The Complete Regency Bestsellers And One Winters Collection. Rebecca WintersЧитать онлайн книгу.
people you work for are now looking for me?’ She had reasoned it out anyway, the fright on her face escalated to panic.
‘There is another way.’
‘What way?’
‘I can marry you.’ He wished he had put more emotion into the words before he said them. ‘My family name might see you safe.’
‘No.’
‘There is no choice, Aurelia, for treason holds a harsh punishment.’
She shook her head hard. ‘Marriage to a man with no mind to want you is a similar penance, Lord Hawkhurst.’
‘You speak of Charles?’
Caught in stillness the cream of her gown was bathed in a shimmering gold.
Lord Stephen Hawkhurst would marry her because of duty and danger. He would link his name to hers in protection and shelter only, nothing at all mentioned of love.
Treason? They could try her for that? They already had the word of Kerslake, his liberation depending upon the scope of his confession. Henry wouldn’t be kind. She knew it. He would throw her into a light that would not be flattering because in doing so he heightened his own chances of deliverance.
She hated the way her heart was beating, all the dreams she had fostered disappearing in the comprehension of a reality that held no mind for hope or love. It was worse because of it, this altered understanding—a proclamation given without any of the intended promise.
‘I do not think you understand the gravity of your predicament or the speed with which the British Service might act upon it.’
‘But you will tell me?’
‘They know where you are and unless we leave immediately I will have no hope to stop them from transporting you south to face charges. Atherton is the only option of protection left.’
‘Atherton?’ She could not understand what he meant in her moment of panic.
‘My title and my house. It takes a lot more work to hang a member of the peerage’s wife.’
Pragmatic and utilitarian. Her mouth felt dry at the notion of such a loveless union—history repeating itself.
Worse and worse. The words drove into her heart like the spar she had seen embedded in the chest of Charles.
Love me, Hawk, she longed to whisper. Love me in the same way that I love you and even should I die tomorrow it would all be worth it.
But she could see nothing in his eyes save the need to be gone as he took her by the arm and led her towards the house, his pace hurried. Lucas Clairmont met them at the front door, and after a quick conversation with Stephen he sent a servant to find a thick winter coat that she recognised as one of his wife’s.
It was over, and all she could do was to follow Stephen out to the Abbey stables and allow him to help her into a carriage readied with a basket of food on one seat and two heavy blankets on the other.
Aurelia remembered back to the only other time she had come to Atherton with Charles just after she had been married. With its ornate turrets reaching upwards from a three-storey façade it was a sight to see. Cream stone glinted in the late afternoon sun, giving the impression of a castle of light. A manicured park fell down to a pond, many bridges crossing the wandering waterways, a vista of beauty that stretched far out into the middle distance.
The thick crenellated walls of Atherton must have been a fortress once and it was not hard to imagine the Hawkhurst ancestors ranging across the parapets and warding off the sieges of some troublesome enemy.
Like they still might be now. Hawkhurst had been mindful all the way across the countryside, checking, waiting in the smaller tracks whilst scanning the road for those who might be following them.
‘Is it safe?’
She asked the question because she did not wish to be the serpent bringing trouble into Eden.
‘Very.’ No hesitation in his answer as he looked at the billowing flags of the ancient Hawkhurst seat, the charge of the black hawk standing out before a golden chevron and etched into a field of the lightest blue.
Generations of Hawkhursts had fought beneath these banners, dying for causes so much more noble than her own. She wondered what Hawkhurst might be feeling, as he had made little effort in conversation, and in his eyes she noticed a thread of an irritation that was dispiriting.
Did he wonder as to why he had brought her here? Was he wishing to be back in London with the beautiful Lady Elizabeth Berkeley, her goodness and pure innocence such that he should never have to chase across half of England with a group of thugs on his tail as he was with her?
The arrival of servants at the front door brought her attention back to the moment, maid after maid and man after man lining up along the pebbled circular driveway. When the steps of the conveyance were pulled down they both descended. Stephen did not touch her again.
‘Simpson.’ Hawk brought out his hand to the man who stepped forward and held the others warmly. ‘This is Mrs St Harlow, my wife-to-be.’
Shock held Aurelia immobile as a shimmer of recognition passed wordlessly down the long line of servants. The St Harlow name would hardly be salubrious and Charles’s early demise must have been a topic of conversation for months in the downstairs chambers of the castle. Besides, the idea of marriage mooted privately between themselves was very different from a direct proclamation to all who might listen.
Her shoulder ached as did her cheek and this charade was the very last thing she felt like being a part of. Still, with the long reach of the law, she knew that to insist otherwise and in front of so many people would be unwise.
Finally they were in the house and in a room to one side of the wide and lavishly furnished front hall. As the door closed against the last departing maid there was a moment’s silence and Aurelia wished that instead of looking so fierce Hawkhurst would simply walk forwards to take her in his arms to kiss her.
It might fix everything, a kiss: her worry, her fear, her aching uncertainty of walking into yet another mistaken marriage.
‘The vicar from the Atherton chapel will wed us first thing in the morning.’
‘Without banns?’
‘That will be taken care of.’ His voice was flat and weary.
‘If there is any other way that I might find protection, then I think we should consider—’ He stopped her.
‘There is not, Aurelia.’
Looking down at the cream dress Lillian had bequeathed her, Aurelia saw how the hours of being on the road had rumpled the silk. Hawk looked no better, his jacket dirty and his trousers and boots dusty.
‘I am sure that our union will be viewed very badly by all who hear of it.’ She tried to keep the shaking from her voice.
‘Then let us hope we can keep it secret for a while longer. I have worked for the British Service for over a decade and the least that they could accord me from this fiasco is the right of a few weeks of silence.’
A fiasco. She wondered if he might hear the sound of her heart breaking into a hundred little pieces even as she mulled over her options.
‘Annulments are not viewed favourably and are complex and difficult to procure. I could not afford the money needed for one.’
‘Enough, Aurelia.’ His hand came down across his thigh hard and dust spun into the late evening air, the motes swirling in the last slant of sun.
He said her name in a way that made her look up, the implied protection surprising, and suddenly she was breathless. Could