“Please don’t make this any harder than it has to be,” she said softly. “You know I care about you, but this can’t work.”
He stared at her for a long moment, his thoughts visibly churning as he tried to think of some way to dissuade her. But in the end, he simply nodded. “I’ll go, Fiona. Because you asked me to. But I want you to know that if you ever change your mind, all you have to do is send word. I love you, Fiona. I’m certain I always will.”
Leaning forward, he pressed a tender kiss on her forehead. Then he turned and walked away without another word.
She stared after him, her heart in her throat, still stunned by his declaration of love. Everything in her longed to call him back, to tell him how stupid she’d been, and confess every single sordid detail of her past. Didn’t he have the right to make up his own mind?
But in the end, all she did was sit down and sob until she had no tears left to cry.
Chapter Fifteen
As Fiona stole throughthe dark streets of the East End a few hours later, she struggled to keep her emotions at bay. Even though she knew that she and Morgan could never truly have a relationship, she missed him already. Perhaps she should not have been so hasty in breaking things off with him. Would it have hurt any more if she’d allowed herself a little more of the magic he’d brought into her life?
Everything had seemed so clear earlier, but now she wasn’t certain she’d done the right thing. Was it better to ensure heartbreak now to avoid the possibility of it in the future? The whole idea suddenly seemed ridiculous.
He would never purposely hurt her. Of that, she was certain. Unfortunately, she was equally sure that someday, he would.
She scrubbed a hand over her face, shaking her head in despair. Perhaps there was some way to undo it.
Her thoughts were interrupted when a group of young men spilled out of the building in front of her. Aristocrats, by the look of their dapper clothes. She melted into the shadows, her heart pounding in her chest.
She’d not yet donned Prometheus’s cloak and mask, but she was wearing a black shirt and trousers and had stuffed her bright hair under a hat. At a distance, she might not raise any eyebrows, but up close, she wouldn’t fool anyone into thinking she was a man. She was too slight, too pale.
Luckily, they passed by without seeing her, but she was able to hear their conversation, and it turned her blood to ice.
“The younger they are, the sweeter the experience,” one of them said with a laugh.
“And they don’t get any younger than the ones at Mrs. Smythe’s,” said another, the liquor on his breath hitting her even where she stood several yards away.
“My sweet little blonde cried so prettily when I took her,” the first man said dreamily, his voice slurred. “A night to remember, for certain.”
As they drifted toward a fancy coach that waited down the lane, still congratulating each other on their sick perversions, Fiona turned her attention to the house they’d just exited. She could only assume this was Mrs. Smythe’s, and it hadn’t been operating as a brothel just a few short weeks ago.
When she’d left Brookhaven this evening, she’d had a particular target in mind. She’d done her research and had a plan. But now, her attention was fixated on Mrs. Smythe’s. If she could shut it down now, while it was still relatively new, she could save countless children from lives of slavery and degradation.
Something good had to come out of this night.
