cooperative.”
They stayed until the last prisoner took his place aboard the ship, until the ship set sail.
Luke heard Catherine breathe a sigh of relief. “I can’t believe it’s over.”
“Believe it.”
Dawn was just beyond the horizon when Claybourne’s coach pulled to a stop in the alley behind Catherine’s residence.
Claybourne. She didn’t think he’d yet grown comfortable with the realization of who he was, but she had no doubt that he would in time. He was the proper earl. She wished she could help him, reassure him, stand by his side as he truly took his place among the aristocracy, but she wasn’t the one he wanted at his side. She knew that. Had accepted it before she ever entered his bedchamber at Heatherwood.
They’d talked of nothing personal since the night of his revelation. That, too, was how it should be.
The coach door opened. Claybourne climbed out, then extended his hand to her.
For the last time, she placed her hand in his, felt his strong fingers close over hers. For the last time, she stepped out, inhaling the masculine scent that was his alone. For the last time they walked side by side to the gate, speaking not a word, as though too much remained to be said and so little time remained to say it.
She cleared her throat. “I’ll arrange a tea for Frannie, begin introducing her into society.”
He nodded. She swallowed. “So we’re in agreement there’ll be no more evening
lessons.”
He nodded. She extended her hand. “Then, thank you, my lord. Our arrangement has been…gratifying—”
Grabbing her hand, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her, almost savagely, as though this moment was as painful for him as it was for her. Of their own accord, her arms wound around his neck. She didn’t want to let him go. She didn’t want another woman in his bed, in his life, in his heart.
She almost told him that she’d do anything, anything he wanted if he’d only choose her, but she loved him too much not to grant him the fulfillment of his dreams—and Frannie, not Catherine, was part of those dreams.
He broke away, stepped back, breathing harshly in the pre-dawn stillness. “Our bargain is complete. Nothing else is required of you.”
He spun on his heel and strode to the coach. She stood as she was while the driver cracked the whip, setting the horses into motion, and the coach rumbled by. When she could no longer see it, she opened the gate and walked inside.
After closing the gate behind her, the pain of lost love overtook her and she dropped to the cool grass and wept.
Nothing else is required of you.
He was mistaken there. One more thing was required of her: to survive the breaking of her heart.
22
It was a lovely day for sitting in the garden, and Catherine took advantage of it, having her father brought down and settled in a chaise longue while she sat in a chair beside him.
It had been nearly a month since Catherine had stood in the pre-dawn with Claybourne and watched as Avendale boarded what was certain to be a ship bound for hell. She should have slept well, knowing that Winnie and Whit were safe for all time. It wasn’t guilt that kept her from peaceful slumber. It was worrying over her father, whose health was diminishing rapidly now.
And it was longing for Claybourne to be there to ease the burden that was weighing on her.
Catherine scoured the papers every morning searching for the announcement of
Claybourne’s betrothal to Miss Frannie Darling, but she had yet to see it. No matter. It would come, and when it did, it would be like a knife through her heart.
One morning she’d told her father the tale of the Earl of Claybourne. He’d seemed as entertained by the story as he was by Oliver Twist. As feeble as he seemed, she suspected he was well aware that Claybourne was the man she’d been silly enough to fall in love with. But she saw no condemnation in his eyes.
The focus of her life had narrowed to her father, enjoying his company as much as possible during what she was certain were his final days. She’d written to her brother, beseeching him to return home. Lord only knew if the letter would find him in time.
Now she read the final words of Oliver Twist and very gently closed the book. She smiled at her father. “So Oliver found a home. I’m glad of it.”
He blinked slowly. She combed her fingers through his hair. “My heart did go out to the Artful Dodger, though. I was sorry he was transported. I hear it’s a very harsh life, although I suspect there are those who deserve it.”
