Chapter 18

“I’m glad to have some company for dinner, at least.” Abby smiled across the table at her cousin, who was making a valiant effort to keep her entertained.

The dowager had sent her apologies.

Robert had sent no such message. He just hadn’t shown up.

James attempted to return her smile, but it was more a grimace, and he was as sombre as ever she’d seen him.

“I apologise, Abby,” he said gravely. “I shouldn’t have brought you here. Not now. I thought that perhaps if the dowager had something else to focus on. I even thought Robert—”

He stopped and shook his head, and Abby had to clench her fists to prevent herself from reaching out and shaking him.

You thought Robert, what? She wanted to yell. But of course, she did no such thing.

“I must confess myself confused about everyone’s behaviour,” she hedged carefully. “I have felt like a ghost these past days, floating around a seemingly empty house.”

James sighed.

“I know, and I am more sorry for that than I can say. Truth be told, I’ve been spending a lot of time with Robert trying to—well, I don’t know, trying to undo the damage of the last fifteen years.”

He laughed self-deprecatingly.

“I even thought for a while there that you might be the one thing to bring him out of his depression.”

Abigail’s stomach twisted painfully.

“Now, I’m quite sure nothing will,” James finished.

Her eyes filled with tears, and she rapidly blinked them away.

Yes, it hurt to hear James essentially say that he didn’t see Robert feeling anything for her. But being a watering pot wouldn’t do her any good now.

“James.” She leaned over and clasped her cousin’s hand.

He’d been like a brother to her ever since he’d arrived in New York.

But Robert and James had been friends since childhood. And they’d obviously been through something huge together.

Bonds like that were difficult to break, and if James didn’t want to break Robert’s confidence, then she would be no closer to finding out the truths behind the mystery.

“Please, tell me what I can do. I want to help him.”

James studied her intently, as though he were sizing her up.

The tension was unbearable.

It was time she was honest. With him at least.

“I care about him. I want to help.”

“Oh, Abby.”

There was a world of sympathy in James’s voice, and Abigail wasn’t entirely sure she was happy about it.

As though he felt sorry for someone in such a hopeless situation as she.

“I confess, watching you both the last couple of weeks, I began to hope you could help him. I probably should have been a better guardian. Watched you more closely. But Robert—well, the difference in him—I had thought…” He trailed off. “I don’t suppose there’s any hope for him.”

Abigail felt inexplicably angry.

Angry that James would say such a thing about Robert; that he’d be trapped in this miserable hell forever.

Angry that nobody would tell her why he was trapped like this.

Angry that she would have to leave here tomorrow, and her last days had been miserable.

Because she knew she didn’t want to leave.

In spite of all the bad—the black humours, the mysteries, the monster—she loved Robert so much she couldn’t bear the thought of him never being able to let go of what haunted him.

And suddenly, she’d had enough.

She wasn’t going to scurry off to London in the company of a man who was in this much pain and hated Society, as it was.

She wasn’t going to drag the duchess around the bright lights of the Season, whilst she nursed such a dreadful sorrow.

Most of all, she wasn’t going to sit idly by while the man she loved suffered alone.

Perhaps she couldn’t help.

But she could try.

Standing from her chair, filled with fresh determination, Abigail looked at James with a confidence she didn’t feel.

She was quaking in her satin slippers.

But that was neither here nor there.

“If you’ll excuse me,” she said, turning to leave before he had the chance to stop her.

“Abby, wait.”

“No!” she called over her shoulder as she rushed from the room.

“Abigail. Stop.”

James’s voice rang out sternly across the dining hall, and his shouting was such a rare occurrence that it served to halt her movements.

She spun round to face her cousin.

“This isn’t something you should involve yourself in. Robert finds it—difficult—to let people in.”

“We’re leaving for London tomorrow, James. And once we’re there, Robert never has to speak to me again, should he not wish to. What do I have to lose?”

James seemed to be struggling internally before finally releasing a breath.

“All right,” he said quietly, simply.

Abigail offered him a small smile before turning and rushing from the room.

Perhaps telling Robert what was in her heart would enable him to open his own.

Robert lifted his head at the sound of the timid knock on his study door.

Quite how he’d heard it over the cacophony of noises from the storm raging outside was beyond him. But heard it he did.

And he knew it was Abigail. Somehow, he had known she would come.

He didn’t bother calling out for her to enter. She would do just as she pleased anyway.

He smiled a little at the thought of the willful woman who would no doubt come marching into the room and demand answers.

How would he ever be able to give them to her?

As he’d suspected, the door creaked open and then, there she was.

A vision in blue. A blue that made her eyes impossibly deep pools of azure.

Deep enough to drown in.

The irony wasn’t lost on him, and he almost groaned aloud from the lance of pain to his heart.

Robert watched as she stepped closer. Not marching. Her movements were hesitant, as though she were afraid of something. Afraid of him.

She was probably right to be.

“Miss Langton.”

The words sounded slurred, even to his own ears.

He had certainly followed in his father’s footsteps this night. And like his father, had found no comfort in the bottom of a brandy bottle.

Watching her as closely as he was, he saw the hurt flash across her eyes, presumably at his formal greeting.

But he was losing her tomorrow. Had never really had her to begin with. So why not keep his distance now?

“We missed you at dinner,” she said softly, the light from the fire and candles lighting her golden curls and making her look impossibly innocent and lovely.

“I wasn’t hungry,” he drawled, feigning a nonchalance that he didn’t feel.

“But you were clearly thirsty,” Abigail quipped, eyeing the empty bottle on the table quizzically.

He made no attempt to stand to greet her, choosing instead to stay just as he was; sprawled across the deuced uncomfortable chaise in only his linen shirt.

If his bad manners or state of dishabille shocked Abby, however, she gave no indication of it.

“I came to check if you were well.” She finally spoke again when he made no response to her remark.

He laughed then. A bitter, ugly sound.

“If I am well? Sweetheart, I haven’t been well for years.”

“Oh? And why is that?” she asked boldly, and God help him, but he loved her all the more for it.

“That,” he said slowly, if not clearly, “is none of your damned business.”

He saw the sharp intake of breath rather than heard it. It was getting increasingly hard to hear anything over the gales and lashing rain outside.

He wondered what she would do in the face of his cruelty. Cry? Yell at him? Turn and run from the big, bad monster?

But he should have known Abby would keep surprising him.

For she stood still and raised her chin defiantly.

Robert lifted his tumbler to his mouth before realising it was empty.

With a black oath, he stood unsteadily from the couch, and staggered to his drinks table.

He kept his back to Abigail as he sloshed some amber liquid into the glass, not offering one to her.

“Robert, please. I want—”

“You know,” he cut across her, his tone conversational. “Unless you want to destroy your reputation within the first five minutes of your arrival in London, you really must learn not to address a Peer so informally. Show a little decorum.”

He turned to face her in time to see her recoil as if he’d slapped her.

A part of him, the part that still resembled something human, railed against him for hurting her.

He was an utter bastard, he knew.

But he couldn’t stop himself from being cruel.

If he hurt her now with his words, he couldn’t hurt her in the future with his actions.

Abby’s eyes flashed blue fire.

Ah, he’d awakened her temper.

But rather than yell at him or stomp out the door, which he wanted and didn’t, she again stood her ground.

“I wouldn’t address any other Peer so informally,” she said evenly, her voice clear and strong, save for the slightest tremor. “Only you.”

Robert fought desperately to ignore the bricks tumbling from the wall around his heart.

A particularly loud clap of thunder rent the air, and he flinched, remembering how loud it had been that night. The night before his fingers had let go of Gina’s.

“I’m a duke, Miss Langton. I deserve more decorum than the rest of them put together.”

His voice dripped with disdain, he knew.

I’m sorry, he was saying frantically in his head. I’m so sorry, my love. I want you to leave, but God how I need you to stay.

“You’re not a duke to me.” She stepped forward suddenly, and he felt the mad urge to step back. But of course, he didn’t. “You’re Robert. You’re the man I—”

“Be that as it may,” he cut across her arrogantly, “I am a duke. And you would do well to mind your manners in Town.”

“Damn it, we’re not in Town.” Finally, the cracks were starting to show. He’d never heard her swear like that. He probably shouldn’t find it endearing, yet he did.

She stomped toward him, closing the distance so there were only inches between them.

She was close enough to touch. Yet so very far away from him.

“I shall behave perfectly respectably in your precious Town.”

Her eyes were filling with tears, and he knew if they fell, so too would the last of his defences.

“Best not to let them know about the liberties you allow men to take with you then, sweetheart. You’ll get yourself a reputation.”

Abby’s hand shot out and cracked across his cheek.

Immediately she looked contrite, covering her mouth with the same hand.

“Why are you doing this?” A lone tear slipped down her cheek, and he had to clench his fists to keep from reaching for her.

“It’s better this way,” he ground out.

“No,” she insisted. “How can this be better? Locking yourself away, drinking yourself to oblivion. Hiding from the people who care about you. This isn’t better.”

Her words were like lances. The truth hurt, he supposed.

“What the hell would you know about it?” he snarled. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

He spun away from her to glare at the storm outside the window.

“I know you,” she insisted.

God, but she was tenacious.

“And this isn’t you.”

Robert’s emotions threatened to spin out of control.

“You don’t know me,” he roared, and she blanched, stumbling back a few steps, and making him feel sick for scaring her.

“Yes, I do,” she cried stubbornly, even as the tears ran unchecked down her face. “You are not this man.”

“You’re not wrong there, sweetheart.” He made the endearment sound like a filthy oath. “I am this monster. Haven’t all the locals and servants been telling you that? Haven’t I?”

She pressed her hands to her temples, shaking her head.

“I don’t know why you’re doing this. Why won’t you tell me what’s wrong? I can help. I want to help.”

“You can’t help me. Nobody can.”

“I can,” she repeated. “Please, talk to me. Please, let me in.”

He clenched his jaw to keep from roaring his frustrations at her.

The storm grew louder and crueller outside, and the memories were slamming into him, making his head pound.

“Talk to me,” she demanded, and finally, his control snapped.

“And tell you what?” he yelled. “What would you like to talk about, Abby? The fact that I killed my baby sister?”

This time he heard her gasp, even over the racket outside.

The wind was howling now, hurtling through the cavernous house, crying out like a lost soul.

It seemed like eons that they stood there, facing each other like combatants across a war field.

Abigail broke the deafening silence first.

“That can’t be true,” she whispered. But he saw it in her eyes: the fear of the monster. And it was more than he could stand.

“It’s true,” he rasped.

“Well then, it—it must have been an accident. You wouldn’t do anything to hurt someone you care about.”

I’m hurting you.

“You don’t understand. You don’t know me.”

“I know you,” she said softly. And the tenderness in her voice, even coupled with the apprehension, nearly brought him to his knees. “Robert, I love you.”

For one, brief moment, Robert’s heart burst with elation and he moved to reach for her, to pull her into his arms and tell her how much he loved her, too.

But reality reared its ugly head.

How could she love he who was unlovable?

He could only stare at her whilst the storm swirled outside and within.

He saw the moment that her heart broke at his silence; her face crumpled, and the tears came again.

“Your sister.” She spoke again.

“Don’t,” he warned.

He couldn’t stand to have Abigail speak about Gina.

“I want to understand.”

He shook his head.

“Just get out, Abigail,” he said wearily, his anger simmering, waiting to explode.

“But if you tell me what happened…”

Damn it. She wouldn’t bloody listen.

His anger erupted, awakening the monster in him like never before.

“I said, GET OUT.”

His voice ricocheted around the room, loud enough to compete with the clamorous thunder, and it worked like nothing else had.

With a cry of distress, Abby turned and ran from him.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered as she ran.

But of course, it was too late.

She was gone.