Chapter 18 #3
Everything seemed to close in on her, and Genevieve stumbled backward shaking her head as she remembered the last time she’d seen Theo.
He’d said he had nothing to live for without her.
Shock made her legs buckle beneath her as a grief so powerful engulfed her, and Genevieve was certain she would stop breathing.
But that was exactly what she wanted, she wanted never to draw in a breath again. She wanted her heart to stop.
She didn’t want to live in a world without Theo.
Even seeing him marrying another woman to ensure the Rockwood line continued would be more bearable than knowing he was dead.
As if she’d just emerged from a pond in the middle of winter.
Genevieve had a vague awareness of her brother’s muscular arms lifting her up to carry her to a small love seat.
A glass of liquor was thrust into her hands, and her father instructed her to drink.
She tried to reject the glass, but her father’s voice hardened into an authoritative command for her to do as she was told.
She drank some of the brandy, only to cough hard the moment the liquid fire slid down her throat.
Genevieve thrust the glass back into her father’s hand, her trembling continued. As Vincent squatted in front of her and took her hand in his, Percy Rockwood placed a shawl over her shoulders.
“Ginny, listen to me. He’s missing, it doesn’t mean he’s dead,” her brother said in a gentle voice. “Everyone is searching for him. Every informant we have is relaying any information they learn. We’ll find him.”
With a shake of her head, Genevieve tugged her hand free of Vincent’s.
“We both know that if…if he’s missing…it means Freddie found him first,” she signed in halting gestures as she stared at her brother in horror. “Even if he’s still alive, Freddie will still kill him, and the bastard will make it a long, drawn-out process. He’ll also make certain we never find him.”
“And I know Theo well enough to know he’ll move mountains to keep you safe and come back to you. Dying at Simpson’s hands, isn’t part of that plan,” Vincent said firmly.
Genevieve shook her head in a silent rejection of her brother’s assurances.
If Freddie had found Theo, he was already dead or would be soon.
Grief paralyzed Genevieve as it crashed down over her like a giant wave intent on dragging her below the surface.
In a lethargic move, she pressed her hand to her forehead then brought it down the side of her cheek.
She wanted—needed to be alone. Genevieve didn’t want anyone to see the desolation churning through her.
Everyone would try to console her, which would only deepen the anguish sliding through her veins as if it were ice pulled from the pond at Callander Abbey.
She didn’t want anyone’s sympathy. She didn’t want to be touched, held, or have anyone offer her a shoulder to cry on.
All Genevieve wanted was to be alone with her grief.
Numb to everything but the pain assaulting her body, Genevieve rose to her feet.
She ignored her father’s and brother’s soft protests as she swayed on her feet.
Regaining her balance, Genevieve steeled herself to walk out of the parlor and upstairs without stumbling.
Vincent took a step toward her, and she held up her hand in a silent signal for him not to come closer..
Ever since Theo had said he intended to go back into the East End to face Freddie, she’d sobbed in private, unwilling to let anyone see the true depth of her fear and torment.
For someone to see the dark, bottomless agony she struggled with now would only aroused the family’s need to comfort her.
Genevieve didn’t want comfort. She didn’t want anything except to be alone.
Pushing her way past her father, who said her name with a compassion she had always found comforting in the past, she ignored him and walked toward the parlor’s open doorway.
“Percy, what on earth is—” Rhea Rockwood’s question ended abruptly as she entered the parlor and uttered a shocked gasp. “Genevieve, darling, whatever is the matter?”
Genevieve didn’t answer her mother. Instead she eluded her mother’s outstretched hand and walked across the small foyer, then up the narrow stairs to her room.
Solitude was what she needed now. A place where no one would see the brutal, unending heartbreak that made her want to die.
Behind her, Genevieve heard her mother call her name in a gentle plea, but she simply continued up the stairs to her room.
As she closed her bedroom door, she pressed her back into the solid wood. The depth of her pain debilitating, her legs gave way, and she slid to the floor as grief plunged a dagger into her heart.
She had always cried in private, allowing her tears to fall freely. But for the first time in her life, she had no tears. Instead, she released deep, painful gasps of anguish and sorrow, as she tried to breathe.
Somewhere below, Genevieve heard voices arguing, but disregarded them.
Nothing anyone could say would erase the fact that Theo was gone.
She would let others cling to the hope they would find him, but Genevieve knew hope was a pointless emotion.
It never came to fruition. It only made the pain darker.
Genevieve curled up on the floor to sob with a fist to her mouth to soften her screams of agonizing grief.