It took her a moment to recall where she was in the dark. The room was as black as when she dropped onto the bed earlier in the night. Her body still felt as heavy as stone. Her muscles dead weight.
She held herself still, unmoving, on the bed. And not simply because she was exhausted. Something else kept her immobile.
A voice whispered across her mind. Owen’s deep familiar voice counseling her. Trust your instincts.
Awareness zipped along her nerves. She listened, tensing. A floorboard creaked to her left and she knew she was right. Her instincts were right. She woke for a reason, and it wasn’t simply the cold.
Her limbs tightened in readiness. It was impossibly dark. If she could not see with ease, then neither could the individual who had dared to invade her room.
Her mind raced, calculating what his next move could be. He wouldn’t simply grab her. He couldn’t clearly see her position on the bed. He would need to reach out and feel his way toward her. That was when she would have her chance.
She braced herself, waiting, her heart hammering wildly in her too-tight chest.
And then it came. A slight sinking of the bed to her left.
She took her chance. Shot her fist through the dark and struck him. She was awarded a grunt. Rolling to her right, she sprang to her feet and skirted the bed, determined to reach the door before he regained his wits enough to catch her.
Her fingers closed around the latch the moment a hand seized her, clutching a handful of her dress. “Come on now,” he rasped as he yanked her hard enough to send her tumbling into him. She smacked back into his wiry frame with a muffled cry.
“Now don’t fight it, love. It will go easier.” She instantly recognized the nasal sound of Mr. Snyder’s voice in her ear, ruffling her hair. “Nothing personal, but I got to do what I was hired for. That rich bloke paid me well.”
Hired. Instantly she knew. “Bloodsworth sent you?”
“Don’t know the gent’s name. Don’t matter. All I need to know is he’s going to pay me double when the job is done.”
She felt such the fool. Snyder must have followed her when she left the town house.
Bloodsworth had never intended to let her go. She should have known he wouldn’t honor his word.
She whirled around and crashed her fist into the side of his head, making contact with his ear.
He howled and she flew back to the door, yanking it open. She plunged into the corridor and ran into a hard wall. A body. Arms came up to close around her.
She cried out, struggling wildly.
“Annalise!”
The sound of her name stilled her. She lifted wide eyes to the man holding her, then blinked as though her eyes deceived her.
“Owen?”
He couldn’t be here. He shouldn’t.
He opened his mouth, starting to say something, but his gaze lifted beyond her shoulder.
She followed his gaze, looking behind her at Snyder standing in the threshold, eyeing them both warily.
She opened her mouth to explain but never had the chance.
Snyder slipped his hand inside his jacket and yanked out a knife. A leer took over his pock-pitted face as he brandished the blade in front of him. “I was hoping this wouldn’t get messy.” He shrugged one shoulder. “No help for that now.”
Owen shoved her behind him and launched himself at Bloodsworth’s hired man, moving so quickly she hardly registered his movements.
The two men lost themselves in the gaping darkness of her bedchamber. She rushed ahead and peered into the gloom, trying to see what was happening. She heard powerful thwacks and pained grunts.
“Owen!” Her eyes strained for a glimpse of him, praying the knife had not found him. She looked left and right down the corridor, considering pounding a door for help but was also afraid to step away for even a moment . . . as if in that moment he would somehow need her.
Suddenly they quieted. The only sounds that of their ragged breaths.
“Owen?” she whispered, her heart hammering wildly in her chest as she stood silhouetted in the doorway.
A light flared to life within the room. Owen stood over the lamp, only slightly worse for wear, the knife, clean of blood, in his hand.
Snyder was curled into a ball on the floor, clutching his ribs, panting as though he couldn’t catch his breath.
She stepped inside the room, her gaze returning to Owen. “Are you hurt?”
He shook his head.
“How did you find me?”
He slid the back of his hand against his bottom lip, wiping the thin ribbon of blood clean. “You forget. There was a time when I hunted people. I was particularly good at it.”
She nodded, a lump forming in her throat. “Of course.” Of course, indeed. How foolish of her.
Steps sounded in the hall. Mr. Felham appeared in a dressing robe, his wife peering over his shoulder, clutching his arm with both hands.
“Oh!” she sputtered when she took in the scene. Her wild-eyed gaze landed on Snyder. “Oh, that wretch! I knew he was up to no good, sniffing about you. Are you injured, dear?”
Before Annalise could answer, Mrs. Felham’s gaze swung to Owen. “Who is this man?” Her eyes narrowed distrustfully. “Mr. Felham, send for the constable at once!”
“Mrs. Felham, he’s a friend! He came to my assistance.”
Mrs. Felham sniffed, mollified.
“I shall alert the innkeeper to send for a constable.” Mr. Felham nodded in Snyder’s direction. “Come, Mrs. Felham. I think the young lady is quite safe now.” He nodded at Owen before guiding his wife from the room.
Safe. The word echoed hollowly through her. She would never be safe. Not as long as she was married to the Duke of Bloodsworth and he preferred her dead.
The couple shuffled off down the hall. She stared after them for a moment before looking back at Owen, stark resignation filling her heart.
Just the sight of him made her ache. All the feelings were still there. Stronger. Leaving, saying good-bye in her mind, hadn’t put him away from her thoughts . . . her heart. He was there, etched indelibly into her soul.
Regret consumed her that she had ever met him. That her heart had even known what it was like to be held and kissed and loved by someone so extraordinary. Someone who could make her shiver with a look. Whose touch could reduce her to a quivering, breathless, boneless mass.
No. She had to have something. Had to know passion, love. She deserved that, at least, didn’t she? Her life shouldn’t have all been longing. Longing with no actual satisfaction. At least she’d tasted desire, even if only fleetingly.
Owen motioned to Snyder, who was trying to rise. He failed, crumpling back into his pathetic ball. “What is this?” he asked her.
She struggled to swallow the lump, knowing she couldn’t hide the truth from him anymore. She wouldn’t pretend ignorance. “I woke to him in the room . . .” She stopped, the thickness in her throat getting the better of her. And there was the realization that the truth meant explaining to him why this man had been there, and who had sent him.
Owen’s face drained of all color. He was before her in two strides, his hands on her arms, then sliding up to frame her face. “What did he do to you?”
She shook his head.
“Did he hurt you?”
“No. I escaped into the hall and collided with you before he could.”
Some of the color returned to his face, but something else remained there. A muscle feathered the flesh of his cheek, and she knew his control was hard-won. He looked down at Snyder like he wanted to return to him and hurt him all over again.
“Owen,” she said, turning his face back to her.
His eyes narrowed, focusing on her with an intensity that practically burned. “Why did you leave?”
To keep us safe. To keep you safe.
She inhaled deeply. “I’ll go back to Town with you.”
There was no reason to keep running now. Bloodsworth would scour the country until he found her and made certain she was dead. She couldn’t run from him. She saw that now. Snyder might not be the only one he even sent after her. There would be more. Others to come. She knew it. She inhaled thinly through her nose.
And another realization hit her. Hard and ugly. She bit her lip until she tasted the coppery tang of blood.
As long as she ran, she hadn’t changed. She was the same broken girl who had washed ashore. The girl she had vowed to never be again.
Owen lifted his hand and brushed her lips gently, his fingers coaxing her to ease her bite. His expression intense, he studied her like she was some manner of riddle he must solve. “What are you doing?” he murmured with a slight shake of his head, and she knew he meant more than hurting herself. He meant everything. All her secrets and half-truths. Giving herself to him and then disappearing into the night.
“I’ll tell you everything.”
He smiled crookedly, ruefully—still so handsome that her heart ached—and she knew he did not quite believe her.
She would go back to Town with him. She would tell him everything. Every ugly truth. Starting with the fact that she was another man’s wife.
And then she would do the only thing she could to keep Owen safe—and possibly even herself, too. Although keeping Owen safe took precedence. She had dragged him into danger. She would see him out of it. He might have been able to handle Snyder tonight, but Bloodsworth was evil. He was capable of anything.
Her eyes suddenly blurred. She blinked the burning sensation back and stared at Owen as though her world were not ending.
As if she would not be returning to her husband.
Chapter Twenty-six
Owen watched her sleep as they traversed through the streets of London. She listed to the side, her cheek pushed against the carriage wall, her lips parted slightly as she breathed deeply.
She’d fallen asleep almost instantly. By the time he’d finished overseeing the securing of his mount to the back of the carriage and joined her inside, she was fast asleep. Explanations could wait. They had waited this long. He’d let her rest.
The carriage stopped and he opened the door before any of the grooms could reach it. Turning, he reached inside for her and settled her in his arms. She murmured unintelligible words and burrowed into his arms. Her hair fell loose over his hand, the tendrils soft and silky.
Dawn suffused the sky with gentle shades of pink and orange, washing out the lingering gray of twilight as he carried her up the steps of his town house.
Mrs. Kirkpatrick emerged, poised to greet them. He shook his head at her, indicating for her to hold silent and not wake Annalise. She stepped aside for him.
He took the steps two at a time. Once in his bedchamber, he kicked the door shut softly behind them. He lowered her to his bed and carefully slipped off her cloak. Next came her boots.
Finished, he took two steps back and watched her, mesmerized at the unguarded view of her. She sighed and curled onto her side, her hand slipping beneath her cheek. She looked so innocent. Sweet and peaceful and beautiful in his bed. He never wanted her to leave. He wanted her in his bed every night.
He glanced over his shoulder to the door. It was morning. There were things he needed to do, but weariness tugged at him. He couldn’t recall the last time he had slept.
Bending down, he tugged off his boots. Next came his cravat and jacket. He eased down on the bed beside her, studying her as she slept, appreciating the dark fan of her eyelashes on her creamy cheeks. He knew when she woke she was going to tell him what had scared her into running away, but that didn’t scare him.
He closed a hand over the one that lay limply between them.
He laced his fingers with her slighter ones. Even smaller than his, the fit was so right. Perfect.
He marveled at the tightness in his chest, the warmth that pervaded him just staring at her. She did this to him. No one or nothing else had since he’d left home for India over four years ago. He wasn’t going to lose this feeling again.
He wasn’t going to lose her.
When he woke, it was hours later. A thin thread of light glowed from around the edges of the damask drapes. He quickly glanced to his side, almost as though he feared she had left him again.