Don’t you see. I need you to share your secrets with me and trust that I’ll understand. I need you to trust me that much. We can’t survive if you don’t.”

She hung her head. “I can’t.”

She heard the long, slow hiss of his breath and watched him step away. His absence enveloped her like a cold wind wrapping around her. When he spoke, the soft edge he’d had to his voice was gone. She’d disappointed him, destroyed what he wanted there to be between them.

“What happened to Stephen after you found him with your mother? You talk as if he simply disappeared. Surely he didn’t just slink away? Surely he said something to you before he left? Made some attempt to make amends? Gave some excuse for what he’d done? I know he cared for you. He would have tried to win you back.”

“No. He cared nothing for me. He cared only for my dowry and the ships he knew I’d someday have.” She rose and walked away from him.

Ethan crossed the cabin in long, angry strides, standing so close she could smell the bayberry soap he’d used to bathe. His hands clamped on her shoulders, holding her steady, exhibiting the power he had over her. “All I want is for you to share your secrets. All of them. We can have no marriage with them hovering between us!”

She opened her mouth to tell him the rest, then closed it. What did she expect him to do once he knew? Forget what she’d done? Forgive her? She knew him too well. He could never do that.

“Abby, tell me,” he pleaded. His voice was rife with emotion. “Something more happened the night you found Stephen with your mother. I want to know what it is. The secret can’t stay between us.”

Abigail breathed in a huge gasp and turned her face away from him. Her heart was breaking, yet she couldn’t say the words to end her torture. With a vicious oath, Ethan released her and stepped back.

“Damn your secrets, Abby! I love you. But don’t you know we can have no marriage as long as you keep secrets? Do you care that little for me? For us? For what we just shared?”

God help her, but she wanted to tell him. She wanted to unburden her soul and beg his forgiveness. She wanted there to be nothing between them except giving, and sharing, and laughter, and comfort. Nothing except the special love they had for each other and for Mary Rose.

But how could she expect there to be anything but hatred once she told him she’d murdered his brother?

Abigail clamped her hands over her mouth. Each horrid detail of that night came back in stark reality. She remembered Stephen’s hands tearing at her clothes, touching her even though she did not want to be touched. Then, she remembered holding the rock in her hand—as if its falling loose was a sign for her to save herself—lifting the rock and bringing it down hard.

Stephen rolled off her, his unconscious body sprawled out on the cold ground, blood oozing from where she’d hit him. She hadn’t killed him, but he was hurt. With care, he would have survived.

If only her father hadn’t come home.

Her stomach still clenched and wanted to revolt. She remembered Stephen struggling to protect himself from her father’s lethal blows. She could still see her father’s insane anger as he hit him again and again.

Thankfully, Palmsworth came. He pulled her father away from Stephen’s battered body and forced her father into the house. A short while later, the butler returned, and together they put Stephen in a carriage and took him to London.

She thought he would die before they reached the docks, but miraculously he did not. With Fenny’s help, they found a ship leaving London at dawn. She knew that when Stephen died, her father would be tried for murder. Stephen was, after all, the Earl of Burnhaven. A very powerful name in London.

That had been nearly two years ago. If Stephen had lived, he would have returned long before now. The ship they’d put Stephen on returned a year later. But Stephen hadn’t been aboard her. No one knew anything about him. That was because he was dead. She and her father had killed him.

Abigail looked up into Ethan’s anxious face. This was the moment that would decide their future. Oh, how she loved him. She would give anything to be able to tell him what she’d done and know he would forgive her. But he wouldn’t.

There was a heaviness inside her breast that wouldn’t go away. She hurt unlike she ever thought it possible to hurt, even more than when Stephen had betrayed her. She knew the look of revulsion that would appear on Ethan’s face when he knew what she’d done. It would be the final image she’d be left with.

“Can’t you just accept that it’s better you do not know more?” she asked, her voice shaking, her lips trembling, huge tears streaming down her cheeks.

“No,” he whispered. “Please, Abby. Trust me enough to forgive you anything, no matter how bad.”

She stared at him, her look pleading for him to understand. “I can’t,” she whispered.

His gaze turned hard. With an angry sigh, he turned away from her and left the cabin.

Abigail clutched her hands to her breast. The pain inside was greater than she could bear. The sense of loss even greater. How could she go on without him?

She didn’t think it was possible.

. . .

Abigail lay in Ethan’s bed. The muted rays of an overcast moon streamed through the porthole above his desk, shrouding the cabin with soft gossamer filaments. It had been two days since the storm had blown them far off course. Two days since he’d held her in his arms and kissed her. Two days since he’d made her his wife.

She didn’t know how she would survive one more.

The air between them sparked with a tension that made the earlier strain seem minor and inconsequential. The pull that drew them toward each other was too powerful to fight. How had she let herself fall so desperately in love with him? If only it were possible for him to forgive what she’d done.

She walked to the porthole and leaned her shoulder against the smooth oak planking on the wall. She closed her eyes and listened to the gentle waves softly slapping against the side of the
Emerald Gold
. The sound lulled her thoughts to dream of a fairy tale existence where there was no past. Only a future with Ethan, and her, and Mary Rose.

The door to the cabin opened, and she slowly turned. She knew he’d be standing there before she actually saw him. The soft light from the lantern in the corridor outlined his physique, making him appear more perfect than she remembered.

“It’s late. You should be asleep.” His voice was soft and husky, his tone tortured with a strange weariness.

She understood it. She felt it, too.

He stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. Her heart beat faster with each step he took closer. She opened her mouth to speak, but all that came out was a pathetically feeble excuse that explained nothing. That explained it all. “I couldn’t sleep.”

He stopped so close she could feel his warm breath whisper against her. “Neither could I.”

He lifted his hands and let them skim ever so lightly the tender flesh at her wrists, then slowly up to the rounded curve at her shoulders. Her body sang in answer, blood rushing to her head, her breaths racing with labored urgency.

“Ethan, please,” she said on a gasp. “Don’t put us through such torture. Nothing has changed.”

He lifted one hand and ran the back of his fingers down her cheek. “Will you answer me one question?”

She turned her face from him, afraid what he wanted to know.

“Just one, Abby. Then I’ll never ask anything from you again.”

She turned back to him, knowing she owed him that much. As long as he did not want to know what had happened to Stephen. She looked into his eyes, and a heavy hand pressed against her heart. “One question, Ethan.”

“The truth?”

She nodded.

“Do you love me?”

The air caught in her chest. How could he ask her that? Didn’t he already know?

“Do you love me?” he repeated. “I need to know.”

She felt a wetness fill her eyes, then one hot tear ran down her cheek. “With all my heart.”

He lowered his head. His forehead pressed against hers. His strong, sturdy fingers clasped around her neck. His thumbs wiped the wetness from her cheeks. “Then that will be enough. I can’t live another day without you. I’ll face whatever you’ve chosen to keep from me when the time comes.”

She clasped her hands against his cheeks, holding him in the palms of her hands. “I wish I were stronger, but I’m too great a coward. It’s easier to keep my secret and pretend I’ll never lose you than to tell you my secret and know you’ll be lost to me forever.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I wish I didn’t.” Their eyes locked, the hunger obvious to each, their need blatant. Their desire was like a raging fire sweeping through dry brush. “Kiss me,” she said, her voice husky and raw. “Love me. At least for this little while.”

Abigail brought Ethan’s face down to meet hers, his lips a whisper’s edge above her. He kissed her lightly, then kissed her again with a desperation that matched what she felt. She moved her hands, raking her fingers through his thick, satiny hair, holding him close.

She couldn’t bring him near enough.

He lifted her in his arms and carried her to the bed. He lay down atop her, and she welcomed him with open arms. For as long as she could, she would take the love he offered. Once he discovered what she’d done, she would have nothing except these memories to fill her long, lonely nights.

Ethan stood at the starboard side of the
Emerald Gold
and watched as London came into view. They would stay here until Captain Parker returned with the
Abigail Rose
, then Ethan would turn over the running of Langdon Shipping to him, and he and Abby and Mary Rose would go to Windswept Manor.

He was filled with an overwhelming sense of pride each time he thought of his home. It was where he belonged. It was where he and Abby and Mary Rose would make their home.

Nowhere were the greens more vibrant, the reds more vivid, or the yellows warmer. Nowhere was the sky bluer or the clouds whiter. He would never tire of it. He was certain Abby would love it as much as he did.

He turned as Abby made her way across the deck with little Mary Rose. Abigail’s face glowed with happiness, her cheeks flushed with the rosy tint of a woman well loved.

The blood raced hotter through his veins as he remembered the nights they’d spent in each other’s arms. The way she gave herself to him with complete and total abandon. If Stephen had been a part of her life once, Ethan was sure he wasn’t any longer. And whatever her last secret was, it couldn’t be horrible enough to affect the way they felt about each other.

When they reached him, he wrapped his arm around Abigail’s shoulder and pulled them close to him. He needed to touch her. Needed to have her close to him. She lifted her chin and looked at him. The unmasked adoration in her eyes was plain for him to see.

He brought his mouth down on hers and kissed her again. “I love you,” he whispered.

“And I—”

“Excuse me,” Mac’s deep voice said from behind them. “I hate to break up such a stimulating conversation, but we’re ready to dock. What are your plans?”

Ethan turned to face his longtime friend and partner. “I’m going to take Abby to Langdon House. I want you to find out what you can about the
Abigail Rose
. As soon as Captain Parker docks and the cargo of tea is unloaded, we’re going take care of Langdon Shipping, then leave London for Windswept Manor.”

The smile on Mac’s face told Ethan his friend was as anxious to get home as he was.

“I’ll find out what I can and let you know. I’ll bring the bill of lading to you as soon as we get the
Emerald Gold
unloaded. I shouldn’t be long. Then we can celebrate your wedding and a successful voyage properly.”