Chapter Fourteen
Esme felt as if her heart were being wrung from her body as she watched Adam walking away from her. He wrestled with the little wooden door and disappeared from view, without so much as a backward glance.
And she could not blame him.
She had treated him despicably. All because she could not bear to tell him the truth and see the shock of sudden disappointment darkening the glow of affection in his gaze.
She pressed her fingers to her eyes, hoping to stem the tears that threatened to spill.
This was not supposed to happen.
She should not have kissed him, nor entreated him to return to her so she could kiss him again.
But such was the force of desire he ignited within her.
All reason and rationality had fled. She only wanted him, mind and body and soul.
Now that he had gone—nay, now that she had compelled him to leave—she felt more alone than ever in her life before.
Esme walked over to the fire and sank on her knees onto the thick rug spread before the hearth. She held her hands toward the flames, seeking some comfort from their warmth. But the heat seemed not to reach her. She was chilled through and could not stop trembling.
How could she move forward now?
Just days earlier, she had blithely considered a life without marriage.
Without men. She had even contemplated this future with something like relief.
But that was because she had not known what it was to stand in a man’s arms and believe she belonged there.
Had not known what it was to quiver at a man’s touch and long for his kisses.
To feel as if she was not whole without him by her side.
She gazed unseeingly into the burning embers of the fire and felt knowledge twist inside her.
I am falling in love with Adam.
This was the truth she had struggled to admit to herself. The reason Jonah’s poetry affected her so deeply.
And she dared hope that he loved her the same. She saw it in the way he looked at her; the way he held her, as if she were the most precious treasure.
But Adam thought her pure and honest and true. And she was not.
Esme hung her head, unable to prevent hot tears sliding down her cheeks. ’Twas all a bitter mess and there was no way out of it. If she told Adam the truth, she would ruin her image in his eyes and her family’s reputation, all in one swoop.
But she could not continue to lie to him. Not now.
Esme reached out to grasp the arm of the chair and used it to heave herself to her feet. She felt as drained and weary as an old woman.
Perchance things will look clearer, come the morn, she thought. But she did not believe it.
She jumped in fright when Jennifer cleared her throat. How long have I been standing in the shadows?
“Beg pardon, milady. But there’s a man here to see you.”
Esme put a hand to her heart, which was beating so quickly she feared it may fly from her chest. “A man?” she repeated stupidly.
“He says he knows you.” Jennifer avoided her gaze. “John brought him over and Agnes made him wait by the back door, but he said as how he knows you and we shouldn’t treat him so poor.”
A dreadful suspicion began to unfurl in Esme’s belly. She took a breath. “Did he give a name?”
“Aye, milady. He said he was Sir Crispin de Gough.”
Esme’s world tilted. She held onto the back of the chair and desperately hoped this was not really happening.
All the days I have waited.
’Twas cruel irony that he should arrive now.
“But he dinna look like no knight to me, milady,” Jennifer added in a low voice. “Should I fetch Adam?”
“Nay.” Her answer came too forcefully, and the housemaid flinched. “The hour is late,” Esme added quickly, modifying her tone. “And our visitor is correct. Sir Crispin de Gough is indeed known to me. You can show him in, Jennifer.”
Jennifer bobbed into a small curtsy and left Esme alone to frantically gather her composure.
She smoothed her hair as best she could; but there was no remedy for the turmoil of her heart.
The last time Crispin saw her, she had been bedecked in pearls and ribbons.
Now she wore a plain, practical gown, with no adornments.
But the biggest change was to Esme as a woman.
She was no longer na?ve. And her girlish giddiness had matured with self-reflection.
Moreover, she knew that she didn’t love Crispin. The pull she had once felt toward him was one of simple, base attraction, whipped into something more by the secrecy and intrigue that had heightened their clandestine meetings.
She had never loved Crispin.
And Crispin has never loved me.
The realization settled in her stomach to the same beat as the heavy, booted footsteps crossing the entrance hall.
Esme turned to face him, her hands neatly folded and her face composed.
Jennifer scurried ahead. “Sir Crispin de Gough, milady.”
But the servant had scarcely finished her announcement when Crispin strode past her and grasped Esme’s hands in his, dispatching his heavy satchel by their feet.
“I have come,” he announced.
For the smallest of moments, Esme’s heart picked up speed.
His nut-brown eyes were full of affection as he smiled down at her.
His chestnut curls, which she had so loved to run her fingers through, beckoned to her just as loudly as ever.
But his chiseled cheekbones gave him an appraising look, and his large hands gripped hers with a trace too much determination.
She looked down to see that his hands bore the mark of long days in the saddle. His fingers were stained, and his nails were dirty.
Esme extracted her hands with some difficulty. She would never again allow herself to be swept away by false promises.
“Crispin. I was hoping to see you some time before this.”
“I was delayed, terribly delayed. Events did not go to plan.” Rather than seek to renew their connection, Crispin began to pace up and down the great hall, tracking mud on the rugs in the process. He coughed and put a hand to his throat. “Can I have some wine, Esme? I am half-parched.”
She quite appreciated the distraction of pouring wine into the same goblet she had drank from earlier. Passing it to Crispin, he drank deeply and gestured for more.
This time, she took a good look at him whilst he was occupied with the wine.
His skin had lost its bronzed look, in fact he had dark circles around his eyes and his face, beneath the dust, was pale.
His movements were jerky and anxious. His smile, as he placed the goblet on the table and came to stand before here, was entirely insincere.
“My own Esme. ’Tis the memory of you that kept me going.”
Esme folded her arms. “Where exactly have you been?”
“’Tis of no consequence.” He placed his hands on her shoulders, making her wince at the weight he pressed upon her as well as the sourness of his breath. “What matters now is the future. You and I.”
Esme’s heart stilled.
I do not want that future.
He must have seen the hesitation in her face, for Crispin’s eyes quickly narrowed. “We are betrothed,” he said, dampening his lips with his tongue. “You are my faerie queen; the only woman I want to be with.”
Esme felt very calm. ’Twas almost as if she was watching this performance from afar. Two principal players stood amongst the low-burning candles in a hall that had already seen so much this night.
Crispin’s overtures did not affect her because she knew them to be false.
Now that she had observed true feeling and true emotion, from Adam, she could recognize the counterfeit. Though sparse and sober, Adam’s declarations came from a place of truth and honesty.
Crispin said much but meant little.
“I am no faerie queen,” she said. “Indeed, this very day I have been working in the kitchen.”
Crispin wrinkled his nose. “’Tis a blessing then, that I have come to save you from such a fate.”
Esme lifted her chin. The fire in the grate was merely smoldering now, but she no longer felt any chill. Indeed, resolution burned in her veins. She spoke clearly. “I do not need to be saved.”
A beat passed, during which she saw surprise and indecision race across Crispin’s chiseled features. “I am sure the days must have grown long and dull for you here, sweet Esme.”
She could not stand before him any longer.
She turned away and walked to the window seat, lowering herself onto the cushions despite the draught from the open shutters.
Now that some distance was between them, she could see a somewhat desperate slant to Crispin’s shoulders.
He held himself ready for battle, she realized, quelling a flicker of fear.
Surely, I have naught to fear from him.
“At first, they did,” she admitted. “But I have grown used to the quiet rhythm of life at Ember Hall.” Her mind skittered to Adam, but she could not allow herself to think of him now.
“But you must long to return to Wolvesley? With me? As man and wife?” Crispin’s questions fell like drumbeats into the echoing hall. He put his hands on his hips and waited for her answer.
She could only answer with the truth.
“I do not. I’m sorry, Crispin. Much has changed for me.”
He shook his head, almost disbelieving. “You would go back on your word? Break your promise to me?” He came to stand closer, and she saw a pulse flickering in his neck.
Esme took a deep breath, forcing herself to remain calm. Aye, she had given her word. But under circumstances that were extreme.
She rubbed at her temples, feeling her headache beginning to return. She had no wish to refer to that night. She would rather never talk of it again for the rest of her life.
“You accepted my ring, Esme.” Crispin’s voice was accusing.
“A ring made of straw,” she bit back.
“It does not matter what the ring is made of.” He was shouting now, his cheeks turning puce with rage. “In the eyes of the law, we became betrothed when you accepted that ring. In the eyes of the church, we became man and wife the moment you laid with me.”
She flinched toward the window, wounded by the fury in his eyes as much as his words.