The Suffragette Scandal (The Brothers Sinister) (23 page)

It was
possible
that Delacey was such an inveterate record-keeper that he’d kept written notations on the arsonist he’d hired. And if he wasn’t? Well. He was now, and she wasn’t going to feel sorry about it. If he kept this up, next time, he might actually kill someone. Sometimes there was no point in playing fair.

Right now, she only watched, making mental notes about the changes she would have to telegraph back to her office for the column she’d already written, waiting to go to press as soon as the events of the evening came to an end.

To her side, she noticed her old colleagues—Chandley from the
Manchester Star,
Peters from the
Edinburgh Review
—taking note of this all. She’d asked Jane to invite them particularly. Usually, she’d be delighted to have an exclusive story on a matter of this magnitude. But this time, she wanted every paper in England to know what was in that file that had spilled. Chandley and Peters would write their own pieces, to be published in the next few days, explaining how they’d been hired to print duplicates of her columns.

The details of his entire plan would be discussed and made public.

Delacey had given up trying to gather his papers; now, he was simply trying to escape the room.

Free crossed over to him, caught his coat sleeve before he managed to exit. “No business.” She was trying not to gloat. “No reputation. That is what you promised me, is it not? Remember this, Delacey. Everything you try to bring down on my head, I will bring back to you a thousandfold.”

He glared at her. “How did you do it? How did you get that file?”

If she’d truly wanted to taunt him, she’d have told him that one of the men he’d hired had turned on him. But she didn’t know what Edward was to him, and she didn’t want to put Edward in danger.

She simply smiled and handed him the papers she’d been carrying ever since Andrews entered the room.

“James Delacey,” she said solemnly, “you are hereby served with notice of a suit against you. I’m asking for compensation for the fire you started.”

He stared at these papers, his lip curling in distaste. “You think you’ll win this way? With papers and a suit at law, perhaps a fine of a few hundred pounds?”

“I don’t care if I prevail on the suit. I care that everyone will hear the evidence, will discover how foul you are. That’s how I will win.”

He let out a long, slow breath. “You stupid girl,” he said softly. “I’ve already won. No matter what you say publicly, no matter how you stain my reputation, it doesn’t matter. You see,
I
can vote.” He spat on the floor next to him. “And the last I checked, the only bill supporting any form of female suffrage that was even remotely mentioned this term was Rickard’s, and
that
was just a showpiece. Celebrate your victory, Miss Marshall. It doesn’t mean anything. It never will.”

“You don’t believe that. If I am already defeated, why did you even waste time bringing me down?”

His lip curled and he gave her an ugly look. “For the same reason I kill mice. Rodents will never rule the world, but even hiding in the walls they’re still vermin.” He hefted the papers she’d given him. “Congratulations, Miss Marshall. You survived to hide in the walls for a little longer.”

“F
REE,”
O
LIVER SAID LATER
that night. “We haven’t had much time to talk, but—”

Free yawned. It was not quite by design, that yawn. She
was
tired. After the guests had left, she’d stayed up even later composing changes to her article the next day. Oliver had sent one of his servants off to the telegraph office, and then had brought her up to the room he’d set aside for her for the evening.

He smiled at her. “And I know you’re tired. But that fellow you’re working with, that Mr. Clark…” He paused, looked away. “I’m not sure he’s proper.”

Free blinked at her brother. Oliver had paid her bail four times, had been the one to retrieve her from the lock hospital. He’d read every column she’d written in her paper. He knew how she spent her time.
Propriety
was not a word that had often been associated with her. That was a word that belonged to misses on the marriage mart.

“Oliver, are you worried about my
reputation?
That’s sweet. Stupid, yes. But sweet.”

He flushed. “No. That’s not it. I’m not sure he’s, um.” He cleared his throat. “Law-abiding. You know, he blackmailed Mark Andrews.”

Was she supposed to feel
sorry
for the man who’d done his best to ruin her paper? Who had stolen and lied and betrayed her brother’s trust? Oliver really had been in Parliament too long. “And Andrews gave in? Pfft. Weakling.”

When Edward had tried to blackmail her, she’d not so much as budged.

Oliver shook his head, sighing. “I can see you’re not much swayed.”

“I know he’s a scoundrel,” Free said. “He told me so himself. And you know me. If I was the sort to fall in with the first scoundrel who presented himself, I’d never have made it so far.”

“Well, there is that.” Her brother looked faintly relieved.

He shouldn’t have. She’d just called to mind Edward’s first blackmail attempt with great fondness. She could see herself with Mr. Clark at some point in the future—an old married couple sitting on a porch in summer, holding hands and reminiscing over past times.

Do you remember the time you blackmailed me?

Yes, dear. You blackmailed me right back. It was the sweetest thing. I knew then that we were meant for each other.

She wasn’t thinking about how dreadful he was any longer. She’d been thinking that her first investigations would have been so much easier with Edward to forge her references.

“I’m tired,” Free told her brother. “Thank you for everything. I’d never have been able to rid myself of Delacey without you.” She leaned up and kissed his cheek. “You’re my favorite brother.”

“I’m your only brother,” he said in dark amusement.

“You see?” Free spread her arms. “I can’t count on any of the others to even exist when I need them.”

“Go to sleep, silly.” But Oliver was smiling as he extinguished the lamp and left.

Free’s mind didn’t calm when she put her head on the pillow. Instead, it raced ahead—to the last rendezvous she had planned for the evening. One that she had not-so-coincidentally neglected to mention to her brother, on the theory that what brothers didn’t know couldn’t keep them awake at night.

The noises of the household died away. The servants’ footsteps retreated belowstairs, then their voices ceased altogether. When the house had been quiet ten minutes, Free slipped on a robe and slippers and tiptoed out, down the wide stairs, back through the pantry, out the servants’ door. The moon lit the mews in silver. She looked around, waiting…

“Free.”

When had he begun to call her that? She turned to the sound of his voice.

“Frederica,” he repeated, in that low, dark voice.

Edward came out of the shadows of the stables, and she put her arms around herself. She hadn’t
precisely
lied to her brother a half-hour past. Edward wasn’t the
first
scoundrel she’d met, just the best one. Amazing, how the world around her seemed to alter simply because he was present. She might have said his voice was like velvet, that the air was warm and welcoming. But his voice was far more like gravel with that hint of abrasion to it. The night was cooling off, and while a breath of warm air carried the sweet scent of newly cut grass in the square, it warred with the more mundane odor of the stables.

She looked up as Edward drew near, but could see only shadows on his face. “I take it you served Delacey successfully?” he asked.

Rodents will never rule the world.
Even invoking that man gave her a shiver. She might never rule the world, but she could still gnaw a mighty hole in his plaster. “I did.”

“How does it feel to vanquish your enemy?” he asked.

How odd it was, this doubled view of the world. Everyone had seen Delacey’s papers. The account in her newspaper, speeding off the press as they spoke, would not be the only one. All of London would know that Delacey had arranged for the copies to be made, had burned down her house.

Yes, she might be vermin, but there were a lot of mice gnawing in concert, and together they might take him down.

She didn’t answer. Instead, she turned to him. “How does it feel to have your revenge?”

Because he had it now. This was all he had wanted: to foil Delacey’s plans and humiliate him. He’d no reason to stay around, now that was finished.

So why did everything still feel so unsettled?

He took a step toward her. “Strange you should say that.” His voice was whisper-soft. His hand stole up to brush her cheek. “I don’t know. Over the last days, I’ve scarcely thought of revenge at all.”

His fingers scarcely grazed her skin, but even that light touch sent a cascade of electricity through her.

“I should like to know something,” she said. “I need to know why you started our conversation all those weeks ago by blackmailing me.”

There was a pause. He pulled away from her, straightening so that he was a great, dark tower of height. “I should think that was obvious. I wanted you to do something; I had the means to make you do it. So—”

“But you didn’t have to. You said it yourself—you could have charmed me. You could have written yourself any sort of reference. But you’ve never tried to win my trust. Not once. Instead, from the very beginning, you told me repeatedly that you were a scoundrel and I shouldn’t trust you. Why did you do that?”

She couldn’t hear him breathe. She listened, straining, through the sound of crickets. But his silhouette remained utterly still.

“I suppose I did,” he said softly. “How curious. I hadn’t precisely realized.”

Now Free couldn’t breathe, waiting to hear his response.

“That first time we met on the bank of the Thames.” He spoke slowly, as if he were choosing his words with precision. “You bowled me over. I remember watching you leave, feeling as if I was in need of an exclamation point. But I didn’t have room for anything except full stops.” He shrugged. “You have to set boundaries before you get in the thick of things, because once you’re caught up in the act, you lose your head. You need to decide when to walk away: from cards, from a confidence game.” He glanced over at her. “From you. Maybe that’s what I was doing. Making sure that I would walk away before I lost my head. I had to make sure you would never trust me, because otherwise…”

She had no idea what words to interpose in that pause. She knew he’d admired her.
That
much had been obvious, even that first day by the river, and it had only become more pronounced as time passed.

“It doesn’t matter now. I know you well enough to know you’d never have implemented your threats.”

She heard his sharp inhalation, saw his hand jerk toward her and then slip away. “I would like to think I wouldn’t.” His voice was low. “But long experience tells me that I can’t make that promise. Don’t tell yourself otherwise. I don’t trust myself, Free, and you shouldn’t either.”

Oh, she didn’t trust him—at least not to tell her the truth about himself any longer. “Do continue,” she said politely. “Suppose that I went and told Delacey about your involvement. That would surely ruin
some
of your other plans. How would you stop me? Would you pen a letter I wrote to a lover, filled with sordid imaginings? Or would you aim for the purely financial? I can give you my banking arrangements; if you wish to make a hash of them, I can provide you with all the necessary details.”

“Free.” His voice was dark and forbidding. “Don’t.”

“Or maybe you’ll attack my parents. My sisters. I’ll make a list of all the people I love. I can hand over a complete dossier tomorrow, if that’s convenient. Of course, if I am allowed to register a preference…” She took a step toward him and set her hand on his chest. “I would prefer to be ruined by you. In the flesh.”

He growled deep in his throat, and his hand came up to cover hers. “What are you doing, Free?”

“Tell me, Edward. Tell me truly. What is this awful thing you’ll do to hurt me?”

He didn’t speak.

“I won’t even try and evade it. I’ll make it simple for you. All you have to do is look me in the eye and tell me that you could willingly ruin my life if I threatened yours. Go ahead.”

He let go of her hand and turned away from her.

“I knew it,” she said. “You stupid, stupid man. I knew it. You with your ‘of course you don’t trust me’s and your fake blackmail. You’re so clever, you almost fooled me.” She felt her throat catch. “You almost made me believe that I
couldn’t
trust you. But you failed, do you hear me? You failed utterly. I could put everything in your hands, and you’d never betray me. I could shut my eyes and throw myself to the ground, and you’d catch me before I had a single scratch.”

He blew out his breath.

“I knew it when I first saw Delacey in there,” she said. “For the tiniest instant, I thought he was you. Don’t be offended; it was a trick of the light. It was a trick of my heart, looking for you even when I knew I wouldn’t find you. For just one moment—that moment when I thought that I’d seen you—I smiled. And I felt the whole world come alight.”