As soon as they turned into Whitecombe Street and the crowd dispersed, Ross suddenly blurted, “Did you marry while away in France?”

The question shocked her. How could she ever marry anyone else when she loved him?

“No, though one smuggler asked me many times.” Faucheux would never stop looking for her. The rogue always got what he wanted.

“Good God, your brother is a baron. Why the hell would you marry a smuggler?”

“My brother may possess a title” — she paused, glanced back over her shoulder and lowered her voice — “but I consorted with criminals, Ross. I have worked in a tavern, and as a maid and governess.” She closed her eyes briefly at the memory. “The lady you once knew died on The Torrens and you would be wise to remember it.”

A darkness passed over his features. “You’re wrong. Your kindness and devotion to others is still evident in the way you are with the Erstwhiles. The gentleman speaks of you like a daughter, not an assistant.”

She couldn’t help but smile when she thought of Mr Erstwhile. “He knows nothing about my past and places value only on the present.”

Ross’ bright blue eyes focused on her mouth. “Then perhaps I should seek to do the same.”

For a moment, she imagined being drawn into his embrace, imagined telling him that they could be friends, share dinner, take trips to the theatre. But he deserved to hear the truth.

“I cannot stay in London.”

“You’re leaving?” All the colour drained from his face, and he took a few deep breaths. “When will you go?” The hard exterior melted away, leaving a voice tinged with sorrow.

“Soon.”

“Then in light of your earlier request, I ask you pay me the same courtesy. I ask that you delay your departure, at least for the time being.”

“Why?”

He shrugged and diverted his gaze. “I wish I knew.”

Every moment spent with him was torture. She wasn’t sure if she had the strength to last the week. “I cannot give you my word, but I shall consider what you have said.”

He swallowed visibly numerous times. “You cannot know what it is like to wake in the morning with one’s heart bursting with happiness. To go about your day with a false sense of rightness, to have everything you hold dear ripped away without a word or explanation.”

Lord help her, did he think her so cold? She knew what it was like to lose the love of her life.

“All I ask,” he continued, “is that you spare me the discomfort of calling at the shop to find you have upped and left suddenly during the night.”

Discomfort?

Of course, that was all this was to him now. A mild annoyance. A slight inconvenience. Her throat grew tight at the thought. She wasn’t sure she could answer without him hearing the hitch in her voice.

“Come.” She cleared her throat. “Mr Erstwhile will wonder where I’ve got to, and he has enough worries at the moment.”

Ross inclined his head. Although she sensed he had more to say, he pursed his lips and remained silent. Unspoken words were often the hardest to bear.

Despite returning from France, there would always be a vast sea between them. She would always be the selfish one who ran away from her problems. He would always be the strong, intrepid hero who deserved better.

While Ross tried to maintain an indifferent air as he escorted Estelle back to the apothecary shop, his heart pounded so hard in his chest it robbed him of breath.

When will you go?

Soon.

Those words replayed over and over in his mind. God damn. He wished she’d never stumbled upon him in the alley. He wished he’d never pursued her. Time was a great healer, so the philosophers said. Ballocks. The same excruciating pain pierced his soul. And still, he could not bring himself to swallow his pride and demand to know why she had left.

Hell, he needed a distraction.

He needed a fight.

Tags: Adele Clee Lost Ladies of London Romance
Source: readsnovelonline.net