In the bedroom, she stood with her back to him, struggling into her heavy black skirt.
“Evie.”
She turned in the process of hooking the front of her bodice closed, but she didn’t look at him. No doubt she told herself she was focusing on the fastenings, but there was something furtive in the way her eyes never even flickered in his direction. “You know I can’t.”
He knew nothing of the sort. “I’ll deal with Nightingale.”
“It makes no difference. I won’t stay with you.”
Not can’t; won’t. The difference between those two small words was vast. His chest tightened painfully. “Why not?”
“What will become of me when it’s over?” A simple question asked with no evident emotion.
Alex didn’t let that deter him from crossing the room until they stood toe to toe. Slowly, so that she had every chance to turn away or deflect him, he reached out and tilted her chin up so he could see her face. Her eyes flashed defiance. When didn’t they? Her lips were thinner than he’d ever seen them, pressed together to suppress whatever she was feeling.
“We’ve barely begun,” he told her. “How can you talk about the end?” If he had his way, they never would. He was hers now.
“I think about it because I must.”
“I’m not going to abandon you, Evie.”
“No?” She jerked her chin away. “You mean to marry me? Make me your duchess?”
They both knew he couldn’t. What she’d never believe was how much he wanted to. God, she’d make a magnificent duchess. She was a chameleon. No role was beyond her. Even if society would never accept her, she’d play the duchess to the hilt. The idea of marrying her, of being with this difficult, bloody-minded enigma for the rest of his days… The very thought made him feel awake. Alive. When he was with her, the rush of life in his veins was almost too much to bear. He saw everything with new eyes. He felt.
But the houses would crumble around them. The estates would need to be sold. His dependents would suffer for his selfishness. He would go down in history as the Duke of Harcastle who lost everything. The chain, of which he was but a single link, would be broken, the empty title he passed on little better than a joke.
Evie searched his face. “I didn’t think so.”
“We both know I can’t marry you,” he said, “but we can still be together.”
“We could. If you promise never to marry anyone else.”
Even though they both knew the answer to that too, she allowed the silence to lengthen; he hated her a little for that.
“Do you understand how many people would suffer if my lands and holdings were sold off? There’s no way to ensure the livelihoods of my tenants and workers. I can’t allow it all to fall into ruin!” He was shouting, he realized. He never shouted. He took a deep breath to steady himself.
“You need money, Alex. I understand that better than anyone. I’m not blaming you. I admire you. But I won’t be the dirty secret you hide from your wife.”
“It needn’t be like that. I don’t have to be dishonest. There are women who’d willingly exchange a fortune for a title, women who wouldn’t expect affection or fidelity.”
“And if you find one? Unless you expect this poor woman to live like a nun, you’ll need a legitimate heir in the nursery before she can go her own way.”
She was right. He wouldn’t expect his wife to wait faithfully at home while he lived with Evie, but he couldn’t disinherit Ellis with a child he knew wasn’t his.
Evie must have read his response in his expression because she asked him, “Could you stand by while I married and bedded another man?”
“The thought turns my stomach.” He seized hold of her, his hands tightening on her upper arms. “But if it meant you could stay…”
“I’m sorry, Alex. The life you’re offering me would make me miserable. I won’t do that to myself. Not even for you.” There were no tears in her eyes. No tremor in her voice. No uncertainty. She meant this. He saw no way to move her. No weakness to exploit.
Even if he’d seen his way forward, he believed what she said. He couldn’t make her happy. And if he couldn’t do that, he should let her go. Did he love her enough to do that?
“Evie—”
Three raps at the door, then Helen’s voice from the other side. “Alex, I’m sorry. It’s important.”
Evie opened the door. He didn’t stop her, even though he was still in his dressing gown.
Helen’s face was paper white. “A man matching Nightingale’s description arrived in Stoneman’s Bay this morning and put up at the Bilge and Barnacle.”
His gaze locked with Evie’s. For the first time since he’d asked her to stay, he saw a crack in the wall she’d thrown up. Too soon, her look said. We haven’t had enough time.
No, they hadn’t. And now they never would.
“Give us a moment,” he said to Helen.
“Oh God,” Evie whispered when they were alone again.
“I’ll make sure Ellis gives you the money today.”
“Thank you.”
He wanted her to put her arms around him, but he knew she wouldn’t. Not once, in all this time, had she been the one to reach for him. But when he pulled her into his arms, she immediately melted against him, fitting snuggly against his chest, her head tucked beneath his chin. It was almost enough.
“I’ll go to the village with Ellis. Promise me you won’t leave before I get back. Remember, it might not even be him.”
She nodded, an awkward bobbing against his neck.
“Promise me, Evie.”
“I promise.”
Was she the sort of woman who kept her vows? He was about to find out.
…
Dark clouds glowered overhead as Alex, with Ellis at his side, left the cliff path and took the winding road into Stoneman’s Bay.
The tiny fishing village nestled on a steep hill between two towering cliffs. On the eastern edge, a wide beck flowed down to the harbor. They followed its path toward the shore, passing fishwives sitting on their doorsteps mending nets or heading down to the beach in their double-crowned bonnets and aprons to collect mussels. Later they’d carry home what they’d gathered in baskets balanced on their heads. The menfolk would be out in their cobles—flat-bottomed fishing boats—though judging by that ominous sky, they wouldn’t linger long on the water today.
The Bilge and Barnacle was a large brick building overlooking the harbor. It stood so close to the water that, on rough days, the waves crashing over the sea wall forced everyone, commoner or king, to use the tradesman’s entrance or risk a soaking.