“My beloved new husband stepped back and removed my fingers as though I were filth. I shall always remember his tone.” A rut harrowed her brow. “Husky, but…so very cold as he asked from where I’d obtained that notion. I’ll always picture him dousing all the candles in the hallway and I wondered why… Fool that I was, I grabbed his arm and laughed. Thought him teasing. But…”
Fury stilled Ernest’s tongue. For he could so easily envisage a youthful Hebe full of joy on her wedding day. A new frock and tremulous lips. A coronet of flowers within her hair and loving anticipation within her heart.
“He slapped me.” Her tone dispassionate. “Not hard but the shock… I-I just stood there. I can still see myself just standing there, like a damn fool.”
“Not a fool, Hebe. Listen to me…” he said fiercely. Yet Ernest knew she heard him not, trapped in this memory.
“He coolly stated that money was the reason he’d married me. That he’d run through his own inheritance and had no desire to work. He declared he was proud to be a libertine, had a mistress and various courtesans that he enjoyed and had absolutely no intention of ceasing. H-he leaned down to me and informed me that I was skinny, pale, cold and dull, and there was nothing within my looks or nature to interest him. That he preferred buxom brunettes with experience, and indeed, it would be rather a chore to bed me.”
Desperate yearning tore at Ernest to yank her near and show her how truly beautiful she was, how exquisite, but no matter how much this was going to hurt, he needed to hear the whole, the distressing whole.
For himself and Hebe’s sake, she needed to finish.
“You mentioned a…chase?” he asked gruffly.
She stared back at the ancient woodland, the dark path they’d trodden together.
“Yes… For then he pulled out his pocket watch, flicked it open and said, ‘Run, Hebe. Make it amusing for me, at least. Run, my little mouse.’ So I ran. And do you know…” She briefly closed her eyes. “I believe to this day I’m running from him still.”
19
TAKE HEART…
Hebe stared to the forest canopy but saw only her younger self – unsure and frightened, a frivolous bouquet clutched in her quivering hands.
Had it been obvious to everyone but her?
Had those wedding guests laughed as she’d raised a champagne glass to toast her husband, her eyes filled with love?
A man cleared his throat, the sound husky, but unlike Tobias’s, it carried warmth and care.
“Hebe…”
“I ran and ran, you know,” she said, adrift in yesteryear. Hebe had never expounded on how foolish she had truly been, even to Aunt. “I thought… I stupidly thought that if I did as he bade, the husband who loved me would emerge. That mayhap it was a game played by men that I did not understand.” She focused her gaze upon the gentleman watching her with eyes too bright. “So I ran. But all the candles had been doused in the hallway and it was so dark. ’Twas Tobias’s house. I’d never been there. I didn’t know where I was going. I could hear his footsteps, his voice. And I hid in the shadows. But he found me. He always found me and…”
She saw Lord Ernest swipe a hand across his face. “Hebe, I…”
“I’d been right. For it was a game. But a game played by one. A game he’d amuse himself with every so often in his need for an heir. He said my terror aroused him. But it was at least quick,” she said to reassure. “And then I would be left in the dark again.”
“Did…did he hit you?”
“Not often. But on one occasion, he became so furious because he’d discovered Father had worded the marriage contract to divide my dowry into four instalments, the business to be inherited by a cousin. He hit me and I fell, striking my head on the mantelpiece – beautiful pure marble, it was, with fluted pilasters.”
“Hebe… Please…”
“I have a small scar by my eye.” She became lost, lost again in the past, and that scowl on Tobias’s face as he realised she’d bloodied the pristine white marble…
An embrace snatched her from the vision, an embrace so tight she could scarce breathe but for…
Water mint and woodland.
Lord Ernest and peace.
His nose buried itself into her neck, breath choked, spectacles digging, arms squeezing and hands clasping, and she found herself reaching out, fingers trenching his hair.
“They say,” she whispered, “that sticks and stones may break your bones but words can never harm you. That is wrong. Words can sear your heart and destroy all hope. And like a scorching brand to a pony’s rump, words never leave you but linger and taunt and scar.”
“Hebe, please, no more.” Lips whispered over her neck. “I suffer your pain so deep. It lives in…” He grabbed her palm. “Here.” Placed it to a heart that pounded with fervour. “I so wish I could take it from you, soothe your anguish for it blackens me to a cinder.”
