Charlotte pushed herself upright and exhaled a long, shaking breath. “I did not want to think it of him. Truly, I did not.” She squeezed Lucie’s hand. “But if it was not Kazrian, then …”
She trailed off. Her brows knitted again, and Lucie watched the calculation behind her sister’s eyes, the process of running through the possibilities. “Henry?” she whispered.
Lucie nodded.
Charlotte’s free hand flew to her mouth. She shook her head. “No. Oh, Lucie, no!” Her voice came through her fingers, thin and horrified. “And we were—Mother and I—we have been championing the man. Encouraging you toward him at every turn, and all this time?—”
“You did not know.” Lucie gripped her sister’s hand more firmly. “None of us knew. He is so charming on the surface, Charlotte. So perfectly, relentlessly charming. I even—” She broke off, the image of Georgiana surfacing suddenly and sharply in her mind. A bruise on Georgiana’s arm, half hidden beneath a sleeve. A quiet explanation, and Lucie had not thought twice. Had not questioned it for a single moment.
“I saw a bruise on Georgiana’s arm,” she said quietly. “Not too long ago. In a similar position. And I believed her when she said it was nothing. I would never have thought that her own brother—” She shook her head. “But I think I see it now. What I thought was brotherly concern—Henry visiting her so often, always knowing where she was, always turning up—it was not affection. It was … perhaps something more like control.”
Charlotte was very quiet for a long moment, her fingers still pressed against her lips. When she finally lowered her hand, her face had settled into something harder than Lucie had ever seen on her. “We cannot simply allow this to stand.”
“No, Charlotte, please. He has been dealt with. Thoroughly.”
Charlotte looked at her. “How?”
“Balthazar left him with three rather deep scratches across his face.”
Charlotte’s gaze dropped to the cat, who was still curled in a circle at the end of the cushions, eyes closed, the picture of untroubled serenity.
“And then I slammed the door in his face,” Lucie added. “Which was, I confess, rather satisfying.”
A sound came out of Charlotte—half laugh, half something fiercer. “Good.” She looked back at Lucie, her eyes still bright but a grim satisfaction settling into her expression. “Good for you, Lucie. And good for Balthazar.”
Lucie drew a steadying breath. “So please, Charlotte, do not speak of this to anyone. The matter is finished.”
“But he should not simply walk away,” Charlotte said hotly. “I cannot stand by while he puts a mark like that on my sister and then?—”
“You can.” Lucie’s voice was gentle but firm. “Because I am asking you to. I appreciate your concern for me, but the matter is behind us now, and Henry Stratton is a small, petty man, and I am perfectly fine, and we have more important things to focus on. So that is that, and no one else need be involved. Especially not Kazrian.” She paused, eyebrows rising. “Do you hear me?”
Charlotte blinked. “Why especially?—”
“Because he is good. And honorable. And if he knew what Henry had done, he would feel compelled to confront him, and that would only lead to scandal. People would want to know why, what prompted it, and the whole business would unravel publicly. It would damage our family’s name.”
Charlotte was quiet, turning it over. “Yes,” she conceded at last, slowly. “Yes, I see that.” Then, in a tone Lucie did not entirely trust: “There are other ways, though. To ensure a man does not simply escape the consequences of his own conduct. A word placed here. A doubt planted there. Society is a great deal cleverer at ruining a man quietly than it is given credit for, and Henry Stratton has a reputation he cares for far more than he cares for anything else?—”
“Charlotte.”
“I am only saying?—”
“You are not to do anything. Do you understand me? Nothing. You are not to breathe a word, or plant a doubt, or place anything anywhere. It is not worth putting yourself anywhere near Henry’s anger, and it is not worth the risk of it coming back on our family. Leave it.”
“Yes, yes,” Charlotte said, holding up both hands, the very picture of surrender. “Of course. Leave it. I understand completely.” Then she opened her mouth to say something else—and then she stopped.
Lucie watched a new thought arrive in her sister’s face, watched it land and take hold, watched the whole shape of Charlotte’s attention swing round and fix on her with sudden, terrible focus.
“Wait,” Charlotte said slowly. “Wait one moment.”
“What?”
“Why.”
“Why what?”
“Why,” Charlotte said, sitting up straighter among the cushions, “would Kazrian Rowanwood feel that he simply must defend your honor?”
The heat came up Lucie’s throat before she could do a single thing to stop it. “Because—because he is a good man,” she said, far too quickly. “He is honorable. He would do the same for anyone. For—for Georgiana, or Rosavyn, or—it is simply his nature, Charlotte, he cannot abide anyone being?—”
