The Suffragette Scandal (The Brothers Sinister) (30 page)

“Edward.”

He savored the caress in her voice, that lilting lovely tone of satisfaction. Maybe he’d have a chance after all—maybe, if he could make her smile like that again…

“Darling Free.”

“I have a question.”

He felt every muscle in his body come alert, his shoulders going rigid. No. Foolish. There was no chance. He stopped breathing.
God, Free. We could have waited until morning to destroy everything.

“Yes?” he managed. The word came out roughly.

“You don’t have to answer—not if you’re not ready. But why do you always wear a glove on your right hand? You didn’t even take it off tonight.”

Not the question he’d feared. Thank God, not that one. He was so relieved, he was even willing to answer her. He didn’t say anything at all; he simply removed his right glove and held out his hand to her. In the moonlight, it was all too obvious that his two smallest fingers had been cut off at the knuckle.

She inhaled sharply. And then she took his right hand in hers.

“What happened?”

“It was after Strasbourg had surrendered. I’d been sent back to occupied Colmar—that was the village where the blacksmith who had taken me in lived. At that pointed, I only wanted to return home, but now the path back to England led through a foreign army. With no funds and no access to official channels, my choices were limited. So I did the only thing that seemed reasonable at the time.” So long as he said the words, and didn’t think of what they meant, it would all turn out right. “I forged myself safe-conduct papers and a letter of credit.”

Her fingers were warm against his.

“I tried to use the letter of credit first. But the banker—a man named Soames—realized it was a forgery.”

She inhaled.

“But he didn’t turn me in. You see, he was ambitious. He realized that it would be more useful to have his own personal forger than a worthless Englishman subject to martial law in the midst of an occupation. So instead, he used me.”

“He blackmailed you?” But Free’s voice was uncertain, and her fingers, gentle against his, suggested that she knew that wasn’t the case.

Edward let out a long breath. “The first man he wanted me to betray? Blackmail wouldn’t have worked. I didn’t lose my fingers in an accident, sweetheart. I lost them slowly, over the course of two weeks. The fingers weren’t even the worst part. He only started on those after he’d near-drowned me a half-dozen times.”

Her hand twitched against his.

“Pain rewrites everything. You don’t just
do
things to make pain stop. You believe them. Even as you’re sitting, forging a false letter purporting to establish that a man is part of an armed resistance in occupied territory. Even while you’re perpetrating the fraud, you can convince yourself that it is the truth. I can still remember some of the events I invented for Soames as if they really happened. As if I had been standing there. I forged mortgages and letters of credit on the one hand, and faked resistance on the other. The county was occupied, and Soames intended to profit from it as long as he could. I was just his tool.”

The sun had set. He couldn’t see the expression on her face, didn’t know what she was thinking.

“There was only that one small part of me that understood something was wrong.” He gulped in a breath. “And so when I could—when peace came in March, and Soames lost the threat of martial law and summary execution to expand his empire—I escaped. It took me months to regain my reason, such as it was.”

There were still some memories he had of those months that he doubted, and he’d never know if they were real or not.

“I had thought I was so brave before the war started, refusing to bow under my father’s persuasion. But I no longer had the strength of any convictions. It had all been lies, a fantasy I told myself so I’d believe myself superior. I wasn’t. I begged like any man when threatened with a dire fate. A little pain, and I lied, no matter who was hurt. That was the point when I vowed that I’d not flinch from the worst that I was. I have to know who I am, what I am—or I’ll let the next fellow who comes along make me into far worse.”

She laid a soothing hand against his shoulder. “Now you’re not alone in that any longer. I know who you are, too—all of it, the good and the bad. And I won’t let you be anyone but yourself.”

But she didn’t know. She didn’t know who he was. She didn’t know that it was his own brother who was making idle plans to hold her—and far, far worse.

No matter what, that would never happen to her—not while he had breath in his body. He’d seen to that today, no matter what else he had done.

“No,” he said gravely. “I’m not a good man. But you had it right: I’m your scoundrel.”

“Shh,” she said.

“You don’t know what I’ve done.”

She turned to him, coming up on her elbow. “You’re not to blame,” she said. “I can’t even imagine what you’ve gone through. You aren’t awful. The world has been awful to you.”

“Those things are not mutually exclusive, love.”

“If you hadn’t noticed, I started my career as a reporter by falsifying a report that I was infected with syphilis. I’ve presented my share of false references in my time. You may not be
good
by the standards of the rest of the world. But you’re perfect for me, and I won’t let anyone hurt you again.”

Oh, he wished that were true.

He looked over at her, at the fierce expression on her face. Her hair spilled around her shoulders in little curls, tickling his arm. And he felt a sense of unimaginable wonder. He’d thought to keep her safe, and yet here she was, insisting that
she
would protect him. He couldn’t wrap his mind around what this could mean.

He didn’t realize he was shaking until she set her hands on his shoulders. He didn’t know how cold he felt until she curled up against him, her body so warm.

God. He didn’t know what he was going to do when she left him.

“For what it’s worth,” he said, “when I asked you to marry me, I thought I loved you.”

She stilled in his arms, turning to him.

“I’ve thought I loved you ever since the evening you told me you weren’t trying to empty the Thames with a thimble, that you were watering a garden instead. I felt like you changed my entire world from futility to hope over the course of one conversation.”

“Edward.” She turned to him, placing her hand on his shoulder.

“You can’t know what it’s like to have no hope,” he said. “To believe that the best you can manage is survival. I wanted you so much.” His fingers slid over her bare shoulder, down her hip. “I wanted you so much I thought it was love. I stopped being able to envision a world without you in it to light the way.”

“You keep speaking in the past tense.”

“That’s because I was wrong. A desperation to possess at any cost—that’s not love.” He leaned over and brushed a kiss against her lips. “This is.”

The kiss felt like a slow awakening, a sensation of warmth, a steady glow that enveloped the two of them.

But she drew away from him. “Edward. I—”

He set his finger on her lips.

“No. Don’t say it. It’s hell enough realizing that I want only to protect you from harm.” His voice dropped. “That I’m the one who will hurt you.”

She shook her head. “I wish you wouldn’t talk like that. I know you better than that.”

He smiled sadly. She didn’t.

“One of these days, you’ll understand,” she said. “I love you, scoundrel and all. And I’ve known you could never hurt me. Ever since that same day.”

He kissed her again. “Tell me that tomorrow.”

It was particularly sweet—stomach-churningly sweet—when she nodded her head.

“I will. And the next day, and the day after, and the day after. I’ll tell it to you day after day, night after night, until finally you believe it’s true.”

F
REE AWOKE IN THE MIDDLE
of the night in a cold sweat, flailing her arms, trying to escape—

“Shh,” she heard Edward say. “Shh. Free. It’s all right.”

Her heart was racing away from her. Her mouth was dry, and it took her a moment to understand that she was in bed with her husband of…several hours, not being held in place, not tied down in a government hospital.

Her pulse slowed. Her muscles loosened. She let out a long, slow breath.

“You’re safe,” Edward said. “I have you.”

“It was only a nightmare.” She couldn’t bring herself to look at him.

“Of course it was,” he said. “And now I’m only holding you.” He folded his arms around her. “See how that works?”

Marrying him had been impulsive and foolhardy. She hadn’t even had a chance to inform her family of her marriage—and after she told them, there’d be many explanations demanded.

But if they could just see this, just
feel
this moment—the warmth of his arms around her, the comfort of his touch, those cold fears washing out of her as he stroked her face—why, they’d all understand why she’d done it.

The morning would bring a demonstration, a reunion with Amanda, and a trip to gaol—but it would also bring him. And once everyone she loved grew to know him, they’d understand. Edward was the best thing she could ever have impulsively grabbed for.

“I
’M SO GLAD YOU COULD
spare a few moments,” Genevieve said.

The morning had dawned crisp and cool, with scattered clouds obscuring the summer sun for once. Amanda shifted a bag on her shoulder and smiled at Genevieve.

“Of course I did,” she said. “Don’t I always?”

Always.
It was hard to remember that
always,
when it came to Genevieve, meant only a handful of months. They now met when Amanda came into town, and at this point, that meant they saw one another nearly twice a week. It seemed as if they’d known each other longer than that.

Amanda caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror over the side table. It had taken her months to learn not to wince and look away from her own reflection, and there were times…

“Ah, ah,” Genevieve said.

Amanda looked at her. “It’s nothing,” she said. “Just noticing that I still have ink stains on my fingers.”

“Those,” Genevieve said loftily, “are more by way of a badge of honor than a stain. They’re war wounds.”

Amanda couldn’t help but smile. But there was the rub: the more comfortable Genevieve made her feel, the more
uncomfortable
she grew. Weeks of becoming familiar with Genevieve’s sly, understated sense of humor—and trusting that Amanda was not the butt of it—had helped ease her sense of awkwardness.

And yet Genevieve was still as lovely as ever, sweet as ever, and…sadly, as innocent as ever. Hence Amanda’s dilemma.

“I can’t stay long today.” Amanda indicated her bag. “I’ve the demonstration to attend, and everything will only become more complicated from there on. There’s the possibility that I’ll be arrested, and…”

Genevieve interrupted her with a hand on her arm. “That’s precisely the reason I asked you to come this morning. You see, I know some ladies who would like to participate in the demonstration. I thought we might all walk to the park together.”

Ladies.
Amanda tensed. As if to emphasize what Genevieve meant, a burst of laughter—light and airy—came from the other room.

Amanda had been doing better since that first gathering back in April. She’d even gone to a handful of small parties since then—ones where she was sure her family would not be in attendance. Still, she’d always needed time to steel herself before going out in company. Today, she wasn’t sure she had the extra energy to make the effort.

“Oh, Genevieve.” She shook her head. “I’m on edge enough. You know how I feel about this sort of thing.”

She expected Genevieve’s face to fall, for her to be disappointed. Instead, the other woman looked at her, her eyes shining with determination. “I’ve planned this for over a month. I’m not letting you walk away.”

“But—”

Genevieve took a step toward her. “No, I am not.”

“But—”

“My own sister, Geraldine, has just come up from the country for the first time in months. She’s heard so much about you, and she wants to meet you.”

That made Amanda more nervous rather than less. What if Geraldine didn’t like her? She knew how close the two sisters were. She didn’t want Genevieve to be ashamed of their friendship.