But he only had tonight. Eight hours. One chance, to show her with his heart and body what she would not let him say in words.
He loved her. He was hers, unconditionally.
And tomorrow morning, he would have to give her away.
Chapter 24
The following morning, after lingering for a bittersweet lovemaking session in bed before rising to face the day, Hudson took the reins of his barouche.
Tabitha was once again seated on the driver’s perch with Hudson, rather than tucked inside the carriage. Her newly familiar curves pressed so softly against his side did not feel nearly as spontaneous and carefree as it had done when he’d first arrived in Marrywell.
They were not off on a whimsical frolic to splash in the river or dance around a maypole or chase each other through fields of wildflowers. He was driving her to a place that neither one of them wished to go.
Returning her to her father. Who would hand her over to Viscount Oldfield.
Who would make her life a living hell.
For a man who had long prided himself on being preternaturally efficient at any task his employer assigned him, no matter how difficult or distasteful, today Hudson was markedly disinclined to earn his pay.
He didn’t want to ferry Tabitha back to London. He wanted to run away with her to Gretna Green, or to France, or literally anywhere the English aristocracy could not intervene in Tabitha’s life, freedom, and happiness.
Now that he’d had her, for one short, perfect week, Hudson was desperate to keep her. Not just to keep her with him, but to keep her smiling. To keep her safe.
But he would deliver her to Lord Oldfield, as commanded. He’d made a promise to his employer. And, more importantly, to Tabitha.
“Well,” she said, her voice shaking with obvious nervousness as the horses clopped down High Street and out of Marrywell. “I would say, ‘back to our normal lives’, but mine is about to change—and keep changing.”
She referred not just to her rescheduled wedding tomorrow morning, but to the impending death of her father, and its accompanying year of newlywed-in-mourning.
Nor was that the only disaster awaiting her. Becoming the marital property of a selfish, capricious lord famed for his coldhearted excesses would bring a lifetime of challenges. Mockery. Pain.
Hudson’s fingers clenched around the reins. A not insignificant part of him would rather quit his post, become utterly unemployable, and never earn another farthing again rather that bear witness to the hedonistic viscount tearing Tabitha down day after day until she was nothing more than a broken shadow of her former self.
But an even bigger part of him could not stomach the thought of leaving her to face such humiliation and misery alone.
As much as Hudson’s heaving stomach roiled at the thought of his syphilitic employer rutting with the woman Hudson loved between visits to the viscount’s whores and gaming clubs, Hudson would never leave Tabitha’s side if there was the slightest chance she needed him. He would stay, for her. Do his utmost to protect her. Die a little every time she left his sight to become the viscount’s temporary plaything.
As far as Hudson was concerned, going through with this farce of a marriage was the worst decision Tabitha could possibly have made. But it was her mistake to make. As much as Hudson might wish otherwise, the man she chose to marry was not up to him. He would not attempt to control her if he were her husband, which meant he certainly would make no such attempt now. If this was what she wanted, then he would do everything in his power to give it to her.
Even if it killed him inside.
Chapter 25
When the knock came at the door, Tabitha awoke with a start—and a painful crick in her neck. She’d fallen asleep again in the winged armchair she’d dragged into her father’s sick chamber. Wracked with guilt over having run off without explanation, she’d been unable to tear herself from his side since the moment of her return the day before.
Of course, today was a new day, and she would indeed be torn from her father’s side. Not for a moment or two, but forevermore. She was to present herself at the church in less than two hours to marry Lord Oldfield… who, apparently, had made multiple visits to her father’s bedside during Tabitha’s absence.
Not to enquire after the marquess’s health, but to complain about the delayed ceremony and to request the promised dowry in advance, in consolation for the bother of having to marry her.
She sat up gingerly, massaging her stiff neck and shoulder with one hand. “Dr. Collins! Please come in. Don’t mind me.”
The good doctor did not look at her tangled hair and wrinkled gown aghast, but with kindness. “Shouldn’t you be… elsewhere?”
Readying herself for an unwanted marriage, for example.
She stared at the doctor in anguish. “Should I be elsewhere? Or should I be right here with Father? He doesn’t look well.”
“He looks like he’s sleeping peacefully.”
