Page 47

47

Franny

“Leave us.” Rupert’s rich baritone filled Franny’s bedchamber.

Her lady’s maid hastily finished running the brush through Franny’s hair and set it on the dressing table. Franny peered into the looking glass resting atop the table, saw Sally dip a quick curtsy, and make her exit. Lucky girl.

Franny blew out a breath, gathered her failing courage and turned to face her husband. Her chest constricted. She hated him in that moment. For being so blasted handsome. He stood there, his untamable curls falling over his brow, no coat to cover the wide breadth of his muscles. His pristine white cravat was intricately knotted between the lapels of his ivory silk waistcoat, which was embroidered with a barrel brown thread, the same exact color of his eyes. Eyes which were currently brimming with some fierce emotion. Guilt? Remorse? Whatever it was, it made her own heart ache even more.

He took hesitant steps toward her, the soft pad of his boots against the rug like a cannon-blast in the silent room.

“I summoned the doctor. He should be arriving soon.” His words trailed off.

“Mrs. Higgens has looked me over for now. Nothing of concern.”

“Would you allow me to look you over? To confirm for myself?”

No. Most definitely not. If he touched her…the fragile pieces of herself she currently held together, no more secure than a tower of cards, would come crashing down.

“I am fine, Rupert.”

“You are not fine. You were limping dreadfully. And you probably worsened whatever injury you obtained in that show of defiance against my mother.”

Her spine hardened; the flames of her anger provided some much needed fuel. “It’s minor. I must have landed on it oddly when Blaze threw me. I would be caught dead before I showed an ounce of weakness in front of your mother. She may run roughshod over you, but I will always be my own keeper.”

His mouth tightened, nostrils flaring, but when he spoke, his voice came out composed.

“She does not run roughshod over me, Franny.”

“No? So, you just…didn’t want to search for me?”

“No! Of course, I wanted to go after you. I called for my horse immediately—”

“Odd then that you didn’t end up looking for me.” She laughed, but it was hollow, flat, dull. Like her chest, nothing but an empty cavern where her heart should be.

“Franny.” His voice was tortured. It was torture. But he had made his choice.

“After I came to in the ravine,” she said quietly, “with water flowing around me, for the brief moment I regained consciousness. Do you know what thought crossed my mind? What question?”

His mouth opened, but he didn’t answer. She shook her head and dropped her gaze to the rug. “I felt so guilty for having thought it. I chastised myself because it was so obviously untrue. After our days together here, I knew it couldn’t be true.”

Her voice broke, and she met Rupert’s gaze, the same turmoil swirling like a tempest reflecting back at her. “I wondered if you would even bother looking for me. And I felt such overwhelming guilt afterwards. Because things had changed—I thought they had changed—between us. You saved me before. You would always come for me.”

She paused, forced down the despair, a lifetime of being unwanted closing in around her throat. “I thought you had come to care for me. I thought finally someone cared.” Her throat thickened, her lungs suddenly became ineffectual, every part of her body choking her. “But you didn’t come.”

“Franny, no—please.” He dropped to his knees before her, turning her chair so she faced him, looked down on him. His hands slid up her calves over the thin blush silk of her dressing robe, wrapping around them, holding tight to her.

“Franny, I know it was unforgivable that I didn’t look for you myself. And I did have every intention. But my mother had brought up a valid argument. That perhaps you had stopped to partake in something—a swim, climbing a tree. You are an active woman, Franny, adventurous. It dawned on me that perhaps Blaze had broken free of where you had tied him up. I was merely being optimistic. I was going to get Mother settled and then join in the search.”

God, he was touching her. His thumbs lightly running over her. It was everything. It was agony.

“But you never did join,” she said quietly.

He let out a frustrated growl. “Mother fainted. I had to see to her. And at that point, I didn’t want to miss your arrival.”

She studied him. Of course, his mother had fainted. She wouldn’t put it past the witch to do it on purpose. She bit back from saying so. Because it was clear where Rupert’s loyalty lay. And it wasn’t with Franny.

He rose on his knees, his hands moving to caress her cheeks. “Franny…”

She closed her eyes and inhaled a shuddering breath.

His hands tightened. “I care, Franny. I do. Me not coming for you does not have any bearing on how much I care for you.”

She opened her eyes, and their gazes locked, his eyes searching hers. “I think your actions speak volumes, Rupert.”

“What do you mean?” he whispered.

“I find it hard to believe that a man who…if a man shared even an ounce of the same…” She broke off, not willing to admit it to him. He didn’t deserve to know. “He would have come for me,” she said plainly. “That man. He would not have stopped until he found me.”

A part of her screamed that she was being unreasonable, demanding too much. She should be happy he cared even the smallest bit. It was more than she ever had before. She was being unreasonable. But she was hurting, and she couldn’t help it, couldn’t think straight, couldn’t be logical and composed. Because she didn’t want his scraps. She didn’t want to be something he sent the servants to take care of. She wanted to be his everything. She wanted to be to him what he was to her.

And the thing in all of this that hurt the most, that probably was more the reason she was shattering into fragments inside than the fact that he hadn’t searched for her…was the revelation that the man she loved would always be taken away from her. He would resurface every so often, only to be jerked back, his mother securing her strings. The bigger the threat Franny posed, the shorter those strings would get. The stronger they’d get.

She wrapped her fingers around his wrists and gently pulled his hands from her face until they settled on her knees.

“You would have been able to find me. If you had bothered to look,” she whispered. She pressed her fist against her heart. “You would have found me. Apparently, you hadn’t the desire to.”

He fell back on his calves, his face stricken.

“I suppose the only time you find it worth your while to come after me is if there is a threat to your reputation.”

“Franny, that isn’t true,” he said hoarsely.

“I saw your face when we rode in, Billy and me. You were angry. Jealous? I don’t know. But you didn’t like seeing me and Billy together.”

“Of course I didn’t, Franny. I want to tear apart any man who touches you. I cannot and will not ever be able to rid myself of that.” He rose again, his thumbs brushing away the tears she hadn’t even realized she’d let fall. “You. Are. Mine,” he growled. “How was I supposed to feel, seeing you brought home in another man’s arms?”

Her shoulders sagged. She was so bloody tired. From today. From the constant fighting of their marriage. Numbness washed over her like the cold waters of the ravine. “There is only one person to blame for that, Rupert,” she said emotionlessly. “You sat at home because a lord does not dare break a sweat. He has servants to sweat for him. It is vulgar and common and beneath you to do such a thing. It was not beneath Billy to save me. I think that speaks volumes about who the gentleman truly is.”

She stood, and his hands fell away; then she hobbled over to her bed, grabbing onto the thick poster for support.

He was at her back in seconds. “You will do yourself further injury. You cannot be walking on your ankle in its current state. Can I at least assist you into bed?”

His hand settled on her lower back. And that touch, the soft press of each individual fingertip. God, each one was like a blade. All she wanted was to let him hold her, hold on to him and not let go. Pretend his dragon of a mother wasn’t out there somewhere in the manor, just waiting to steal this man away from Franny. Franny didn’t know if she could battle a dragon every day for the rest of her marriage. For once, she didn’t think she had enough fight in her. For once, she had found something that could break her.

“If you wouldn’t mind removing your hands from my person,” she said flatly, an echo of his words a few days past in his study.

His hand immediately left her. But she could still hear the soft draw of his breath, the smooth exhale, feel the heat of each puff of air against the back of her neck.

She turned to look at him. Mistake. He was inches from her, his fathomless brown eyes staring at her as if they could bore into her soul. His soft lips so close, so tempting, in the comfort they would give her, in the comfort his embrace would provide. She so desperately wanted to be held, instead of having to hold herself up.

His lips brushed across hers, and she squeezed her eyes tight as her heart splintered painfully. She jerked back.

“ No. No, Rupert. I cannot .” She took a small step backward. “I know our relationship hasn’t been perfect.” A laugh burst from her, and she snapped her lips shut, cutting off the maniacal sound filling the room. But they were so bloody far from perfect.

She drew in a breath and started over. “I will always test your patience; you will always curse my recklessness. And I will always get angry at you when your better-than-thou self makes an appearance. But that is us , Rupert. You are here to tell me when I go too far, keep my feet on solid ground. And I am here to tell you when you are being the world’s largest arse and remind you how to live . But after today…I am not so sure even that relationship is truly possible. Can our relationship withstand your mother?”

“Yes.” He hissed it, vehemence coating his words, surety, resolve.

She wished she could let herself believe it. But she was terrified. She could feel the armor wrapping itself around her heart, her body’s instinctive impulse to protect itself from a devastation only this man was capable of.

Rupert’s hand came up, his knuckles drifting softly over her cheek. “I am so deeply sorry; no words will ever do justice to explain the depth of it. But, please, Franny, let me make it right.”

She stared into those deep brown eyes, the same color as the wood of the forest at night. And just like a forest, she lost herself in them.

His forehead met hers, his breath coasting over her lips. “Tell me what I can do to fix this.”

“I would like some time on my own,” she managed to choke out. “I am quite tired. I think I shall rest until the doctor arrives.”

He cleared his throat. “Of course. As you wish.”

They both pulled away, taking a step back, and stared at each other silently. And then she turned away. From him. From them.

His footsteps thudded against the carpet, a pace, two paces, three, and paused. A soft clatter echoed in the chamber, and she slowly glanced over her shoulder to see Rupert standing at her dressing table, her locket—repaired—on its surface.

He gradually backed toward the door, his gaze never leaving hers. He hesitated at the door, gripping the handle.

“If there is anything you need, I will be in the family sitting room. Ring for me. For anything. I will never not come for you again, Franny. I swear it.”

He pulled the door open and left, shutting it quietly behind him.

Franny limped over to the table and picked up her locket. She turned it over in her palms, the silver warm from the heat of his palms. Her eyes burned, the feel of the heat from his person too close to an actual touch, one she couldn't handle right now. She popped open the empty locket, out of habit, something she had done a million times before. And froze. Stopped breathing. The no longer empty locket. Because inside now lay her miniature on one side, Rupert’s on the other.

It was too much. Her anger, her hurt, her grief, her disappointment, her confusion, rushed over her like a tidal wave, taking her down, pulling her under. A sob wrenched from her chest as she fell heavily in her chair, her head dropping onto her arms on her dressing table.

Clutching the locket to her chest like a lifeline, she allowed the emotions to crash over her. The fear that the man she’d fallen in love with would never truly be hers. The anguish that came from knowing she wasn’t enough to break him away from his mother’s clutches. And the loneliness that came from one-and-twenty years of neglect.

She finally did something she almost never allowed herself to do.

She allowed herself to fall apart.