Rourke looked at both of them, but his gaze lingered on her.
Elizabeth pressed together her dusty lips, ashamed that her first thought had been to wonder if he liked her dress. “Which way do we go?”
“Toward the cemetery.” Rourke had not stopped gazing at her. Now he touched her shoulder with the gentleness of a man in love. “Are you able to run?”
Her feet were so bruised that every step hurt. The stays limited her breath. Mr. Finch and Mr. Poppinclerk could return at any moment. “Go. Get Anabelle to safety. I will keep up as best I can.”
“I cannot leave you.”
“You must.” She swallowed her fear. If Mr. Finch found her, what would he do? Such thoughts would paralyze her if she let them. “Anabelle must get to the ship.”
Rourke nodded. Taking Anabelle’s hand, he headed up the street at full stride. Elizabeth hurried after them, but her clothing hindered every move. Petticoats tangled between her legs. Stones bit the arches of her feet. Perspiration rolled into her eyes, blurring her vision. She struggled for every breath. If only she could rid herself of these constraints, but all she could do was unhook the mantle. That gave minimal relief.
At the next corner, Rourke and Anabelle waited.
His eyes drifted to the lovely gown with the rosette at her throat and a bodice that revealed her small waist. “You’re beautiful.”
How often she had longed to hear those words, but not now, not with so much at stake. Anabelle quivered with anxiety.
Elizabeth could not risk her sister’s future. “Hurry.”
Rourke extended a hand. “I will carry you.”
“No. I will only slow you down. I see the cemetery ahead. I will follow.”
Anabelle took off at a run. After a moment’s hesitation, Rourke followed the woman who had been Elizabeth’s friend and maid for so many years. He caught her within a few strides. Though Elizabeth ran until her throat ached, she could not catch them. By the end of the next block, she had fallen farther behind. The cemetery lay ahead. She knew the way to the ship from there, past the salt ponds and through the hammocks. But the route was long, and she was losing both ground and strength.
By the time she reached the cemetery, her limbs had turned to lead. Each step took enormous effort, like slogging through water. Her knees wobbled. Spots danced before her eyes. The years of idleness in Charleston had taken their toll. She could not go on.
Rourke waited beside a gumbo-limbo while Anabelle paced at the edge of the mangrove thickets.
“Hurry,” Elizabeth gasped, unable to draw enough air to rejuvenate her limbs.
Rourke held out his hand. “I will not leave without you.”
“You must.” She turned at the sound of carriage wheels crunching over the gravel. “Father.” Even in the moonlight, she recognized their carriage.
He took her by the shoulders. Desperation danced in his eyes. “I will carry you.”
She wanted it. Oh, how she wanted it. To be with him always, to truly live. But if she agreed, then they would all fail. Rourke would be arrested, and Anabelle and her baby would be sold.
She pressed her fingers to his lips. “Love does right even when it hurts.”
His hands shook. “I will never see you again.”
She squeezed her eyes shut against that truth. Aiding a fugitive slave brought terrible penalties. If he managed to escape, he would not be able to return. To do so meant prison and destitution.
“I know.” She drew a shaky breath and pushed him away. “Save my sister.”
Instead of letting go, he stared into her eyes. “Your sister?”
The carriage was drawing near. She could see Mr. Finch at the reins.
“Go!” She wrenched from his arms.
He held on until her fingers slipped from his.
She could not watch him go. His ring burned against her throat, symbol of what might have been. Tears burned her lids as she stumbled toward Father’s carriage. Romeo to her Juliet. Separated forever.
Father stepped from the carriage.
Elizabeth dropped to her knees. Please help me, Lord.
22
Rourke saw Elizabeth drop to her knees, and it took all his will not to run to her. He wanted to take her in his arms and shield her from the pain to come, but he could not. She had given her happiness for another. Her sister. His mind reeled. Anabelle was her sister. Though his blood raged against a man who would do such a thing, he could not let Elizabeth’s sacrifice be in vain.
How he loved the woman she had become. The impulsive child had been tempered with a depth of character he had not imagined possible. This Elizabeth could endure trials. This Elizabeth had the grace and compassion to overcome. Yet he must leave her, almost certainly never to return.
“Father!” she cried, rising to her feet. “Papa. Papa.” She ran to the man and threw her arms around his neck.
At the same moment, a thick cloud blotted out the moon. Rourke knew that was his chance, but he could not rip his gaze from the scene unfolding in front of him.