Chapter 29 Dancing with the Devil #2
“How did you expect me to react?” Her voice rose with indignation. “You’ve been warning me against Norwich while secretly owning the very factories you claim to oppose. These shares have been yours for a year, yet their safety records show only marginal improvement.”
“Meaningful change requires both time and money, Amelia.” His tone held forced patience. “I’m dealing with several major shareholders who resist every reform. I’ve been working to persuade them gradually—push too hard, too fast, and they’ll dig in their heels out of spite.”
Silence stretched between them, thick with tension, before Hereford finally asked, “How did you discover this? These ownership structures are deliberately obscured.”
“Lord Norwich directed my attention to these particular factories,” she said coolly.
Hereford’s jaw tightened. “Of course he did. During your meeting at the Review last week.”
“Yes. He’s been providing documentation about safety violations at various operations. It was only when I verified ownership that your connection emerged.”
“Don’t you see what he’s doing?” Hereford moved closer, urgency bleeding into his voice. “He deliberately led you to my holdings. This wasn’t coincidence—it was calculated manipulation.”
“Perhaps,” she conceded, though her voice remained tight with suspicion. “But his manipulation doesn’t prove your innocence.”
Hereford drew a sharp breath, visibly struggling to contain his frustration. “I know how this appears, but surely you realize I would never sacrifice workers’ lives for profit.”
“Your explanations always seem so convenient,” she observed with cutting coolness.
“How dare you!” The words exploded from him before he could stop them.
Amelia’s eyes blazed. “How dare I? Yes, I dare! A factory girl dares to question her husband’s business dealings when workers are losing limbs at his factories—factories he never bothered to mention!”
“Don’t diminish everything we’ve built on one unproven assumption!” His voice cracked with genuine anguish. “Is our marriage worth so little that you’d discard it at the first doubt?”
Her voice turned arctic. “I’m prepared to sever ties with anyone who betrays my trust.”
“I haven’t betrayed you—I was trying to protect what we have!” Hereford’s composure shattered completely. “Norwich has been poisoning you against me from the beginning, and you’re letting him succeed!”
She exhaled slowly, as if summoning patience for a petulant child. “I base my judgments on actions, not suspicions. Your actions, not his.”
“Then let me give you evidence,” Hereford said, his voice dropping to barely controlled intensity. “Norwich was the sole owner of Crown Street Textiles when you were injured there, and he still is.”
The color drained from Amelia’s face. For a moment, she seemed unable to speak. “What?”
“Norwich was the sole owner thirteen years ago.” Hereford moved to his satchel, withdrawing the documents they’d gathered. “That’s where I’ve been today, gathering and confirming evidence.”
Her hand trembled slightly as she took the papers, scanning them with growing horror.
There at the bottom of a bank document was Norwich’s signature.
She reached into her reticule and withdrew the letter Moore had given her.
Her lungs seized as her mind registered the extravagant bow-shaped swirl under capital N’s and O’s that were shaped like U’s.
“How did you discover this?” she asked after inhaling deeply.
“Carlisle’s bank,” Hereford said quietly.
Amelia sank back into her chair, the documents clutched in her hands. For a long moment, she simply stared at them, her face unreadable.
“And you think he’s directing my attention toward your acquisitions because…?”
“Because you’re getting too close to the truth,” Hereford said, kneeling beside her chair. “He’s manipulating you, Amelia. To distract you from his own culpability.”
She looked up, her eyes full of pain as they met his. “He’s invited me to tour one of his factories tomorrow. Not Crown Street—another operation he claims is a model of modern safety practices.”
Alarm coursed through Hereford. “You can’t go alone.”
As Amelia fell silent, Hereford felt his chest tighten with anticipation. Her fingers traced the edge of the papers, the evidence of Norwich’s deception laid bare between them. The lamplight caught the planes of her face, highlighting the furrow between her brows as she weighed his words.
Say something, he urged silently, his muscles coiled with the need to act, to protect, to somehow shield her from the dangerous game they were both forced into. His hands clenched involuntarily, then relaxed as he forced himself to remain still, to let her process what she’d learned.
*
The evidence was incontrovertible—Norwich was responsible for her amputation. Amelia stared at the documents, the words blurring as tears she refused to shed pricked at her eyes.
The phantom pain in her missing limb flared with sudden, vicious intensity, as if her body recognized the proximity of its slayer.
She pressed her lips together, fighting the wave of nausea that threatened to overwhelm her.
How many times had she smiled at him? Thanked him for his assistance?
She’d been dancing with her own devil, completely unaware.
Fool, she thought, the word echoing in her mind with bitter self-recrimination. Stupid, trusting fool.
Her hands began to shake, the papers rustling as tremors she couldn’t control seized her fingers. The room tilted slightly, and she gripped the edge of the desk, her knuckles white against the dark wood.
“Amelia?” Charles’ voice seemed to come from very far away. “Are you all right?”
She couldn’t answer immediately. The magnitude of Norwich’s deception crashed over her in waves—not just the factory decision, but every conversation, every sympathetic look, every carefully crafted manipulation.
He had been studying her, learning her weaknesses, positioning himself as her ally while knowing exactly what he had stolen from her.
“I need…” she began, then stopped, unsure what she needed. To scream? To weep? To somehow go back in time and see through his mask?
Charles moved closer, his presence steady and grounding. “Take your time.”
She drew a shuddering breath, then another.
Slowly, the world steadied around her. “I trusted him,” she whispered, the words scraping her throat raw.
“All this time, I defended him against your warnings. I let him into my office, into my confidence. God, Charles, what if he had—” She couldn’t finish the thought.
“But he didn’t,” Charles said firmly. “You’re safe. And now we know the truth.”
She swallowed hard, forcing herself to meet his eyes. “Perhaps we could work together on this.”
Surprise flickered across Hereford’s face, quickly replaced by relief. “Yes,” he said, leading her by the elbow. “I have some thoughts on how we might approach this.”
He spread the documents on the desk, his shoulder pressed lightly against hers as they bent over the papers. The warmth of his body was comforting, and she leaned against him, drawing strength from his steadiness.
“If we confront him directly, he’ll deny everything,” Charles said, his finger tracing a line of evidence. “But if you appear to be gathering information innocently…”
“I could still tour his factory,” Amelia finished his thought, surprised by how clearly her mind was working despite the emotional turmoil. “Then catch him off guard.”
“Exactly.”
As they worked through the details—possible routes through Norwich’s factory, positions where Steven and Patrick could station themselves, what questions she should ask about “safety innovations”—Amelia found herself watching Charles with growing wonder.
How easily they worked together now, his mind complementing hers, anticipating her thoughts, building on her ideas without any of the calculated manipulation Norwich had employed.
When she suggested looking for connections between Norwich’s current operation and Crown Street, Charles immediately understood and began mapping potential witnesses among the workers.
When she shifted her weight uncomfortably, her leg aching from standing too long, he simply pulled a chair close, guiding her gently into it while continuing their conversation without pause.
The simple gesture made her throat tighten with unshed tears. Here was a man who noticed her discomfort without making her feel diminished by it, who anticipated her needs without making her feel weak.
“We’ll need signals,” Charles said, his voice dropping to a low murmur as his hand found hers. “Ways for you to alert me if you’re in danger.”
“You’ll be nearby?” Her voice betrayed immense relief.
“Every moment.” His eyes met hers, the intensity almost too much to bear. “I’ll have Patrick and your brother positioned strategically. You won’t be truly alone.”
“How will you get in?”
His countenance brightened with a grin. “The same way we always obtain access. With charm, authority, and disguise.”
They continued planning, but with each passing moment, Amelia felt the shame building in her chest like a physical weight.
God, what had I been thinking? The guilt crashed over her in waves.
She’d dismissed Charles’ warnings as mere jealousy, had defended the monster who had destroyed her life.
Her husband—her husband—had seen through Norwich’s mask when she, with all her supposed insight, had been completely blind.
“Charles,” she said suddenly, her voice barely above a whisper.
He looked up from the map they’d been studying, immediately attentive to the change in her tone.
“I owe you an apology.” The words felt like broken glass in her throat. “I should have heeded your advice. I was wrong about Norwich.”
Charles’ expression softened, his free hand coming up to cup her face with exquisite gentleness.
“You tried to warn me, and I…” Her eyes filled with tears she could no longer hold back. “I accused you of jealousy. I defended him against your concerns. While you were protecting me, I was foolishly trusting the man who destroyed my life.”
She could barely speak around the tightness in her throat. “I’m so sorry, Charles. I’m so achingly sorry.”
He was quiet for a long moment, his thumb brushing away the tear that escaped down her cheek. When he spoke, his voice was infinitely tender.
“You had no way of knowing. Norwich’s been playing this game for decades—he’s a master at deception.” His hands framed her face now, his touch compassionate. “Amelia… you owe me nothing except your safety tomorrow.”
The complete absence of recrimination in his statement only made her tears fall harder.
She leaned into his touch, feeling something fundamental shift between them.
The dam burst then—all the fear, shame, and relief she’d been holding back poured out in broken sobs.
Charles gathered her close, stroking her hair and murmuring soft reassurances until her cries gradually became hiccups.
Amelia dried her tears and took a fortifying breath.
They continued planning in quieter tones, their heads close together as they refined their strategy.
Charles’ patient explanations, his careful attention to her safety, his absolute faith in her ability to carry out their plan despite the danger—it all combined to create a warmth in her chest that recognized the truth.
This was partnership. This was trust. This was what she’d been searching for without knowing it.
When he reached across her to adjust the factory layout map, positioning it so she could see better, when he automatically steadied her elbow as she leaned forward, when he anticipated her questions before she could voice them—she realized she was seeing the man she’d fallen in love with without even knowing it was happening.
“I love you,” she whispered, the admission escaping before she could stop it.
Charles went very still, his eyes searching hers as if ensuring he hadn’t misheard.
“I think I’ve been falling in love with you for months,” she continued, the words tumbling out now that the dam had broken. “All those times you surprised me, challenged me, protected me when I was too stubborn to see I needed protecting…”
His breath caught, wonder spreading across his features. Then he was kissing her—soft, reverent, full of everything he couldn’t say. When they broke apart, his forehead rested against hers.
“I love you too,” he murmured. “God help me, Amelia, I’ve been lost to you since the day you gave me away to that angry gentleman with the walking stick.”
A laugh escaped her despite her tears. “That seems like a lifetime ago.”
“It was a lifetime ago. We’re different people now.”
“Better people,” she agreed, holding onto him as if he might vanish. “Together.”
“Always together,” he promised, and in his voice she heard a vow that went far beyond their temporary arrangement. “Now, shall we finish planning how to catch your demon?”
Amelia nodded, feeling centered for the first time in months.