Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
“Hello?” Ellen’s voice shook as she called out. In her trembling hand she held a knife.
It had been three days of silence. Three days of looking over her shoulder or jerking awake at every little sound.
During the day, the fresh, quiet air of summer had called to her through the windows, inviting her to walk out to the meadow of wildflowers beyond the small shed in the back of the house. Yet she did not leave the cottage.
At night, the shadows came alive. Every subtle movement, every creak, had her believing that Benedict had found her. Yet she still did not leave the cottage.
Instead, she stayed inside the neat but small wisteria-covered refuge, busying herself with reading the books she’d found inside one of the two bedrooms, or letting her mind weave fantastical tales about how the food and clothing had appeared at the doorstep each day.
She’d chosen to believe it was the fairies that lived in the meadow stretching behind the house.
That it was the fairies that were real and not Benedict and his cruel words and hands.
“It is I, Laurence,” a deep, familiar voice called from the other side. “I am coming in…if that is alright?”
Ellen exhaled, her entire body sagging so suddenly with relief as the knife she’d been gripping clattered to the ground. She pressed a shaky hand to her chest, willing her heartbeat to slow down, and nodded her head.
“Yes,” she called out, feeling her heart still slamming against her palm.
The door to the cottage opened, and Laurence stepped into the frame, his height and build blocking out the sunshine beyond. His green eyes were sharp as they found her, but something in them softened as they took her in.
“Are you well, my lady?” he asked.
Ellen was taken aback by the gentleness in his voice, but she couldn’t deny that the soothing tone willed her strained nerves to relax. She nodded as she wrapped her hand around the one she’d pressed to her chest, and willed it down.
“The quiet has been nice,” she answered, her voice strained.
Laurence raised a single dark brow.
“Why am I finding that hard to believe?” he asked. His gaze dropped to the floor where the knife had landed, then flicked back up to her as he cocked his head slightly to the side.
Ellen let out a hollow laugh as she leaned down to pick up the knife and deposited it on the nearby table.
“In truth, I have not slept much,” she confessed, twirling her fingers anxiously together.
Laurence’s brows tensed as his jaw tightened.
“He will not hurt you again,” Laurence said quietly as he slid his hands into his trouser pockets. “I have someone I can trust watching over you. Even if Benedict had found you—which I doubt because only my most trusted circle knows that I own this cottage—he would have been stopped.”
Ellen’s shoulders lowered, and she looked down at the plain but pretty blue dress she was wearing.
“This came from you, then?” she asked, gripping the skirts. “And the food left at my door?”
Laurence gave a curt nod.
“I did not know your measurements, but I wagered you were close to my sister’s,” he replied. “As for the food, it was delivered by my man, who, as I said, was watching over you to ensure that we were not followed.”
Ellen was quiet as she took in the information, wishing she had known earlier.
If she had, maybe she could have used the last few days to catch up on sleep—something that had eluded her since her father had died and Benedict had moved into their home.
Still, she could not help but feel grateful that someone had been watching over her, even if she had not seen them in return.
“Thank you,” she answered quietly. She drew her gaze slowly back up to Laurence’s handsome face.
As usual, he appeared on the brink of anger, and she wondered why she’d shivered at Benedict’s smile but felt a sense of comfort when she looked upon Laurence’s straight lips and tight jaw. “For everything.”
“Mm,” Laurence merely grunted, his gaze flicking around the cottage.
“It is time to go,” he said a moment later. “I have arranged for our wedding to take place at a nearby church. My friend, Solomon, shall bear witness, but other than that, we will not be having any guests or even a reception. I apologize for the lack of celebration.”
“Do not,” Ellen quickly countered. “I despise large affairs. It is far more suitable to my tastes that we have a more intimate wedding.”
She could have sworn Laurence’s green eyes darkened, and his jaw clenched a little tighter as she said the word intimate, but just like in the carriage, she took one blink, and those subtle differences were completely gone.
“Once we are married, I will take you to my estate in Blackford,” Laurence explained, his tone clipped but polite.
“It is not far from here. I was hoping that you would be able to find some sort of peace here, but I see now that I was mistaken in keeping your guard a secret, and you have not rested much. I hope once you are settled in your quarters at the estate, you will be able to…” He seemed to struggle for the proper word.
“Sleep,” he said at last.
Ellen let out another dry laugh as she reached up to place her hand over the mole on her cheek.
“Do I look so awful?” she asked.
Laurence grimaced, but only for a moment.
“Not awful,” he answered, kindness making his eyes shine a little brighter. “Just tired. And after what you have been through, no one can blame you for your exhaustion.”
Though it was not necessarily a compliment, Ellen blushed at his words.
“Shall we take our leave to the church?” Laurence asked. “The sooner we are married, the sooner I can get you to the estate, where you will hopefully be able to rest with the knowledge that Benedict can no longer force you to marry him.”
Again, they weren’t the most romantic of words, but even so, Ellen felt a thrill move through her.
Benedict’s threats would be forfeited the moment she said her vows to Laurence.
He could no longer pursue her or try to force her into marriage once she was Laurence’s.
It was one cage for another, she wagered, but at least Laurence’s cage did not house incest or abuse.
Still, she could not help but ask, “Are you sure this is what you want?”
Laurence’s brows shot up, as if he were surprised that his wants were of concern to her.
“I mean,” Ellen pushed on, her fingers twining tighter together, “You could do much better. Your title alone allows you to have a finer choice of ladies among the Ton. You could have someone of better breeding. Or of more remarkable beauty. Or—”
“Stop,” Laurence cut her off, his tone quiet but firm. She glanced up at him, and found his gaze guarded.
“I have made my decision. You need not worry that I am missing some ‘better’ opportunity, as I assure you, I am not. Now, if you please, the priest and Solomon are waiting for us. If my protection is something you still want, let us get to the church and be done with the ceremony.”
Though she did not quite understand why, Ellen found herself comforted by Laurence’s practical, no-nonsense response.
It was not romantic, but it was real. There were no worries as to why he would choose her of all people, as there had been with Benedict.
It was a simple contract. Laurence would protect her, and in return, she would give him whatever information she could on her cousin.
“I have one more request before I go with you,” she said, “though I understand that I am not in the position to be asking for any more favors.”
Laurence’s lips twitched with amusement, but he gave her a nod, as if urging her to continue.
“My handmaid, Sarah, and my late father’s valet, Jacob, are the ones who helped me escape,” Ellen explained.
“I have been terrified for their safety ever since Benedict caught me. If Benedict was comfortable enough to hit me, his betrothed, I cannot imagine what awful things he could be doing to them as punishment for helping me. Please, find it in your heart to find them, and—if they are alive—find room in your household to bring them in. They are good, loyal people, I promise you.”
That darkness settled into Laurence’s sharp gaze yet again as he remained perfectly still for a long moment. Then he gave her a curt nod.
“You will need a handmaid anyway,” he replied, his voice laced with anger, “and I will find something for this Jacob to do. I will send my men out to find them post haste. You have my word.”
Ellen raised her chin as relief flooded through her, and gave him a measured nod of approval.
“Let us go to the church then,” she agreed.
He nodded in return, a smirk tugging at his lips. He then held out his hand to her and waited for her to come to him. For a moment she simply looked at it, wondering if, like in the carriage, she would feel those sparks from his touch.
She was reaching out to test such a theory when the memory of Benedict’s slap rose suddenly and sharply in her mind. She gasped and stumbled back, her trembling hand going to the faded bruise on her cheek.
“Easy.” Laurence’s voice was deep and smooth as he said the single word.
Her breaths coming in rapid, short bursts, Ellen flicked her tear-filled gaze from the floor to his face. There was no anger, no pity. Just a quiet strength that radiated from his entire being.
“I am not him,” he said in that same patient, soothing tone. “I will not hurt you. Let go of the memory. You have no purpose for it. And when you are ready, take my hand.”
A tear slid down Ellen’s cheek as she gazed up at him.
“How did you know?” she whispered, her hand still pressed protectively against her cheek.
Laurence’s jaw worked as his nostrils flared. Something dark and awful passed across his expression, but Ellen was certain it was not for her. No, it was likely a bad memory of his own that he’d once defeated.
“Let us just say I understand the signs,” he said simply after a moment. “When a person’s memory—particularly a bad one—decides to jump into the present.”
Questions rose in Ellen’s mind, pushing away the awful memory of Benedict’s slap. A second later she was no longer thinking of her own pain, but wondering what sort of agony Laurence had experienced in order for him to have to learn such a trick.
She would ask him, she decided. Later, when they knew each other better. For now, though, they had a wedding to get to. Ellen lowered her hand from her face, and once more, reached out to Laurence’s still waiting open palm.
Sparks, warm and delightful, traveled up her fingertips and through her arm as she took his hand, and despite her recent anxieties, her entire body relaxed as his fingers closed firmly but gently over her own.
As he led her out of the cottage, she wondered if he felt them too.
And, if he did, what would they do about it?