Chapter 2 #3
The only reason she had not lost her temper and upbraided him was the way he looked at those books, and then at her.
His relief had been palpable and his eagerness visible.
When his gaze rose to hers again, she discerned some gratitude, and also embarrassment.
Then he had flipped through them hungrily, and almost smiled when he found the paper and pencil secreted inside one of them.
Other than that vague expression in his eyes, had he acknowledged her love and concern, though? Not at all. And his words had been cruel and sharp. I said not to come here again. Do not disobey me this time as I say it again.
“Miss Belvoir.” The call came from the other end of the building, from beyond the line of people waiting to petition to see their relatives.
Her gaze snapped to a waving hat, and a man on horseback.
Ives. He had given her leave to think of him by that name, and she had taken to doing so most of the time.
He trotted toward her, and the line split like the Red Sea to permit him to pass. Fifty yards from her he dismounted, and approached on foot with his steed in tow.
Decked out like the wealthy aristocrat he was, Ives proved quite a sight.
In the sunlight his face proved no less impressive, but the raking illumination showed the fine lines on either side of his eyes and mouth.
Laugh lines they were called, yet they made him appear less friendly not more so, and gave his classic beauty a hard edge that the soft haze of candles had not revealed.
“Miss Belvoir, it is fortunate to find you here.” He made a little bow. “I have learned a few things that you should know. Walk with me, and I will tell you all.”
Of course she walked with him. Together they strolled along the edge of the square.
“You visited him again today,” he said. “Did you learn anything?”
“If I had, it would be unwise to tell you.”
“Anything he says in his own defense will aid him. The Crown is not without mercy.”
“Do you have reason to think he will need mercy?”
He stopped walking and faced her. “I regret that I do. It is worse than I thought, and I think worse than you feared. The pending charge is for coining. It is very serious, and the evidence is solid.”
Coining? Her father? Hadrian Belvoir? She could not keep a laugh from emerging. “That is ridiculous. He has no sense of money, and little use for it except to buy paper and books. Anyone who knows him would know—”
“The counterfeit money was found in his home. They have him dead to rights. He is only in prison, instead of tried and convicted, because they hope to get him to reveal the rest of the scheme. No one counterfeits on his own. It is a complicated procedure that requires specialized skills.”
“If there was bad money in his possession, he probably received it from some shop and was not aware it was bad.”
The less friendly aspects of his handsome face hardened. “Do not assume the law is upheld by fools. A few pounds do not a counterfeit charge make. If they have him in prison, a good amount was found in his possession, Miss Belvoir.” His expression softened. “You must prepare yourself.”
Prepare yourself. It was the kind of thing said to relatives of the dying. She stared at this man who would be the agent of her father’s destruction. Fury at her father collided with fury at him.
“How kind of you. How sympathetic. You lower your voice and pretend concern, but when his trial opens you will be there in your wig and robes and convince the jury to convict him and the judge to damn him. His life will be over for a small crime barely worth noting.”
His countenance turned very hard indeed.
“Miss Belvoir, I am truly sorry for you, but not for him. Counterfeiting is not a minor crime. It is never small. It is normally undertaken on a large scale, because it requires significant skill and investment. If your father did this, as it appears he did, I will indeed convince the jury to convict him. My sympathy is for you, as it is for all relatives of criminals, but to expect sympathy for the criminals themselves is expecting too much from me or anyone else.”
His words sliced like so many lashes from a whip, inflicting pain the way uncompromising reality can.
She glimpsed a terrible future for her father, and an ignoble end.
Her dismay must have showed, because he stepped closer to her.
His hand came to rest on her shoulder in a gesture of comfort that dismayed her all the more.
“The gaoler said that you wanted to see him moved to a better ward. One with some privacy and less damp. I will see what I can do about that if you want.”
What a voice he had when he spoke like this. Low and resonant, the tone alone seduced one to listen and want to hear more. That and his proximity tempted her to pretend the gesture of comfort came from a friend. It would be blissful to have someone share the burden if only for a few minutes.
She sniffed back the tears threatening to fall. “First kind, then cruel, then kind again. What kind of man are you? I do not want to be indebted to your whimsies of generosity. I want to be free to hate you.”
His hand fell away. “I will look into it anyway. You will owe me no thanks.”
She did not think her composure would hold. Without another word she hurried away, so she did not have to acknowledge his offer.