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  Edwina was lying in the dirt, having what seemed perilously close to a temper tantrum, screaming and kicking in mindless fury. Gabriel hauled her upright with surprising gentleness. “Your father’s dead, Edwina.”

  “Ewww!” Edwina shrieked. “I don’t want to touch him. I hate dead people. I want to go home. I want to go back to London right this minute. I hate it here. I hate you, Gabriel, and I hate Father, and I hate Yorkshire, and I hate everybody. I hate you I hate you I hate you.”

  Somewhere Lizzie found hidden strength. She rose to her feet and started toward the weeping child. “Let me take care of this,” she said to Gabriel, the first words she’d spoken to him all day. And taking Edwina’s shoulder, she turned her and socked her in the jaw.

  Edwina’s tears vanished, and her mouth dropped open in shock. “You struck me!” she said. “You actually dared strike me. I shall have a bruise, I know it . . .”

  “If you don’t shut your mouth, I’ll hit you again,” Lizzie said quite calmly. “And I will enjoy it immensely.”

  Edwina›s mouth slammed shut. Gabriel had moved past her, kneeling by Sir Richard’s fallen body and closing his staring eyes. He looked up and met her eyes with a dispassionate gaze.

  “There are times, Lizzie, when I think I could love you,” he said.

  And for one brief moment, Lizzie considered pushing him after the Chiltons.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  LIZZIE HAD THE sudden, very real need to be taken care of. To be soothed and petted and cosseted, stroked and reassured and pampered. The trip back to Rosecliff Hall had been accomplished in the back of a farm wagon, with the semi-hysterical Edwina sitting on the seat beside Gabriel. It would have been Lizzie’s luck to ride in back with Sir Richard’s corpse, but Edwina flatly refused to travel anywhere with her deceased father, and Lizzie had ended up riding amidst the straw in solitary splendor, the body left behind.

  Gabriel had disappeared moments after they arrived back at Rosecliff Hall. Peter and a rumpled-looking Jane met them, with Peter taking the horse and Jane dealing with Edwina, who immediately took one look at her older sister and began screeching once more. Jane was far more sympathetic, putting her arms around Edwina and leading her into the house as she flashed an apologetic look at Lizzie, standing forlornly in the midnight courtyard.

  For a moment Lizzie considered bursting into noisy tears as well, perhaps even throwing herself on the ground in a tantrum to rival Edwina’s earlier efforts. But there was manure on the ground, and she really didn’t have the energy. The best she could manage was a trembling sort of sniff.

  “There, there, dearie, you come along with me.” A woman appeared at her side, all maternal comfort and practicality. “You’ve had a rough time of it, and that’s the truth, but Alice will see to you, just trust me. A warm bath, a nice cup of tea, and you’ll be feeling right as rain.”

  “I don’t think so,” Lizzie said in a quavering voice.

  “Oh, you’re stronger than you think,” Alice said. “We’ll get you cleaned up, then I’ll go find Mr. Gabriel and give him a piece of my mind. Imagine just abandoning you here when you need some taking care of.”

  “I do,” Lizzie said. “And I hate him.”

  “Of course you do, lass,” Alice said warmly. “We all hate our menfolk half the time, and God knows they deserve it. I’m that cross with my Peter for letting Miss Jane get taken up by those monsters, and I’m going to sort him out as well, if Jane doesn’t see to it. If you leave men to run the world they always mess it up, don’t they, love?”

  Lizzie could only manage a heartfelt nod of agreement

  “Besides, you don’t really want Mr. Gabriel looking after you, now do you? There are times when you need another woman seeing to your needs.” She kept up a soft, running monologue of comfort as she led Lizzie upstairs to a bathroom with a tub full of steaming, rose-scented water. “Now you take as long as you like, Miss Elizabeth,” Alice murmured. “If you need some help, just give a call. I’ll lay out some fresh nightclothes for you and bring you something to eat, and then I need to see to the others.”

  “Are you Peter’s mother?” Lizzie yanked at her ripped dress, sending the buttons flying across the floor. She didn’t care. She never wanted to wear the wretched thing again.

  “I am.”

  “Jane loves him,” Lizzie said, abandoning her own misery in favor of a nobler quest. “You can’t let him ruin both their lives because of something foolish like pride.”

  Alice smiled fondly at her. “Don’t you worry, lass. I’ll see to him. I believe in letting young people find their own way, but if a boy’s determined to be blind, then he needs his mother to set him straight. He’ll marry her, lass, and be glad of it.”

  Lizzie managed a weary smile, stripping off the rest of her clothes and climbing into the tub with a loud sigh of pleasure so intense it was almost painful. And then she caught Alice staring at her with a troubled expression on her face, Lizzie’s bloodstained shift in her capable hands.

  “Did they hurt you, lass?” she asked quietly. “Did they force you . . . ?”

  Lizzie shook her head, glad her loose hair tumbled around her to hide her face. “No, they didn’t touch me,” she said.

  “Then . . . Gabriel,” Alice said after a moment’s realization. “It seems I have another young man to sort out as well.”

  “No,” she said brokenly. “Don’t . . . he didn’t . . . Her voice trailed off.

  “Didn’t what?” Alice asked gently.

  “Didn’t do anything I didn’t want him to,” Lizzie confessed, bursting into tears.

  Alice wrapped her comforting arms around Lizzie, ignoring the soapy water that drenched her sleeves. “Men,” she muttered in a dire tone that boded no good for Gabriel Durham.

  Lizzie stayed in the tub till the water cooled, soaping and rinsing her hair, scrubbing at her skin with a vengeance. Her tears dried, and her temper rose. She wasn’t quite certain what she was completely furious about—Gabriel had saved her life, even if he’d taken his own sweet time about it, and if he’d made it clear he’d felt nothing more than passing lust for her, she had only herself to blame. She was ruined, thoroughly and completely, and that fact brought her a slight comfort. She could refuse Elliott Maynard with impunity now, and if her father pushed for a reason, she could always admit the devastating truth.

  It wouldn’t come to that. She would go home and be a dutiful daughter, and live out her days the perfect maiden aunt. Unless she happened to be pregnant.

  She wouldn’t even consider that shocking possibility. Or the even more disastrous realization that she wished she were. She wanted a baby, his baby, almost as much as she wanted him.

  She was crazy, that’s what she was. She was exhausted, upset, and totally out of her mind. What she needed was sleep. A soft bed, warm covers, and hours and hours of peace. In the morning she’d have regained her senses. He didn’t want her, and she had too much pride to go where she wasn’t wanted.

  Alice had left her clean linen, and she pulled the soft shift over her still-damp body, doing her best to dry her hair on the thick, rough towels. There was a heavy, quilted robe, obviously masculine in design, and she hated to think to whom it belonged. But she couldn’t traverse the corridor in only her shift, so she pulled it around her, resisting the impulse to stroke the soft material as it draped her body.

  As promised, there was a pot of hot tea in her room, a plate of small cakes, and a glass of fresh milk. She forced herself to nibble at one of the cakes, and there was nothing so bad that a cup of tea didn’t make it better. There was a faint light in the inky black sky, and it took her a moment to realize that it was approaching dawn.

  She slipped off the robe and climbed up into her bed, pulling her legs up toward her body and wrapping her arms around her knees. The room was almost too warm, and she should
open the window and let in the fresh night air, but she couldn’t move. She was afraid that if she looked out over the forest she would soon leave, she might cry. She was afraid she would find her way back out there, barefoot and in her shift, when she needed to stay safe and secure in her bed.

  She blew out the candle beside her bed and leaned back against the pillows, closing her eyes. Waiting.

  She might have fallen asleep. When she opened her eyes he was standing a few feet away from the bed, staring at her. He’d bathed as well—his long hair was wet and pulled back from his elegant face, and he was dressed in a loose white shirt and breeches. Barefoot, as she was.

  She sat up, giving him her most defiant look. “What do you want?” she asked in a suitably cranky voice.

  “I . . . just wanted to make certain you were all right. Alice said you were crying.” His smile was wry. “She said it was my fault.”

  “I’m perfectly fine. Just in need of sleep.” It was a pointed statement, designed to get rid of him. She couldn’t bear to look at him without touching him.

  “I know. I’m having a bit of trouble sleeping myself.”

  “Warm milk will do wonders.”

  “I don’t want warm milk,” he said in a stiff voice. “I want you.” He sounded as if he’d rather eat nails than admit it.

  “Then that is a great tragedy,” she said, “because you can’t have me.”

  “I already did. Several times, if I recall correctly.”

  She ignored the blush that mounted to her cheeks. In the dawnlit room he probably wouldn’t be able to see it, which was scant comfort. “Go away, Gabriel,” she said in a cross voice. “Leave me in peace.”

  He spun around and moved toward the open door, then paused. “You told me you loved me,” he said.

  “Did I? A moment of temporary insanity.” She could only fight him for so long. Her heart was breaking, and all he could do was argue. Why couldn’t he simply scoop her up and take her, leaving her no choice in the matter?

  “Love me again, Lizzie,” he said softly. “I’ve been alone for too long.”

  She was lost, and she knew it. He knew it as well. He held out his hand to her, forcing her to make the choice. “Come to bed with me,” he whispered. “I need you.”

  And she went, barefoot, in her shift, holding his hand, down the darkened corridors of Rosecliff to his room, to his bed, loving him.

  He took her tenderly this time, kissing her with deep, slow, unhurried kisses, as if the whole night stretched before them instead of brash light of a new dawn filling the room. He took her sweetly, with murmured endearments and gentle caresses. He took her leisurely, playing languid, erotic designs on her flesh with his mouth and tongue.

  And then he took her hard, with a sudden roughness they both wanted, as if he were angry for needing her, as if she were angry for loving him.

  And then he was gone, and she was alone, in his big tumbled bed, in the harsh, glaring light of day.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  SIX LONG WEEKS passed, and it was time to say goodbye to the ghosts, goodbye to the woods. Lizzie had stayed in Hernewood long past any reasonable time, and she had to leave.

  It didn’t matter that Peter and Jane kept insisting she didn’t disturb their newly wedded bliss. She knew that she didn’t. The rambling house that Peter owned was neat, tidy, waiting to be filled with children, and from the sounds that carried through the lonely corridors in the night, Peter and Jane were doing their best to fill it.

  She could see Rosecliff from her window. The roses were out now, covering the house, warming it. It still looked like a castle in an enchanted forest, but now it seemed to her eyes like a happy enchantment. She could only hope they would keep it so for Gabriel when he returned.

  It was past time for her to leave. To go back to Dorset and be the good, sweet, unimaginative girl her parents so desperately wanted. She could do that for them. She wouldn’t marry Elliott Maynard, or any other man, but she could be the perfect maiden, the spinster of the parish, her parents’ solace and help in their declining years. She could spend the rest of her life in quiet, dull captivity, and she would never again dance barefoot in the woods. There was no babe in her belly, there was no joy in her heart.

  There was no word from Gabriel, and in truth, she didn’t expect it. When she’d awakened in his bed the next morning, she was alone. He was gone, without another word to her, taking the hysterical Edwina and her father’s body back to London, not even staying for Peter and Jane’s hasty wedding. He was the heir now, whether he wanted it or not, the head of the family, and he had responsibilities, Jane said in vain excuse. She was sure he hadn’t really wanted to leave.

  But Lizzie knew him far better than his sister did. He was running again, and she would let him go. There were times when she could almost convince herself that wild, endless joining had never happened, that it was nothing more than a shameless dream, and the moments of hot, ceaseless longing would come less often, as would the deep tear in her heart. She had even managed to laugh yesterday, a good sign that she would eventually mend, at least partially.

  She had already told Jane and Peter she was leaving, and their pleas and arguments had fallen on deaf ears. Her bags were packed, and Peter would drive her to York to meet the London coach. In the meantime, she had to say goodbye to the forest that felt like home. The woods that she would never see again. The monks who had already left.

  She walked swiftly through the trees, following the paths that she knew so well by now. Hernewood Manor was a shell, if that. All the furnishing and possessions had been packed and shipped to London in a dazzlingly short time. Lady Durham would not be returning, nor would the twins. The manor belonged to Gabriel now, and he could do with it as he pleased.

  And what he pleased was to order it torn down. Half the stone was scattered over the fields, the stone that had first come from the ruined abbey. Brother Septimus and Brother Paul were free. They had finally earned their rest, long gone to their overdue reward.

  She said goodbye to them in the ruined nave of the old building. She went nowhere near the tower that now stood abandoned. There were some things even she could not do.

  She should head back—she knew she should—but these were her last moments, and she lingered. No one would come in search of her, they were all busy with their duties and responsibilities. She slipped off her shoes and stockings, leaving them in a neat pile.

  A rabbit hopped by, pausing a moment to look at her, then moved onward. The creatures of the forest had returned, now that the evil had passed, and Lizzie knew a deep, loving relief.

  The earth was warm and spring-soft beneath her bare feet. She would wear shoes for the rest of her life, but not now. She moved deeper into the woods, humming softly to herself, a song about faithless love and found love, and when her eyes filled with tears she switched to something bawdy as she danced in the woods one last time, at one with the magic that lived there.

  She spun, lightly, she dipped and twirled, singing nonsense songs under her breath. And she turned, one last time, and came to a dead stop. Gabriel stood in a shaft of sunlight between a stand of tall trees, watching her.

  He was wearing the clothes she’d first seen him in—a rough white shirt and dark breeches, his hair loose and far too long. He held her shoes and stockings in his hand.

  She faltered, feeling the color flood her face and body. At least she hadn’t given in to temptation and shed her dress as well. If he’d caught her dancing in her shift, she might just as well have died.

  “You’re still here,” he said in a tone of wonder.

  “Not for long.” She prided herself on how calm she sounded, when she wanted to scream at him. “The ghosts are gone.”

  He nodded, seemingly distracted. “The manor house needed to be torn down. It was built from the old abbey, and the gh
osts couldn’t leave until it was in pieces.”

  “Why?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “Where were you . . . ?” She stopped herself mid-tirade. “Never mind. It’s none of my concern.”

  “I love you, Lizzie Penshurst,” he said abruptly.

  She paused, not believing her ears. “You love me?” she echoed in stark disbelief. Her outrage bubbled over. “You seduce me, almost kill me, and then run off without a word, and now you tell me you love me?”

  He managed a wry smile. “I knew you’d take it well.”

  “And where have you been all this time? Did you just come to this momentous conclusion, or have you been carrying such a burden around with you for a while?” She was furious with him, utterly and completely enraged. She had been ready to give him up, ready to live a life of mournful sacrifice, and now he came back to tell her he loved her! It was unforgivable.

  “I had things to do in London,” he said calmly. “And to be truthful, I was rather hoping I’d grow out of this tedious passion for you. However, it seems to be a permanent affliction, so I think you’ll have to marry me.”

  “Marry you?” This was getting more and more ridiculous. “I can’t possibly marry you.”

  “Why not? Your father gives his blessing.”

  “Because I don’t give mine,” she snapped.

  “And why not? Don’t you love me? Did you come to my bed simply to trifle with my affections? Not kind of you, love. I’ve a gentle soul, easily wounded. Surely you must hold some tender feeling for me.”

  “You have the soul of a monster,” she said. “I hate you.”

  “Of course you do. Come here, Lizzie.”

  He was halfway across the clearing, and the sun speared down among the trees, filled with dancing motes of light.

  “I could make your life a living hell,” she warned him.