It was London all over again.
He dragged her closer to him and achingly nestled against her warmth, using his arms to tuck her against the planes of his body. Nuzzling his nose into those silken strands and smooth cheek, he closed his eyes, reveling in holding her. God, there hadn’t been a night he hadn’t thought of holding her like this.
She had already long proven herself beyond anything he deserved. She, who had saved his life at the cost of her own name, and she, who had tried to save his soul that night when he hadn’t been able to understand what his dignity was worth. He was used to leading. Not following.
In that lull of a moment, whilst holding her close, he knew that come morn, everything he’d ever known would change. Because aside from facing the reality of letting her go—again—he also had to face a choking new reality. That the respect he’d always sought as a man, and the change he’d always hoped to instill in society, was never going to be found amongst this...chaos. He needed a real job, a real home and a real life outside this mess of the Forty Thieves before the last of who he was and everything he believed in drowned. He had to find a new way to make a difference. He had to be his own man. A real man. Like his father had once been.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
I am, perhaps, as you will say, a very curious creature; For I am changing every day, my name, my shape and nature.
—T.W.K.
—The Truth Teller, a New York Newspaper for Gentlemen
A FLASH AND THE SHARP crack of thunder startled Bernadette from a deep sleep. Nausea roared to life, clenching her stomach, throat and mind. She sat straight up, fists tight, ready for battle. Her unbound hair fell in a long curtain around her, swaying against the sides of her face. She winced and swallowed back the pinching pain in her skull.
Rain drummed against a small window, whose broken pane had been patched with a rag. Gray morning light revealed a small, dirty room devoid of furnishings save three wooden crates against a wall and the straw mattress and yellowing, patched linen she lay on.
A visible and deep indentation of what used to be the weight of a male body, which had clearly lain beside her, whispered of what had happened. Her skirts were bundled up to her knees, tangled around her thighs, revealing her white silk stockings and missing shoes. Panic seized her as she slapped a trembling hand against her mouth to keep herself from screaming.
Though she remembered nothing after her fourth tankard of disgusting gin—which, after a while, she willingly gulped, knowing it was best not to remember anything—she didn’t have to remember to know what had happened. She blinked back tears that mingled with the headache piercing against her skull. She slowly crawled across the mattress, praying that the man would let her go.
Lightning streaked the sky beyond the small window again, illuminating the uneven walls that revealed sections of wood lattices that held up the walls beneath. The heavy creak of floorboards protesting against the weight of someone moving within the adjoining room made her almost wretch.
“Oh dear God,” she whispered, not knowing what to do.
There was a pause.
She had said it too loud.
Heavy steps made their way over and into the narrow doorway. “Bernadette?” a deep voice rumbled out.
Her heart jumped.
A large, broad-shouldered man loomed in the doorway, shockingly dressed only in wool trousers, with a tattered towel slung on his shoulder as if he’d been washing up. That commanding stance of his well-muscled body and that scattered sunlit hair made her realize it was—
Matthew. Only, he wasn’t wearing his patch.
Dark eyes held hers for a long moment in a breathtakingly intimate manner she wasn’t prepared for. Though the eye he usually hid beneath his leather patch appeared normal, there was a soft clouding in it that hinted at its blindness. He looked different without the patch. He looked like a gentleman. A real one.
Searing heat crept up the length of her thighs and chest as she struggled to remain indifferent. He was absolutely breathtaking. He’d always been, but...
He came into the room. “You don’t remember. Do you?”
Ever so slowly, ever so grudgingly, through a haze of a night slathered with gin, she saw glimpses of a massive crowd, of Matthew with two pistols against her assailant’s throat, of her staggering to uphold herself against a barrel, of her realizing Dunmore had ultimately betrayed her and Matthew in the vilest of ways, of her vomiting and then nothing thereafter.
A pulsing disbelief that was laced with glorious relief overtook her realizing that Matthew had protected her when she had needed it most. “I remember what you did for me.” She swallowed. “Thank you, Matthew. Thank you for—”
“Your association with me is what led to this. So, for God’s sake, don’t thank me.” He lowered himself onto the mattress beside her, whipping off the towel from his bare shoulder. He tossed it and settled in close, bringing in the fresh scent of penny soap and shaving cream. The muscles within his chest shifted as he leaned toward her. “I’m so sorry. I truly am so sorry you had to go through all of this.”
A disbelieving sob she didn’t realize she’d been holding escaped her. “I thought I was going to die.”
Grabbing her, he savagely wrapped his arms around her, tugging her close. The heat of his solid body washed over her like a blessing from above.
Bernadette tightened her hold on that warmth, desperately needing it.
They lingered in rocking silence, it being broken only by his breaths and hers and an occasional sniff she couldn’t contain.
It had been so long since she’d felt any sense of comfort similar to the one she was cradling now. She still couldn’t believe that Matthew, the man she thought she would never ever see again, was holding her and comforting her. He was here. With her.
She released him and, after a long moment, confided, “Even long before last night, I regretted the way we parted. I want you to know that.”
“Nah. I deserved the boot.” He shifted away. “And just so you know, I learned from it. I haven’t stolen a goddamn thing since. I took on two other jobs outside the ward and even got all of the boys doing the same.” Matthew didn’t meet her gaze. “I never got a chance to...genuinely apologize for everything that happened. I know I probably caused quite a rift between you and your da when those papers printed that whole mess about us. I’ll admit, when you mentioned that your da would most likely cane you because of me, it weighed on my soul. Because I never wanted any of this for you.”
She shook her head. “He didn’t cane me. He never even sought me out. I’m used to disappointing him, and in truth, he and I parted ways long before that.”
“’Tis a shame to know.” He was quiet. “I was fortunate enough to have been very close to my own da.” He nodded.
Knowing that his father was no longer alive, Bernadette reached out and rubbed his shoulder. “Georgia told me about him passing. I’m ever so sorry.”
“So am I.” He sniffed hard, scratched at his chin and shifted on the mattress, away from her touch. “So.” He cleared his throat. “Have you been associating with other men? Since we parted?”
Though he tried to sound indifferent, there was a notable ache in his voice that made her twinge. He wanted to know if she had moved on. As if a woman could ever move on after meeting a man like him. She slowly shook her head. “No. I swore off associating with men after we parted.”
He winced and swiped his face. “You hate me that much?”
“No. I was very disappointed in you and very angry, but I never hated you.” She sighed. “In truth, you held up a mirror to my life. I never took anyone or anything seriously after my relationship with Dunmore. And that was wrong on my part. Very wrong.”
He blew out a long, slow breath. “Well. That’s good to know. Because I... It’s good to know.” He searched her face before asking, “Why is Dunmore so intent on destroying you? What happened between you and him? You never told me.”
Nausea bit into her. �
�I did not go about the relationship properly. I wounded his dreams, however twisted they were, and so in some way, I am to blame for all of this. And that, I will admit, is difficult to swallow.”
Matthew said nothing.
Bernadette searched that handsome face, trying to get used to looking at him without the patch.
He paused. “Why do you keep staring at me like that?”
Her heart pounded relentlessly. “You look so different without the patch. I have never seen you without it.”
“Is that a jab?”
“A compliment.” Despite their torrent parting, she had thought of him so, so often. Too often. And though most of it had been bitter, even the bitter had been laced with delicious moments of sweetness.
He leaned back toward her, gripped her arm and squeezed it hard. “I need to know. How did you end up with Cassidy?”
“The one with the scar?”
“Yes. Did you ever hire guards? Like I had asked you to?”
She nodded. “They stayed with me at all times, both at the house and whenever I went about Town, but he and a group of men dismantled them.”
Matthew shifted his jaw and eyed her. “Did he touch you at all? Or...”
She shook her head, her stomach roiling. “No. Not in that way.”
He threw back his head and stared up at the ceiling. “I should have walked away that night when you had asked me to stay. I should have had more goddamn respect for you.”
She leaned toward him and gently touched the warmth of his bare chest with a hand, offering up the forgiveness he clearly needed. “I don’t regret our night. Nor do I regret meeting you. Even after all that has come to pass. I want you to know that.”
He leveled his head. Grabbing her hand, he covered it with his own and dragged it over his heart. He pressed it into place there, letting her feel its fast beat.
He held her gaze, but said nothing.
Her throat tightened. “Matthew—”
He released her hand and rubbed his jaw with the back of his hand. “We need to get you home. I’ll go get dressed.” He pointed toward the floor. “I set your slippers out for you. The floors are dirty. I sweep when I can, but they never get clean.”
Pushing himself up off the mattress, he jumped to his bare feet with a thud and strode out, disappearing into the adjoining room. There was a clattering of items and the sound of clothing being shaken out hard.
This was his way of saying goodbye.
He wasn’t even asking for a second chance. Even though, after this, she may have considered giving him one.
With a sadness she had never known, she quietly scanned his makeshift bedchamber. The broken window, the exposed wood lattices within the uneven, stained walls and three large wooden crates, one holding a collection of old weapons and the other two holding frayed, mismatched clothing. It made her heart squeeze in disbelief. She couldn’t bear knowing that he lived like this. No man deserved to live like this.
Especially a man like him.
Her attention drifted to the lumpy straw mattress she was on, where the indentation of Matthew’s body remained. He’d slept beside her. He’d stayed with her the entire night after that horror of an incident. If only she could remember how it felt.
She reached out and smoothed her hand against the indentation, trailing it across the patched linen. Her hand stilled against something hard hidden beneath the linen. She dragged the linen away to see what was buried beneath and paused. Her beaded reticule. The one she had given him when she had told him to get out of her life.
Knowing he’d not only kept it, but slept with it, tears stung her eyes. Bless him for being the sort of man she had yet to earn knowing. She carefully draped the linen back over the reticule to hide it, sensing that his pride as a man wouldn’t have wanted her to know about it.
She slid off the lumpy mattress and pushed herself up onto stocking feet, wincing in an effort to rise. She straightened, her evening gown cascading down onto her legs. Seeing her satin slippers had indeed been placed neatly by him at the end of the bed in what appeared to be an endearing and loving manner, she smiled and slid her feet into them.
She wandered through the narrow doorway to peer in on him, and hesitated at finding only one other room adjoining the bedchamber. The furnishings consisted of four mismatched chairs. And nothing else.
One chair was set below a cracked mirror where a washing basin, a razor, soap, shaving cream and his leather patch were laid out methodically on its seat. He stood before that chair and mirror set against the wall, quietly getting dressed, wrapping a yellowing linen cravat around his shirt and throat. A faded blue waistcoat was already buttoned and in place. Two of those buttons were missing.
Another chair, the one opposite him, was stacked high with newspapers that threatened to tilt. The third chair held a humble stack of unevenly cut parchment neatly set onto the center seat, several quills and a half bottle of black ink laid beside it, serving as a desk. And the fourth and last chair held various glass bottles of varying sizes, containing what appeared to be whiskey and other unlabeled concoctions. A tin cup sat amongst them.
A small hearth with an iron cauldron and a wooden spoon sticking out of it completed the room that was as equally small as the one she’d left.
Unlike before, she finally understood his desperation that night. She finally understood why he savagely held on to his pride. He owned nothing else.
“’Tis pathetic the way I live, I know,” he tossed out, still watching her through the cracked mirror as he finished adjusting his knotted cravat. “Your taste in men isn’t what it should be.”
“Oh, hush. Have more respect for yourself.”
He grunted and gestured toward the chair with the bottles. “Drink what’s in the cup. It’ll help with your nausea.”
She nodded and went over to the chair. Picking up the tin cup, she peered into it. The thick, brown liquid sloshed within. She sniffed and winced as a rancid smell penetrated her nostrils, aggravating her nausea.
“Don’t breathe in,” he offered, “just swallow.”
Dreading the contact it was about to make with her mouth, she quickly did just that. She almost gagged as it coated her mouth and throat, tasting of rotten peppered ginger. She set the tin aside, happy to be rid of it and winced against the bitterness.
“Da used to make it whenever either of us were stupid enough to drink too much. He called it Morning Pepper Brew. You’ll feel better in as little as a few breaths.”
The man had not only rescued her, but was now rescuing her from the effects of gin. Was there anything he couldn’t do? She swallowed, slowly feeling that the concoction was, indeed, already notably soothing her stomach.
It was amazing. As was he. Why, oh why, had it taken seeing him in this horrid hovel to make her realize that he was unlike any man she’d ever met?
She drifted toward him, knowing she could never leave this man behind and most certainly not here, especially after what he had done for her last night. Upon reaching him, she gently took his linen-sleeved arm. “Matthew.”
He stiffened and glanced down at her.
Turning him fully toward herself, away from that cracked mirror, she reached up and gently placed both hands on that smoothly shaven face. “I want you to leave this place. I don’t want you living like this. Come live with me.”
He stepped away from her touch and solemnly held her gaze. “No. I’m done taking anything that isn’t earned by me for me. I intend to crawl out of this myself and I don’t need your pity.”
“Matthew. You cannot live like this. Nor will I allow for it.”
He turned back to the mirror, grabbed up his patch from the chair and tied it around his head, adjusting the worn leather around his eye. “I have lived like this for nine years. Another nine isn’t going to be the death of me.”
Maybe this wasn’t about pride. Maybe this was about...her. “I know we didn’t part on the best of terms and I know we are by no means associating romantically
anymore, but—”
“If you think I’ve moved on, Bernadette, you’re wrong. But the sad reality is that even if you gave me another chance to redeem myself, which I know you won’t, you and I still can’t exist. Because I don’t exist.”
Tears stung her eyes. “I’m not abandoning you to a life like this. I’m not.”
“You need to stop. I’m taking you home.” He grabbed up his great coat and, shrugging it on, walked to the door, unlatched all the bolts and swung it open. “Out, Bernadette. I’ve got a long day ahead that includes planning for Dunmore over at Kill Hill tonight.”
She panicked. “You aren’t actually going to meet the man alone in a place named Kill Hill? Are you mad?”
He snorted. “Whilst I appreciate your concern, I’m not going alone. I’m taking marshals and having his arse arrested. Now, come on. You and I have to go.”
She shook her head and kept shaking it. She was not giving up on him or this. Not when he’d clearly given up on himself by depending on nothing but that stupid pride that always got him into trouble. Like it had that night.
Turning away, she went over to the chair before the cracked mirror and snatched the chalk and small brush off it. Aside from the grit of last night still coating every last inch of her skin, she needed to get rid of the gin-and-vomit-laced taste in her mouth. Dashing the brush across the small cube of chalk, she leaned toward the mirror and brushed her teeth, determined to get her tongue and mouth clean from the thought of last night.
He stared. “The next thing I know you’ll be requesting a full bath and champagne.”
She ignored him. When she finished chalking her teeth, she daintily set everything back onto the chair where she’d taken it from and wandered over to the chair piled with newspapers. She commenced rummaging through them, setting each aside one by one by one and eventually held up the one that caught her interest.
The Truth Teller
A New York Newspaper
for Gentlemen
Forever a Lady Page 15
