A humorous glint flashed in those beady eyes. “I see that you reread your contract.”
“Indeed,” Mathew said with an affectionate squeeze on his forearm. “And I thank you for your constant forethought.”
“Yes, well, I have to look out for my Margaret,” he said dismissively. “But tell me, Weston, why are we dropping the charges?”
“Mr. Kirkwood, we are honorable men, as are the wreckers that we hired. They saved our lives, and did the job we contracted. I will agree the auction was shady, but, unfortunately, not illegal. Simply put, Chambers and the others played a better game than we did. There is no reason for us to be sore losers like my father, now is there?”
He gave a smirk. “I suspect there is more you’re not telling me.”
“So much more,” Mathew agreed wearily.
“Well, as it is the middle of the night, I will wait until the morrow.” Then he gave his daughter a kiss good-night and excused himself. Thankfully he didn’t seem distressed, nor did it appear his trust in Mathew had altered.
Small blessings, he supposed.
Maggie looked him up and down. “You look terrible, Matty.”
“Indeed.” One glance revealed ruined clothes, his frock coat and top hat long since lost. Oddly he felt no remorse over losing what, at one time, he’d considered favorite possessions. The life of a loved one held far more value than the most beautiful bespoke clothing.
“Come, Miss Kirkwood. Back to bed with you,” Mrs. Cohen said.
Maggie frowned and gestured to Mathew. “Oh pishposh. Can’t you see my friend is hurt? I will tend to him first.”
“But—”
“Good night, Mrs. Cohen.” She gave her a quelling stare. “I do not require your attendance.”
The woman clicked her tongue, throwing up her hands in defeat. “To the Devil with your chastity, then,” she cried before returning to their shared apartment and leaving the two of them alone in the hall.
Mathew stared at his former fiancée, intending to agree with the old woman, for he wanted nothing more than to collapse in his bed. His body was quivering and spent from all the physical and emotional tumult he’d gone through tonight. The only thing he wished for more than rest was to have Rief lying beside him.
Per usual, however, what Maggie declared came to pass, and she took him by the arm. “Let’s get you washed up. See if we need to call a doctor.”
Pliable, he allowed her to lead him downstairs. She seemed quite comfortable in the kitchen for a girl of her station, telling him to sit while she retrieved a dish of butter from one of the cupboards.
“We’ll put this on the burns,” she explained when he eyed it suspiciously. Next, she took out a cloth and dipped it in the water pail by the sink. Methodically, she began to wash his face. Too tired to protest, he allowed it.
“What happened? Papa and I saw the fire. We had just retired when we heard you—” She paused in her ministrations to glance up. “—when we heard all the shouting.”
Knowing he would have to explain everything sooner or later, Mathew sighed, hoping for later. “It’s a very long story.”
“A story I’m not allowed to be privy to, I’m sure,” she said in a faintly insulted tone.
He gave her a wry smile, supposing he deserved that. “Mr. Chambers’s warehouse caught on fire.”
The cloth on his cheek halted for the barest second before she resumed her task. In a flat tone, weighty with meaning, she asked, “Isn’t that where your friend Rief lives?”
“Yes.”
“Was he hurt?”
“His leg was broken, but he will live.” Speaking those words aloud caused an unstoppable tremble to move over him. He’d come so close to losing Rief tonight.
Too close.
Saying no more, Maggie efficiently washed the dirt from his face and hands. It felt good to be nurtured and mothered, so he gave himself to her services, only flinching a little when she dabbed at the burns with the butter. Pulling the splinters from his palm was quite a different and more painful story. Once satisfied with her work, she stepped back, surveying him head to toe. “That shall have to do. I can do nothing for your singed eyebrows, however. Thankfully, the journey home will provide ample time for them to grow back.”
Mathew took her hand quickly before she walked away. “Mags, I will not be returning with you.”
“Why ever not?” The note of fear in her voice stabbed at his heart.
Taking a deep breath, he chose his words carefully. “I intend to stay and supervise the repairs on the Lucky Clipper.”
Maggie chewed her lower lip. “How long will that take?”
Unable to tell her the truth—that he might never leave Key West again—yet refusing to hurt her, he chose to answer with as much honesty as he could. “The repairs can take six to nine months.”
“But I thought Papa asked Captain Torino to stay behind?”
“I do not trust Captain Torino,” he said simply, not wishing to involve her any further.
“Why not?”
“In light of everything, I won’t trust anyone my father trusts, ever again. Not when I know how much he truly hates me.”
Maggie waved her hand in the air, as if shooing away an imagined bother. “Oh pishposh,” she said a bit too quickly. “He always spouts hateful things. It’s nothing new. Nothing to worry about. It shouldn’t push you into making any rash decisions.”
“I am not being rash, dearest,” he assured her, fearing the dreaded moment where Maggie asked him if what she overheard in the parlor was true. Or worse—cursed him and hated him forever because she knew it was. “But I cannot dismiss his threats.”
“That is all they are, Matty. Threats. Everything he said is nonsense, after all.” Though her voice radiated confidence, he did not miss the hasty glance she shot him before she casually asked, “Isn’t it?”
“Yes, utter nonsense,” he agreed, voice rough and throat tight.
Nodding and giving him her most courtly smile, Maggie began setting the kitchen back in order. After fussing several times with the position of the butter jar, she fixed her attention outside the window—never once looking at him.
Palms sweating, Mathew studied her as she worried her lower lip. Dark curls poking out from her night cap framed her pale, pretty skin. She truly was a lovely woman, and it broke his heart that he could not love her. Not the way he loved Rief. His life would have been so much simpler if he could feel anything akin to arousal looking upon the silhouette of her body beneath that white nightdress. The tiny waist, the curve of her bottom, and the slope of her delicate back. Arms so thin and delicate. And the round teardrop breasts, the pert nipples visible even from a few feet away. No matter how many times he had tried, his body did not stir and his heart did not flutter for Maggie.
In that instant, however, Mathew knew that he was done trying.
Attempting reconciliation within himself for years, Mathew had been going back and forth between self-denial and frustration. Though it saddened Maggie he was no longer the boy she knew, he was glad not to be that confused child anymore. While he and Rief would face struggles if they stayed together—harsher struggles than he wanted to imagine—even if he could exchange the hand the Fates had dealt him and make his heart love Maggie instead of Rief, he would never do it.
Mathew had found real joy and love with Rief.
A gift so precious should never be regretted or taken for granted.
Maggie turned, catching the direction of his gaze. He swallowed guiltily and quickly looked up at her face. There was sadness, perhaps laced with pity and confusion, in her expression. She did not attempt to cover herself or scold him for his impolite staring. Rather, she gave him a wan smile.
Did acceptance lurk in those warm brown eyes? Or was it simply resignation?
He had no idea, but deep in his heart he knew that Maggie understood everything. She had finally met the real Mathew. She knew unequivocally what sort of man he was and why he had never loved her t
he way she’d wanted him to. Whether or not she was aware he could not change his nature was irrelevant. The ignorant bliss she’d been living with was forever shattered. And Mathew could sooner straighten his crooked nose than put it back together.
Crossing her arms, she turned away to stare out the window again.
He let out a weary sigh, the last bit of tension seeping from his bones.
So this was how it would be.
Despite her frivolous ways, Maggie was a lady. And real ladies ignored all truths deemed too ugly to speak of in polite company. He didn’t know if he was relieved or saddened that his love for Rief had been rendered little more than an impolite indiscretion they would never acknowledge.
The tip of his tongue burned to beg her for forgiveness, to explain that he still loved her, just differently than he loved Rief. He wanted her to know that being with Rief was the first time he’d ever been truly at peace within. An aching grief pulsed inside his chest, and he longed for her to understand that their love was as real as that between a man and woman. Wishing with all his being, he yearned for her to share in his joy, to congratulate him as one did a bridegroom on his wedding day. What delight would he know if he could spend time with his two most treasured friends, with Maggie knowing about and accepting his relationship with Rief?
Such dreams, however, were both childish and impossible. A quiet refusal to speak the truth was the closest he’d ever come to sharing with Maggie the most important part of his life.
“The season won’t be the same without you, Matty.”
Forcing a smile though a part of him was dying inside, he chose to say something light, for fear his emotions would get the best of him and he might begin to weep or say all of the things in his heart that his mind knew he shouldn’t. “It will be much better without me cluttering your arm. You will need your father’s cane to beat back the suitors spouting poetry about your pretty face and sharp wit.”
She gave him a begrudging smile that offered him a glimpse of a friendship that had forever altered. “They’ll simply be after my money.”
“Naturally. You are quite wealthy.”
“Indeed,” she said, adding with a sigh, “But I do not know if suitors are what I want.”
Overcome with a desire to hug her, but restraining himself, he insisted, “Mags, you deserve to find love.”
“I thought at one time I had,” she said ever so softly.
Heart breaking and eyes brimming, he gave her a wobbly smile. “My love has never wavered, but you deserve more. You were wise to end our engagement. This is not the right match for either of us. We are better as friends. We’ve always gotten that part right, haven’t we?”
“Yes, I suppose so.”
He joined her by the window, longing to wrap his arms round her, hold her close to his heart. But wisely he showed restraint. “You don’t want to be saddled with a St. John. You deserve to find your very own Mr. Rochester, Mags.” Oh, how Mathew longed to tell her that he had found his!
She sniffed. “I see that you did read Jane Eyre.”
“Of course,” he said sincerely. “Haven’t I done everything you’ve asked?”
“I suppose so,” she said again, her eyes watering. “What am I to do without you in my life?”
“I will always be in your life.” He took both of her little hands in his, squeezing them with promise and gratitude. “You are my oldest and dearest friend. And until I take my dying breath, no matter where I am, I will always love you.”
She nodded, pulling her hands away to brush hastily at her eyes. “That will have to be good enough, then, won’t it, Mr. Weston?”
Chapter Seventeen
“Let us speak, though we show all our faults and weakness—for it is a sign of strength to be weak, to know it, and to out with it.”
—Herman Melville; an American novelist, 1819-1891
“I’ve been looking for you.”
Rief turned, struggling a bit on his crutch. Cole stood behind him in the blackened wreckage of the warehouse. Last night, Mathew informed him that Cole had seen the painting somehow. Well, if his brother had come here to condemn him and name him a sinner, Rief had no intention of staying to listen.
Stomach tightening in anticipation of nothing good, he managed a casual, “Well, you found me.”
Fidgeting with a leather-bound book, Cole looked around. “Any idea what caused the fire?”
“No,” he lied. “A candle maybe?”
He hadn’t seen Mathew today, so he needed to wait until he learned how events unfolded with Lord Pembroke before saying anything. He’d avoided the insurance adjusters when they came by Uncle Richard’s house this morning, feigning pain in his broken leg and allowing his uncle to handle them. Not only was he in no mood to be interrogated, but his mind was too caught up with concern for their potentially volatile predicament to bother with legalities. He knew they were properly insured, and house fires caused by forgotten candles were quite commonplace. If the truth about the real cause came out, then surely everything else would be revealed—neither of them wanted that.
“Did you find any of your belongings?” Cole asked.
“No.”
Both brothers looked over at the sound of a sharp whistle from a man impressed or shocked by the damage. People would be loitering all day, checking out the remains, or to talk and admire their town’s successful efforts to contain it. The warehouse had been destroyed, but a lot of the goods had been saved before the fire became too large to control. No other buildings were harmed badly, the rain stopping the blaze from devouring everything.
Only Rief’s life had been destroyed.
Not that the gawkers, or anyone else really cared, he imagined. The only evidence of his former home were the scattered tidbits of drawings littering parts of the ground, and a few random pieces of broken frames, all charred beyond recognition.
Rather than be upset, Rief felt strangely free. As if all his sins were cleansed in the fire, washed away and forever left in the past. He’d awakened with a great weight lifted, the agony and pain that had been chipping away at his soul while he lived in this place, painting and holed away in lonely despair, gone. Though he was sad about the loss of his lifetime’s work—especially the pieces of Mathew—he no longer needed solace from those images.
Now he had the real thing.
He didn’t know if Mathew could stop his father from exposing them, or how he intended to stay here in Key West, but he did know that Mathew loved him. That truth gave him the courage to risk everything for a chance to continue this unbelievable romance. Even if their affair ended, leaving his heart as torched and destroyed as this warehouse, for now, Rief would luxuriate in the one thing he’d never had before.
Hope.
Hope that he and Mathew might have a chance.
Those good feelings, however, were shadowed because he had yet to spy a little flash of black fur among the rubble. He had a sinking feeling his beloved cat had perished. His hand tightened on the crutch to dull the pain. He wished he could choke Mathew’s father for that.
“I’m sorry you lost everything,” Cole said.
Rief jerked his head back with a sarcastic sniff. “Really?”
“Well, yeah.”
“You’re sorry I lost everything?” Though he knew it wasn’t wise, he couldn’t stop himself from adding, “Even the painting of Mother?”
Cole’s eyes got huge, and then he scowled, kicking at some ash-coated debris. “Why did you have to bring that up?”
He shrugged.
Not that he intended to tell Cole, but he was glad the painting had been lost. He’d never had the courage to destroy it. And while the guilt would always linger, at least he didn’t have to look at it anymore.
Weary in spirit and heart, he studied his brother’s awkward posture. “Why were you looking for me? I don’t think it was to console me for my loss.”
Cole seemed to struggle with something, then he took two steps forward, holding out the book.
“To give you this.”
Confused, Rief accepted it. “What is it?”
“Apparently there are pirates on our family tree.” Bouncing from foot to foot, Cole ruffled up the hair on the back of his head. “And gypsy women with visions.”
A chill settled over him. “What?”
“That’s a journal from a grandfather way back,” Cole explained. “Uncle Richard asked me to give it to you. Thought it might be helpful.”
“Helpful for...?” he questioned, then stopped himself as his brother’s words sank in. Unsure if his good leg could hold him upright under the weight of that startling revelation, he hobbled over to a broken beam and sat. Staring at the book, his hands began to tremble. “How long has he had this?”
“Years, I guess.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Dad asked him not to tell you about it. Don’t be angry at him. He’s worried about you.”
Rief didn’t know what surprised him most. “Dad knew about this? Why didn’t he—” The query died on his lips, too choked with emotion to be allowed fruition. “Why did Dad tell him to hide this from me?”
After some hesitation, Cole said, “It was hard for Dad to understand what you and Mother... you know?” He waved his hand, as if that mere gesture could encompass everything they had never discussed. “I wasn’t even sure I believed it.”
He couldn’t summon the wits to reply. Cole had never gotten so close to acknowledging his sight before. Like Dad, he preferred to believe Mother had been ill, completely ignoring the truth. And Rief? Well, surely he was just as disturbed, easier to ignore than to bother with trying to understand the hurt and fear he carried within.
“I was gonna throw that book away, but last night—” Cole’s voice cracked. “—you coulda died. It got me thinking, remembering stuff I don’t like to think about. I don’t want to be like Dad, hiding things from you. So I brought you the journal like Uncle Richard asked. I want us to be brothers again.”
Though he wanted to accept this unexpected olive branch, his heart was still wounded by past hurts and neglect, the secrets. The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. “But you can’t even stand to be around me.”
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