Chapter 27 #2
Eventually, Catherine spotted the sign of a coffeehouse swinging above a door. The name on the sign had been obliterated by time; she could make out the vague outline of lettering. From the door wafted the smell of bitter coffee, the tang of a peat fire, and the acrid assault of tobacco.
Aaron led her inside, where half the tables were empty. The other half pretended to be. No one met their eyes. Conversations were muttered or whispered. A lone fiddler played in a corner.
“We can talk here,” Aaron murmured, leading her across the room to a shadowed corner, “no one will disturb us.”
The gloom revealed a door, which he led her through, tossing a coin to a thickset man who perched on a stool beside it.
The man nodded once and shifted his stool to block the doorway.
A narrow hallway was beyond, lined with faded paintings in grimy frames.
He opened another door at the end, revealing a room with low, dark rafters and a glowing brazier providing inadequate heat and light.
A table and chairs provided furniture.
“A private room,” he muttered, pulling a chair from the table and taking one for himself.
Catherine sat, her throat dry. “Tell me,” she whispered.
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his eyes shadowed.
“My father cast me out. Left me to starve. That much was true.
“I learned quickly that pity earns nothing but hunger. I tried begging until I realized that it would lead to me being either ignored or beaten. So, I stole instead. To eat. To survive. I stole, and I fought. And, I did eat. And I did survive,” his voice grew harder.
“I also became cruel, Catherine. I had to. I had to be prepared to be more terrible than the most terrible man walking the streets.”
“You… killed?” she swallowed.
He nodded once, and something inside her broke loose. The world seemed to shift around her.
My Aaron was the most gentle and loving soul.
“I… I did not think you would be capable.”
“The boy you knew was not,” he said after some hesitation. “But I was given the choice. Kill or be killed. It was survival.”
She nodded, attempting to harden herself. She looked into her husband’s eyes. They had not changed. They still drew her. They were still magnetic. He did not seem like a monster.
Because he is not. He did what he must, not because he wanted to, but because he needed to.
“Why do they call you… The General?” she pressed on.
“I went to work at a gambling den called The Dragon. As muscle. A hired knife. I became the leader of a gang of hired knives working for the man who owned the Dragon. I orchestrated the downfall of other gangs and rival gambling houses. And I won. I became partners in the Dragon, and then… I owned it.”
“Owned it?” Catherine was astonished.
He nodded. “The owner, my employer, felt threatened by me. He wanted me out of the way. He betrayed me, but… I survived.”
“…He did not.”
“No, he did not. I will not try to excuse my actions. I have told you the reasons for what I did,” he added, voice heating.
“I do not seek excuses. Only understanding,” she replied, matching his heat with her own.
“You cannot understand unless you have been there yourself,” he said, rising and pacing the room.
“Well, I have not, but I will still understand you. I will not let you shut me out and drive me away.”
She stood up, placing herself in the path of his pacing, refusing to let him by. He tried to glare her down, but she glared back.
I will not be intimidated. Not after coming so far. Not after coming so close to the truth.
“You do not want me,” he said quietly. “I am a man haunted by his past, and by his… his… actions. I was wrong to think I could escape either.”
“Do not tell me whom or what I want. I married you because I had no viable choice. I stayed with you for another reason.”
“And that is?”
His question seemed genuine. It was as though he had no idea why she remained at his side. His face was pure confusion.
“Because I am falling in love with you. I am on the verge of it,” she said, simply.
“You are falling in love with… with Aaron Tarnley, Duke of Winchester,” he stated slowly.
Catherine had not expected the question. In her mind, the confession would have been greeted in reciprocal fashion, followed by a passionate kiss.
And then we live happily ever after, as the stories say.
“You,” she corrected.
“But you do not know me,” he replied helplessly.
“I am well aware of how much I know and how much I don’t. But I am filling in the gaps in my knowledge with your help. So far, nothing has come close to extinguishing my feelings for you.”
There passed a beat of silence. He reached up to tenderly stroke her cheek, running his fingers down the line of her face.
His eyes took her in, seeming to drink in the sight of her, like a man dying of thirst who suddenly encounters an oasis.
He licked his lips, stroking her neck. Catherine lifted her chin, meeting his gaze steadily, though she wanted to close her eyes and savor his touch.
“And if you discover that I am not who you think I am…?” he asked.
“I already have,” she breathed. “And I find that you are precisely who I think you are. The only difference is that I now understand that I didn’t know the man you were.”
He chuckled.
“Neither did I.”
“And now?”
“Businessman. Employer and guardian of my staff. Husband. I find that I rather enjoy these roles.”
“And you suit them.”
Her hands trembled in her lap.
“I understand if you wish the marriage annulled,” he went on quietly. “How could you have guessed? How could anyone want such a past tied to them?”
Catherine stared at him, her heart a storm. The boy she had known, the man she desired, the husband she had married, all entwined with this shadowed figure of East London’s hells.
Can I look past it? Does such a past leave a stain on a man? Can he step out of such a shadow, or can I?
The silence stretched between them, taut as a drawn bow. Catherine drew a breath, but no words came.