Page 62 of Unearthing the Smuggler's Heart
He felt like darkness was closing in around his ability to see in front of him as he stumbled toward his bedroom, his heart beating so wildly that he thought it was like to jump out of his chest. He could barely even breathe.
If he made it to sleep tonight, he thought, even the nightmares would feel like a respite.
CHAPTER28
"You saidwhat?!"
"I didn't say sheshould.I only said shecould.She doesn't necessarilyneedme."Mathias glowered. "It hardly matters. I've decided we're leaving. I've already said goodbye."
"Oh, of all the stupid, asinine things I've ever heard." Isabelle was fuming, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. She had been seated when this conversation began, and now she was on her feet, looming over him like she was considering finding a switch with which to beat him. The sun was starting to set behind her in the little covered pavilion at the center of the villa, giving the impression that she had been set aflame, with each strand of her auburn hair glinting like individual strands of fire.
"Well, it's true," he said lamely, wincing as his friend launched into a spectacularly rude string of French curses, many of which he had to admit applied particularly well to how he was feeling at this very moment. While she did not bludgeon him with a switch, she did aim a particularly strong kick at the legs of the chair he was sitting in, which got the intent across just as well as a thorough lashing.
"She could have disagreed with me!" he shouted, leaving the chair and putting a healthy distance between himself and Isabelle. He pointed his finger at her to emphasize his point. "Perhaps that's all I was after!"
"Oh, you poor, poor man," she intoned sarcastically. "You pitiful, neglected baby. How awful of her to not reassure you in such a tender moment, especially when she has nothing else at all to occupy her mind at the moment."
"All right, enough!" He sighed, rubbing his eyes. "I understand you. I'm the biggest fool that ever lived."
"And that ever will," she added with feeling. "You idiot."
"Well, there's not much that can be done about it now. The slip has been processed and the boat is being readied to sail. You were the one that needed to get back to England, after all. Don't you want to be with Peter?"
"Of course I do! Didn't it ever occur to you that I could take a passenger ship just as easily as Jade could? I would have been perfectly willing to, Mathias. Happy to, in fact, to provide that sweet girl more time with her family without the distress of pulling you away too."
He stared at her, unsure how to reply. "What do you mean, pulling me away?"
"Oh, have some respect for my intelligence, Dempierre," she snapped with an exceptionally impatient roll of the eyes. "Don't you remember when you confronted me about my intentions toward Peter? Do you recall how self-righteous you were? Do you not hold yourself to the same standards?"
"What? Of course I don't," he replied, unable to suppress a bit of a laugh at the absurdity of that question. "I'm a scoundrel."
"So you don't intend to marry her?" Isabelle crossed her arms over her chest. "Have you even considered it?"
"I..." He trailed off, the denial that had arisen instinctively to his lips dying before it could fully form. "I had assumed we would stay together, yes. I hadn't examined the hows and whys of doing so, admittedly."
"What other options do you think there are?" she asked with a raise of her brows. "Jade is English. She hasn't got the option to flounder about for all of her life like you do. I'd wager once word gets out about how wealthy she is that she'll have a king's host of suitors banging her door down. So, she'll be fine, Mathias, with or without you."
He felt as though she'd punctured him and let all the air out of his body. His shoulders slumped, his hand coming up to brace himself against the wall he was standing nearest, and his head spun a little, as though he weren't inhaling fast enough to get oxygen all the way to his brain.
"It shouldn't take long," Isabelle continued, a grim glint to her eyes. "If you want her for yourself, you shouldn't dally."
"I'm going to be sick."
"Mm." Isabelle gave him a meaningful look and turned on her heel, making her way back into the house. "I will meet you at the ship. Fool."
He watched her go, the nauseated sensation in his stomach giving a little roil as she vanished around the corner. It was true, he realized. Jade would be beset by eager would-be husbands the instant her little foot touched English soil again, and not only because of her wealth.
That woman could put an entire kingdom into quick, meticulous order in a matter of weeks, he was sure. She'd be the ideal wife for anyone who was lucky enough to win her, and he hadn't even thought to put his hat in the ring in the improbably lucky stretch of time in which he'd had no competition and the whole of her attention and favor.
He took his time navigating back to his guest bedroom, lingering in the corners of the halls in the hopes that he might encounter her by chance. It wasn't until he had reached the door that he remembered she had gone to the schoolhouse today, shortly after breakfast, and he would not see her again by the time they set sail.
His stomach gave another sickening lurch. What had he done?
His bed had been made in his absence, the blankets stretched taut over the width of the mattress and his single valise sitting atop it, already packed and sitting open with his items folded neatly into either compartment. He stood over it, looking down at the sum total of the last week of his life in neat rectangles, tucked and stacked into place, and thought that all of his days were just as inconsequential and collapsible, just as easy to tuck into a valise so that he might be off again to live the same way in another corner of the world. It was an endless loop.
He frowned, thumbing the brass clasps on the edge of the case. A slim leather folio was tucked into the mesh sewn on the front side, and within it was the letter he had penned to Louis. He realized that he hadn't wanted to send it until she had read it. He wanted her approval that his apology was sufficient because he did not trust his own judgement in the matter. He wanted her opinion because without her, he would have never realized that he had hurt Louis, even if he hadn't intended to.
He slipped the leather folio out of the valise and opened it, a single page fluttering loose and tumbling away, its wrinkled surface catching the air in such a way that it flipped several times before settling to the ground.
