25. The Honest Confession
Twenty Five
The Honest Confession
T he carriage arrived within minutes, though Mr. Moore felt it like hours standing in the street with Kate’s grip iron-tight on his arm.
When the vehicle came to a halt before them, Perry stepped forward.
“Allow me,” he said, reaching out to steady him.
Kate hesitated for only an instant before releasing her grip. Perry took Mr. Moore’s arm firmly, steadying him while Kate climbed into the carriage with the assistance of Vikram, who was already inside.
Once Kate was seated, Perry turned toward Mr. Moore.
“Saturday morning, then,” he said. “I’ll act as your second, if you’ll have me.”
Mr. Moore nodded, not trusting his voice.
“Try to sober up before then,” Perry added with some concern on his voice. “And for God’s sake, practice your aim.”
Then he helped him into the carriage, holding him firmly by the elbow as he stumbled on the step.
Mr. Moore managed to clamber inside with far less grace than one might expect from a gentleman of his standing, slumping onto the seat opposite Kate and Vikram, his head spinning and his knuckles throbbing where they had struck Ramsay’s face.
Perry closed the door behind him and gave two taps on the side of the carriage.
The vehicle lurched into motion.
For several long, uncomfortable minutes, no one spoke inside the carriage. Vikram sat pressed against Kate’s side, his worried face pale in the dim light filtering through the windows while Kate stared straight ahead, her jaw clenched so tight Jason could see the muscle jumping beneath her skin.
The silence stretched, became unbearable. Jason opened his mouth to speak, to apologize, to explain, to say something that might ease the tension coiled in the small space.
But before he could compose a single sentence in his clouded mind—
“What were you thinking?”
Kate’s voice prevented him from finishing any inconclusive thought. She still wasn’t looking at him, though, and her entire body appeared clearly tense with pent-up rage.
“Kate, I—”
“You were drunk.” Now she did turn to face him, and the fury in her eyes made him flinch back against the seat. “You ARE drunk. You could barely stand and you accepted a duel? With Ramsay, nevertheless, who’s known for his skill with pistols?”
“I can handle Ramsay,” Jason babbled, but even to his own ears his voice sounded weak and uncertain.
“Handle him?” Kate’s voice rose, making Vikram press harder against her side. “You could barely handle yourself tonight! You fell—I watched you fall—and you think you can face him with loaded pistols?”
“Our reputation demanded—” Jason started.
“Damn our reputation!” The curse shocked all of them—Kate never swore. “You could die! Do you understand that? You could actually die!”
“It doesn’t matter,” Jason said without preamble, and his words could very well have been a proper slap on Kate’s face.
She went absolutely still, her mouth half-open and her astonished eyes fixed upon his without blinking. Beside her, Vikram’s eyes also widened, betraying the confusion and pain that his mentor’s words had just inflicted upon him.
Kate stared at Jason for several long seconds, unable to stop tears from suddenly making her eyes glisten. She closed her mouth then, swallowing hard before opening it again to speak, but the words seemed to fail her completely.
She abruptly averted her gaze, her eyes settling on the window beside her as she watched the dark streets of London drift past. Her throat bobbed as she swallowed with difficulty once more. She closed her eyes for an instant before turning to face him again.
Jason, too, had turned away, leaving only his profile silhouetted against the opposite window, his gaze distant as he stared at nothing in particular.
“How can you say that?” whispered Kate. “How can you sit there and tell me your life doesn’t matter? You have your business, your position, people who depend on you—”
“I have nothing,” Jason said quietly.
“What does that mean? You have everything—”
“Everything?” A bitter laugh escaped him, sharp with self-mockery. “Ha!”
The sound was ugly, stripped of any humor. He turned to say more, the words already forming on his tongue, but his eyes caught on Vikram’s small form pressed against Kate’s side.
The boy was watching him with very frightened eyes.
Jason clenched his teeth, then bit his lower lip hard enough to feel pain, forcing himself to swallow the confession that struggled to burst forth from within him.
It was neither the time nor the place. Not there.
Not in front of the person who admired him so much, who believed that Jason Moore-Sullivan was a worthy example to follow.
Kate followed his glance, her gaze sliding sideways to Vikram beside her. She saw the fear in the boy’s face, the confusion, the way his small hands were twisted together in his lap.
Her expression shifted, and she retreated back against her seat, putting distance between herself and her husband.
“We’ll discuss this at home,” she said with resignation. “Privately.”
Jason turned back to the window with nothing to add.
The rest of the ride passed in tense silence broken only by the clatter of wheels on cobblestones.
Vikram sat very still between the two people he cared for most, watching them both turn away from each other, feeling the weight of something he didn’t quite understand pressing down on the small space, until it made his chest ache.
His throat felt tight. His eyes burned.
He looked down at his hands twisted in his lap and felt a single tear slip free, tracking silently down his cheek in the darkness.
* * *
When the carriage finally rolled to a stop in front of the Sullivan household, Jason didn’t wait for the driver to open the door. He pushed it open himself, climbed down with slightly more coordination than he’d had getting in, and headed for the front door without looking back.
He heard Kate descending behind him, heard her dismiss the carriage with a few quick words, heard her footsteps following him up the front steps.
Inside, the entrance hall was lit with soft lamplight, faintly revealing the figure of Mary, who stood waiting near the staircase.
Her face was haggard with a worry that, by all appearances, had been mounting for hours.
The instant she saw them—Jason’s disheveled appearance and bloodied knuckles; Kate’s pale face and soiled dress; Vikram’s bloodshot eyes—her expression transformed into alarm.
“What happened?” she stepped forward, her eyes darting between all of them. “Are you hurt? There was a fight?”
Jason said nothing. He moved past her without meeting her eyes, his entire focus on reaching the stairs, on getting away before he said something he couldn’t take back or broke down completely in front of everyone.
“Sir—” Mary tried, reaching out as if to stop him.
But he was already climbing the stairs as fast as he could.
Mary turned to Kate instead, the worry in her face deepening. “Ma’am, please, what’s happened?”
Kate drew in a deep breath before saying anything. “I’ll explain everything later, Mary. I promise. But right now—” She glanced at Vikram, who stood looking small and lost in the entrance hall. “Right now I need you to take Vikram to his chambers.”
Mary’s eyes searched Kate’s face, trying to read there the events of the night. She nodded slowly. “Of course, ma’am.”
Kate turned to Vikram, her voice gentling despite the strain evident in every line of her body. “Vikram, go with Mary now. Try to sleep. And don’t worry about any of this—do you understand? None of this is your concern.”
The boy’s lower lip trembled. “But Mr. Moore-Sullivan—”
“Will be fine,” Kate said firmly. “I promise you. Now go. Please.”
Vikram hesitated, looking between Kate’s determined face and the stairs where Jason had disappeared. Finally, though with visible reluctance, he nodded and turned toward his room, his shoulders hunched and his steps slow.
Kate waited until the boy had disappeared down the corridor before turning back to Mary. “Keep him away from Mr. Moore-Sullivan’s chamber tonight. No matter what he hears, no matter what he asks. Can you do that?”
Mary’s face had gone pale. “Ma’am, you’re frightening me. What’s happened? Is Mr. Moore-Sullivan in danger?”
“Not tonight,” Kate said quietly. “But Saturday morning—” Her voice broke, and she had to stop, pressing her hand to her mouth as emotion threatened to overwhelm her control.
“Saturday?” Mary’s eyes widened. “What’s happening Saturday?”
“Later,” Kate said, already moving toward the stairs. “I’ll tell you everything later. Right now I need to—” She gestured helplessly up the stairs. “I need to talk to him. Privately.”
Mary caught her arm as she passed. “Mrs. Moore-Sullivan, I could see he’s drunk. And distressed. Perhaps you should wait until—”
“I can’t wait.” Kate’s voice was fierce, her eyes bright with unshed tears. “I’ve already waited too long. Made him think—” She stopped, shaking her head. “No more waiting.”
She pulled free of Mary’s gentle grip and headed for the stairs.
Mary stood alone in the entrance hall, watching her go, her face creased with worry and a growing certainty that whatever had happened tonight had changed everything irreversibly.
* * *
Jason reached his room and fumbled with the keys at the door until he finally managed to find the keyhole, unlock it, and step inside. Once there, he grasped the doorknob to close it again—to shut himself away alone with his grief—when…
Kate stopped the door with her palm before it could close completely. She pushed it back open and stepped in behind him with a determination that left no room for argument.
Jason stepped back briskly as she turned and closed the door—this time turning the key in the lock with a decisive click—leaving them both locked inside.
He went completely still, staring at her back.
Kate stood facing the door. Her shoulders rose and fell with deep breaths she was clearly struggling to control.