“At least you have half a chance of being together,” she said and swept from the room.
“Penelope.”
When she turned, there were tears streaking down her face.
“I wish you the best.”
She touched his arm. “Maybe I could’ve been married to you.”
“I’m sorry that’s not an option. But I don’t think it ever really was.”
“Then fight for her,” she whispered. “Do everything you can to be together. Do it for those of us who are battling far more than a class barrier.”
Chapter 21
The duke wasn’t happy when he left. He said Truman was foolish to turn away such an advantageous alliance. But Truman couldn’t do anything else. Maybe he was risking his neck, literally, but if he married Lady Penelope he’d be miserable every day of his life—and not because he didn’t like her. He liked her a lot more than he’d thought he would. He just couldn’t betray his own heart.
“You turned him down.”
Truman glanced over at Linley. His butler stood at attention beside him on the drive as the duke’s coach pulled away from the manse.
“Yes.”
“And if we are unable to find the paintings?”
Truman knew his disapproval stemmed from concern. “I’m taking a gamble.”
“One I fear you might regret.”
“Never,” he said. “I will take what comes but I won’t imprison myself in another loveless marriage. Have William saddle my horse.”
“Are you going to the colliery?”
“I’m going to the village to get Rachel and bring her home where she belongs.”
Linley gave him an odd smile.
“What?” Truman said, surprised by his sudden softening.
“Now I know that you have found exactly what you’ve always wanted.”
He thought of what Rachel had said when they argued yesterday: How long would it be before you began to regret being with me?
How could he convince her that he’d never regret it?
She could be so stubborn.…
“The question is whether or not she’ll believe me.”
Rachel had locked the doors when she first arrived for fear Cutberth would show up again, but that gave her little security. If he had a key to the shop, he could easily have a key to her house. How had he gained possession of it?
She supposed if he really had been having an affair with her mother, Jillian could’ve given it to him. But Wythe could’ve provided it, too. Since the earl owned both buildings, he had a master, and Wythe was his steward. She couldn’t imagine he’d have trouble gaining access to any of the earl’s properties.
She stopped sweeping. What had she been thinking? Cutberth couldn’t have been the one to break into the bookshop. Why would anyone risk discovery by shattering a window if he could get in an easier way?
Before she could even attempt to solve that riddle, a knock drew her attention to the door and her earlier trepidation reasserted itself. She set the broom aside, hoping it was Mrs. Tate bringing nuncheon and not one of the hewers who’d sworn vengeance on her head. Cutberth, either.
The knock came again—brisk and insistent—before she could reach the door. “Rachel? Open up! Are you in there?”
It was the earl. A wave of relief washed over her, powerful enough that she had to put a hand on the wall to steady herself, but she wasn’t about to let him in. She wanted to see him too badly—knew, after another lonely night, and with only a series of lonely nights stretching indefinitely into the future to look forward to—that she wouldn’t be able to resist whatever he offered, no matter how unfair it would be to his betrothed.
“Go back to Blackmoor Hall,” she called. “Go marry the duke’s daughter.”
“I can’t,” he said. “I sent them back to London today.”
She couldn’t believe her ears. “They were here?”
“They arrived yesterday, just after we talked. And now they’re gone.”
“What did you tell them?”
“I broke the engagement, Rachel.” He rattled the knob. “Open the door.”
Weak with the longing she’d been holding at bay, she closed her eyes and slid down the wall to the floor. Now she really wouldn’t be able to deny him—or herself. “All the more reason you should leave.”
“I’m not leaving,” he responded. “Not without you.”
His certainty and determination gave her a brief flash of hope. “Did they find the paintings, then?” In some small corner of her mind, she’d held out hope that he’d be able to clear his name, that he’d come for her. Was this that dream, coming true?
She caught her breath as she awaited his answer.
“Not yet.”
“Have they searched the whole mine?”
There was a pause before he answered. “I’m afraid so. I received word just before I came here.”
Tears sprang to her eyes. “Then I won’t listen to you. Write the duke. Apologize and beg him to forgive you. I won’t let the Abbotts gain any greater advantage, won’t let you risk your life, not when marrying Lady Penelope could save you.”
“That’s my decision, not yours,” he said.
Suddenly enraged that he’d hold out something she wanted so desperately but couldn’t take, she got to her feet and opened the door. She intended to send him packing—and in no uncertain terms so that he would never return—but he forced the door out of her grasp as soon as he had the chance.
“Rachel, listen to me.”
“I won’t. I can’t. The best thing I can do, probably for both of us, is stay away—”
“Even if I can’t live without you?”
This brought tears to her eyes. “Don’t make it any harder. You said that to me once.”
He caught her arm. “Look at me.”
“No. I mean it. Go.” She tried to wrench away, but he wouldn’t let her. He brought her up against his chest.
“Stop fighting,” he murmured in her ear.
“But you’re ready for Bedlam if you think we have any chance—”
One hand fisted in her hair as he cut off her words with a kiss. The way he held her made it impossible for her to escape. She remained determined to finish her sentence in spite of that, but not for long. Once his arms tightened, the longing she’d been battling since she left took control.
Parting her lips and meeting his tongue with her own triggered an onslaught of emotion. He seemed to sense her need, seemed to feel plenty of his own and responded by kicking the door shut and carrying her into the bedroom.