Ruined

by Jess Michaels

  “It sounds like you had quite the enterprise,” she said carefully. “Why did you leave?”

  His jaw tightened further as he stared straight ahead. “A few weeks after I turned twenty-one something happened and I left.”

  She blinked. “Something? What happened?”

  He suddenly turned his horse on a faint path that moved away from the main road. She did the same, following him as he weaved through high grass and encroaching trees until he stopped at a lake. He dismounted from Shakespeare and walked down to the water’s edge where he stood silent for a moment.

  She climbed down from Regret and stood beside the horse, watching War. His posture was hard and closed off. A wall to keep her out. She understood that perfectly. After all, she had longed to keep herself separate for years. She had kept her secrets, even if it meant locking herself away.

  Could she begrudge him his need to protect himself? He had already told her a great deal about Jack, enough that she could mull over a plan of attack when she met him soon. Did she need more?

  Not for her plan, no. But she found she wanted more because she wanted to understand War. To take some of his burden.

  She shook her head.

  “You know, it’s after noon,” she said, moving to Shakespeare and unfastening War’s saddlebag from the animal. “We should eat and rest the horses a while.”

  She moved to the water’s edge near War and sat down, opening the pack to reveal the sandwiches their hostess had prepared for them earlier in the day. She pulled them out, spreading their paper wrapping on the grass and arranging the food. She pulled out a container with cold tea and placed it between the settings of food. Only then did she look up at him.

  He was watching her closely, his dark gaze unreadable. She ignored that and patted the grass.

  “Come, we don’t have much time, and you need to fill your stomach.”

  He moved closer slowly, as if he were anticipating a trap. But he sat down beside her nonetheless. He took his sandwich and ate a bit, chewing as he continued to watch her. She didn’t press for the time being, but allowed him his space as they ate in silence. She wouldn’t have labeled it quite companionable, but there was some small comfort in this breath away from their almost constant negotiation and planning.

  Finally, he took a sip of tea and handed her the container. She took her own sip, aware of the intimacy of sharing the cup this way, her lips where his lips had been. When she set the container down, she tilted her head.

  “Do you keep in touch with him?”

  He squeezed his eyes shut, and she could see she didn’t have to clarify who the “him” was in her question. War knew she was steering the conversation back to Jack. Back to the childhood he wanted to pretend hadn’t happened at all.

  He rested back on his palms and stared up at the sky before he said, “I—no. I haven’t spoken to Jack in five years.”

  She nodded, taking that bit of information in. That meant War had communicated in some way with his brother during a good many of the years he had worked for her family. Which led her to another question.

  “Did Edward know your past when you were hired ten years ago?” she asked softly.

  War didn’t answer, but pushed to his feet. She followed, walking behind him as he moved to Regret. He took her horse’s reins and then turned to face her.

  He shook his head. His gaze bore into hers, dark, and she thought a bit accusatory. He stood in a defensive posture, one that built yet another wall between them.

  Finally, he said, “Lord Woodley didn’t know the truth. I covered it up. Why? Do you intend to use that fact against me, Claire?”

  War watched as Claire’s face twisted in response to his question. She shook her head slowly. “No, no, of course not.”

  She said the right words, but War pursed his lips. “I don’t believe you, Claire. I think you would. You would do anything to save your daughter.”

  She bent her head. “She is everything to me, War. I wish I could say you weren’t correct, but I can’t lie and tell you that I wouldn’t turn on anyone, even someone I cared for, if doing so would bring Francesca back safe to me.”

  She held his gaze evenly as she said those words, her posture stiff. She might have wanted to hide it, but in her stare he saw her remorse. This was the woman Claire had been forced to become during the years she’d spent with rogues, liars and worse. But it wasn’t the real woman inside. She was still Claire beneath it all.

  And he found himself very glad of that fact.

  “Do you hate me?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “No. Not at all. At least you’re honest about your…your…”

  “Duplicity,” she said with a slight smile.

  “A bit harsher a word than what I might have chosen, but yes. And I understand why you would be so driven as to destroy anyone in your path. This is your daughter.”

  Claire sucked in a breath and swayed on her feet. She nodded, slowly. “Yes. My helpless, precious daughter.”

  Her face crumpled and War released Regret’s reins and moved toward her, cupping her chin and tilting her face up toward his.

  “I will do everything in my power to save her, Claire,” he whispered. “Everything.”

  Her gratitude at that statement was immediate, but it was tempered by doubt. “Why?”

  With a shake of his head, he dropped his hand from her chin. “What do you mean, why?”

  “I know you don’t want to go back into the past and see your brother. I knew it when I approached you, I know it even more now that I’ve heard a small sample of what your life was like as a boy. But you agreed to help me, with only the barest bit of encouragement.”

  “Subtle threat,” he said softly, but he smiled as he did it and she returned the action. He was happy to see the smile, for he liked that wry expression far more than the broken and fearful one.

  “Call it what you will, I still want to know why you are willing to put yourself on the line for Francesca.”

  He drew in a long breath. That answer could fill a book, one complete with unrequited feelings and complicated desires when it came to the woman standing before him. But instead of revealing all that, he shook his head.

  “I know what it is like to grow up in such an environment as the one surrounding Francesca right now. I wouldn’t leave a child, especially your child, to such wolves.”

  Tears leapt to her eyes again and she stepped closer to him. She reached up and cupped his cheek with her palm as she whispered, “Thank you, War. For being willing to help me. It means everything to me.”

  He stared down at her. She was so beautiful in that moment, so fragile that he wanted to wrap her into his arms and protect her for the rest of his life. He wanted to tell her all his secrets and offer to hold all of hers, for he knew there were a great deal more of them than she had shared already.

  Only he couldn’t do that. Not only would she never allow it, but the idea that a woman like her could ever truly care for a man like him was ridiculous. She was using him, even if she thanked him sweetly, even if she offered her body as repayment.

  She was using him, and he could never forget that.

  “Just remember,” he said, moving to the horses again. “Do what I say.”

  Then he swung up on Shakespeare’s back and turned the horse away from her. She was quiet a moment, but then she gathered up the remainder of their lunch, handed him up his saddlebag and climbed up on Regret. He urged his horse from the meadow and back to the road, and turned him toward London.

  Toward the future that War knew would never include him and Claire. At least not for long.

  Chapter Ten

  Claire’s gaze darted from place to place, building to building, as she followed War’s path through the busy London streets. Night had fallen an hour before, but the roads were lit by lanterns and the rising moon. She was hidden in shadows, another anonymous rider, but she felt exposed. Like she would be recognized e
ither as Aston’s lover or a member of the Woodley clan.

  She was the missing piece from both worlds she had fled. But they were worlds she had never belonged in. Perhaps she didn’t really belong anywhere.

  War turned into a drive and she followed. They had reached a modest townhouse and she looked up at the brightly lit windows with a shake of her head. “Where are we?”

  “My home,” he explained as he swung down from Shakespeare.

  A boy came rushing down from the stable, holding a swinging lantern in his small hand. He grinned up at War and revealed two missing front teeth. He couldn’t have been more than eight.

  “Caleb, my friend,” War said, smiling down at the boy. “Quickly met, well done.”

  The boy’s smile doubled. “Thank you, sir. I was just going out to check the stable before supper, sir, and saw you ride up. We didn’t expect you.”

  “Take care of the mounts,” War said. “Just as I taught you.”

  “Yes, sir,” Caleb said, taking Shakespeare’s reins. He turned and gave Claire a quizzical look. She hadn’t yet climbed down from Regret.

  War moved toward her. “Claire?”

  Her gaze flickered to the house again. It wasn’t half as fine as the ones she had grown up in. Right now it felt far too fine for the likes of her.

  “I-I should go to an inn,” she stammered.

  He arched a brow. “With all the money you have in your pockets?” he asked.

  She flinched. No, she had no blunt. He knew it. If she left him here, it would be for the street that night. Not a welcome prospect. Aston had a whole network of lightskirts who had started when they had nowhere to stay.

  “Climb down,” War said softly, holding up a hand for her. “We are where you want to be.”

  She shook her head. “Your home?”

  “London. Claire, just trust me a little longer.”

  She stared down at him, waiting so patiently for her. Trust him? Didn’t he know that was an impossible task? To trust anyone was far too dangerous. But most certainly him, with his past that was just as dark as Aston’s and his eyes that saw through her and exposed her.

  But she had no choice. Which had been the theme of her life these last few years. So she took his hand and let him help her off the horse. The staring little boy took her reins as well and led the animals off to be tended to.

  “He is young,” she said softly.

  He shrugged. “Not too young to learn a vocation on the street if I don’t give him one in the household.”

  “He’s from the streets?” she asked, looking over her shoulder at the bobbing lantern that indicated the boy was rapidly departing to the stable.

  War nodded. “He tried to pick my pocket last year when I was here doing some horse trade for your brother. I could have turned him in to the guard, but I offered him a place in my employ instead. He studies with a tutor and is learning about horses.”

  Claire stared up at him, shocked by this kindness and yet not shocked at all. Beneath his hard exterior, she had always believed this man had a good heart. Now he was proving it in so many ways. Except she still couldn’t rely on him. Not entirely. Aston had been kind at times, too.

  “Why do you stare?” he asked, his cheeks darkening with an unexpected and utterly charming blush.

  She laughed. “I just didn’t realize you were a hero to so many.”

  He turned his face. “I’m no hero, Claire.”

  He walked away from her, toward the house. The front door opened and revealed a plump older woman who waved. War’s smile returned to his face, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Claire let out a sigh and followed him up to the door.

  “Mr. Blackwood!” the older woman said as they entered the foyer. “We didn’t expect you, sir.”

  “Good evening, Mrs. Dayton.” He reached back and touched Claire’s elbow, drawing her forward. “This is Lady—”

  Claire drew in a sharp breath and held out her hand. “Mrs. Aston,” she said quickly to cut him off.

  War’s jaw tightened at her use of Aston’s name, though she wasn’t certain what caused the reaction. Did he not like her lying to his servant? Or was he irritated that she claimed that connection to Aston? Either way, he didn’t correct her.

  “Mrs. Aston will be staying here,” War said, his tone as tight as his jaw.

  “Mrs. Aston,” the housekeeper said, shaking Claire’s hand.

  She felt the woman’s sharp, dark brown gaze sweeping over her. And what she must see. Claire was still dressed in men’s clothing, she was worse for wear from the road and she was in the company of War, without chaperone. Heat flooded Claire’s cheeks, an unusual sensation of shame that she’d all but forced out of herself by necessity. Now it returned and her head spun with the overwhelming force of it.

  Mrs. Dayton smiled kindly and released Claire’s hand as she said, “Luckily the room adjacent to yours was just cleaned, Mr. Blackwood, and is ready for a guest.”

  “Excellent. I’ll show Mrs. Aston up,” War said. “And then we’ll come down in a while for supper?”

  “There’s just a stew, sir,” Mrs. Dayton said.

  War smiled. “I’ve been dreaming of your stew since I was last here.”

  “Very good,” Mrs. Dayton said. “I’ll have it ready for you in half an hour.”

  The housekeeper bustled away and War held out a hand. Claire stared at it, big and rough from work, protective but also capable of causing pleasure. And she thought also capable of bringing pain, based on what he’d said about working as his brother’s muscle. That hand and the man who owned it scared her.

  And yet when she slipped her own into his palm and he closed his fingers around her, she almost felt like she had come home. Her breath caught, but she didn’t resist as he led her up the stairs and down a short hallway.

  “This is your room,” War said as he pushed a door open. “Mine is the one just next door.”

  She stepped into the chamber and looked around. There was nothing fancy about the room. There was a small bed against the wall across from the window, a chair before the fire and a small table where she could write or eat.

  From the corner of her eye, she looked at him. “You aren’t going to make me stay in your chamber?”

  His brow wrinkled. “Make you? Whatever arrangements we’ve made, Claire, they’ve never been at the point of a knife, have they? Of course I would love for you to join me in my chamber at night while you’re here. I think I’ve made that abundantly clear. But you deserve to choose that, and to have your own space if you desire it.”

  Tears flooded her eyes suddenly. She tried to fight them, swallow them, blink them away, but it was as if a dam had burst. Her chest hurt, her hands shook, and as she sank down into the chair, she couldn’t help but weep into her hands.

  This was the first time in a very long time that she’d had a space all to herself. A place where she wasn’t afraid. Because she wasn’t. War wanted her. She wanted him. But he wasn’t the kind of man who would come into her room uninvited. He wasn’t the kind of man who would threaten or hurt to get what he wanted from her physically or emotionally.

  He let her cry for a moment before he stepped up beside her. He crouched down on his haunches and drew her into his arms. She rested her face into the crook of his shoulder and clung there, giving in to the swell of emotion that she had been fending off for years.

  And once the tears had faded a bit, she pulled back with a blush. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I don’t know what came over me.”

  He met her gaze and she saw his understanding there. “It’s been a long day,” he said softly.

  “It’s more than the day,” she admitted, even though he didn’t demand more explanation from her.

  “I know.” He reached up to wipe a tear from her cheek with his thumb. “Come on, we’ll go down to supper. Food will help, and there is no better stew than that made by Mrs. Dayton, I promise you. Afterward, I’ll give you t
he grand tour of my palace.”

  She smiled at his attempt to comfort her, but she stood and paced away from him regardless. “No, I don’t think so. I think I’ll stay here.”

  She heard him get back to his feet even though she didn’t look at him. He cleared his throat.

  “All right, Claire. We’re partners in your scheme, so why don’t we lay it out on the table? What is really going on here? And please don’t lie to me, because it sports with my intelligence.”

  War knew his tone was stern, perhaps bordering on harsh, and he hated to do that to Claire when her pain was pulsating on the surface. But she was the master of avoidance and he needed to understand what had brought her from the confident former thief to a trembling woman who didn’t want to face his housekeeper.

  Her shoulders straightened and she turned away from the low fire to look at him. “Your housekeeper and the rest of your staff didn’t expect a visitor. I hate to put them out.”

  He arched a brow. “They didn’t expect me either, but trust me, Mrs. Dayton is now rushing around, ordering the maid to hop to it. She’s probably never been happier. Try again.”

  Her lips pursed. “I’m not hungry.”

  “I can hear your stomach growling from across the room, Claire. Try again.”

  She folded her arms and huffed out a breath as she spun on him. “Damn you! For the past two and a half years, I’ve spent all my time in the company of criminals. I dressed and thought and acted like them to save myself, and eventually my daughter, so much grief. Now your housekeeper looks at me and I know what she sees. You want me to go downstairs in my dirty trousers and what is obviously your shirt, since I swim in it? And how would I get your shirt? Oh, yes, I obtained it exactly the way she’ll assume I got it. She’ll know I’ve been in your bed.”

  War moved toward her. There was so much pain and uncertainty in her eyes. And he hated to see it there. After all, he had loved her forever. Oh, he’d tried to deny it. Up until that very moment, he had told himself that it didn’t exist. That it was only lust he felt for her.