Chapter 7
SEVEN
Breakfast leaves me feeling unsettled. Maybe it’s the contagious fever. Or the rancid butter. But I’m in desperate need of a walk. I exit the house through the kitchen door and step out into a stone patio.
The morning sun cuts through the fog, revealing formal gardens that stretch toward a line of trees. But a distant roar draws me forward, making my chest vibrate. I can’t see any signs of the ocean, but it calls like a siren song.
I follow a path through the gardens, past hedges trimmed into perfect geometric shapes that remind me of prison bars. With each step, the air grows saltier, and the roar gets louder until it drowns out my thoughts.
The path leads me through a gap in the hedges, and before I know it, I’m standing at the edge of the world.
I had no idea Rochester Manor had its own cliff.
Black rock drops away beneath my feet, plunging down to an impossible drop.
At the bottom, white foam crashes against jagged stones, making my insides lurch.
The wind whips my hair across my face, carrying the taste of salt and something wilder. It almost reminds me of freedom.
Inhaling the sea breeze, I inch closer to the ledge until my toes hang over empty air. One step. That’s all it would take.
The waves below are relentless, smashing against the rocks with a pulse-quickening violence. They pound the stone over and over, never stopping, never giving up. Like they’re trying to tear the island apart.
Who would have thought I’d end up on the edge of the world? Who would have thought I’d have to run a second time?
The thought lands with a sting. When I was sixteen, I thought escaping Brother Matthew’s house would lead me to true happiness.
The kind Mom and Dad said was full of sin.
Back then, it didn’t matter that I was leaving everyone behind.
Or that certain death awaited me if I ever returned.
I pictured freedom, adventure, even love.
My first few months in Beaumont City were magical. Sure, I had to entertain a bunch of men, but being a sugar baby was a thousand times better than being a wife. I thought I’d made a fresh start.
But I’m back where I started. Hiding in a stranger’s house, jumping at shadows, with yet another identity.
The wind gusts harder, and I wrap my arms around my middle to stave off the chill. Down below, something dark bobs in the foam, getting thrashed back and forth by the waves. It could be driftwood. Could be seaweed.
Could be a body, like the one I left behind.
I lean forward, trying to get a better look. The waves grab the object, slam it into the rocks, then drag it back out to sea before hurling it forward again. After a few rounds, it disappears beneath the water.
My breath hitches. Would it be so bad? To just let the sea take me?
Gil’s face flashes through my mind. How he looked at me like I was garbage after his boss threw me out of the mansion. How he chose them over me again and again despite his sweet words.
I take a shaky step forward, almost mesmerized by the ocean. Maybe I’d be better off down there with the rocks and waves. Then I wouldn’t have to keep running, keep lying, keep looking over my shoulder.
“What are you doing?”
The voice cuts through my thoughts like a blade. I whirl around, my heart slamming against my sternum.
Edward Rochester stands in the gap between the hedges, his hands clasped behind his back.
Sunlight catches the silver at his temples, contrasting with his dark eyes.
He stares at me with an intensity that makes my mouth go dry.
The man is even more devastating in the daylight—sharp angles and masculine grace wrapped in a tailored suit.
My breath quickens, partly from the shock of seeing him here. Mostly from how his features look carved from marble.
“I was just...” My tongue darts out to wet my lips, and his gaze follows the movement. “Just looking at the view.”
“I know what you were doing.”
Fear punches me in the gut. My fingers go numb. Has he found out about the cop already?
“What do you mean?” The words tumble out in a panicked rush.
He takes a step closer, and the breeze carries his scent. It’s the kind of expensive cologne that once made my knees go weak. “I stood at this very ledge when my wife died, wanting to smash my head on those rocks and end it all.”
“No.” I shake my head, trying to deny what he’s suggesting, but he raises a hand and offers me a gentle smile.
“Grief makes us all consider things we shouldn’t. I assure you, there’s no judgment.”
My shoulders sag with relief. I don’t even know why the first thing I thought about was him discovering my secret. “How did you...” I swallow hard, trying to find my voice. “How did you cope with losing your wife?”
Something flickers across his features. It’s a shadow deeper than pain. “Celine wouldn’t have wanted me to grieve forever. She once told me that time can heal even the most shattered heart.”
He places a hand over his chest. My pulse jumps. It’s the exact same gesture the masked man made last night in the garden. I stiffen, too frazzled to work out what it means.
Without thinking about it, I also place a palm over my chest. “Does grief ever get better?”
The smile he gives me is wistful, warm, even welcoming. “After all this time, I’m finally ready for love.”
My heart skips several beats. The way he’s looking at me makes heat pool low in my belly, causes me to forget why I came to this cliff. Surely, he can’t be talking about me?
“Come away from that ledge.” He offers me the crook of his elbow.
I’m mesmerized. Mesmerized by his authority, the way his muscles strain against his jacket sleeve, the promise in his dark eyes. I step away from the cliff’s edge and slip my arm through his.
He’s tall enough that I have to tilt my head back to look at his face. When I do, I find the tension melting from his features, giving way to relief.
We walk back toward the gardens in silence, my arm tucked against his side.
Heat rolls off his hard body through the fabric, making my head spin.
I would bet my last casino chip that beneath the gentlemanly exterior, beneath that strong physique, beats the heart of a man who could ruin me in all the right ways.
As we pass the end of the hedges, he asks, “What brought you to such a remote estate?”
Panic claws up my throat. Shit. I thought we’d moved past this subject. I force myself to breathe, to think. “The job prospects looked good.”
He chuckles, a rich sound that vibrates through his chest. “It’s rare for a young woman your age to leave the bustle of Beaumont City for Helsing Island.”
And he would have a point. Nobody in their prime would leave a vibrant metropolis for a backwater.
“Bad breakup,” I mutter, keeping my eyes fixed on the stone path.
When he stops walking, it takes every effort to keep me from tripping over my feet. I gaze up to find his features grave.
“Did the man in question hurt you?”
I squirm, my insides writhing like snakes. Gil never laid a hand on me, but his treachery hurt worse than Brother Matthew’s fists.
“It was more like a betrayal,” I murmur.
He nods, his dark gaze boring into my soul. “And is he still in the picture?”
“Absolutely not,” I say, meaning every word.
Mr. Rochester’s eyebrows rise. “Are you still in love with this man?”
“No.” The word comes out as a snarl.
Features lightening, his lips quirk into a pleased smile. “And you came here for a second chance?”
“Something like that.” I glance away, not trusting myself to speak. I can’t exactly tell him I came here because I’m wanted for murder. That would probably make him some kind of accomplice.
“What happened to your wife?” I peer at him through my lashes, desperate to change the subject.
“She died in childbirth.” He continues walking.
“I’m so sorry,” I say, stumbling to keep up.
He sighs, a sound that comes straight from the heart. “At the time, I felt utterly betrayed. We’d sworn to love and cherish each other forever. Then she left me alone.”
The pain in his voice is so raw, so real that my heart aches for his loss.
It reminds me so much of Gil’s abandonment.
And the gut-wrenching betrayal I felt the moment I realized Brother Matthew wanted me for more than just babysitting.
We fall silent, walking down the path together in a shared understanding of loss and broken promises. Already like kindred spirits.
But I can’t have a man I find attractive associate me with his dead wife. Or with grief. So I scramble for whatever I can say to shake off this somber mood.
“What is Adele like?” I blurt.
When he looks at me again, his whole demeanor brightens. “She’s my pride and joy. Beautiful blonde ringlets, crystal blue eyes, and a smile brighter than the sun. You will adore her.”
My chest unfurls with warmth, melting away my lingering doubts. It doesn’t matter so much that my charge has a contagious disease or the housekeeper is creepy. Even last night’s masked man doesn’t seem so strange.
“How old is she?” I ask with a smile.
“She just turned five.”
“I can’t wait to meet her,” I reply, already picturing myself with a stepdaughter instead of Brother Matthew’s sons.
“Adele is excited to finally have female company,” he says.
Something in his tone makes me wonder if he’s talking about himself. I peer up at him through my lashes, finding him gazing down at me with an intensity that makes my stomach flip.
“Did you have much of a social life in Beaumont City?” he asks as we reach the house.
I think about the nightclubs and casinos, the cigar bars and hotel rooms. The endless stream of men who paid for my company.
“Not really,” I mutter.
He raises his brows. “A beautiful girl like you would have been inundated with dates.”
Heat crawls up my neck. “I actually liked the quiet life.”
Pausing at the doorway, he places a hand on my shoulder, making me meet his dark eyes. Warmth shines in his handsome face, shadowed with something like longing. “Won’t you find Rochester Manor boring?”
It takes every ounce of willpower to tear my gaze away from him and let it survey the house.
I drink in its imposing facade, dark windows, and the ivy crawling up the walls.
Any other time, I would find it creepy, perhaps even terrifying.
But with Mr. Rochester here, it almost feels like my first safe haven since everything went to hell.
“This place is like a sanctuary,” I say.
He cocks his head. “Why?”
My gut heaves. Damn it. I said too much. My mind whirs, struggling to reply. How the hell do I explain without giving myself away?
“What are you hiding?” he asks, his brow furrowing.
I shake my head. “Who, me? Nothing?”
“You have secrets.”
“No, of course not—”
“Because I have to know for Adele’s sake. Will my little girl’s heart be safe with you?”
I inhale a sharp breath. The vulnerability in his voice tells me he’s worried about his own heart. It’s wishful thinking, even though my cheeks bloom with warmth. But I have to say something to hold his interest.
“My last relationship was abusive,” I say.
It’s not complete bullshit, since my marriage to Brother Matthew was beyond brutal. And Gil might have been perfect until he switched, but the way he discarded me was its own kind of cruelty. “A place like this will be a sanctuary from what I escaped.”
His expression lightens with hope. “Could you ever see this place as your home?”
The yearning in his voice makes my pulse quicken.
“God, yes,” I say, my voice breathy.
Mr. Rochester’s hand on my shoulder tightens. And the look he gives me is pure intensity. I sway on my feet, feeling like we’re standing on the precipice of something exhilarating.
“Miss Burlington?”
“Yes?” I whisper.
A muffled thump from inside the house draws his attention away from our moment. “I must leave on important business. Will you still be here when I return?”
My heart thuds. My throat dries. The pulse between my legs comes to life. “Of course.”
“Then please, be at ease here at Rochester Manor. This is your home as much as mine.”
“I will,” I say, breathless with anticipation.
With a nod, he strides through a set of patio doors and disappears into the house. I stare after him, my skin on fire. My hands tremble so much that I press them against my heart.
It wasn’t in my head. He wasn’t talking about me as an employee. Heat pools low in my belly at the promise of starting something with Mr. Rochester. I’m already aching for his return.