Chapter 10 #2
The Vicarage, Little Valentine, 25th January 1816
Izzy roused herself from bed with difficulty.
Not that she’d been asleep. Her room was icy, for Polly had been busy last night and she had meant to make up the fire herself, but had forgotten.
Throwing herself down on the bed and weeping had been the only thing on her mind, and now, as she shivered in the freezing dark, she cursed Boreas for that too.
Her mind had been tangled up with everything he had made her feel.
For a short while she had felt safe in his arms, making her feel as if he had found something of great value.
He had treated her with such tenderness, though she had been aware of the force of his desire, of how hard he held himself in check.
And then it had all changed. In the space of a few moments, he had become hard and cruel and had destroyed her foolish imaginings.
She put her glasses on and then padded over to the fire, trying to coax it back to life as she berated herself for the hundredth time.
Well, what had she expected? He might look a romantic figure, with that sinfully handsome face and pale gold hair.
Yet he was a smuggler, a man who lived outside the law, trusting no one.
The notion that he had been an honourable man was just that, an idea, an image that she had plucked from thin air based on nothing more than a few pretty words.
She might not believe Lord Alveston’s words on the subject, but Boreas was no gentleman, no matter that was what folk called the smugglers.
“He’ll be gone soon.” Izzy said the words out loud, meaning for them to give her courage, but her throat tightened, and she forced herself to remember all the horrid things he’d said to her.
Anger stiffened her spine, and she let out a breath.
She was glad. Once he was gone, she would be her old self again.
It wasn’t like her life was dull. It would be easy enough to forget him.
With hands unsteady from fatigue and anxiety, she lit a candle and dressed with haste, knowing there was not long before one of the children woke and Mrs Mabbs would be up and about.
Polly would arrive next to make up the fires, with Mrs Adie not far behind her.
Though he was out of danger, she suspected Boreas was not half so mended as he seemed to think.
Getting him down two sets of stairs and out of the house with no one the wiser would not be easy.
With mingled reluctance and pleasure, she slid the ring he had given her onto her finger.
She would need to take it with her to visit the blacksmith and she did not want to risk losing it by putting it in a pocket.
It was a lovely thing, not half so big and gaudy as the others he wore, and just fit her largest finger.
She turned it this way and that, letting the jewel catch the light.
With regret, she knew it would always remind her of the way his eyes sparkled with wickedness.
Carrying the candle, she tiptoed out of her room and opened the attic door.
She paused for a long moment, gathering the nerve to face him again.
That she may have to help him dress, to get far too close to that hard, masculine body, made her nerves leap.
Yet whilst she dreaded it, a small, treacherous piece of her heart still longed to see him.
But then her heart was an idiot and no judge of character, as had been proven beyond doubt.
Steeling herself, she put up her chin and went up the stairs.
To her relief, he was dressed, if somewhat haphazardly. He nodded at her, all business, and got to his feet, using the rafters to haul himself up. She heard his breath catch, and even in the candlelight she could see he looked grey with pain and fatigue.
“You’re not well enough to leave,” she told him, though she hardly wanted him to stay now. She didn’t.
“I can’t stay.” There was a hard edge to the words, a finality there was no arguing with.
Instead, she held out a slip of paper to him. He took it, looking at it curiously.
“It’s the recipe for the poultice I’ve been using. You’re far from healed and if you don’t keep that wound clean, you’ll get another infection and another fever.”
And I won’t be there to save you—she didn’t say, though the words hung in the air between them.
He nodded, tucking the paper into his coat pocket.
Izzy walked ahead of him to the stairs, holding the candle to light his way as he moved down them, step by step, painfully slow, like he had aged a hundred years in the short time he’d been here.
Izzy closed the attic door, and they carried on, each step punctuated by the rapid dance her heart was performing.
They were close to the top of the stairs when he gave a smothered sound of pain, clutching at his side.
His eyes were squeezed shut, his jaw rigid.
Angry as she was, Izzy was far from heartless.
She went to him, sliding her arm about him to shore him up.
He settled his arm across her shoulders, a warm weight that made her shiver as she remembered the way he had held her.
Don’t think of it.
He let out a shaky breath, his eyes flicking open and meeting hers. For a long moment he gazed at her, the candlelight reflected in his eyes, telling lies, making her believe that was regret she saw there, that he cared after all.
“Ready?” she asked, refusing to be taken in a second time.
He nodded, and they moved on again. She felt every step, knew the pain was intolerable from the tension thrumming through him, yet he said nothing, taking each step with quiet deliberation until they got to the entrance hall.
She let him go then, and he leaned against the wall.
He looked as though he might be sick, or even pass out.
“You need to rest.” It was a pointless thing to say. What was he to do, sit in the parlour and wait for everyone to come down to breakfast as if he’d just popped in for a cup of tea?
“I’ll be right. Just needed a minute,” he told her. He pushed off the wall, his sensuous mouth set in a grim line as he endured the pain.
They made it to the back door and, when Izzy closed it behind her, she felt she might breathe again. Icy air filled her lungs, and she relished the cleansing cold, willing it to rid her of all the cloying emotion that cleaved to her. Yet he was far from safe, and she knew it.
The first glimmer of daylight was visible on the horizon as she led him through the garden to the back gate that let out onto Winsham Woods.
There had been a frost overnight, and the grass crunched under their feet, her skin prickling with cold.
In the dense hedgerow that edged this wilder part of the garden, something small darted through the undergrowth, running for safety.
Boreas opened the gate and went through it, but when she went to follow, he closed it again, keeping her on the other side.
“I’ll leave you here,” he told her. “I already owe you a debt I cannot repay, and I’ll not worsen matters by putting you in any further danger. Eddie will be at work by daybreak. Go to him as early as you can, and you’ll be done with me. You need not worry that I’ll trouble you again.”
“Very well.”
She didn’t know what else to say. Her heart was a tangle of fury and regret, demands to know why he had treated her with such contempt rising to her tongue, but she swallowed them down.
She had made a fool of herself, yes, but she was hardly the first girl to lose her head over a handsome fellow.
There was no reason to make things worse by enacting a Cheltenham tragedy for his entertainment.
She waited, expecting him to give her a nod and walk off into the darkness but he hesitated.
“Miss Honey.”
“That’s Miss Honeywell,” she corrected, her voice curt.
He smiled then, his soft huff of laughter barely audible as a chill breeze rustled the dead leaves around them. “Quite so. I thank you, Miss Honeywell, for all that you’ve done for me. I promise you, I know how little I deserved it. Do yourself a favour, sweetheart, and stay away from smugglers.”
The little endearment sent a dart of pain stabbing at her heart, but she let it go, knowing the words rose to his lips too easily. So, she said nothing, watching as he touched the brim of his hat respectfully and disappeared into the gloom of the woods.
Izzy stood there for a long moment, struggling against the desire to call him back, to ask him not to leave her feeling so utterly wretched, so humiliated, but that was scarcely going to help matters. So, she turned on her heel and walked back to the house.