Page 63 of Exile's Return
He flinched and she knew her barb had struck home. ‘That is harsh, Agnes. I will never think of you that way.’ He touched the tip of her nose and when she turned her face away, he withdrew his hand, the wolfish gleam dying in his eyes.
‘I will be leaving in the morning,’ she said.
He frowned at her. ‘Leaving?’
‘You are recovered and no doubt you will be returning with Kit to Hampshire to see your family. I will continue to Charvaley…alone.’ Even as she said the word, her resolve wavered. What genteel woman travelled the roads of England alone?
His eyes narrowed. ‘How? I made you a promise, Agnes.’
‘And I’m not holding you to it. Your circumstances have changed in a way you could not have foreseen. Mine have not. I still have two children who need me and I have to find my way to Charvaley.’
That cold dread, the fear for Henry, clutched at her once more. She would leave this minute if she could.
He considered her for a long moment. ‘But you’re wrong, Agnes. Nothing’s changed,’ he said at last. ‘Not while Tobias Ashby is at Charvaley.’
She laughed. ‘Surely you don’t really plan to kill him?’
His high cheekbones coloured at her derision. ‘That has been all I have thought of for the last ten years, Agnes.’
‘That is a boy’s dream, Daniel. Put the past away. You have a future now.’
He stiffened. ‘I don’t understand what has changed between us, Agnes.’
Nothing, she thought. It felt like every nerve in her body had been strung tight. If he touched her again, she would fall apart.
Mercifully, when she did not reply he straightened, setting his jaw. She had hurt him and her heart yearned to take him in her arms again, murmuring apologies.
‘We will talk in the morning, Agnes. If nothing else, I cannot in good conscience permit you to travel alone. If you do not want my company then suitable arrangements will need to be made.’
He gave her a perfunctory bow and turned on his heel, the movement catching the paper on the table. It fluttered to the floor and he stooped to pick it up. Before she could snatch it from his hands, he had scanned the contents.
‘James Ashby’s idea of a love letter?’ He turned back to her, handing her the paper.
‘His last letter to me.’ She took the paper, glancing down at the familiar handwriting. ‘He said more in those few short sentences than he said to me living. I found it in a book he gave me on that last day. I hadn’t thought to open it until tonight.’
Daniel shook his head. ‘I’m sorry. It was wrong of me to read it.’
She shrugged. ‘It’s of no matter.’
He turned again for the door. ‘Good night, Agnes. Stay your plans another day and we will contrive to work something out.’
She shook her head. ‘No. I must go, Daniel. I…I can’t explain.’
He turned back, his eyes wary. ‘Agnes?’
‘I have a terrible…feeling about Henry. He’s in danger.’ The words sounded so foolish said aloud.
In two strides he had returned to her, placing his hands on her shoulders and turning her to face him.
‘Is that what all this is about, Agnes? Henry?’
She nodded.
Daniel reached out and touched her hair, his hand once more cupping the back of her head and drawing her toward him, but not as it had been before, with lust in his eyes. This time she saw only understanding.
He folded her in his arms, kissing the top of her head. ‘You are right, Agnes. It’s no longer about Tobias Ashby. That was a boy’s anger.’
She pushed away from him. ‘Leave me, Daniel. I meant what I said. I will not share your bed again.’
