Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
At first, Laura was numb with shock, unable to feel anything, unable to do anything except stare at the face in front of her. Then a myriad of emotions deluged her like a downpour.
First was disbelief, closely followed by fear. She was afraid this would be like all her other nightmares, where she would have found Ruby, only to wake up, her eyes streaming tears of joy, but with empty arms. Her spirits would crumble as she realized it had all been a dream.
Laura expected to wake up any moment, to find that the image of this older, more jaded semblance of Ruby was simply an illusion she had created.
Except that she knew she was not so imaginative that she would have added details like the jet black hair to replace Ruby’s original dark brown, or the expertly painted red lips and dark accents to make her blue-gray eyes more sensual and mysterious.
She would not have imagined Ruby walking with that sinuous, almost predatory grace, like the huntress Diana in the Roman myths.
Laura felt a burst of extraordinary joy. Could this truly be Ruby? Had she truly found her after all these years?
She was alive, when Laura had not allowed herself to contemplate the possibility that she was dead.
She was alive, and Laura had not, in fact, killed her.
Her relief was soon washed away by a tumultuous wave of guilt. If she had not allowed her thoughts to descend into such a dark place after Wynwood had died, then she would not have abandoned Ruby in her time of need.
Laura was seized with the old pain, agony sizzling through her as if the blood in her veins had begun to boil. She wanted to believe this was indeed Ruby, and yet a part of her was afraid to face her after all that she had done.
She was shaking. Her limbs were too weak—she was vaguely aware that Sol’s arm was around her waist, his hand under her elbow. But then her knees gave way completely, and both of his arms went around her, holding her against him.
The beautiful woman who might be Ruby suddenly grew alarmed as she saw Laura collapse, and she stepped forward.
This close to her, Laura could see the lines that age and troubles had drawn upon the woman’s face, despite the creamy skin and the delicate rose of her cheeks.
She also realized that despite the relaxed way in which Ruby held herself, there was tension in her neck and shoulders, and a tick in her jaw that revealed her distress.
She was afraid to meet Laura again, possibly more afraid than Laura was herself.
Longing spiraled up from the depths of her soul, overcoming the disbelief, the joy and relief, the remorse and agony. She raised her hands, which were trembling like leaves twisting on a tree in a stiff autumn wind, and she cupped Ruby’s face.
“Ruby.” She didn’t realize she was crying until she heard the thickness of her voice.
The young woman’s eyes suddenly brimmed with tears, but they did not fall. The pale, smooth skin of her face and her red lips remained cool and polite.
“Laura,” Sol said, his voice husky.
She barely heard him, although the woman’s eyes glanced toward him before coming back to Laura’s face.
“If you are Ruby,” Laura said in a quavering voice, “if you are not a dream, there is something I must tell you.”
The young woman reached up and gently clasped Laura’s wrists. Her hands were strangely hot despite the cold pallor of her skin and her almost expressionless face, which was not allowing the tears to fall from her eyes.
“There will be time later,” the woman said, and although the voice was deeper than she remembered, the voice belonged to Ruby.
Laura shook her head. “This cannot wait until later. There may never be another time when I can speak to you like this. I am begging you to forgive me, Ruby.” Her voice broke.
Laura’s words, or the emotion in her voice, caused the young woman’s eyebrows to draw down in concern. “You must not upset yourself …”
“Please forgive me, Ruby,” Laura repeated, ignoring her. “I did not know you had visited my townhouse that day. I had been drunk and despondent in the library, with no control over Wynwood’s servant. I did not find out until later that he had turned you away.”
Ruby’s eyes darkened. In surprise? In anger?
“Ever since, I have spent years searching London for you. I even requested an audience with the Senhora at Saffron House.”
There was a flicker of the woman’s dark eyelashes, and Laura abruptly knew—Ruby had known Laura had been searching for her.
Laura had asked the Senhora time and time again if there was any news of her niece.
The Senhora was one of the few people whose lies she could not discern—Laura had the impression that the older woman had spent many years perfecting her ability to deceive.
She had told Laura nothing, and she had never suspected that the brothel madam might have known that Ruby was alive.
Had Ruby not wanted to be found?
Laura’s suffering was like a weight upon her chest, making it hard to breathe. Perhaps her distress was written upon her face, because the tears in Ruby’s eyes suddenly fell like sparkling diamonds down the milk-white cheeks.
“You found me, Aunt Laura,” Ruby said in a voice throbbing with emotion. Then she reached out and embraced her.
Laura smelled her expensive French perfume and the blackening she used upon her hair.
But she also smelled the sharp sweetness of gardenia and jasmine, the soft velvet of black truffle, the exotic woodiness of patchouli—a smell she remembered of a young girl with an exquisite smile and long, curly brown locks, who tugged at her hand, wishing to walk with her in the woods.
She felt the strength of Ruby’s hands on her back, holding her tightly, holding her close. She had found her. At long last, Laura had found Ruby.
But this Ruby was a young woman who had not wanted to be found.