Chapter Thirty #3
keeping his voice to that haughty, aristocratic tone he used when he wished to diminish something’s importance. “You seemed
to regard her so highly,” he said at last, “I found I simply had to meet her.”
Not a lie, but not the complete truth. I wasn’t entirely sure what I would have done if he’d voiced the words banging in my
heart. For you. He did it for you.
“How in the world did you find her?” I asked, amazed. “I never even told you her name.”
That now familiar smirk, mysterious and smug, curled his lips.
Nearly the entire room was between us, and yet I could make out every detail of his exposed legs, from his muscled, hair-dusted
calves to his bare feet. I swallowed thickly as he began to roll the soft silk sleeves of his banyan, revealing, inch by tantalizing
inch, hard forearms. Warmth pooled in my belly, my thoughts softening at that small, homey intimacy.
A large scar marred his left wrist, no doubt marking another fascinating story. He’d have more, of course. Just then, all
I wanted was to find them all. To chart them on the empty map of his life and follow them to their secrets.
His gaze fell on my hands, where I realized I was absently twisting the wedding ring on my finger. I turned to the shelves
again. I’d meant to take it off and set it beside the quizzing glass on the tray but . . . hadn’t.
Feeling my neck and cheeks flush with color, I changed the subject. “I’ve been reading through Rosebourne’s commonplace book,
and there’s a mention of a ‘Lord F’ revealing the names of DeForest spies in the House of Rosebourne.”
“I have a feeling I know who this Lord F may be,” Hugh said wryly.
“It seems the DeForests made an attempt to buy out the perfumery from under Rosebourne,” I said. “Your great-uncle appears to have offered his assistance in destroying them.”
Hugh seemed unsurprised by this. “I wouldn’t put it past him. He always saw situations from a bird’s-eye view and likely thought
destroying a notable Gallian business would undermine the country’s economy.”
The pride in his voice was obvious; it was only his expression that was troubled. Hugh rubbed at the back of his neck.
“I should have accompanied you to Briarwood Palace,” he said suddenly. “I let my anger get the better of me today, and it
nearly cost us both.”
“What happened?” I asked. “Reddy told me that Glenmoor struck Eleanor and you went to confront him, but it ended in a draw.”
“A draw.” Hugh let out a humorless laugh. “I played right into his hand and left you vulnerable.”
“You can’t always be at my side,” I reminded him. “I realize the last few days have done a poor job of demonstrating it, but
I’ve taken care of myself for years.”
“I only . . .” He picked up his cup, then set it back down. When he spoke again, his voice was low, crackling like the wood
in the fireplace. “I do not like the idea of you going anywhere without me,” he said, his eyes searing. “Not to the palace, not to the shops, not even to breakfast—”
“I’m hardly going to be murdered at the breakfast table,” I interrupted. “Unless it’s Mrs. Silver’s nefarious plan to feed
me pastries until I burst.”
“That’s not . . .” Hugh began roughly, pressing a hand to his forehead, turning his gaze away from mine. “That’s not . . .
what I meant.”
In the silence that followed, I was sure he could hear the rising beat of my heart from the other side of the study. It kicked
painfully against my ribs, harder with each passing moment I said nothing. I stood there, entranced by the force of my spinning
thoughts as his meaning set in.
I do not like the idea of you going anywhere without me.
Every possible reply felt more perilous than the last, and I realized how thin the boundary was between terror and excitement.
It felt as though we’d arrived at a crossroads from different directions and now were waiting to see which way the other might
go next. Tension thickened the air like fire smoke escaping the flue.
Desperate to evade his scrutiny, I spun back toward the hearth, forcing myself to make a long, careful study of the painting hanging over it.
I’d barely noted it the other night, and now no detail was small enough for me to consider.
The Ruin of Love by an artist called Accardi, according to its plaque.
It was a rather forlorn take on the myth of Silvana, the ancient goddess
of animals and the woods, and Ardus, the god of war, and the sundering of their love.
As a steadying quiet settled between us, Hugh circled back around the desk, picking up the delicate tweezers. He studied the
walls he’d already erected, carefully considering where to place the next piece.
“I went to find her because of you,” he said suddenly. “How frightened you were for her. I cannot abide—” The words broke
off roughly. “I despise the way this world treats women, and yet I’m guilty of having done something equally terrible to you.”
“Even if it was necessary?” I asked, barely a whisper.
“It wasn’t,” he said sharply. “I told myself it was necessary to convince you, but I know now that it wasn’t. For that, I
apologize unreservedly and from the very depths of my soul.”
The words broke over me with a wave of pure, dizzying relief. And there I was again, back at the crossroads. Seven, maybe
eight steps, and I would reach him on the other side of the desk. Seven steps back, and I would be at the door, leaving to
go to bed, as I should. I had done what I had come here to do. There was no reason to stay now.
It made no sense, the way my body angled toward his, how greedily I took in the sight of his careful hands as he performed
his ridiculous hobby with all the beautiful focus and consideration he did everything else.
I suddenly, desperately, understood the flame’s appeal to the moth. My body couldn’t forget the press of his against it, the
hungry murmurs as he’d kissed me so thoroughly I’d forgotten the world. He’d awakened something in me, and now, the slightest
provocation—that gaze, that voice, that tentative smile—was enough to spark my blood to flame. I resented him for what he’d
done and longed for that touch with a need I’d never experienced before. I felt it even now. My pulse was a staccato beat
at my throat, my wrists, in the secret parts of myself. I struggled to find a way to shift us to safer ground.
“Oliver came by the house today,” I told him, watching as Hugh tensed.
“He told me that he’d heard a man named Dobbin has been seeking out fairy plants and oils.
I think it may be worth looking through the House of Rosebourne’s employment records, or at least see if Rosebourne had paid anyone with that name to procure the oils for him. ”
Hugh said nothing. His gaze shifted to my collarbone, where Mama’s necklace rested against my skin. My hand closed over it,
and I didn’t understand the impulse I had to hide it.
“I’d wondered when it had turned up,” he said carefully after a long moment.
“Oliver found it at a pawnbroker’s shop,” I told him.
“Ah.” Hugh’s expression turned sardonic in the way I despised. “Of course.”
I frowned. “As I’ve told you a dozen times, Oliver is my friend. I’m grateful for his kindness.”
“Does he know you see him that way?” Hugh challenged, taking up his next toothpick.
“He does, yes,” I said. Well, he did now.
“What Radcliffe feels for you is not mere kindness,” he continued. “Whether or not you encouraged those affections, you have him by the leash all the same.”
“And what does it matter to you?”
“It matters,” Hugh said, continuing his work, “because you deserve more than a weak man playing at love.”
My hands curled at my side. “Oliver is not a weak man. He was ill for most of his life—”
“You know damn well that is not what I meant,” Hugh said derisively. “He’s weak of spirit. What else would you call allowing
the woman he supposedly loves to vanish from Fairgate and only making a few discreet inquiries about it?”
“He asked his father to help me and for an advance on his inheritance to pay for a solicitor,” I shot back. “He offered to
marry me in order to have me released from Fairgate into his custody.”
Hugh looked up sharply, his gaze narrowing. “Is that so? How fortunate I made you the better offer.”
I turned away, glaring into the fire.
“He undertook those things at very little risk to himself,” Hugh continued, “likely knowing those efforts would fail. Even
now, he risks little on your behalf. He’s made no attempt to defend your honor in the press or among the Patricians.”
I recoiled at his words. “You don’t know that.”
His face was grim. “I do. He has not written to any paper or scandal sheet in support of you. He has not met with anyone in Parliament who might be
swayed.”
I shook my head. “His family—”
“Should not factor into this at all,” Hugh finished hotly. “He will never strike out on his own or make his own way in the
world. He doesn’t have the will for it.”
“What was he meant to do?” I demanded. “What would you have had him do?”
Hugh’s gaze was so hot, it scalded. “I cannot tell you that. I only know what I would have done,” Hugh said in a low voice. “Because if you were to disappear, I would blaze through this godforsaken world
and every soul who stood between us until I found you again.”
I stared at him, shocked to my core. Heat flooded through me, as if he’d called that very fire to my blood.
Tearing his pale gaze away, Hugh sighed, dragging a hand over his face.
Why? I wanted to ask, almost trembling with the force of the question. Why did he say such things and then pull away? What was
the point? To prove the power he had over me by leaving me wanting?
Because that was what this was—wanting.
It was the contrasts of him, both irresistible and fascinating, I decided. The reason for this fixation. His beautiful life
here, even as he worked in the shadows. The shocking paleness of his eyes against all that midnight-dark hair. That the same
hand he’d used to viciously beat a man had also fed a small dog as he’d serenaded her with a song.