Edward’s butler would no doubt suffer a fit if he knew Powers was attempting to rise. The whole house had taken their return to London quite seriously, and the staff was in a flurry taking care of Powers, Mary, and, yes, Yvonne, who had managed to make it back to London in high dudgeon for being left behind.
Edward fought a beleaguered sigh. Fate had delivered a strange opportunity or perhaps curse in the form of an invitation to one of the season’s most prestigious balls. Duncliffe always invited him to his events, but it had never occurred to Edward that he would have to face such a thing now. And Powers, of course, wanted to go. “You’ll collapse before you get your trousers on.”
A look of pure loathing tightened Powers’s drawn features. In defiance, he swung a bare, hairy leg over the side of the bed. After he sucked in several breaths, he managed to shove the other free of the blankets. Both limbs dangled over the side of the bed in the childlike manner only fever could induce in such a masculine bastard.
“I am not taking you with us,” Edward reiterated, though he was beginning to believe only beating the man over the head with a cricket bat or a bottle of brandy would keep him in bed.
It would have to be the brandy bottle beside the bed. He had no idea when last he’d used a cricket bat. He shouldn’t even be taking Mary, but it was her choice, not his, as painful as it had been to accept that.
“You just want to be alone with her,” Powers accused, his face mottling with a shocking dose of jealousy.
Edward thrust a hand through his hair, then wiped said hand over his face. “There is nothing more between Mary and myself.”
Powers let out a snort so loud one might have thought his brains had exploded out the back of his cranium.
Standing firm, Edward said quietly, “There never can be, old man. Look at what I did to her.”
Powers eyed him suspiciously, looking damn foolish with his bare legs peeking out from under the crisp white sheets and his arms shaking as they supported his considerable upper weight upon the down-filled mattress.
“You supported her and I . . . I abandoned her. She’s yours,” Edward added with as much conviction as he could place in words that ripped his guts out. In fact, he could feel a cold wind in the cavernous regions of his chest where his heart should have been.
“Mine?” Powers echoed blankly.
Folding his arms over his chest, Edward desperately sought some way to explain without baring what he had only so recently discovered about the real nature of his withered soul. “I can’t have her.”
Powers shook his head slowly, amazement lightening his fevered face. “Do you think her a sack to pass off to another?”
“No,” Edward bellowed as he flung his arms to his sides, bunched his fingers into fists, and wished there was something he could punch. If he’d been alone, the wall or even himself would have done. Instead, he forced himself to uncurl his hands. “I—You see,” he said, gesturing to himself. “Look at how enraged I become when simply discussing her.”
“Forgive my apparent blindness, but I don’t see what you are getting at.”
“I thought I knew best. I have made so many mistakes. And all I keep doing is hurting her.” He gulped back the ugly words that signified his own possessive nature. “I shall be leaving Mary here to be free, once I have completed my assistance toward her.”
Powers cocked his brow with the same sort of disbelief one might make upon being informed that his best friend was not a man but an elephant. “Not that I don’t enjoy the idea of you never being part of her life again, but I must point out that you are talking lunacy.”
“For the first time in my life, I am speaking with utter sanity.”
That silvery brow remained quirked in disdainful skepticism. “Go on.”
It was clear Powers would not let him skulk off without some sort of explanation. Edward stared down at the burgundy carpet, brought home years earlier from the East. He finally managed, “I drove her to leave me. I put her at utter risk, by being so insistent she do as I wish. But that is who I am. I mold. I push. From the beginning I was so certain I knew what was best for her, and what occurred? She ended up back in that damned place. I am not good for her. For anyone.”
That damned brow lowered, replaced by a look of horrified sympathy. “Old man, you are being ridiculous.”
“Am I?” Edward shook his head.
“Edward—”
“Look at my family,” he rushed, his chest rising and falling quickly as he admitted his inescapable future. “We destroy people.”
“You would never—”
“I held a hard line when all she needed was my support and understanding, even if I disagreed with her. I drove her to revenge, and then I took it away. When she acted on her own, I let her go alone. What does that make me?”
For many moments, Powers stared at him, his icy eyes boring through any shield Edward might put up. Powers blinked, then looked away. “I know not what to say.”
Edward shrugged, his shoulders as heavy and tired as an old man’s. “There is nothing to say. But despite your failings”—he gave a reluctant smile—“many that there are, if she allows, you would take care of her far better than I.”
“I—” Powers opened and closed his mouth, but no witty repartee issued forth.
None of this felt truly real. Edward kept forcing himself to speak even though he felt as if he were in a dream. “You will allow her to be herself.”
Powers met his gaze and said with conviction, “I care deeply about her, you know.”
Edward gulped back the torrent of emotions that battled up from his gut. He nodded sharply. If he spoke, he would curse Powers to Hades and back and then beat the life out of him for daring to love his woman. “Now. Let’s hear no more about your accompanying us.”
Retaliation boiled back up in Powers’s face. “But—”
“I’ve relinquished her. Is that not enough?”
“No. I don’t suppose it is,” a soft voice said from the doorway.
Edward’s spine cracked straight with dread. He did not turn to look, for he knew she was standing there. How much had she overheard?
How much?
She walked slowly into the room, cradling her bruised wrist slightly, until she stood just between him and the bed. “Thank you for my freedom, Edward.” She hesitated, her gaze sliding up to him from under her thick, sooty lashes. “Though it was never yours to give, now was it?”
Edward’s entire body seemed to come alive in her presence. The raging beast within him demanded he roar that,
yes
, her freedom was his to give, for she belonged to him and him alone. “Of course not,” he replied quickly. “It was merely a turn of speech.”
The smile that tilted her soft lips was cold, the smile of a woman who had seen too much of the disappointing nature of men. “It is very kind of you to assist me in this. I know you didn’t have to tell me about the invitation.”
“I still wish you safe above all things and it is not my right to make decisions for you. I should have supported your wishes. The least I can do is to see you through this now.”
Her brows tilted into a bemused expression. “Safety is a state which I believe is an illusion, but thank you. However, I prefer your assistance in revenge, rather than in my safety.”
“You are still determined?” he asked, wishing she would change her mind but already knowing the answer. It had been tempting to conceal the invitation from her father, but that would have been his greatest betrayal of her. Mary deserved to choose her own path and make her own mistakes. Though every fiber of him screamed against it, he would assist her in her quest. He owed her that, at least.
“I am,” she said, her chin lifting.
“You wish my assistance, too,” added Powers as he struggled off the bed and into a standing position. His nightshirt draped morosely over his frame, hanging about his knees. Though he towered above Mary, he swayed on his feet and the color drained from his already ashen face.
Mary turned her bemused face to him, reached out a single hand, and pushed Powers slightly.
His eyes flared, his arms windmilled, then he tumbled easily back upon the bed.
“I think not.” Mary stood over him, planting her hands onto her hips. “As Edward said, you will stay.”
“It is not fair,” Powers groused, righting himself and his nightshirt upon the bed.
Mary peered at Powers. “I suppose I could wait for you to heal, but I find I have given enough of my time to waiting. Tonight is the night to expose my father, thanks to the invitation.”
Edward scowled. Though Mary’s father had hired Mrs. Palmer and subsequently Hardgrave, it appeared the old duke thought Mary was dead. Duncliffe had been misled by his underlings, of that Edward had little doubt. Clearly he never would have invited the man who might very well assist his daughter in her revenge. “I have concerns—”
Mary speared him with a determined glance. “I will go alone if you do not feel comfortable.”
“For god’s sake.” Powers groaned.
“No, for mine,” Mary countered. “I long to see his face.”
Edward nodded. What else could he do? He could only hope that he wasn’t right and that tonight Mary would find peace.
She drew in a slow breath. “But first, there is something I need you to do for me, Edward.”
“Yes?”
“I wish to see someone.” A shadow crossed her face. “I do not know what shall occur this night, and I must see her before I meet my father.”
“If that is what you wish,” Edward said carefully. “And then?”
Mary squared her chin. “Tonight my father shall have to confess before all London that I am alive. It will be my revenge, seeing all society know him for the monster he is. It shall be most amusing to see him dance that dance.”
As Edward stared at the woman who had managed to abduct his heart, he grieved his great mistake. For Mary’s heart was hard now, the tenderness gone, compulsive revenge in its place.
And for that, he would never forgive himself.
“T
his is not a prudent plan.”
Mary ignored the impassioned note in Edward’s voice as they stood in one of the long halls of Edward’s home. She stared at the closed door, her breath slowing, the whole world slowing. “I must see her.”
“Why?” Edward demanded. “I’ve brought her for you because I can deny you nothing.” He placed his hand lightly against her cheek, the gesture so soft it was as if he dared not even allow himself such a brief concession. “But tell me why.”
His touch burned against her skin and she longed to turn her face into his palm, kissing it. She didn’t. She wouldn’t until she heard the words
I love you.
“Because I must know she is well. Because she is a soul lost to the same sea as I.”
“I understand.”
“Thank you.”
Edward gripped the door handle and turned slowly. As the panel swung open, Mary clenched her hands into twin fists, a hint of fear swerving up her spine. Determined, she stepped over the threshold into the dark room, lit only by the flames in the fire.
At first she spied no one, seeing only the rich Oriental carpet and heavy furniture drenched in firelight. Then she spotted the shadow in the corner.
The woman stood in silence, her full skirts as motionless as the long veil over her face. “Step into the light,” said the figure, “so that I may know it is you.”
That voice. That voice had spoken to her a thousand times out of comfort, out of fear, out of sheer will not to die in a frozen room in a prison devised by the cruelest of God’s creatures. Mary slid her foot forward and stepped into the warm glow of amber luminescence. “Shall we speak of Brighton? Of ices and running down to the sea?”
That figure let out an audible breath. “Mary!”
Joy swelled in Mary’s heart. “Yes.”
Eva flew across the room, her veil fluttering behind her, dark butterfly wings in the dim world. She whipped the fabric back, revealing her Madonnaesque face framed by curled dark hair. A porcelain otherworld woman who now glowed with health. Eva’s pale hands grasped Mary’s, squeezing to the point of pain. “We have been looking . . . My god. Wyndham said you’d gone from the asylum—”
“Who is Wyndham?”
“My husband’s friend.”
Mary blinked. “Husband?”
“Yes.” The strangest look of contentment softened Eva’s face. “You recall Ian?”
Ian. That dark-haired man who had come in the night like a savior. She closed her eyes. She’d flung herself out of the coach, and as she landed on the hard ground she’d seen Eva screaming and Ian’s face etched with horror and awe. He’d struck her then as the only kind man she’d ever known. A man who’d attempted to save her for Eva’s sake. “He proved worthy?”
Eva smiled, an unreserved smile that blossomed in her gaze. “Oh, yes.”
Mary swallowed back the touch of bitterness that she had not been as fortunate in love as her friend. “I am glad for you.”
Brushing a hand over her slightly increasing middle, hidden by the fabric of the veil, she whispered, “And I am with child.”
Mary let out a cry of joy. “Eva, everything has changed for you. I cannot believe how much and how many congratulations you deserve.”
“There is one last thing, which you will never believe.” Eva’s face alighted with a beauty so pure it was painful. “Adam, my son, is alive.”
A burst of shocked laughter passed Mary’s lips. “Can it be true?”
“Yes, by a miracle of kind servants, he was protected.” The joy faded from Eva’s face. “But, Mary, it is your protection I now think of. We feared you dead. Wyndham did everything he could to track you but could find no sign.” Tears sprung into Eva’s eyes, replacing the joy. “I had resigned myself to praying to your ghost.”
Mary caressed her thumbs over her friend’s hands, assuring her she was indeed flesh. “I am not dead, though some would have you believe otherwise.”
“Your father.”
Mary drew in a sharp breath. “You know?”
“The information we’ve received has been small,” Eva whispered, the words dangerous, even though they stood alone. “But since Ian and I knew you were the only daughter of a very important man, we were able to use birth and death records to discover your origins. And that your body has been lying in the cemetery these many years.”