“Maybe he’s preceding us to Broddington!” Ariana ran on ahead, ignoring the wet sand that weighed down her gown and stained her shoes, stopping only when she’d reached the water’s edge. Holding her lantern high, she silently bid her friend farewell, peering intently into the night sky until he’d disappeared from view.
“He’s truly free,” she acknowledged softly. Turning, she smiled at Trenton. “Some things are meant to be, and we have no control over them. This moment was one.”
Trenton didn’t answer. The incandescent glow of the lantern filtered out around her, turning the radiant copper of her hair to a fiery red. The water lapped at her feet, first catching the edge of her gown, then receding into the darkening waters.
Sudden, unbidden images gripped Trenton, seized his gut, wrenching like a knife. Slashes of memory sprang to life, uncontrolled, unforgettable.
“Some things are meant to be, Trenton. … This moment is one of them.” A shimmer of crimson hair, a golden haze of light.
“Yes, Vanessa. You’re right. This moment was meant to be. But not for the reasons you think.” He could feel the rage pump through his veins, the blind fury recurring as if it were happening right now. “This i
s not the beginning, you vicious slut. … It’s the end. I intend to ensure that fact … tonight. “
“Trenton?” The lapping of the waves, the hush of the night.
The finality.
“Trenton?” Ariana went to him, her eyes wide with concern. “What is it? You’re white as a sheet.”
Trenton stared at her, unseeing, numb.
“You’re frightening me. … What’s the matter?” Ariana clutched at his arms.
A chilling light dawned in Trenton’s eyes, and he thrust Ariana away from him. “Not again, Vanessa. Never again.”
Turning on his heel, he strode back to Spraystone.
The River Arun hadn’t changed.
Illuminated by a single lantern, the dark, surging waters rushed through Sussex, emptying fiercely into the Channel, merging them into one.
The woman stared at the deserted bank, visualizing the man she wanted and the woman who was no more: an image that caused enmity to distort her still lovely features into a mask of hatred.
All that would soon be rectified.
“Miss?” The constable’s footsteps were muffled by the sand. She hadn’t heard him approach.
“Yes?” Swiftly, she pulled up the hood of her mantle, shielding her face from view.
“Are you all right?”
His weathered face was unfamiliar, she discerned at once, relief surging through her. “Of course, Constable. I’m fine. … Just enjoying an evening stroll.”
He frowned. “I saw the glow of your lantern. A young lady like you shouldn’t be walking alone by the river at night.”
She almost laughed aloud at the absurdity of his remark. Youth had long since passed her by, and she, better than anyone, knew that fear arose not from solitude, but from helplessness. “You’re right, of course, Constable. It’s time I returned home.”
“Do you live nearby?” His shaggy brows knit in concern.
“Just beyond those trees,” she answered quickly. “Thank you for your interest, Constable. Good night.”
“Good night, miss.”
She felt his eyes upon her as she glided purposefully toward the area she’d designated as home. In the future, she’d have to be more careful.
The wind picked up, cool against her flushed cheeks. She was half tempted to lower her hood and let the air rush through her hair, making her feel alive again.
But the risk was too great.