Page 82 of The Rise of a Forsaken Lady
“Then why…why did they take him?” She asked tightly. “If he had nothing to do with this revolutionary plot, why is he in London?”
“I think someone is trying to frame him,” Heath admitted. “There is something of his that someone wants, and they will not stop in getting it.”
She curled in further into herself. “Then shouldn’t you be doing that instead? What…why are you here?”
“Because,” he said in defeat. “I had to tell you who I am and that I do love you.”
Her head twisted to the side and he knew she had shut him out. There was not much more he could say anymore. “I…I have to go back to London, Penelope. I have another assignment.”
“So that was what I was…an assignment?” She said emptily.
“No,” he said strongly. “God no. I—I broke every rule in the book by falling in love with you. I came so close to telling you all of it, so—so —many times. It pained me to not show you the real me, Penelope. I love you. I swear it.”
“I…I’m sorry. I—I cannot be near you,” she said, and in a flash, she was up from the couch making for the doorway. Heath shot out a hand grabbing for her arm and she stopped. Her eyes, stuck to his, were wide and trembling with fear? Hatred? Betrayal? All of them perhaps?
He wanted to pull her closer but instead, let his hold loosen, little by little, slipping down her arm to her elbow until, finally, her fingers slid from his. Then she was gone. And he knew he had lost. Lost her. Lost himself. Lost it all.
He had planned to stay the night and move with the dawn, but his soul felt blasted with sand and scrubbed over with shards of glass. He had to leave right away. It did not matter if it was night or that winter was already there with its bracing cold. He was leaving his heart behind, what else could go wrong?
Chapter 30
Love is funny Penelope—it can be wonderful if done right…but I can ruin you for the rest of your life. Once your heart is broken…it might never heal.
Had Helena prophesied over her life, because this ache, this agony of betrayal and hurt inside was surely chipping her heart to gravel. The worst part? He did love her—she knew he did. It was plain as day in his glimmering green eyes but, still, Heath had lied to her.
Sensibly, she knew why he had done it. His job had forced him to deceive her, but logic was losing the battle to her emotions. He said he loved her, and she wanted to believe it but why were tears streaming down her face?
Edward was gone under suspicion of attempting to kill a knight, and the man she loved was not the man she thought she had known.
Did I know him at all?
Yes, she wanted to believe. She knew his appreciation for quality literature and his love for his horse; she had felt strength, softened under his caring touch, and she had melted under his kiss. She knew when he became protective, watchful, and calculating to keep her safe. She loved how he would gift her with that tender smile and his rare laugh.
Her eyes were dry but were stinging and half blind she crawled into bed fully clothed. She did not even have the strength to cry but buried her face into a pillow hoping the pain would fade away, only to have it dull and settle in her chest like residue.
She came awake to soft hands petting her hair and loathed opening her eyes. Comfort felt worthless to her when the dullness in her chest was now an empty cavernous hole.
“I’m sorry, My Lady,” Martha said quietly. “I am so sorry.”
“Why?” She asked, her muffled voice thick and foreign to her own ears. “Why?”
“Mr. Moore,” Martha said. “He’s gone, but he left something for you.”
Was it worth even looking? She barely lifted her head from the pillows, wiping the stubborn hairs sticking on her forehead away and then rubbing her eyes. “What is it, Martha?”
“This,” the maid said while handing her a slip of paper.
Taking it, she read a fluent script: Take care of him, for me.
Him? What him? Her frown deepened in confusion before she understood and launched out of bed. She heard Martha’s frightened gasp, but ignored it while darting out barefoot. The few people she darted past looked at her askance, but she did not care, and ran to the makeshift stable.
Duke. It had to be Duke. Heath’s horse. She felt terrified and mystified in the same proportions. Why would Heath leave his dearly-beloved horse for her? She came to the stables out of breath and with her heart pounding in her chest. The stalls were makeshift, and the walls were only waist-high. She did not have to search far to see Duke’s majestic head rising above all the others like the monarch he was.
Her knees buckled under her and she fell to the ground, stunned. Why? Why had Heath left her his one prized possession? How had he left the compound then? Was it not sensible for him to take Duke with him?
“My Lady!”
A gardener dropped his shears and ran over to her, thinking, perhaps she had fallen and injured herself. She looked at his extended hand with dazzled eyes until she reached out and took his hand. “I’m all right…Brady is it?”
