Page 11 of One Wicked Secret
“I’m sorry I lied. I had no choice.”
And that was it.
No explanation for his odd behaviour.
No promises of better days ahead.
She looked at the man she once knew, now a stranger, the weight of distrust hanging heavily between them. She had grieved the loss of both her parents, but nothing had ever cut this deeply.
“Speaking as the wife you never wanted, I beg you to release me from this wretched nightmare.” She shrugged off his coat and tossed the blanket aside. “Write to Magnus. Let him know I’m coming to Geneva.”
“You can’t go to Geneva,” he said firmly, though his eyesbetrayed a hint of regret. “You must return to Henley. There’s no room for negotiation.”
She wanted to lunge forward and shake the truth from him. Instead, she looked out the window, gathering her strength as the carriage neared Park Lane. Hyde Park loomed before her, a bleak reflection of her uncertain future.
“Have Jarvis take us to Moore Place, Bishopsgate. Clara is expecting us.” There was no such street, but she had to distract her husband. “We can discuss our return to Henley there. Clara surely has a say in this, too.”
Daniel raised the speaking flap and relayed the instructions. When Jarvis questioned him, Daniel looked at her. “Moore Place?”
“Yes. The house is a ten-minute walk from The Burnished Jade. I met the countess in Pickins coffeehouse.” That much was true.
She had paid a boy to follow Daniel and knew he attended the odd soiree at The Jade. Making friends with the countess was easy; she had a kind smile, a warm heart and a talent for building a lady’s confidence.
Again, he relayed the information.
Jarvis stopped the carriage on the corner of Park Lane. “I know all the streets in Bishopsgate, sir. I ain’t never heard of Moore Place.”
“It’s north of the old Bethlem Hospital site,” she called.
Jarvis was still no clearer. “Do you mean Shoreditch?”
Elsa pretended she couldn’t hear. She pulled down the window and called up to him. “It’s not far from the Rose and Crown.” She mentioned a church and deliberately got the name wrong, then kept saying, “I beg your pardon,” whenever Jarvis made a suggestion.
“Then it’s near Finsbury Square, ma’am?”
She opened the door and leant out. “Near where?”
She was gone in a flash, picking up her skirts and racing through the Cumberland Gate into Hyde Park. Running was in her blood, a gift from her Danish ancestors who charged through forests and fields into battle. Her only hope of escaping Daniel was to head for the trees and pray the darkness consumed her.
Hiding behind the trunk of a horse chestnut tree, she pressed a hand to her mouth to stifle her ragged breaths.
“Elsa?” The thud of footsteps on the grass sent her pulse soaring. “Elsa! This is madness. Show yourself.” He released a string of expletives. “The park is a hive for footpads. You’ll get us both killed.”
She edged right as he drew nearer, flattening herself against the trunk, hoping the shadows concealed her.
“Elsa,” came his whispered growl.
He was close now.
She had to keep quiet.
“I would know your perfume anywhere,” he said, a mix of sadness and longing in his voice. “You smell sweet, like violets. I’ve spent many nights alone in a fireside chair, stroking the flower’s velvet petals, wondering if your skin is as soft.”
This man knew how to hurt her.
He fed her dreams, then snatched them away.
“I know you’re close,” he uttered in the husky tone she loved. “Your scent is carried on the gentle breeze, just like that day I found you hiding behind the oak tree … and we almost kissed.”
