Page 25

Chapter Thirteen

T he fairytale setting of Caden’s candlelit bedchamber faded. Her mind raced. She felt as if she stood at the entrance to a very large, very dark tunnel. Her ears echoed with the sound of her breathing and her own pounding heart.

Baron Bolton, the man whom she had been forced to marry, then summarily killed, was not dead. She would neither go to prison, nor face execution. The proverbial noose had been lifted from ‘round her neck.

But freedom from retribution took second place to the realization she had not taken another’s life.

It was like a boulder had been lifted from her shoulders.

“Anna, for the love of everything holy, explain yourself.” Caden’s large hands gripped her shoulders.

She looked up at him. He studied her as if she was an escapee from bedlam. How long had he been questioning her?

“Tell me you’re not bloody married to him. This is beyond anything. ”

“I…” She spread her arms wide. “…am.”

He released her as one might a glowing poker. Before her eyes, his expression morphed from one of tenderness and longing to betrayal.

So much for his profession to understand the limited avenues open to a woman on the brink of destitution. Privy to a mere a shred of her history, a history she’d tried to shield him from, and already he’d judged and sentenced her.

“How could you marry him? Here I thought…I thought…but you only left because you thought him dead?”

“An oversimplification, but—”

He jerked a thumb over his shoulder toward the four-post bed.

“—And what was that all about? I actually struggled with bedding you and subsequently leaving you to fend for yourself, a penniless servant, when all the while, you would happily depart my bed to go back to him? Thank God good sense prevailed.”

He scrubbed a hand over his mouth and glared at her. A muscle rapid-fire ticked in his jaw. “And now? I suppose now you’ll relinquish your servitude to rejoin him ?”

His last words hit her like a pail of icy water. Rejoin him…

No. She wouldn’t. She couldn’t. Only, her so-called husband—and Angelique, no doubt—had posted an advertisement with her picture, promising a reward for any assistance in locating her.

“Well?”

“Please, Caden. I have to think.”

Assuming Hardasher had, indeed, recognized her, he may have already sent word. Baron Bolton and her dear, sweet step-mother might, even now, be on their way to Femsworth Manor.

She had to leave. Now.

Caden paced the room, muttering under his breath. “Of all the scenarios I could have conjured, this one would never have entered my mind. I understood you loved your husband, even if he did sound like a cad. But Baron bloody Bolton?”

Having reached the far side of the room, he pivoted and stalked back toward her. “I dismissed the possibility of you and Bolton out of hand, I’ll have you know.”

He stopped a few feet from her, nostrils flaring, hands splayed on his hips. “I misjudged you completely. I don’t have a clue who you are, do I? Christ. If Zeke and Claybourne could see me now, and the fool I’ve made of myself over you, they’d laugh ’til their eyes bled.”

He may as well have slapped her. He thought himself a fool? The prize went to her. She’d known better than to trust him, but in the end, her heart overruled her head. A moment ago she’d have given him anything. Everything.

How terrible to realize her mother had been right all those years ago.

She steeled herself against the tidal wave of pain she had not seen coming. “I must go.”

“Excuse me? Go , you say? Have you looked at yourself in the mirror?”

She blinked, tears threatening. She would not cry over this man. “I haven’t, no. So sorry my appearance doesn’t meet with your approval, sir.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I meant , if anyone catches sight of you they’ll assume…” He huffed out a mirthless laugh. “Never mind. The point is, you can’t leave before we talk this through. Help me understand…any of this, Anna, please.”

His anguished plea pulled at her heart strings. With ruthless will, she recalled to mind his words. Thank God good sense prevailed…I misjudged you completely…If Zeke and Claybourne could see me now, and the fool I’ve made of myself over you, they’d laugh ’ til their eyes bled .

She blanked her expression. “Understand? But you already seem to know the prescient facts. Why lower yourself with any further association, Mr. Thurgood?”

She shoved past him, striding for the basin and the shaving mirror hanging above it.

She stared at her image in horror. Hair loose and hopelessly tangled, cheeks flushed. She looked as if she’d just taken a mad ride on a wild horse.

With swift fingers, she twisted her hair into a semblance of a knot and glanced down at her rumpled, borrowed gown.

She bit back a groan. Caden had the right of it. If she encountered anyone in the meandering corridors leading to Lady Wentworth’s chambers, they would have no doubt how she’d spent the last hour.

It couldn’t be helped.

She squared her shoulders and, not sparing another glance for Caden, made for the antechamber door. Every step she took felt like losing a piece of herself—even knowing the truth. He saw her as beneath him, just as her mother always warned.

His words echoed in her head. I misjudged you completely…if Zeke and Claybourne could see me now. Her heart burned like she’d swallowed live coal.

“Wait.” Caden, who’d stood silent and motionless, now caught her in two ground-eating strides. His warm palm closed around her elbow in a gentle, firm grip.

“Please, Glory,” he said in an achingly tender tone that tore at her insides. “Don’t leave like this. Not before we clear the air. I was caught off guard. Can’t you understand? One moment you’re in my arms, the next you’re married to the devil incarnate. I thought…”

She turned to face him, eyes stinging. Not that she was crying, for the love of the saints .

Looking into his beautiful eyes, her shield of anger vanished, leaving her bared and raw. “I know what you thought, Caden. You thought to entertain yourself with the help, and rekindle an old friendship while you were at it. Maybe toss some coin my way to help you feel better about my bad end.”

His face paled. “No. It wasn’t like that. I swear on everything I hold dear.”

She cupped his cheeks with shaking hands. Thoughts raced through her mind, things she wished she could say to him. In the end, there was no time and even less point.

“Goodbye, Caden.” With that, she turned and fled.

“Anna, wait,” he hissed from the doorway.

She spared one last look as she charged down the corridor—and nearly collided with Mr. Randall. Only his outstretched arms averted disaster.

Grasping her shoulders, he studied her with grave concern. “I beg your pardon, is it… Mrs. Jones ? It is you. Are you quite all right?”

Mortified, she twisted free and raced on.

Caden’s voice sounded behind her, entirely too close for comfort. “Harrison, what the devil are you doing? Get out of my way, man. What are you— let me go .”

“Listen, man, there’s something I need to tell you that can’t wait.”

Swallowing a sob, she raced on.