Page 6 of Love Abandoned

Chapter Two

From a little spark may burst a flame.

—Dante Alighieri,Paradiso

The crowd partedas Richard pushed his way through the room. He did make an effort not to jostle everyone, but he couldn’t avoid bumping a few people. He muttered insincere apologies while cursing internally. There had to be more here than was safe. There ought to be laws against such congestion. They chattered around him, like a gaggle of geese unexpectedly interrupted. He did not doubt by morning they would have worn themselves out over the drama, but the paper would pick at it like a raven at a carcass. Let them. All he cared about was getting Elizabeth home and having her wounds attended.

Her face pressed to his chest, she hid from curious eyes. Richard did not doubt she was mortified by the scene they were causing. At the door, a footman stood with his coat and Elizabeth’s wrap.

“Lord Bentley…said you might…like…these,” the man said, wheezing uncontrollably. He must have sprinted across the room and down the stairs.

“Yes, thank you.” Richard eyed the closed door. It would be considerate to let the footman catch his breath, but he’d not be able to hold Elizabeth and open it. “Do get the door, would you?”

The man quickly complied, and Richard stepped out into the bracing night air. The promised carriage was there, his man standing at the ready. “My lord,” Simon gasped and stepped forward to take Elizabeth.

“No.” Richard held Elizabeth possessively. “Grab our garb, and let’s get Lady Thornwood home.”

Simon placed their garments on the seat and waited at the ready. It was awkward getting in with her in his arms, but he didn’t let her go. He fell back onto the bench with a harrumph, his breathing labored, and Simon closed the door. The carriage rocked as Simon climbed onto his box, and seconds later, it rattled along the road. Elizabeth’s shoulders lifted and dropped in rapid succession, and his heart sank. He’d caused further pain. But she let out the most unladylike snort, and he realized she was laughing.

He scooped her chin with a finger, lifting her head so he could see her face, and even in the dim light, it was clear she was fully amused. It was Elizabeth as he’d known her, before life events had extinguished her joy, and his heart melted a little. “You minx,” he said. “You think this funny? Your feet are a mess. You’ll not be able to stand on them for days.”

“Oh, do tell, Doctor Thornwood. Off my feet? Resting in bed?” she asked playfully, her arm still around his neck, her smile inviting.

His heart skipped a beat. Doctor’s orders. Off your feet. Bed rest. The memories came rushing in, flooding him with a fear he never wanted to experience again.

“Richard?” Her voice was no longer playful. Was she remembering too, or did she sense the momentous shift in him? He couldn’t do this. He lifted her gently onto the bench across from him and looked away from her crestfallen face. He needed more distance than the carriage could provide. He knocked on the roof, and the carriage stopped.

“Elizabeth,” he said with a nod in her direction before he stepped out onto the street. He hated to abandon her, was an absolute swine for doing it, but do it he must. “Simon, see that Lady Thornwood is carried to her rooms and attended to.”

He didn’t wait for an answer. He turned and walked down the nearest side street, a casual stride when all he wanted to do was run. Run from it all. From decisions made. From the memories of the past. From the disappointment on Elizabeth’s face.

*

Stunnedwas anunderstatement. Elizabeth was dumbfounded. There’d been a connection, their old connection, she was sure of it. It was as though time had slipped away and they’d once again been the couple they had been. She knew she was not wrong. She’d seen the care and concern in his eyes, felt it in the security of his arms. She’d heard his deep inhale into her hair. He’d relished her scent as she’d savored his.

Did he feel spurned by her laughter? Impossible. The situation had been entirely ridiculous and their exit fodder for the stage, but it had also been a grand gesture. She dared to imagine it was one of love. But when he’d grunted as he’d fallen onto the bench, her knight in shining armor puffing and trembling with her weight, it had all become too much. A caricature of them had flashed through her mind, and she’d been overwhelmed by the humor in it all. And her laughter had been freeing. Perhaps too much so.

It had been years since she’d felt disencumbered enough to tease, to insinuate an invitation to her bed. Was that what had turned him? Was the thought so distasteful he must run at the suggestion of it? Her heart sank to its familiar place in the pit of her stomach. Was there truly no hope for them? She grabbed her wrap from where it had been set and pulled it over her shoulders. No, she could not accept it. She would not accept it. There was a spark of interest. She would hold on to the memory of it as though it was a small ember glowing warmly inside her chest.

The carriage slowed to a stop, and Simon opened the door.

“My lady, can you stand?”

“Of course I can.” She moved to do so, wincing as pain lanced her feet. With Simon supporting her elbow, she shuffled toward the first step. The front door opened, and Gordon stood gaping. Her maid bobbed behind him, then shoved him out of her way, her face creasing with concern.

“It’s nothing, Lucy, I assure you,” Elizabeth said, although at the moment it did throb like something. She wasn’t sure she could make it up all the stairs to her rooms.

“Gordon, fetch Marcus,” Simon ordered, before turning back to her. “Marcus will carry you in,” he said, softening his tone for her, adding as Elizabeth was about to object, “His Lordship demanded it.”

Elizabeth was not about to make a scene in front of the servants, so she waited until Richard’s valet arrived. She allowed Marcus to scoop her up, stiffening at the awkwardness of being in another man’s arms, even if the man was barely out of childhood. He carried her effortlessly up the front steps, where Hastings now stood ready.

“My lady, I am sorry to hear of your injury,” he said.

“Thank you, but I believe I shall live.”

Hastings was a fixture. Richard had inherited him, along with his title, long before Elizabeth had become part of the Thornwood world. He was a consummate professional, the soul of discretion, and—Lucy told her—a tyrant with the staff. All good traits in a butler.

Hastings led the way, not pausing to see how Marcus was doing. Marcus was doing remarkably well, despite the stairs and having to traipse with her all the way to the back of the house. He set her gently on the settee. He remained calm and in full control of his breathing. Such was the gift of youth. It was a definite contrast to Richard’s winded collapse onto the carriage bench. She smiled to herself. In all fairness, Richard would be thirty this coming summer. Which was not old, but nor was it young. Elizabeth sighed. Would that they could turn back the clock and begin again. What could she do differently to ensure he was here by her side instead of darting through the dark streets, away from her?

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