Chapter 10 Maddy
Ten
Maddy
By the time dawn spills across the island, I’ve finally finished crying and gotten myself together. A long, warm-ish shower, a stolen pint of butterscotch ice cream from Mrs Ainslie’s freezer, and a few hundred laps of my attic bedroom, pacing and muttering to myself, have set me right.
I need to leave.
Not give notice; not stay here a few more days and make plans.
I need to leave now, even if it means the other staff think I’m rude as hell.
Even if it means I wind up stranded in the middle of nowhere on the mainland, dragging my hot pink suitcase along the rocky coastal path.
Desperate for a bus stop or a friendly face.
It’s go time.
“Come on,” I mutter, stuffing balled-up t-shirts and leggings into my case. Nothing is folded; everything is in tangled disarray. My phone charger, bathroom bag, and favorite books are all tossed in too, jumbled up together in a big pile. “Come on, Maddy. Move faster.”
Already, the sky is growing pale. Weak light creeps through the window of my attic bedroom and casts the room in a ghostly glow.
I need to get out of here before Lord Westmore wakes up. Before the other staff come looking for me.
Before anyone else can bear witness to my bloodshot eyes and ashen cheeks. I haven’t slept a wink, and it shows.
Heartbreak does not look good on me. Hell, it doesn’t feel good either.
With every step around my cramped bedroom as I snatch up my belongings, my poor heart throbs in pain. My legs are leaden, and my frenzied brain is fighting against a tidal wave of exhaustion that threatens to drown me.
But I just need to get through these next few minutes. Through these next hours; through this day. And once I’m safely back on the mainland, once I’m away from him, I can let myself fall apart completely.
Come on, Maddy. One step at a time.
Downstairs, when I shove the kitchen door open to the grounds, wincing at the loud shriek of its hinges, the cold sea air stings my face. It whips my hair against my cheeks and fills my lungs with the scent of frozen brine. And it wakes me the hell up, sending a bolt of electricity down my spine.
Go, go, go.
I heave my suitcase through the door and glance around.
No sign of Lord Westmore. Only one of the groundsmen striding across the grass in the distance, lifting an arm in greeting. I wave back awkwardly, like I’m not visibly running away before the sun is fully up, but the groundsman doesn’t care. He’s already turned away, tugging on his thick gloves.
Good. Fine.
I’m used to no one missing me when I leave. And if I thought this time would be different…
Sharp pain lances through my chest and, sniffing hard, I yank my suitcase up by the handle. Don’t want to roll its noisy wheels along the stone path. Don’t want to draw an ounce of attention if I can help it.
Just want to run far, far away, and hide from these battered feelings.
My back aches as I heave my suitcase around the back of the manor and out across the grounds. The grass is spongy beneath my feet, the ground level at first then sloping down toward the steel-gray waves that crash against the rocks. Sniffing hard, I raise my chin and force my legs to keep moving.
Over at the land bridge, there’s a shape. A man’s figure, standing still and watching me approach. Belated alarm bells ring in my tired brain, but by the time I lug my heavy suitcase all the way to West’s feet, my jaw is set with determination.
If this lord wants to keep me here, he’ll have to lock me behind bars. I’m done.
“Standing guard, your lordship?” My case crashes onto the salt-flecked rock between us.
Beyond West, the bare stone of the land bridge looms over the waves, cutting a direct path back to the mainland.
The tide is low. I can make it. “No offense, but even with this suitcase, I’m probably faster than you. ”
“Probably,” West agrees. He sounds as bone-tired as I feel, and for the first time this morning, I glance up at his face—then ball my hands into fists to keep from reaching for him.
Because Lord Westmore looks freaking ruined.
His hair is mussed, sticking out in weird clumps like he’s been tugging at it all night with both hands. He looks older. Sadder. Dark shadows ring his eyes, and he’s in the same shirt and waistcoat as last night, the fabric creased to hell and back.
How long has he been out here without a coat? He must be frozen solid.
Don’t you dare, I tell myself sternly, drawing both fists behind my back. I will not fuss over this man like I desperately want to. I will not blow on his frozen fingers and tug his shirt collar straight and pet his rumpled hair.
West doesn’t want me.
He’s my employer, and he’s nearly twice my age. Remember? Any silly story I told myself about happy endings and soul connections was an embarrassing daydream.
He was very clear about that in his study last night. Replaying it in my mind for the thousandth time, hearing his coldness and scorn, makes every breath sting as it drags into my lungs. I sway on my feet, vision blurring with sudden tears that I angrily swipe away.
“I’m leaving,” I choke out. Damn, I wish I could be cooler about this. Wish I could flounce past, not a care in the world, looking like a million bucks. Instead I’m sad and tired and broken, curling in on myself beneath my winter clothes. “You can’t stop me.”
West nods, his expression so grave where it’s fixed on me.
“Okay,” he says. “Will you let me come with you, Maddy?”
My face scrunches up, and I squint at him like an idiot. At this man who shattered my heart into tiny fragments last night, all with his insistence that he’d never leave this island, and most certainly not for me.
“Uh,” I say stupidly. “What’s that now?”
“I want to come with you.”
West steps forward, leaning heavily on his cane. Behind his leg, for the first time, I notice a packed suitcase of his own. It’s dark canvas and brown leather, and looks worn from countless earlier trips in his previous life—then stained with the dust of years of neglect.
I blink hard, but his case is still there. Undeniable.
Baffling.
“I’m sorry about last night,” West goes on.
His voice is low. Taut with pain, like the last few hours have been non-stop torture for him too.
“I said the most awful—and you—but I panicked. That’s all.
It’s inexcusable, but I didn’t mean those things.
Christ, this is a terrible apology, isn’t it?
” The lord grimaces, his fingers flexing on his cane.
“I’ve been rehearsing it all night, but now that you’re here, I can’t think straight.
I can never think straight around you, Madeleine. ”
My heart speeds up, from a dull plod to a trot to a canter to a gallop, and all the while I peer up at my aristocratic boss like an imbecile. I’m way too sleep-deprived for this to make any sense.
“You said that we had no future,” I remind him.
West blanches, the salt air tugging at his open collar. The sun is rising across the sea, crowning the choppy waves in gold. It’s gorgeous. The kind of beautiful that hurts.
“I did. I did say that. But we could,” he grates out. “If I weren’t a grief-stricken coward… if you could forgive an old, idiotic man for lashing out… we could have a future, Maddy. If any part of you still wants me, I’m yours. I’ve been yours since I first heard your laugh echo through the manor.”
Struck dumb, I stare at Lord Westmore’s case.
At the physical evidence that he means what he says; that this man is ready to set out into the world and start over together, age gap be damned.
I look out to sea, where the white specks of gulls ride the air currents.
Then back up at my exhausted, care-worn boss, with a death grip on his cane and his heart in his eyes.
“You’re not old,” I mumble.
And just like that, understanding thuds into place.
Because last night, West ran away. He got scared, panicked, and ran away instead of sticking around to feel the hard feelings. Who could understand that better than me?
I’ve spent my whole life on the move, always packing up and leaving the minute my situation got tricky or dull. Pulling the escape hatch instead of working through a rough patch. Look: I’m doing it right now!
When I give West a wobbly smile, his whole chest deflates in relief. He steps closer and cups the side of my neck with a frozen hand.
“You,” I tell him, placing my hand over his, “are in no state to travel today, your lordship. How long have you been standing out here without a coat?”
“I’m not sure.” West’s thumb grazes back and forth across my skin, like he can’t believe I’m real.
Like he can’t believe he’s touching me again.
“A few hours before dawn, I suppose. I couldn’t let you slip away without at least apologizing to you first. Without explaining that I’m a fool and you’re a fucking angel, and every minute I spend with you is a dream. ”
“Well, duh.” My laugh is watery, and West cracks a smile too. “But in future, please wrap up warm for your grand gestures.”
He leans down and nudges the tip of my nose with his own. “Noted.”
“See what I mean?” I swat the lord’s shoulder, then turn us back toward the manor. Our first steps are cautious, like we’re both waiting for the other to bolt. “Your nose is like a piece of ice. Didn’t they warn you about frostbite while you were gallivanting around the world?”
“Probably.” Our steps quicken across the grass once it’s clear that neither of us is going to flee, new energy buoying us toward the nearest door.
West is limping worse than usual, his knuckles blanched against his cane, and I bite my lip against a swell of love and worry.
But he grins at me, already looking a decade younger in the morning sunshine now that my hand is safely tucked in his. “I wasn’t listening.”
“Too busy daydreaming about alpine mosses.”
West laughs and waves a groundsman over, then sends him back to the land bridge to collect our cases. When we reach one of the doors to the manor, he pulls it open and steps aside, gesturing me through.
“Don’t fret, darling. I know exactly how we can get warm.”
* * *
West’s private rooms look like a whirlwind blew through, yanking open every drawer and closet door. Clothes lay strewn across the rug, abandoned, and piles of notebooks are haphazardly stacked by the wall. Only the bed is pristine, untouched since yesterday.
“Ah,” West says as he leads me inside. “Yes. It’s a little untidy, I’m afraid. I packed in rather a hurry.”
My lips press together against a smile, and I close West’s bedroom door behind us. The curtains are open, daylight filtering through a whisper-fine panel of white fabric. Sheer enough to let the light in, whilst still keeping prying eyes at bay.
“I’m curious about what you packed. I’m gonna dig through your suitcase later.”
West scoffs in amusement. “If you like. There’s nothing interesting in there, though.”
Au contraire. Everything about this man, every mundane little detail from what he wears to sleep at night to the brand of his toothpaste, is fascinating to me. I want to stuff myself full with Lord Westmore trivia. I want to gorge on him.
“Wait. What’s your first name?” The thought strikes me like a thunderbolt: I don’t know this man’s full name. I must have read it at some point, but I can’t remember. The toothpaste brand can wait—how can I really not know that?
West sighs and scrapes one hand down his face. “Humphrey.”
A laugh blooms in my chest, but I fight to keep it trapped. “Oh my god. Humphrey.”
“Lord Humphrey Percival Westmore the Third, to be exact.”
He doffs an imaginary hat, and it’s no use. The laugh explodes out of me, echoing around the messy bedroom.
“Yes, yes.” West doesn’t look offended as he shepherds me toward the en suite bathroom. “My name is ridiculous. You are correct.”
“Well, if we ever have a son, there’s no way we’re naming him Humphrey. I don’t care if he would be the fourth.”
I’m still giggling, but West stiffens behind me, his hand twitching against my back. When I glance around, his gaze on me is molten.
Heat flares to life in my belly, throbbing and sensuous. My nipples harden beneath my layers of winter clothes, and my cheeks flush. I’m suddenly so, so aware of his hand against my back, that small point of contact scorching me through the fabric.
“Go on,” West grates out. He jerks his chin at the doorway. “The shower is big enough for both of us. We need to warm up.”
He needs to warm up, sure.
But all I need right now is the tickle of West’s callused palms against my bare skin, and his shaky breaths in my ear, and the feeling of him finally, finally, pressing inside me.