Falling In Love Again (Heroic Rogues Series) (37 page)

He chuckled. “I did, really. His heart failed because of me.”

“But that’s different. At least you didn’t kill him by choking him.”

He stroked his fingers along her heated cheek. “Tell me why you said what you did, about taking him prisoner. I thought—” He took a deep breath. “I thought you didn’t care about Captain Hawk.”

“I don’t.” She pushed away from him and walked to the window. “At least I’m trying not to. I had to interfere tonight, only because I knew you’d never forgive yourself if you killed a man in cold blood.”

He moved beside her, aching to take her in his arms, wanting to show her all the love he had. He couldn’t. Not until she forgave him. His pride wouldn’t let him. “So, you haven’t forgiven me yet? Are you still upset?”

“I’m still vexed with you, Marcus.” She glared at him. “I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression when I came into this room to help, but I still need more time to sort out my feelings.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” he said in a low voice.

“No. I think everything has been said.”

“It hasn’t. We need to talk. I need to know if you’re really a spy. If so, we need to work this out.”

She sighed and looked down at the floor. “That was a lie, Marcus. I told you that because I needed something to say to Hawk or you would have seen through my charade.”

Anger rushed through him, but his chest hurt more. Tears stung his eyes, but he refused to shed them. “You lied to me?”

“Of course.” She met his eyes. “Now you know how it feels, don’t you?”

“Are you going to leave me, Isabelle?”
 
His throat constricted as pain twisted his heart.

She shrugged and turned back to the window, looking outside into the darkness. “I believe so. Returning to my aunt and uncle sounds more and more pleasing than remaining here with you.”

Dejection filled his heart, making it hard to breathe. He stepped away, fisting his hands by his side to keep from holding her and begging for her forgiveness. At this point, giving her more time was necessary. He just prayed she wouldn’t leave him a broken man in the process.

* * * *

For the next few days, Marcus stayed in his bedroom or his study, drinking his sorrows away. Not even rum affected him anymore.

Because of his lies, he’d lost Isabelle. She hadn’t talked to him since the night his father died, but her silence said it all. She wouldn’t forgive him, and soon she’d leave and return to her aunt and uncle in England.

Agony twisted inside of him, causing so much pain and sorrow, sapping away his will to live. How could he go on without her? She had brought joy into his life—happiness he didn’t think he deserved. Now he wanted it back. He wanted to smile again, laugh, and love, but only if she was with him.

Gabe visited him a few times, informing Marcus of the friends who’d sent their condolences for his father’s passing. Everybody must think that was the reason he wouldn’t leave the house. Marcus pushed his fingers through his hair, and even that was an effort. Let the town think what they may. He didn’t care anymore.

His friend had also told him about members of the
Sons Of Liberty
coming to check on him. Mr.
Tubble
passed on a note, reminding Marcus the shipment arrived today. Tonight they would meet as members and distribute the guns.

Once more, Marcus didn’t care. Nothing held meaning anymore. The
Sons Of Liberty
would carry on without him, he was certain.

A knock came upon the door, and Marcus growled, adjusting on his chair. Why wouldn’t people leave him be? The door opened and Gabe walked in, carrying another bottle of rum.

Marcus perked up slightly. “Ah, just what I needed.”

Gabe handed him the bottle. “You have another visitor this afternoon.”

“Whoever it is, send them away.” He flipped his hand in the air. “Don’t these imbeciles know I’m mourning my father?” He grinned then chuckled.

“Be that as it may, Mrs. Westland is here to see you.”

Marcus rolled his eyes. “Haven’t you satisfied that wench, yet?”

“Apparently, she’d rather have you.”

Snickering, Marcus shook his head. “Oh, I’m quite certain she enjoyed her time with you the other evening.” He pulled off the lid to the rum and brought the bottle to his lips. “What does she want?” he asked before taking a long drink.

“She didn’t say, but I’m suspecting it has something to do with the meeting tonight.”

“I don’t care about the meeting,” he grumbled.

“Well, at least talk to her. If she knows something, we could pass it on to Mr.
Tubble
.”

Marcus shrugged. “I suppose. Show her in. I hope she doesn’t mind my intoxicated state, or that I’m not wearing that cursed wig. I don’t plan on changing for her.”

“I’m certain she won’t mind, my lord.” He grinned and walked out of the room.

Really, Marcus could care less about her, or anybody else. He had enough things to worry about and didn’t need to think about the
Sons Of Liberty
. They could take care of themselves. They had so far.

The rustling of skirts and clicking of heels announced his visitor. He glanced at the door, but didn’t bother to stand. It would appall her, but he didn’t care.

She sashayed in the room and shut the door. By the looks of her revealing dress and wanton hairstyle, she was here to tempt him.

When her gaze met his, she frowned and rushed to his side, kneeling on the floor beside his chair and took his hand. “Oh, you look just awful, my dear. Tell me what I can do to make you feel better.” She stroked his arm.

“There’s nothing you can do, Mrs. Westland. I’m mourning my father’s death, and it’s something I’m going to have to deal with on my own.”

She nodded. “I understand, but you need to get out and into sunlight.” She reached up and pushed the hair away from his brow. “You need to be out and about socializing in order to cheer yourself up. Your father wouldn’t want you to be this way, would he?”

Marcus almost chuckled. His father wouldn’t have a care in the world one way or another. “Mark my words, I’ll be up about in no time. But for now—” he took another swallow, “—I’m going to sulk in private.”

“Matthew, my dear,” she whispered, leaning closer, “you must go to that meeting tonight. The men expect you to help with their cause.”

He shook his head. “They can carry on without me.”

“This is what we have been fighting for, my darling. Don’t dismiss this meeting so easily. We’re all counting on you.”

“I’ll tell you what, Mrs. Westland. If you can convince my wife to forgive me and talk to me again, I’ll go to the meeting.”

Her eyes widened and a grin stretched across her mouth. “Your wife is upset with you? How interesting.” She continued to stroke his arm. “I knew she wouldn’t understand about us. It’s better off this way, I assure you.”

He pushed her away and she fell back on her buttocks. “Leave me. I don’t want anybody’s company except my wife’s. I especially don’t want my former mistress to hound me.”

She huffed and stood, swiping her hands down her dress. “You’re a miserable drunk, Matthew. Always have been. I don’t wish to be around you when you’re like this.”

He motioned his hand toward the door. “Then leave. Nothing is stopping you.”

“I cannot believe you’re giving up on your friends like this. The
Sons Of Liberty
expects you to be there tonight. Don’t let them down.” She swung around and marched out of the study, slamming the door behind her.

A laugh sprang from his throat and he swallowed it with the rum. Why couldn’t anyone understand he didn’t care about the
Sons Of Liberty
? There was no reason to attend their meeting anymore. Life didn’t hold any excitement, and he didn’t care about anything.

The more he thought about Mrs. Westland’s plea, the more his head cleared. Something his father had said the other day came back to haunt him. Could there really be a leak in the
Sons Of Liberty
? Blackstone mentioned someone knew about the meeting—about the shipment. His father spoke of a trap.

“Gabe,” he bellowed.

A few minutes passed by before his friend came to the door and peeked his head inside. “Ready for more rum?”

“Not yet, but I do need you to do something for me. Find Mr.
Tubble
as soon as you can and have him spread the word the meeting has been cancelled. Tell the man I suspect a traitor amongst our group and it would be wise not to meet tonight.”

“Aye, I’ll get to it straight away.”

Marcus breathed a sigh of relief. At least that was taken care of. Too bad his life couldn’t be fixed as quickly.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Donning the customary black mourning gown, Isabelle left the house and stayed in town all afternoon. She didn’t want people to think she cared nothing about her father-in-law’s death, but neither did she want to stay in the house while Marcus occupied it. Being outside in the sunlight helped brighten her day. If only in small measurements.

As she moved from shop to shop, she thought about collecting things to take back to England when she returned. Her heart hadn’t softened toward Marcus, and she didn’t know if it ever would. Trust was a hard thing to build back up after it’d had been broken.

Marcus had shattered her hopes and dreams with one lie that grew and festered. She still cared for him but didn’t want to. In these past days of silence, she hadn’t come to any conclusions except she wanted to go home. She wanted to be away from those who had hurt her and be around those who loved her unconditionally.

As she left a shop, she nearly ran head-on into someone she’d rather not look at. Mrs. Westland stopped short before they collided, smiled and smoothed out her dress.

“Excuse me,” Isabelle muttered as she stepped around the lady, but the woman grabbed Isabelle’s elbow, stopping her.

“Please don’t leave. I wish to speak to you.” She glanced around them. “In private.”

Isabelle wanted nothing more than to be rude to the woman, but because they were out in public, she didn’t want people to gossip about her unseemly behavior. “Fine.” Isabelle took a deep breath. “What is it you wish to discuss?”

“Your husband.”

This was so inappropriate, especially between the wife and former mistress, but Isabelle couldn’t turn the woman away. She pointed to her coach. “Would you like to talk inside?”

Mrs. Westland smiled. “I would be delighted.”

Isabelle climbed in first, then adjusted on the seat while Mrs. Westland sat across from her. Isabelle folded her hands in her lap, willing herself to remain calm although her heartbeat quickened, not knowing what the conversation would lead to.

“Lady Lockwood, I know you don’t approve of me, but we must put our differences aside.”

Isabelle shrugged. “What I think of you shouldn’t matter.”

“It does, though, because it affects Matthew.”

“Please refrain from calling my husband by his given name in my company.” Isabelle arched an eyebrow.

“As you wish, but no matter how you look at it, everything you do reflects Lord Lockwood.”

Isabelle shook her head. “I don’t understand. What are you trying to say?”

Mrs. Westland exhaled deeply and leaned forward. “I’m sure you know how I’m involved with Matt—Lord Lockwood. We both seek freedom from King George’s insane taxation. I think you want it, too, but you are stubborn to admit how you really feel.”

She shrugged. “My opinion doesn’t matter.”

“It does to your husband.” Mrs. Westland leaned forward and grasped Isabelle’s folded hands. “Don’t you see? Your inability to understand his devotion to the cause is tearing him apart. There’s an important meeting tonight that your husband must attend, but he isn’t going because he doesn’t think you care.”

Through the woman’s plea, genuine care laced her voice. Isabelle knew Marcus wanted the freedom the patriots sought, and apparently so did Mrs. Westland or she wouldn’t be practically on her knees begging right now. Strange, because the other woman didn’t strike Isabelle as the type who pleaded for anything. So this meeting tonight would probably be very important.

Although Isabelle didn’t want to care, she couldn’t help it. Before she left for England, she could help Marcus in this matter. At least she’d feel like she’d accomplished something during their short marriage. She nodded. “I’ll speak with my husband then.”

Mrs. Westland smiled and squeezed Isabelle’s hands. “Thank you. I think he would enjoy it if you accompanied him, too.”

Isabelle scrunched her forehead. “Me? Go with him? Is it possible since I’m a woman?”

The other woman chuckled. “I attend meetings all the time, and I’m a woman.”

“Splendid. Then I’ll go.”

“Your husband will certainly appreciate your loyalty, and the
Sons Of Liberty
will be your devoted servants.”

Isabelle laughed and shook her head. “Oh, I wouldn’t go that far, but nonetheless I appreciate your comment.”

Mrs. Westland climbed out of the carriage, gave Isabelle a wave before sauntering down the walkway. Isabelle breathed a heavy sigh of relief. Perhaps the other woman was right. Marcus would be good at fighting for what he believes in, which would make him a dedicated member of the group. Her refusal to forgive him had put him in a state of melancholy, and perhaps doing this last thing for him would help turn his attitude around.