Bess was alive, but what could she do? There was no one to send for, no one Bess could turn to. Emma had run from everyone she'd known, and Hart. . . well, Hart was well and truly done with her.
If only she'd let him stay as she'd wanted to. If only she'd let him tempt her with the promise in his eyes. But she could not love any more. She couldn't stand the inevitable pain, the heartbreak that crouched in unexpected corners, waiting to pounce.
This was better. This she could understand. Matthew Bromley wanted her, and so he took her. And while she was afraid and her face was swollen with hot pain, at least she knew what was coming. The same kind of hatred and lust she'd witnessed her whole life. Strange that she'd ever thought she could be free of it.
Hating her surrender, she whispered to the night, "I will see you punished."
Matthew's hands took hers gently. He checked the thick rope around her wrists. "No. You will love me, Emily. Now go to sleep." One of his hands stroked a slow line up her hip. His sigh filled the night when he reached the curve of one breast and cupped his hand around it. "I will keep you warm."
Her despair steamed instantly to rage and she knew in that moment she would fight him with every breath. "You'd best keep your hands to yourself. Every touch outside the marriage bed is an insult to your God."
His hand snapped away, and Emma rolled to her side, pushing him off her body. If she could not escape him tonight, she would escape tomorrow or the day after that. If he dared to take her to another town, she would make the same kind of scene she'd made in that village they'd passed through. She would escape him.
Matthew could find salvation for his own damned soul. She had enough trouble keeping hold of her own.
Chapter 23
Hart had started shaking with the cold about an hour ago. He'd given up trying to stop it soon thereafter. If the shivering would keep him slightly warmer, then it was welcome. A thick fog had fallen over the world around midnight, dampening everything and offering an added danger to his night. His mount had proven quick and sure-footed, but even the sturdy gelding became skittish on the misty trail. The road stayed a good ten yards from the jagged cliffs, but occasionally the sound of waves would grow loud as if a crevice had opened only feet from the horse's hooves.
The fog shrouded everything and floated strange sounds to his ears. He'd thought he'd heard a woman's cry once and had chased inland after it, but he'd found nothin
g. Likely it had been a gull or a crow. Then there had been a mysterious creaking, a flash of faint light. That had come from the east, a passing ship perhaps.
So he'd given up his search and simply urged the horse slowly forward, waiting for the sun to rise and burn off this muffling blindness.
Matthew Bromley had to have taken her north. It had seemed so simple the night before when he'd set out from Whitby. Between Hart and his driver they'd made quick work out of canvassing the small town. They'd found the run-down room Matthew had rented three nights before, but no one had seen hide nor hair of him since. So Hart had taken his horse and headed back toward Emma's home and the road beyond, determined to catch them. But now . . . after so many cold, dark hours in the saddle, it seemed they could be anywhere. The man could have taken her away in a sloop. Or they could have traveled inland over the fields. But he'd met Matthew Bromley, and he couldn't imagine the man sleeping anywhere but in a bed. He looked as if he might float away in a high wind.
A cow lowed somewhere ahead and Hart thought he heard a woman's voice murmur in response. His hunched shoulders straightened and he strained to see something. A new light was setting the fog aglow. Sunrise, he hoped, and good weather for hunting.
A dog barked, a light sparked to life, seeming to float above the ground. Then a figure formed like a ghost.
"Madam?"
The stout woman gasped and stepped back, fading a little. "Ye scared the wits out of me!"
"My apologies. Can you tell me if I'm nearing Rumswick Bay?"
"Why, ye're in it!" She glanced around as he did. "Or at the edge anyway. But there ain't much here. An inn at the other side of town, but he'll cheat ye if ye're not careful."
"My thanks." He started to urge the horse on, toward the sound of water slapping at boats and the faint shout of a fisherman, but pulled back on the reins after a few steps. "Have there been other travelers about this morning?"
"None, but it's early yet."
"Of course."
"But there was quite a pair last even'."
He wheeled the gelding around. "Who?"
"A man and his wayward wife, he said. She'd run away and didn't care for being fetched back it seemed. Made quite a fuss about being slung over his old mare."
"A young woman? Dark-haired?"
"I couldn't see much under her cloak, but the man was young and fair. Aside from the scratches she'd laid on his cheek."
His heart began to thunder furiously. "When did they
pass?"