by Joanna Shupe
“Does he possess anything to blackmail you with? Any secrets or skeletons?”
“No, not a one.”
“The asylum, then. Does he have the influence to—?”
“Absolutely not,” Oliver signed. “Milton has neither influence nor funds. I have no idea how he is compensating this lawyer.”
“The lawyer may have agreed to work pro bono for now, if he believes a big reward awaits. That is precisely what makes me nervous.”
Oliver stroked his jaw. He was not afraid of Milton. Yes, his cousin perpetually angled for more money, but Milton was not cruel. He was full of bluster, an inept nincompoop completely incapable of carrying out any of his threats against Oliver or Christina.
“Might it have something to do with this?” Frank gestured to the workspace. “You are close to finishing your invention, which stands to gain you a measure of success. Is he hoping to capitalize on those profits somehow?”
“How?”
“Have you discussed the plans with him or shown him the device? He could claim some right to the idea, especially if you have not patented it.”
Oliver grimaced. No, he had not yet filled out the patent application. The device was nearly ready, but he would much rather wait until it was perfect before he filed for a patent. “That would only work after the invention is sold and I have profited, correct?”
“If he has seen this”—Frank pointed to the hearing device and battery on the counter—“then he may have applied for his own patent. He could sue you for infringing.”
“No one has seen the device,” Oliver signed, “except for Gill, a few staff, Christina, and Sarah.”
“Your sister?”
“Yes. She is home from school for a few weeks.”
“We must be prepared for anything. If Milton snuck in here one night and sketched out your prototype, we have no way of knowing.”
“My plans for this go back years,” Oliver signed. “I have proof and Milton would never win in court.”
“I still think we should submit the patent application quickly to be safe.”
Oliver did not like it but he supposed Frank was right. “Fine. I shall draw up the current design and send it over to you.”
“Good—and if you think of any other reason Milton has hired this lawyer, let me know. I will keep digging, see what I can learn. The good news is that Sarah’s trust is completely safe. Milton could never touch that money.”
“Good.” Oliver had set aside a large sum of money for when Sarah reached majority. No one but Sarah—not even her future husband—would have access to that money. God forbid, if something happened to Oliver, at least his sister would be well provided for.
Yes, but what about your wife?
Apollo ran back to the door, his tail wagging. Christina’s face appeared in the crack of the door. She was buried under mounds of winter clothing, her cheeks red from the cold. Oliver’s chest tightened, a visceral reaction to her he could not control.
Her eyes widened when she saw the lawyer. The color on her face heightened and she edged away from the door. “Oh, I did not realize . . . I will return later. Hello, Frank.”
Oliver frowned. Why was she flustered all of a sudden? “It is quite all right,” he signed. “Come in.”
Frank rose and bowed. “Christina, always a pleasure.” He swiped his derby off the counter and said to Oliver, “I must be going. We’ll be in touch.”
Oliver nodded and the lawyer departed along with Gill. Christina then moved to follow. “Wait,” he said to his wife’s retreating back. “Stay a moment.”
She stopped but did not turn. He closed the distance between them until her skirts brushed his legs. When she remained facing the door, he stepped in front of her to better see her. “Is something wrong?”
“I should not have intruded. I apologize.”
It was not lost on him that she had evaded his question. “Tell me, what happened?” Must’ve been something today. She had spent the night in his bed yet again last night. This morning he’d awakened her by licking and sucking her nipples, and her enthusiastic response had led to a damn energetic bout of lovemaking. They had parted on good terms after, with her saying she planned to spend the day with Sarah. “Was it Sarah? Did she upset you?”
“No, it was not Sarah.”
“So someone else upset you. Who?”
She closed her eyes briefly. “Do not worry about it.”
He did not like this. His wife would not confide in him. He reached out and tucked a long strand of hair behind her ear. “You are my wife. It is my sworn duty to worry about it because I care about you. I . . .”
I am obsessed with you. I think about you nearly every second. I am beginning to think I love you.
She pushed away from him, took a few steps deeper into the workshop, and turned. Her lips had compressed into a tight, angry line. “Why did you not tell me you decided to ruin my parents?” A hand flew up to cover her mouth, her eyes now as round as saucers. “Oh, goodness. I apologize. I did not mean to yell at you.”
“You have the right to yell at me if you wish, especially if you feel I deserve it.” He pointed to his ear. “Besides, deaf, remember? I cannot hear how loudly or softly you speak.”
“Of course. I had not thought of it that way.”
“Talk to me. Tell me why you are upset.”
She swallowed but did not look away. “My mother followed me into the park. She said you have assumed all their debts and belongings. That you now own everything.”
“Yes, I do.”
“And you did not think to inform me of this? Or ask if I had any objections?”
He opened his mouth then closed it. Was she actually angry over this? “Do you have any objections?”
“Of course!” She threw her hands up, as animated as he had ever seen her. “They are my parents. Why did you not ask what I wanted to do about them?”
Standing there, he could only blink as he tried to think of what to say. He had no idea why she would defend these people after all they had done. Hell yes, he had ruined her parents. He had wanted to do a lot more, in fact. “I cannot see how you are defending the two people who wanted to marry you off to Van Peet. The two people who trade your happiness for money at every turn.”
“They are still my parents. I do not wish to see them without a home.”
“I have no intention of kicking them out on the street. However, they should suffer a bit for all they have done to you. Those two do not deserve your forgiveness.”
“We do not grant forgiveness based on whether someone is deserving of it or not; it is granted for ourselves, so that we may sleep at night knowing we have done the right thing.”
“And yet I shall sleep perfectly fine knowing they are completely at my mercy.”
“Oliver.” She drew closer, her face softening. “You are a good, kind person. Do not let my parents rob you of that.”
Putting his hands on her shoulders, he pulled her in and pressed their foreheads together. Then he closed his eyes and breathed her in for a long moment, the now-familiar scent of roses stealing into his lungs. He was not particularly good or kind. Over the course of twenty-nine years, he’d been pretty damn selfish at times. “I cannot forgive them for how they have treated you. Do not ask it of me.”
She put her hands on his chest and leaned back so he could see her face—a move that aligned their hips together. His body instantly reacted, blood heating in his veins. “Then do not forgive them,” she said. “Give them the use of the house in London and send them home.”
“Provide them an allowance?” Even giving her parents a nickel would chafe, let alone hundreds of dollars a month.
“They will hate it, knowing they have you to thank for the very food on their table.”
He blew out a long breath. Logically, there was not much difference between her parents and Milton—they were all despicable human beings—and he had been financing his cousin as long as he could remember. “Fine—but I want them gone. Tonight.
I shall cable Frank and have him handle it. Do you want to see them before they go, to say good-bye?”
“No.” Her brows came together. “Does that make me a horrible person?”
“Indeed not. It makes you human.” He kissed her nose and then took her hand. “Come with me. I’ll contact Frank and then give you a special treat in my bedroom.”
She smiled. “Will this treat cause us to be late to dinner?”
“Most definitely.”
A few days later, Christina was having breakfast when Oliver and Sarah arrived. “We have a surprise for you,” her husband signed.
He wore a heavy overcoat instead of his usual shirtsleeves, which was odd. Sarah had on her coat as well, grinning at Christina while bouncing on her toes.
“You do?” she asked.
“We do,” Sarah confirmed. “But you must get up, close your eyes, and come with us outside.”
What had these two done? For a brief moment, she feared it might have to do with horses. No, Oliver promised he would not force you to ride. Her shoulders relaxed. “Well, then I cannot wait. Lead the way.” She rose and put a hand over her eyes, holding out her free hand for them to take.
They began guiding her through the house and then outside to the terrace. Her eyes remained closed, but it was a struggle not to peek. What kind of surprise had they planned? No one had ever done anything like this for her before. The frozen ground crunched under her boots as Oliver and Sarah led her to the side of the gardens.
“Keep going,” Oliver said, his hand warm in hers. “There’s a turn to your left. Good, now stop.”
A beat passed and then Sarah said, “Open your eyes, Christina.”
She blinked into the glare of the late morning sun. Was that . . . a target? Good heavens. Then she saw the longbow and arrows. Her jaw dropped. “Is that . . . ?”
“I told Oliver how you used to practice archery,” Sarah said proudly. “He insisted we find the perfect equipment so you could start again.”
She remembered telling Sarah about enjoying archery as a girl, but she never thought anything more about it. She looked over at Oliver, who was watching her carefully. Emotion threatened to overwhelm her, and she struggled to maintain her composure. “I honestly cannot think what to say. This is the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me—other than you marrying me.”
Oliver lifted Christina’s hand to his mouth and pressed a soft kiss to her knuckles. “I hope you like it.”
“I love it. Thank you, Oliver.”
“You are welcome,” he signed, one she understood without translation. He gestured toward the set. “Try it out. The bow should be perfect for your height. If not, we may easily have it adjusted.”
She stared at the pieces, her brain buzzing with excitement. Could she still do it? She recalled the thrill of the execution, of trying to remain perfectly steady before releasing the string. The precision of the strike. She’d been quite proficient at it all those years ago. “It has been a long time.”
“We do not mind if you are terrible,” Sarah said. Then the girl ran to grab the bow and one arrow. “Here you are.” She handed everything over to Christina. “Will you shoot for us? Please?”
Christina saw there was even a leather cuff to protect her arm. “I shall try, but only if you’ll assist me. Deal?”
“Deal.” Sarah clapped her hands. “What should I do?”
“Here, help me put this on.” Christina slid the leather cuff over her wrist and adjusted it for comfort. Then Sarah pulled the strings tight and tied them off. “Thank you. Now, where shall I shoot from?”
“Back there.” Sarah pointed to a reasonable distance away. Christina nodded. She should be able to hit the target from that spot.
She took her place and steadied herself. Strange to hold a bow after all these years, but it felt familiar. Right. She nocked the arrow, raised her arm, and used three fingers to grip the bowstring. Then she drew the string back and took aim. Her arm muscles began to shake and she tried to keep steady. Slipping her fingers from the bowstring, she let the arrow fly.
It was not even close.
Frowning, she watched the arrow plummet to the ground well shy of the target. Hmm. It had been much easier when she was younger. “I guess I am sorely out of practice.”
Nevertheless, Oliver and Sarah broke into applause and Christina’s heart melted into a puddle. “That was excellent form,” Oliver signed. “With practice you shall strike the center of the target in no time.”
Sarah came running over. “Will you teach me, Christina? I want to learn how to shoot, too.”
“Of course. I’ll show you now.”
“That is my cue,” Oliver signed. He pressed a kiss to Christina’s cheek. “I will leave you to it. See you at dinner.”
She put a hand on his arm, stopping him from walking away. “Thank you, Oliver. This is a truly wonderful gift.”
The side of his mouth hitched, and she could’ve drowned in the tenderness reflected in his gaze. “I am glad. Enjoy it, ladies.” He walked in the direction of his workshop, leaving Sarah and Christina alone.
“We should move a little closer to the target,” Christina told the girl. “Then I’ll teach you how to hold the bow.”
After each shooting more than two dozen arrows, they went inside to get warm. They entered and found Gill waiting. “Luncheon awaits in your suite, madam,” he told Christina. “Miss Sarah, your apples and carrots are downstairs for your afternoon visit to the stables.”
The young girl shook her head. “I do not wish to go to the stables anymore.”
Gill appeared utterly shocked at this revelation. “No?”
Sarah slid a glance at Christina then raised her chin. “Horses are mean. I have decided I no longer want to help take care of them.”
Had something happened in the stables? Sarah had loved the horses up until today. “Were you injured?” Christina asked.
“No.” Oliver’s sister studied her shoes. “They are just big and sort of scary. I could get hurt very easily.”
“Nonsense,” Christina said, trying to put the girl’s mind at ease. “You have nothing to worry about. These horses are gentle and well trained. Think of all the mornings you have spent with them. Almost every day for three weeks. Besides, the grooms would never allow you to be harmed. You are perfectly safe out there.”
“But you said horses were big and unpredictable. You do not like them.”
Christina’s mouth fell open slightly. Indeed, she had said exactly that to Oliver the other day. Only, she had not expected Sarah to remember it word for word. Nor had she thought voicing her opinion would negatively influence the girl or ruin something Sarah genuinely loved. Her stomach sank. “You should not listen to me.”
“Why not?” Sarah cocked her head. “Were you lying when you said those things?”
“No, not lying. Those were just my own silly opinions. They are illogical and you should form your own opinions.”
“If they are silly and illogical then why do you believe it?”
A lump formed in Christina’s throat. She wished she had a clever answer. She caught Gill’s gaze in a silent plea for help.
Nodding, Gill motioned for Sarah to follow him. Christina watched them disappear, her feet rooted to the floor. She heard bits of their conversation, like the words daring and brave, which was how she knew they were not discussing her.
Sarah had loved horses until recently—until she began spending more time with Christina. Now she was afraid of horses? How on earth was Christina to live with herself, knowing she had instilled such fear in this vivacious and strong-willed young girl? That she had ruined something that had brought Sarah so much joy?
Her eyes began to burn, emotion and self-pity rising to leak out as tears. She did not want to be this person, someone who watched life instead of participating in it. Who stood at the side of the room instead of dancing, or who could not meet friends out for ice cream without panicking. She wished to be more like Sarah, carefr
ee and adventurous, where she would look back on her life in forty years and feel good about the choices she had made . . . not look back and see only regrets and missed opportunities.
She took a step toward her room, ready to pull the covers over her head and spend the afternoon alone. No, do something different.
If she longed to be different then she could not keep doing the same thing because that was no longer working.
Yes, different.
Spinning, she started for the workshop instead. She needed Oliver.
Apollo jumped up from the floor by Oliver’s feet. Oliver’s head lifted to see Christina come through the greenhouse door. Her face was pale, her mouth flat. Concerned, he put down his work and rose.
She bent to scratch Apollo behind the ears, not immediately speaking.
“Hello,” he signed. “Is something the matter?”
She bit her lip, tears glistening in her gaze. Oliver immediately crossed to where she stood and engulfed her in his arms. He held her close and stroked her back. With her face pressed against his shirt, he had no idea if she was crying or speaking, but her shoulders shook slightly. He did not push her; she would tell him what had upset her in her own time.
Though he could not begin to guess at the cause. She’d been happy earlier when they surprised her with the archery set. What could have happened in such a short time to distress her like this?
When her breathing settled, he led her to a stool. Then he produced his linen handkerchief and let her clean up her face. He hated seeing her like this. It reminded him of the day she’d gone to see Van Peet. “What happened, sweetheart?”
She drew in a deep breath. “I . . .”
When she did not continue, he withdrew the pad and pencil from his pocket, placed the items in her hands.
Her anguished gaze met his as she returned the writing instruments. “No, I prefer to tell you this time.”
Dragging over another stool, he sat down across from her and waited. She sat up straighter and pushed her shoulders back. “Sarah has announced she no longer likes horses, that they are big and unpredictable.”
He frowned. That seemed odd, considering Sarah’s love of them the past ten years. “Was that not what you said that morning we went to the stables?”
