She shivered and pulled her cloak more closely about her. 'I must leave-'
'Don't go.' He stepped quickly around the grave and blocked her way. Belle kept her gaze lowered, but she was very aware of him standing in front of her, broad and immovable as a wall. 'I gave my word to your father that I would stay away from you.' His voice was low and rough, as if the words were forced out of him. 'I cannot help myself. I am drawn like a moth to a flame.'
'I have done nothing to attract you.'
'You drove out with my cousin yesterday. Are you not using him to make me jealous?'
'Of course not!' Belle looked up, surprised. The suggestion would have been laughable if she had not felt so desolate. She raised her chin. 'I do not play games. Unlike … '
'Unlike me,' he finished for her. 'I deserve your censure. I could only wish-' He looked up at the darkening sky and exhaled. 'I rode into Stanton tonight because I wanted to see you one last time, even if it was only your shadow at the window of Croft Cottage.'
'Lucas, please-'
She put out her hand to stop him and he caught it, drawing it closer until it was pressed against his heart.
'I am going to London shortly to see my lawyer. I do not intend to return to Stanton, so I will not trouble you again.'
She shook her head. She should have run away when she first saw him. She should certainly not have allowed him to touch her. Now the bonds that held her to him had wound around her heart again.
'It is not your presence that troubles me, Lucas.' She risked looking up. His face was in shadow, but she could feel his pain, for it mirrored her own. She said quietly, 'When you are away I feel as if a part of me is missing.'
Something between an oath and a sigh escaped him and he pulled her close, holding her so tightly that she was pressed to his chest and could hear his heart thudding against her cheek.
'You will recover,' he muttered into her hair. 'You must.'
'I do not think I want to.'
'Foolish talk, my love.' He let her go, but only so he could take her hand and lead her across the graveyard to the raised tomb that held the remains of his family. 'Look here,' he said. 'This is why I cannot marry you. I am the son of a murderer, Belle.'
'No,' she whispered.
'Yes!' He pulled her round, his hands gripping her shoulders. 'I love you to distraction, Belle, but I have my father's temper-it has already brought you and your father close to ruin. What if it should spill over into violence?'
'If I am willing to take the risk-'
'I am not, and neither is your father. Come, it is almost dark and you must go home.' He read rebellion in her face and gave her a little shake. 'You told me once that your father rarely demands your obedience, but when he does you are happy to give it.'
'You remember that?'
A ghost of a smile flickered across his features. 'I remember everything you have said to me. But you must go now. Obey your father and stay away from me.'
He began to walk her back towards the gate. Hot tears sprang up, clogging her throat. Despite all that had happened she could not believe he would ever harm her. He stopped at the lychgate.
'I can go no further with you.'
'Then, will you kiss me, just once more?'
She was begging him, but she did not care. When he lowered his head to kiss her, Belle returned his embrace with a desperate fervour. Her lips parted, she tangled her tongue with his, desperate to show him just how much she cared. His arms tightened and she felt his body harden. They were spinning into that heady passion in which all sense of time and place is lost. It was not too late, if he would admit how much he loved her, she was sure they could convince Papa to let them marry. If she was willing to take the risk, then why should they not agree? For a moment hope flared in Belle. Then, slowly, resolutely, Lucas drew back. He moved his hands to her shoulders and gently but firmly pushed her away.
They were standing in the shadow of the lychgate; above them the small roof was a solid square of black against the darkening sky. Lucas sighed.
'They rest the coffins here before they carry them to the grave. The villagers believe it is bad luck for lovers to stop here on their way to be married. Appropriate, then, that we should take our last leave of each other here.'
The tiny flicker of hope died. Belle's shoulders sagged. She blinked back her tears as Lucas lifted her hand to his lips for one final salute.
She clung to him, her heart breaking. Summoning every ounce of will power, she forced herself to speak. 'There is something I must tell you, Lucas. I am not with child.'
The wind filled the silence around them with a sigh.
'You are sure?' he said at last.
She nodded. 'Yes. I am sure.'
'Then we must be thankful for that.'
Must we? Annabelle caught her lip between her teeth. Now, when Lucas was gone, she would have nothing of him at all to fill the aching void where her heart had been.
As he disengaged his fingers he said quietly, 'God be with you, Belle, now and always.'
Hot tears welled up, filling her throat as well as her eyes. Silently, she turned and fled.
Lucas watched her go, not taking his eyes from her until she had hurried unhindered past the lighted windows of the Red Lion and become a mere shadow flitting down the High Street, disappearing at last through the door of the mean little cottage that, because of him, she and her father had been forced to call home. He untied Sultan's reins and scrambled into the saddle. Well, at least he could rectify that. He could reinstate them at Oakenroyd. They would take their place in Stanton society again and he would disappear from their lives for ever. Belle was still young, in time she would forget him and be happy again. He had to believe that. After a final glance at the now-deserted street he turned and rode back to Oakenroyd.
As the sound of the horse's hooves faded, a figure broke away from the black shadows of the inn's arched entrance opposite the church. Hugh Duggan stepped into the street and watched his cousin disappear into the night.
Annabelle slept badly and awoke little refreshed, but there was no time for moping. With December approaching she was obliged to make the best use of the short winter days. To offset her restlessness she set Abel to chopping wood for the fire while she went off as soon as it was light to fetch more milk and eggs from Oldroyd Farm. There were a few townspeople in the street, including Mrs Kensley, who barely gave her a nod in passing. Since they had moved into Croft Cottage she had tried to patronise Belle and her father. Now Belle acknowledged a small but quite reprehensible glimmer of satisfaction as she imagined the lady's consternation and displeasure once they were reinstated at Oakenroyd.
If Lucas kept his promise.
The thought occurred only to be dismissed. She had no doubt that Lucas would honour his word to her father and she drew comfort from this, although she drew none from the knowledge that he would also honour his word not to return to Stanton.
Henry Blundell was standing in the doorway of his booksellers as she passed and although he touched his hat as he wished her a good morning, she had to steel herself to ignore his leering stare. she would order her books from London once they were back at Oakenroyd. There was no doubt that she would enjoy being back in her old home and she would have the means to indulge her interests once again, but she knew that no amount of money would dispel the desperate loneliness she now felt.
The road to the farm was muddy and uneven and she raised her eyes to the toll road curling around the ridge to the north and watched the coaches bowling along. Traffic had increased in recent months and she thought perhaps there was now a chance that the subscribers would begin to see a return for their investment. That would be good for the town. Her sharp eyes picked out a rider on the top road and even at this distance she recognised Captain Duggan. He was riding slowly and she quickly put down her head and hurried on to Oldroyd. She did not wish him to recognise her and come riding down to meet her, full of hearty goodwill and gallant phrases, for she felt very vulnerable and alone on this desolate stretch of road.
The memory reared up of Lucas galloping towards her, mounted upon her beloved Apollo. She closed her eyes for a moment, shaking her head to dispel the image. Would she ever be free of him? Everywhere she went around Stanton there were memories waiting to pounce on her. Perhaps, when they were settled once more at Oakenroyd, she would travel. She had always wanted to go abroad. But she could not leave her father, so for the moment she was trapped. She remembered her father's story of the lark in the gilded cage. Well, she thought, in an attempt at humour, at least she would be miserable in comfort.