The baton pressed against his neck, arching it back until he stared at the ceiling, then struck him, knocking the air out of his lungs.
“We know,” one answered. “It’s a nightmare. A place where the Marquess could lock away his son, who harbored unnatural tastes. You don’t suffer from the same, do you?”
He shook his head, spitting out another mouthful of blood.
“Filthy fucking Mick.”
‘That’s enough. We have to let him go.”
Alex didn’t move from the ground as they spoke over him. “Mr. Ainsworth isn’t pressing charges. We have nothing to book him on. He’s only a person of interest.”
“We should ship him back to Ireland.”
“You can’t send me back there,” Alex yelled, shaking his head. His hands were clammy and sweat beaded across his forehead. “I didn’t kill him.”
“Marwick?”
Pieces started going black. Life. The angry coppers yelling over him about his fate. Alex held onto the ghost he couldn’t remember clearly—a voice. It whispered to him, but he couldn’t see through the black in front of his eyes to make out the face.
They hauled him to his feet and shoved him out into the hall. The station was swarming with officers and people. He coughed, trying to keep pace and focus on what was happening around him. To try to stay in the present. They moved him through the crowd until it parted to reveal Anne on a bench. Alone. Her nose and cheeks were red. Water dripped from her hair as she stared down at her bare hands as they trembled from the cold.
She should have gloves. Her coat should be warmer. He shouldn’t have left her alone.
The cops pushed him toward her and unchained his hands. His fingers were cramped. Hell, his body was killing him, but when his eyes met hers, the world fell into place and suddenly he thought he understood why Danny loved living.
Chapter 7
Minnie was surprised when his hand reached for hers and squeezed once, twice, and a third time, as Alex pulled her forward into absolute darkness.
She was still breathless after running through the dark streets. She felt the cold sting of the night’s air on her cheeks as he remained quiet, leading her further still. Strange noises surrounded her—wings cutting through the musty air, a building groaning from neglect, then the hopeful scratch of a match being struck.
A small ball of light illuminated Alex’s eyes as he glanced back to Minnie. His hand traveled to her wrist, his cold thumb rubbing life back into her as he traced circles over her skin. “We can stay here tonight.” His voice was craggy and uncertain. “It’s safe.”
After everything that happened, this wasn’t the end she wanted. But how could she fight it off now? Her failure was as consuming as the black cavern they were attempting to navigate.
She stumbled over something large, jerking her from Alex’s grip. Her fingers stung at the sudden disconnect. Minnie stood still, lost in the dark abyss, all alone to wallow in the numbness and shame rooting itself inside her stomach. What had she proved by running away, other than she was a foolish, stupid, and reckless girl.
“This way,” he coaxed.
Minnie shivered, taking a blind step forward. Her hand fumbled in front of her as she tumbled forward in search of Alex. He seemed so far away.
The match extinguished and that small glimpse of hope vanished. She collided into Alex’s back. She wanted to wrap her arms around him and not let go. He was the rooted tree in this raging storm. Without him, she would be ripped away, discarded and left battered. Ruined.
Though she wanted him near, she knew she needed to let him go. It was time to return to Burton Hall. The world made it clear she was no ballerina.
§
All Alex could do was introduce Anne to a drafty dream and try to keep her warm for the rest of the evening. He had no right looking after her when his cheating robbed them of the roof over their head. Christ, he had nearly been thrown back into the asylum, leaving her alone.
He had grown up surrounded by madness. He had lived it. But this—this foolish charade was no longer child’s play. They had gambled against Lady Luck and lost. This was restitution.
His head throbbed and the unwelcome metallic taste rose in his throat once more. This had become the only place he could feel safe since he first arrived in London. It was cold and broken, but it was all he had to offer Anne. He struck the last match, the flame flickering in the draft as he took the last steps into the darkness and beyond.
Anne drew up beside him and sucked in a breath as the moonlight flooded in through the dilapidated ceiling rafters. For once, he wished she would say something. She had been so quiet since she retrieved him from the station. Alex would do anything to know what was running through her mind.
He took a nervous swallow. “This is going to be mine.” Somehow that secret that he had kept locked away sounded possible now that he had said it aloud.
She must have thought him mad now as she took in the place—the chandelier broken in a heap before them, the curtain moth-eaten and stained, the peeling plaster, the crumbling cherub statue above the stage. His stage. The idea was madness, but he would continue to fight for it nonetheless. To have something of his own, to be able to work for something that brought others happiness, was worthy of a good fight.
She dropped her bag beside him and drifted gracefully up the aisle to the stage. She paused on the steps to search for the source of the silver light flooding her feet, finally discovering the hole in the rafters above. Her head tipped back once she reached the center of the stage. She clamped her eyes shut and lifted her arms into the air and spun, one twirl after the next.
She was beautiful spinning on stage, her eyes closed to their sad reality. Anne didn’t belong with him here in an abandoned theater, and she certainly had no place living in the street. There was magic in that girl. She did something funny to Alex. It drew him closer, always closer.
She stopped and turned her back against a silent audience. He didn’t know what to say. Finally, he settled on, “What is it?”
Anne gave a short laugh, void of feeling. “It’s been a long day.”
An uncomfortable twist happened in his chest. He had just been beaten, he was cold to the bone, yet the pain her words caused was far worse.
She turned to him suddenly, taking a small step forward as she lowered her voice. “We’re in trouble, Alex.”
That small plea was the trouble with Anne Gibbons. He was falling for the guarded girl, not the one who stole and cheated under the guise of her charms. That was a front, a grand lie, to trick the world into surrendering at her feet. He doubted Anne was even her true name.
“Nonsense.” He forced a smile of his own. She smiled for his sake, too. Alex was certain of it. “There is nothing we cannot weather.” He leaned closer, fighting the urge to wrap his arms around her.
“I want pretty things again,” Anne whispered into the dark.
Alex knew better. She didn’t just long for pretty things, she aired the regrets they both harbored. He felt regret every day, and now he knew she did as well. He let out a deep sigh. “This is a very pretty ribbon.”
She was so skilled at lies, now was time for one of his own. He would lie and be strong for her if that meant shouldering the burden of their foolish follies. He had survived far worse.
Alex pulled the navy satin ribbon from her hair. “Very soft,” he murmured. His fingers brushed against her neck and they both shivered in unison. “I wonder,” he said to himself aloud. He slipped the ribbon over her eyes and tied it behind her head. “I wonder,” he whispered again, “what happens if you cannot see me?” Anne leaned back into his touch. “Do you see pretty things now?”
Her breath hitched. Anne pulled the ribbon away from her eyes with her bony fingers. “What do you want me to see?” Her voice shook.
He couldn’t tell the difference between the beating of his heart and the heavy breaths escaping Anne’s parted lips. “Whatever will make you happy.”
She smil
ed then, even with tears brimming in her hazel eyes. “Liar.”
Until now, he had behaved properly. Until now, he was the perfect gentleman when it came to protecting Anne Gibbons. Until now, he hadn’t thought much about kissing her...
Her cold lips pressed against his, sending an icy shock through his body, rooting Alex to the stage.
To share a kiss with her...well, it hadn’t killed him as he feared. The feel of her close was a comfort he hadn’t spent time dwelling on before. He hadn’t realized he needed it until she was there in his arms. Still he pulled away, his lips hovering above hers in fear of what would become of him if they continued.
Anne’s hand rested on his cheek as the silence beat around them. He wanted more, but the loathing had already started to mount in the pit of his stomach.
Her fingers touched his jaw in the way she explored everything in her life—with careful reverence. Her gentle touch made him believe for a small moment that miracles existed.
Her fingers slowly brought his gaze back to hers, his lips closer. She kissed him again, a quiet demand that broke through his disgust one small caress at a time, until he was kissing her back with sweet slowness.
With each breath, Anne sparked to life—her lips growing warmer under his, her skin thawing under the touch of his hands. Alex could bring her back from the brink of her melancholy. He could protect her if she allowed him to do so.
They stood onstage kissing in the dark and cold, washed in moonlight. Except it wasn’t cold anymore. Somehow, he was warm now. They weren’t penniless and hungry, either. With Anne in his arms, he thought himself rich and well-fed, kissing her beneath the warm sun.
Her hands cinched the tattered collar of his coat, her fingers darting over the edge now and then to steal a touch against his neck. Her fluttering made him want to fold himself around her and share the little warmth he could offer. His hand slid back to cradle her head, her silky hair tangled with the navy ribbon, winding around his calloused fingers in a web.
Her thin body pressed against his until her hands circled around his neck and held firm as if she were worried she would be ripped away. Anne was never one to show all of her cards, but she was doing so now. The way she touched him, the way she was leaning into him, her belief in him—wedged its way into a place he never knew he had the capacity to feel.
He failed in having winning fists, and he was a prized idiot for allowing any of this to happen. She had become skin and bones from fighting for her dream beside him in London. It made him sick with guilt. She deserved a proper meal and a warm bed. She deserved to be with people who cared for her and could show that they cared for her. Not with someone broken.
The soft sound of her quickened breath was sweet to his ears as his lips travelled from her mouth to the tip of her nose. He would erase the traces of cold that lingered behind from the freezing London streets.
Alex sighed and closed his eyes, lowering his forehead to rest against hers. Why he ever robbed himself from the luxury of her warmth he would never understand.
On a gentle exhale, her lips brushed against the tip of his nose. “Well,” she said.
Those four letters hung between them, daring him to make sense of what just happened. His mind raced ahead as the words fell at his lips, his eyes still shut tight.
“Alex?” She placed her hand over his heart.
He couldn’t breathe then. It was as if a parade marched over his chest. So instead of speaking, he wrapped his coat around her. Anne nestled against him and sighed so deeply it caused another uncomfortable fissure in his heart. The wetness of her quiet tears bled through his shirt. “Darling,” he whispered, his own voice choked. He pulled her closer and pressed a lingering kiss onto her forehead. If he could keep Anne Gibbons, he would do whatever it took to overcome his circumstances—London be warned.
Chapter 8
In the morning, the nightmare hadn’t ended. Minnie woke up alone, cold, and painfully hungry in the shell of what was once a beautiful theater.
She sat up, wiping away the dust caked to the side of her face, and yawned, searching the theater’s darkness for some sign of Alex, but it was eerily quiet. Her stomach growled, a fitting reminder that she must make a goodbye she had secretly wished would never happen.
Her ballet slippers had fetched little, but it helped in posting Alex’s bail. It hadn’t been enough, but her name had been. She gave the address of the boarding house to the officer, thinking no further than having Alex back by her side. But it came with a price. Her uncle would be furious.
“Alex?” Her voice was eaten up by the disconcerting darkness. It wasn’t like him to leave without some word of his whereabouts. She pulled his off coat and frowned. He shouldn’t have left without his coat either. “Mr. Marwick?”
New feelings washed over her as she said his name aloud. They had kissed last night—kissed as if the world depended upon them kissing. She supposed hers had. The little warmth he offered kept her sane during the night, staving off more tears.
Pigeons pecked across the stage, fluttering in the rafters overhead as she stood.
So this was to be his? She couldn’t fight the smile that floated to her face. After so long, she had finally received some small glimpse of Alex and his mysterious desires. He fought hard without revealing what for—until now. It suited him to run a place such as this someday.
She twirled across the stage, pretending his arms were still wrapped around her as they had been last night. Minnie closed her eyes, wondering what he would be like as a dance partner. He would wear that smile and wink at her, his warm hand resting on the small of her back. Everything would fit into place as they waltzed around London ballrooms in each other’s arms. What a pretty future that would be. She stopped short in front of the torn theater curtain and whacked it with her hand, the dust clouding her eyes.
It was an impossible dream.
One had to grow up and recognize their mistakes in life. She had had a dream, and tried hard to obtain it, but she couldn’t stay behind and continue reaching for castles in the air with Alex. They would only continue to hurt each other and eventually, she would ruin him.
It broke her heart a little as her fingers ran over the nubby velvet. Returning home meant she would be scolded and set on a path that filled her with disgust, if they even thought her worthy of marriage now. There was a risk they would think her ruined and hide her away like some wicked secret, shipping her off to rot away in Yorkshire, or worse yet, that French convent.
With a sigh, Minnie walked to the center of the stage, breathing in the beautiful ruined dream one steady breath after another. She whispered his name, closing her eyes as it crossed her lips in a sort of prayer.
She could endure saying goodbye instead of fleeing. She owed Alex that much after everything he had given her.
She walked off the stage and crawled out into the dirty streets of London. As she rounded the corner, she thought to check the market for him until she saw them—her uncle and Isaac—talking to a small child. He pointed his finger in Minnie’s direction and the world came crashing down.
She pulled back around the corner, panic coursing through her body. She was already running to the theater before she could think. She pushed through the barricade and crawled through the debris, scrambling up onto the stage to gather the few things she had left.
As Minnie lifted her bag, she saw a wad of money that hadn’t been there earlier. She shot up, searching the theater for Alex. He must have been around, but she couldn’t spare any time.
Suddenly, the one decision she thought was correct was the very opposite. Minnie wasn’t finished with her adventure. This was simply the beginning. She grabbed the money and stashed it in her bag. She laid his coat on the stage, wishing to leave some note, but didn’t have time.
With one last look, she peered over her shoulder. “Good luck,” she said quietly, searching the dark for the back exit of the theater. She found the door and pushed it open, feeling the thrill propel her forwa
rd into the unknown. If she could escape London, she could try for another future. She wasn’t prepared to let her dreams die just yet.
§
Alex stood at the foot of the aisle and paused, confused why only his coat was lying in the middle of the stage. When he left, she had been sound asleep. And before that, before he made a small fortune as a pickpocket early at dawn, she had been softly snoring beneath his coat.
“Anne?”
He pulled his knife from his vest and cut a chunk of apple off, taking a bite as he stepped onto the stage and searched around. He dropped the small bag of bread and cheese when he saw that her things were gone.
Alex hung his head, tapping the butt of his knife against his forehead in a slow beat. The apple flesh in his mouth, sweet only moments ago, suddenly became bitter to swallow.
“Of course,” he laughed resentfully.
“Missing someone?”
Alex stood tall, his fingers rolling a tight curl around the handle of his knife. This was all he needed. He’d be back in the asylum by nightfall, the world ripped from underneath his feet just as he regained some balance.
He couldn’t remember how it happened. One moment he was standing and the next he was on his back, the air crushed out of his lungs as a filthy boot stomped onto his chest.
“Where is she?” the stranger growled, hovering over him.
Alex coughed, tasting the blood swirl around his mouth from his split lip. When he didn’t answer, the boot crushed down against his ribs. Finally, on a wheeze he asked, “Who?”
Someone else walked onto the stage, their steps marching in a confident cadence, and stopped by Alex’s head. “Can’t you see the boy is trying to answer, Bly? Perhaps if you allowed him some air?”
A Proper Scandal Page 9
