Page 82 of How the Earl Entices

A single tear slipped down her cheek.

“You were right. I should never have spoken of the future.” He buried his mouth in her hair near her ear and murmured in what was barely louder than a whisper, with emotion rasping his voice raw, “I couldn’t help myself. The possibility of having a life with you was simply too wonderful to ignore.” He inhaled sharply. “But that future is gone now. You have to live for Ethan, to give him the life he deserves. And you have to forget about me.”

Never.He might as well ask her to stop breathing. “I won’t—”

“You must.” His arms tightened around her, even as his words sought to push her away. “Kit will take care of you. He’ll make certain that you and Ethan are cared for, that you come to no harm.”

The finality of that struck her so violently that she shuddered. The ribbon of connection that she’d felt pulling them together was fraying around her, snapping away one thread at a time. When it finally tore in two, leaving her once more without him…oh God, what would she do? How would she survive?

She buried her face against his chest through the cold iron bars that pressed against her cheeks and forced herself to nod, unable to speak without breaking down completely, because he wanted her acquiescence. Because she would do anything he asked of her. Because she would do anything to make these last days bearable for him, no matter how much it destroyed her. Because she loved him.

As if reading her fear, he caressed his knuckles across her cheek. “Don’t worry about me, love.” He placed a kiss to her temple to reassure her. “They won’t send me to the gallows. I still have friends in Parliament I can count on to argue for transportation.”

Exile. That’s what he meant.Notinnocence. He would be forever branded a traitor and banished to Australia, St. Helena, or some other godforsaken place where they sent criminals and traitors, never able to return. He would live…without her.

She could never follow after him. Her life was here. Her sonneeded her here. Ross knew that, too, which was why he didn’t ask it of her. The only solace he could give her now was that he would still be alive, but she was too consumed by grief to accept the consolation he intended, because the thought of being apart from him devastated her. The darkness seeped into her soul, killing what last spark of hope she still possessed.

“Fate double-crossed us again,” he murmured, releasing his hold on her. He caressed her cheek in the darkness. “Apparently, you’re still not meant for me.” His voice lowered to little more than a whisper, one laced with hopelessness. “But I so very much wanted you to be.”

Pain splintered her insides. When he released her and stepped back from the bars, she reached for him, for one last kiss—

When her hand touched only cold air, her heart died.

“Christopher, take her away. Now.” Grief roughened his voice into a harsh rasp. “And never bring her back here again.”

But she didn’t move, couldn’t bearto move, to end these precious last moments she might ever have with him. Her arm remained outstretched toward him in the darkness, her hand through the bars grasping only cold air. “Ross….”

No answer came from the dark cell.

Kit took her arm and gently pulled her away.

He led her up from the bowels of the prison and out into the damp night that hung oppressively over the city. The loud clank of the metal door slamming shut after them reverberated through the street, the finality of the sound so harsh that she cried out as if a knife had been plunged into her chest. Only Kit’s arm around her kept her from falling to the ground.

Kit signaled for a hackney waiting on the street, then put her inside the old coach and ordered the driver to take them to Mayfair. He sat on the bench across from her in the darkness, with the only light coming from the dim lantern dangling off the front corner of the carriage. The silence and darkness were oppressive, so deep that every clopping hoof against the cobblestones reverberated as loud as gunfire in her ears.

She pressed her fist against her chest to physically keep back the tears. She’d been torn in two, with half of her still back in the prison with Ross. Butallof her had died in his arms.

“What happens now?” she forced out.

Kit turned toward the window, although she knew he could see very little of the passing city beneath the moonless night and thick fog that slowed the carriage traffic to a near standstill. His face was inscrutable in the jostling shadows cast by the swaying lamp.

“Parliament will convene for the trial tomorrow in the House of Lords. They’re already sitting in session, so there’ll be no delay in the proceedings. If history is any precedent, they’ll vote their decision within a fortnight.”

Two weeks. Then Ross would be gone from her forever.

“As for you, you’ll spend the night at Spalding House. In the morning, I’ll arrange for a driver and coach to return you to Sea Haven.”

“No.”

The ferocity behind that single word forced his gaze back to her.

“Ross stands before the Lords tomorrow.” She folded her useless hands in her lap. “I want to be there. I won’t let him face this alone.”

“Ross wants you safely home with your son.” His firm tone told her that he’d brook no argument about that. “That’s where you’re going.”

Her fists tightened. How dare he attempt to take away this last bit of time with Ross! “I’ll leave when I know that Ross is safe, when the trial is over.”

“You’ll leave tomorrow.”