Chapter Fourteen #2
“Don’t think it hasn’t been noticed the two of you are sweet on each other. Trust me. She needs you more than you need to get your revenge. Go to her.”
Tristan shook his head, but Titan was right.
Besides, he could always find them later, at night, when he could ambush them and finally have a good reason to mark his soul with death.
Because he would kill them. Both of them.
Bury their worthless carcasses in shallow graves for the wild dogs to rip apart or perhaps dump them in the Thames.
Then every time he smelled its filth he could smile, knowing they rotted in its waters.
Tristan hurried to her room, but when he got here her door was open. Inside, nothing looked different, but the room felt vacant. Something was off. He opened her wardrobe, and her gowns were still there. He turned, looking for a clue as to her whereabouts. Milly appeared in the doorway.
“She left,” she said.
“What do you mean she left? Where? Upstairs? Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s parlor? Where did she go?” Tristan barked at her.
She wiped at her red nose. “She left, Mr. Chase. What would you have me do? I couldn’t have stayed here, either, after having all my secrets thrown on the floor for all to see.”
He grabbed her shoulders. “Why didn’t you stop her?”
“I have no right to stop her. I can’t keep her here against her will. She’s bigger than me, you know. What could I have done? If a girl needs to run, she should run.”
Tristan let her go before he shook her. He stepped back and steadied his anger so he wouldn’t yell when he asked his next question.
“Which direction did she go?”
“Toward the ground floor. I didn’t follow her. She didn’t want anyone to see her. You should respect her wishes, Mr. Chase.”
Tristan bit his tongue as he marched past her.
He stalked down the hall to the ground floor, but he had no idea where she would have gone.
Servants who might have been going about their chores were either ignoring their duties or clearing out of his way before he saw them.
He turned and marched back to the butler’s pantry.
Empty. He stalked through the kitchen. There was a boy turning the spit.
“Did you see a woman come through here? Tall, brown hair?”
“No, Mr. Chase.”
Tristan sighed. He walked further into the bowels of the house, coming to the door where two men stacked crates of wine.
“Did a woman come this way?”
“Aye,” Mr. Cole said. “Brown hair, crying a little. She headed down the mews to the end of the row and turned right about fifteen minutes ago.”
Tristan sighed with relief. “Thank you, Cole.” Tristan hurried out the door and down the alley to the street.
The morning was bright, and she should be relatively safe in Whitehall on the main street, but there were still pickpockets.
Did she have money? Did she have anything but the clothes on her back?
He jogged down the street, weaving around pedestrians and praying he’d spot her quickly. A cat ran in front of him, and he dodged it, bumping into a man holding a large goose. The bird squawked in outrage and beat its wings against the man’s face.
“Sorry!” Tristan called out but he was running now.
“Mr. Chase?”
Tristan spun, seeing Mrs. Fields standing by her cart, selling her bounty of fruits and vegetables. He passed her every morning on his way to the Den.
“Mrs. Fields, have you seen a young woman with brown hair? She might be wearing a brown cloak or . . .” He stopped talking as she fisted her hands on her hips.
“Why do you want to know?”
Tristan ran a hand through his hair. “I’m in love with her.”
Her eyes widened and she pointed down the next street. “If you hurry, you can catch her.”
“Thank you,” he said as he hurried down the street.
“I expect an invitation to the wedding!” she yelled back at him.
Tristan wasn’t going to tempt fate with a response.
He couldn’t marry a woman he couldn’t find.
And he wouldn’t find her if she didn’t want to be found.
He knew why she was running. She was scared and humiliated after what her father and that blackguard Revere had said in front of so many people.
Long before they finished speaking, Tristan had wanted to shut them up with the muzzle of his gun, but he didn’t have it.
However, the cage had an assortment of weapons, only when he tried to take one afterward, Jack wouldn’t let him have it.
Not a gun, not a knife, not the antique mace from the reign of Henry VIII.
And by the time he’d cooled enough to see reason, she was gone.
Bloody hell, he couldn’t let her slip away.
His lungs burned as he broke into a sprint, dodging carts, people, dogs, street urchins. A bobbing brown cloak caught his eye, but then disappeared.
His heart lurched as he darted between two carriages.
There she was, kneeling next to an old man, handing him . . . an apple? She stood.
“Flick!” he yelled.
Her head snapped toward him. Her eyes widened. They were red-rimmed and dewy, but her loveliness was not marred by her pain and anguish. Nothing could ever dim her beauty, not when it stemmed from the well of good within her.
Her lips trembled. He was running and yet it felt the distance was not getting shorter. She looked away. Was she going to run from him?
She dropped her head. But she did not run.
Tristan couldn’t breathe when he reached her. His voice was locked inside his stinging throat. He pulled her into his arms. She was stiff, but she didn’t fight him as he held her tightly and took a deep breath, her scent filling his head and relief weakening his knees.
“Flick, you can’t leave me,” he said. “You can’t run away without me.”
She sniffed, her hands fisting the bottom of his jacket.
“I’m so ashamed,” she whispered.
“You have nothing to be ashamed of. They’re cretins. They deserve to rot in hell.”
“Everyone heard what they said. I can’t go back there. I can’t face anyone.”
Tristan cupped her face, searching her watery, red eyes. “You can. All of us, we’re broken people. We’re hiding from one thing or another, we’ve got secrets, regrets. Not a person there will judge you.”
She tried to shake her head. “You can’t understand.”
“I want to understand. I do. Can we talk about this? Can we . . . can you just wait for me?”
“Wait for what? I can’t stay there now. I must go somewhere else where no one knows me.”
“With what, Flick? How? Where are you going to go? Why couldn’t you wait for me? You have to know I would have come to you. You don’t have to face this alone. I am right here with you.”
Her throat bobbed and she looked around. “Do we have to do this here? People are looking at us.”
Tristan nodded. “I know where we can go.”
“Not the Den.”
“No.” He took her hand and led her down a short alley. “We don’t have to go back. I have somewhere we can go that’s private. We can talk. You can rest, and we’ll figure this out.”
She hesitated. “Where?”
He met her gaze. “I rent rooms a block from here.”
She frowned. “I thought you lived at the Den.”
“I don’t. It’s too crowded. Too many people who want to be friends. I must warn you. I live on a tight budget. All the coin I earn goes towards buying back Lark Hall. It’s not a place for a lady.”
“I’m sure it’s fine.”
He threaded his fingers through hers.
“People are looking,” she said.
“Let them look. In a city this big, no one knows who we are, Flick.”
She tucked her chin down.
When they reached his lodgings, he took out a key and opened the door to the front hall.
It was a rundown boarding house. Not the sort that made rules about its occupants’ behavior other than be quiet and don’t break what isn’t yours.
The floors were warped, the rugs long ago sold.
The furnishings were sparse and not anything he’d let her sit on.
But he kept his room neat, mostly. Neat enough he wasn’t fretting about her seeing it.
They climbed the stairs, her scanning the surroundings warily. He unlocked his door, belatedly remembering the shattered glass on the floor. He led her into the darkened room.
“Wait here. I have to pick up something I broke earlier.” He led her to the sofa, and she sat gingerly.
Tristan hurried and scooped the glass into a pile with a handkerchief and dumped it into the empty basin. He went back to her, and she was chewing on her nails.
He sat down next to her. “I’m sorry about this morning.”
“It was bound to happen eventually.”
“It shouldn’t have happened like that. Or at all.”
She smiled weakly. “You don’t see me differently now that you’ve seen them? Heard their vile words about me?”
He moved closer and took her hand again. “Never.”
She huffed out a laugh. “That can’t be true.”
“It is,” he pressed. “You’re looking at things through a lifetime of those words. You can’t see you like I do.”
She twisted toward him. “What does that mean? What do you see? Because I can’t stop seeing their faces. The venom, the hate. I don’t understand how they can both want me home, but want to hurt me at the same time. And the worst part is, a part of me believes what they said.”
“Flick, no—”
“I know. It’s preposterous, but that is what I grew up believing. A woman who has done the things I’ve done does not deserve kindness, charity, forgiveness. I should be punished.”
“No,” he said forcefully. “They should be beaten to death for their crimes against you.”
“The voice in my head, my father’s voice, says differently, and I cannot make it quiet.
I don’t know how to keep going, I just know I have to.
There is a part of me that wants to live, if only I can run fast enough, far enough.
I thought if I married, a husband would overshadow that voice, overpower my father’s words.
But who’s going to marry me now? Everyone in the Den knows, and word will spread.
I can’t stay here any longer. There is no hope of ever escaping them or seeing my sisters again.
The best I can do now is get as far away as possible. ”
“Flick, look at me.”
She raised her gaze to his.
“You have to stop running—this running isn’t escaping.
Even if they can’t find you, they still live here.
” He touched her temple. “You want to see your sisters again. You want to prove them wrong. You want to show them that the power they once had over you is gone. But you can only do that by remaining here.”
“I can’t. I’m sorry. I’m too ashamed to face anyone at the Den after what they heard.
It doesn’t matter if it is true or not, and it never has.
I wish I could be as strong as you, but I’m not.
I can’t parade myself around the gaming floor and think one of these men will want to marry me and save me. I’m such a fool.”
“Then we’re both fools. I thought I could help you get over your fears, kiss you, touch you, and be able to let you go like nothing I felt mattered.
But it’s killing me. You might think no one can see past your history or care for you, but you’re wrong and I can prove it to you.
This may be the last chance I ever get to say this, to have you completely to myself.
But no matter what happens, these feelings will not change.
My heart will always belong to you, Flick.
I’ll be empty without you, but at least I’ll know you will always carry a piece of me with you. I love you, Flick.”
Her lips parted. “Tristan.”
“I started falling for you the first time you smiled at me. I knew it was hopeless. I’m in no position to care for a wife, but I still dreamed that one day I’d wake up next to you in Lark Hall. But everything changed, and now we’re here. The one thing that didn’t change was how I felt about you.”
“But you pulled away—I felt it before.”
“Because I knew that dream would never come true. You were beyond my reach. But I still fell in love with you. Nothing will change that, not even when you marry another man. So please stay. Just a little while longer, because I don’t think I can physically let you go.
Not yet, not before I know you’re safe and . . . happy.”
Her eyes welled up as she held his gaze.
His declaration hung in the air like a sword about to cleave his head, or his heart—both belonged to her.
He was stupid and reckless, but he couldn’t find the urge to care.
He needed to say these words aloud for his own sanity, or they would have sat inside him, withering his soul like a prayer never answered, a wish never granted.
Flick needed to hear these words. She needed a different voice in her head—his, preferably—telling her how wonderful and precious she was to him, to every person she touched with her kindness.
He waited, his heart crawling up his throat as the seconds ticked past.