“I refuse to believe you. And even if it were true, would you be so cruel as to make a widow leave her home?”
“Widow?” he said with a sneer. “You are not a widow. Your lover may have died, but that still only makes you his whore.”
Roselyn’s hard-fought calm vanished beneath an onslaught of wild, pent-up rage. She slapped him hard, using the weight of her body behind her arm. She heard his head hit the wooden door, watched with dawning uncertainty as he fell—luckily onto his own pallet.
She almost ran to help him—until his cruel words reverberated through her brain, closing up her throat with tears she refused to shed. He could help himself.
Thornton rolled onto his back and lifted himself up on his elbows. His cheek had darkened from the imprint of her hand. “Striking me won’t change the truth. You made sure I can never legally wed another, that I can never give my family an heir. I will at least take all the property owed me.”
She didn’t answer, just clenched her fists to keep from hitting him again.
“I’ll wager your father doesn’t even know you’re here. Is the bailiff in on your deception?”
“The Heywoods are good people—they run this estate better than anyone else my father could hire.”
“So they house you, and you bake their bread. Do they enjoy watching you serve them?”
He might as well have struck her, and she gasped. “They are my only family—if you dare to make trouble for them, you’ll answer to me.”
They stared at each other, both breathing heavily, the air between them thick with anger and mistrust. Roselyn finally turned away. Sobs pressed against her ribs, tears stung behind her eyelids, but she would not let Thornton know how terrified she was.
Why hadn’t she just left him on the beach, like any sensible woman?
She knelt down and began to pick up the scattered vegetables with hands that shook. She felt his mocking gaze on her, but she refused to look at him. She didn’t know what to do, had no one to turn to. Now that he knew who she was, there was nothing to stop him from hurting her, especially if he was a Spanish spy.
But what if he was only an angry, rejected bridegroom? Regardless of the cruel things he’d said, she had humiliated him before all of London society, which seemed to matter to him.
But that didn’t give him the right to force her to leave her family home. She wouldnotbelieve that her father would part with Wakesfield, where she’d spent so much of her childhood.
Roselyn didn’t look at Thornton as she hung another cauldron of water over the fire. She kept her back to him as she chopped vegetables and checked on the salted mutton she’d left soaking in a bowl. With each repetitive stroke of her knife, she became even more numb to the despair she thought she’d long ago buried—
Until she turned around and saw him watching her with black, fathomless eyes. A knowing smirk turned up the corners of his mouth. She froze, barely keeping herself from flinging the vegetables at him.
But it would only make more work for her. She put the vegetables and mutton and seasonings in the cauldron, and tossed the bowl back on the table. Without looking at him, she calmly opened the door and went outside, where she took one step, then another, and another, until she started to run, as if she could outrun the coming darkness.
Roselyn didn’t stop until she fell to her knees in the tall grass overlooking the ocean, and finally let the sobs escape her aching chest.
Chapter 6
The uncertainty and anger poured out of Roselyn in bitter tears.
Was she always going to live in fear, with never a place to call home? She couldn’t believe the gall of Spencer Thornton to threaten to send her away from Wakesfield.
How could she go back to her cottage, withhimthere, ready to reproach her for his humiliation, when he should be bearing much of the blame?
When her tears finally ended, she felt drained. She would not allow him to destroy her life, not when he and his family had already tried once. And to think she had recently thought him capable of charm! He had a lot to answer for—especially his part in this war with Spain—and she would not rest until she knew the truth.
She suddenly realized it was not yet full dark, that anyone could have found her sobbing. Her face and hands—even her gown—were stained with dirt, and she needed to cleanse away her sorrows the only way she knew how.
It was but a short walk down the cliff path to the beach, and beneath the waning moon, Roselyn walked into the waves and submerged herself. She rose to the surface with a gasp, shaking the cap and pins from her hair until it fell long and tangled down her back. The chill salt water soaked through her garments, numbing her emotions until she felt only tired, no longer full of despair. For a moment, she again experienced the odd sensation of being watched, just like the night she’d brought Thornton to her cottage. But she heard nothing but the crash of the waves, saw nothing but the muted shadows thrown by the moon.
She had handled so much in her life—she would be able to deal with Thornton.
~oOo~
Spencer lay back on the pallet, smelling the stew that bubbled above the fire, wondering what he was supposed to do next.
He held his anger restrained, simmering just beneath the surface. The prospect ofat leasttwo more weeks with Roselyn Harrington seemed intolerable.
