Chapter 25 #3
“The law says I died in that fire.” He tilted his head, studying her the way a cat studies a cornered bird. “But now you know the truth. I am alive, which means you are still my wife.”
The word buried itself between her ribs. Wife. The marriage had never been dissolved—how could it have been? One couldn’t divorce a corpse, and one couldn’t annul a union with ashes.
“What do you want?” She forced the question through numb lips.
He reached out with his left hand—scarred as well, the fingers twisted and stiff—and touched her cheek. She flinched away, revulsion crawling across her skin. His eyes darkened, rage flickering in their depths before his hand dropped and curled into a fist.
“Ten thousand pounds.” He said it slowly, savouring each syllable. “From your viscount. Call it compensation—for the years, for this face, for everything you took when you ran.”
“He will never —”
“He will.” Gabriel slammed his palm down on the counter hard enough to make the bread paddles jump. “Or I destroy you.”
He reached into his coat and pulled out a folded paper, yellowed with age and creased from frequent handling.
“Marriage certificate. St. Michael’s Church, 1800.
Gabriel Hyde and Eleanor Whitmore. Witnessed and signed.
” He held it up between two twisted fingers, letting her see the familiar ink.
“One piece of paper, Eleanor, and your whole pretty life comes apart. The widow everyone pities was never a widow at all.”
She’d forgotten about that certificate. She’d tried to forget everything about those years.
He tucked it away, patting his coat pocket. “How do you think the ton will react when they learn Lord Westmore’s engagement is a farce? That his bride is a bigamist and a liar?”
Nell’s hands were shaking. “Why now? Why wait nine years?”
“Because now you’ve got something worth taking.
” He looked around the shop with greedy eyes.
“When you were just a baker with two brats, you were not worth the trouble. But a viscountess? That’s worth a great deal.
” His lips curved into that terrible half-smile.
“Ten thousand pounds, and I disappear. You will never see this face again.”
“And if I refuse?” She lifted her chin, and something cold and hard crystallised in her chest. “If I tell everyone you are alive? Tell the magistrates in Leeds too—I am sure they would love to know where to find the man who killed someone over a card game.”
Gabriel’s smirk faltered. Fear flickered behind his eyes before rage swallowed it whole.
“Then I take everything.” His hand shot out and grabbed her wrist, squeezing until she gasped and her knees buckled.
She could feel the stiffness of his scarred fingers and the unnatural strength in that damaged grip.
“Your reputation. Your children. Your viscount. I will burn it all down, Eleanor—just like you burned me.”
“I didn’t start that fire —” Tears pricked her eyes as pain shot up her arm.
“You left me in it.” His grip tightened, grinding the bones of her wrist together as he leaned in, his words dropping to a predatory whisper against her ear. “One week. Bring me ten thousand pounds, or I destroy everything you love.”
The bell jangled.
Gabriel released her instantly and stepped back, his features smoothing into hollow pleasantry. The transformation was horrifying—the monster tucked away behind whatever remained of the man in the blink of an eye.
Mrs. Potts stood in the doorway, a market basket over one arm and her grey hair tucked beneath a sensible bonnet. She looked between Nell and Gabriel with mild curiosity, her brow furrowing at the heavy, stagnant air of the room.
“Mrs. Ashford!” The neighbor swept further into the shop, the bell above the door offering a final, oblivious jingle. She bustled toward the counter, shaking out her umbrella with a bright smile that didn’t acknowledge the rot in the room. “I came for my Tuesday order. Am I interrupting something?”
Nell’s throat was so tight it felt fused shut. She pressed her lips together, forcing the breath through the lump of fear lodged in her chest.
“Not at all.” The words held, though they felt as brittle as glass. She pressed her throbbing wrist against her apron, hiding the darkening skin from view. “This gentleman was just leaving.”
Gabriel tipped his hat, carefully keeping the scarred side of his face angled into the shadows. Even in his rage, he remained calculating.
“Think about what I said, Eleanor.” He kept the reminder low, intended only for her, his good eye glittering with a final promise of violence. “One week.”
He brushed past Mrs. Potts with a polite nod, playing the role of a gentleman traveler. “Ma’am.”
The bell jangled again. He was gone.
Nell’s knees buckled. She caught herself on the counter, her arms shaking with the effort of staying upright.
“Mrs. Ashford?” Mrs. Potts hurried forward, her basket swinging as concern creased her weathered face. “You’ve gone white as flour. Are you ill? Should I fetch the doctor?”
“I am fine.” The lie tasted like poison on her tongue and she forced a lingering smile. “I just felt faint. The heat from the ovens, I suspect.”
Mrs. Potts fussed about the shop. She fetched water from the pitcher on the back counter and insisted Nell sit on the stool behind the display case. She clucked and worried, offering remedies her mother had used for fainting spells.
Nell barely heard a word. Gabriel was alive. He was alive and he wanted money, and if she didn’t pay, the truth would be her undoing.
She was still his wife. She couldn’t marry Dominic; everything she’d built and everything she’d finally allowed herself to want was gone.
Mrs. Potts left eventually, her bread tucked into her basket and worried backward glances thrown over her shoulder. Nell sat alone in the empty shop—yet the ring glinted on her finger. It was a simple gold band with a small ruby, a promise she could no longer keep.
One week until her wedding. One week until she was supposed to stand before God and the village and pledge herself to the man she loved. Except she couldn’t. The law said she belonged to a monster with a ruined face and the power to destroy her.
She could pay him. She could beg Dominic for ten thousand pounds. It was a sum that would barely scratch a viscount’s fortune. But what would she tell him? That her dead husband had crawled out of the grave? That their engagement was built on a foundation of lies?
He would hate her.
She could run. She could take the children in the night and disappear as she’d done once before. A new name, a new town, a new life, but she was so tired of running.
She could tell Dominic everything. She could trust that he loved her enough to help her find a way through. But what if there was no way through the law?
The bell jangled.
Nell’s head snapped up, her heart slamming against her ribs as her whole body tensed for flight.
Daphne stood in the doorway with her arms full of parcels, her cheeks pink from the cold. Her grin faded the instant she saw Nell’s face.
“What happened?” She dumped the parcels on the nearest table and crossed to the counter in three quick strides. “You are shaking. You are white as death. What has happened?”
“Gabriel.” The name scraped out. Nell pressed both hands flat on the counter to stop their trembling. “Gabriel is alive.”
Daphne went very still, the colour draining from her face. “What?”
“He was here.” The words tumbled over each other.
“Just now. He is alive, Daphne. He didn’t die in the fire.
He faked it, put someone else’s body in the house, and he has been alive this whole time.
His face… half of it’s ruined. He blames me.
He knows about Dominic, and he wants money or he will destroy everything. ”
“Breathe.” Daphne grabbed her hands, gripping them tight enough to hurt. “Slow down. Tell me everything.”
So Nell did. She recounted every horrible word, the threats, the blackmail, and the marriage certificate.
When she finished, Daphne’s face had gone hard as iron. Her jaw set tight enough to crack her teeth. “That bastard.” The words came out quiet and deadly. Her fingers tightened on Nell’s until the bones creaked. “That festering, worthless piece of filth.”
“What am I going to do?” Nell’s voice cracked, and she felt the hot pressure of tears building behind her eyes. “I cannot marry Dominic. Not legally. Not while Gabriel is alive. And if I don’t pay, he will ruin me.” She pressed her fists against her eyes, trying to hold back the flood.
“We need to think. We need a plan.” Daphne said.
“There is no plan.” Nell dropped her hands, her fingers numb and clumsy as she gripped the edge of the counter. “He has the marriage certificate. He has nine years of silence on his side. The law will call me a bigamist and him a wronged husband, and there is nothing—”
“You have Dominic.” Daphne set both palms flat on the counter and leaned forward, her dark eyes fierce. “He has solicitors. He has magistrates who owe him favours. He has a title and money and the kind of influence that makes problems disappear. But he cannot help you if he does not know.”
The words sat between them, heavy and undeniable.
Nell stared at the ring on her finger. The ruby caught the last of the afternoon light, winking like a secret. One week. She had one week before she was supposed to stand in a church and promise herself to a man she had been lying to since the day they met.
Not lying. Surviving. But it would feel the same to him.
“I have to tell him.” The decision settled into her chest like a stone finding the riverbed. Not because Daphne had pushed her there. Because it was the only road left that did not lead back into the dark.
“Yes.” Daphne straightened, her jaw still tight. “You do.”
“Stay here.” Nell pulled the shawl around her shoulders and knotted it at her chest, her fingers fumbling with the wool. “The children will be back from their lessons within the hour.”
“Are you going alone?” Daphne caught her arm near the elbow, her grip hard with worry.
“I have to.” Nell covered Daphne’s hand with her own, then gently removed it. “This is mine to tell. He deserves to hear it from me, and I need to be the one brave enough to say it.”
Daphne looked into her eyes for a long moment, something shifting behind her eyes—respect, maybe, or grief for the girl Nell had been before Gabriel Hyde had taught her that love could be a weapon.
She walked out of the bakery. The bell jangled behind her, and the cold hit her like a wall.