Minutes later, footsteps echo from down the corridor. I arrange my features into a calm mask and get ready to show Rowland what’s left of the notebook.
Some secrets are worth keeping.
FORTY-SIX
I’m still twitchy when Rowland’s footsteps approach. Maybe because it’s my turn to lie by omission. The ripped pieces in my pocket feel like they’re fused to my skin, but I remind myself it’s best for both of us if he doesn’t know. He steps out from the darkness of the corridor, his weary features turning bright. Then he pulls me into his strong arms.
All the tension escapes my lungs, and I melt into his embrace. Rowland squeezes me tight against his chest like he’s afraid I might disappear.
“It’s over,” he says, his voice rough with exhaustion.
Pulling back, I meet his dark eyes. “Your brother’s really gone?”
“He wasn’t in the tunnels. And the basement’s empty except for...” Rowland doesn’t need to finish. I already know he’s talking about the bodies Rochester collected over the years. Now, Morrison’s keeping them company. “You were right. He really did die in that fire.”
“Are you sure?” I ask, my voice breathy with hope.
Rowland nods, his eyes fluttering shut. Withan outward breath, he murmurs, “Edward is gone. We’re finally free.”
The next few days blur together in a haze. We clean the study and hallways of all traces of the fight, dispose of Morrison’s car in a nature reserve on the other side of the island, and settle into the routine of two lovers learning to live without looking over our shoulders.
Rowland and I spend hours talking, touching, discovering each other without the constant threat of his brother’s return. We make love in Rochester’s bed, in his study, in every room where he once held power, claiming the space as ours.
But our fragile peace doesn’t last long.
Three days after Morrison’s death, letters arrive from Blanche’s attorney requesting meetings to discuss Rochester’s inheritance. Her will left everything to her husband, and the estate is still in need of rescuing from bankruptcy.
The solution is obvious but terrifying. Rowland must become Edward Rochester legally, financially, and socially to claim Blanche’s money and save the estate. It’s the only way we can stay here and build a life together.
Which is why I’m standing outside the bathroom, listening to his labored breathing through the door.
“Rowland,” I press my palm against the wood. “You need to come out.”
“I look monstrous,” his voice is thick with revulsion and shame.
“You don’t know that until I see you.”
Silence stretches for several seconds, broken only by his pained sobs. My heart squeezes. I picture Rowland’s face crisscrossed with the same scars marring his chest. It’s hard to imagine what manner of torture he endured.No matter what, my love for this man won’t waver, even if he’s disfigured.
“Rowland. Come to me. Please.”
“Alright,” he says with a sigh.
Moments later, the lock clicks, and the door swings open. Rowland emerges naked, save for a white towel around his hips. He bows his head as if walking to his execution, his shoulders drawing up to his ears. The beard is gone, and his hair is slicked back with water, but I still can’t see his face.
“Look at me,” I murmur.
He jerks his head to the side.
I place both hands on his scarred chest, frowning at the frantic beat of his heart. “What are you afraid of? We’ve seen each other at our worst. You can’t turn away from me now.”
Throat bobbing, he finally straightens and looks me full in the face. The man staring back makes every fine hair on my body stand on end.
Rowland’s resemblance to his brother is so strong that I reel on my feet. He has the same aristocratic nose, the same sharp cheekbones, the same cruel mouth.
“You didn’t tell me you’re twins,” I whisper.
He grimaces, his lips tightening with distaste. “Not identical. Not really.”
