I know what you did, and the world will too. The cost for my silence is a hundred sovereigns. Leave the money in the folly, tomorrow at midnight. Come alone. If you fail to meet these terms, the next note I send will be to your husband.
Panic had smothered her. Who had written this—who knew her secret? The same hand had written the two notes, and while she didn’t recognize it, the bold strokes looked masculine. Names and faces, blurred by the passing years, streaked through her head. Why would someone threaten her now…when seven years had passed since Wilmington’s death, and she’d finally begun to believe that she might be safe?
You can hide, you little bitch. The memory of her stepfather’s slurred words, the ominous thump of his footsteps, made her freeze even now. But you can never escape. Not from me.
For years, running and hiding had been her method of survival. Yet this time, she wasn’t ready to go. She wasn’t ready to leave James.
Despite the tension between them, which had worsened since the departure of his family, she couldn’t bring herself to give him up. She wanted to remain near him, even if he was chilly and aloof, for as long as possible. She couldn’t let him find out what she’d done—couldn’t bear his condemnation. Even worse, his honor would dictate that he protect her and stand by her…which meant he would hate her even more when she destroyed his reputation and his future.
Thus, she’d gone to the gothic folly on the farthest edge of the estate. Her heart thumping like a rabbit’s foot, she’d ventured into the deepest shadows of the stone structure and placed the purse of coins where it couldn’t be missed. She’d paid the blackmailer with her savings—money she’d set aside in case of an emergency. Then she had fled without looking back.
Expelling a breath, she went over to the Aspidistra elatior. It was one of the three things she had left of her mama. Along with the worn copy of Culpeper’s Herbal and a magnificent string of pearls, she had taken the cast-iron plant with her everywhere. It had survived the dark boarding house room she’d shared with Harkness and the windowless cell she’d been assigned in the Thurstons’ townhouse. She stroked the edge of the long green leaf, taking heart from the plant’s sturdy, indestructible nature.
“We’re survivors, you and I,” she whispered. “We can withstand anything.”
The click of the door caught her by surprise. She jerked away from the plant, shocked to see James standing in the doorway between their rooms. That door hadn’t been opened for months, and his sudden appearance in her intimate space unleashed a wave of dread and longing—mostly the latter.
How she missed him. His steady, quiet strength and unshakeable honor.
It didn’t help that he looked deliciously masculine in his at-home attire. His burgundy smoking jacket was expertly tailored to his broad shoulders, and his casual trousers skimmed his muscular legs. His shirt was open at the collar, revealing the smooth bump of his throat and the barest hint of chest hair.
“We need to talk,” he said.
His sternness snapped her out of her aching reverie.
“Um…what about?” she asked.
He ran a gaze over her, and she was aware of the glaring differences between them. Unlike her golden god of a husband, she was not dressed in a distractingly sensual manner. For her dark errand, she’d chosen a serviceable black dress to blend with the shadows.
“Where were you?” he said abruptly.
Dash it.
Since the departure of James’s family, whatever fragile pretense of marital harmony they’d maintained had unraveled completely. Most evenings, he had engagements, usually returning in the wee hours. She hadn’t expected that he would be home…much less standing here in her bedchamber. Thus, she hadn’t anticipated the need to prepare an alibi.
“I was…I was engaged in my studies,” she said.
It was a plausible explanation.
“Try again.” The gaze he leveled at her was more steel than sky. “I looked for you in the greenhouse.”
Double dash it.
“I was in the garden.”
“Past midnight?”
“The moths visit the wallflowers after dusk, as you know. I was taking measurements and lost track of the time.”
When James narrowed his eyes, she plunged on.
“I must be thorough in my research if I hope to present my findings to the Botanical Society. No avenue can be left unexplored. You understand.”
“What I understand,” he said calmly, “is that you are lying to me, and I have no idea why.”
“I am not lying?—”
“Another husband might wonder what his wife is hiding. He might, for example, suspect that she is having an affair.”
