Page 47 of The Lady’s Deception

Such a simple question. How often had Paris asked one like it in his capacity as barrister? How often had it brought a witness to tears? She could feel their salt stinging in the back of her eyes and her throat, and she swallowed against the sensation, pushing back against the memory of Charles’s words, carried along on the tide. It’s too dangerous. You mustn’t go among those people again. Think what happened to your mother. “He only wanted to keep me safe,” she insisted, more to herself than Paris. But was it true? If she had been safer, certainly the poor families who had counted on the support of the lady of the manor had been less so.

“He cared for you himself after that?”

“Oh no. He hired Mrs. Sloane to keep me company.”

“And was she kind?”

“She…” Oh, she’d set out with every intention of being honest with Paris. Why did the truth suddenly seem so complicated? Charles was strict with himself, with everyone. Certainly it was no surprise he had hired a woman after his own principles. “She was not cruel.”

The lines of fatigue in Paris’s face settled into hardness, though he said only, “I’m glad to hear it.”

“I don’t suppose Charles exactly relished having the responsibility for a young girl,” she quickly made excuse. “He visited Tavisham, on occasion.” How silly to compare her feelings on those occasions to the delight on Daphne and Bell’s faces whenever their brother walked into a room. “I had everything I truly needed.”

Paris lifted one brow. “Did you?”

The crackle of the fire was loud in the stillness that followed his question. When she dropped her gaze, she discovered she’d once more tangled her fingers in the tie that gathered the neck of her nightgown. She released her grip and watched the ribbon unravel as swiftly as her illusions. “No,” she whispered, the truth tearing at her mercilessly. I didn’t have love.

She hadn’t realized she was shuddering until Paris’s arm came about her shoulders, drawing her against the firmness and warmth of his chest with one hand while the other tucked the blanket more securely around her. “He w-w-wanted me t-to w-wed his friend, Lord D-Dashfort,” she managed to get out past trembling lips and chattering teeth.

“Shh,” he murmured, passing a soothing hand over her hair.

But she needed to speak, to finish her story. “I think that’s w-why he b-brought me t-t-to Ireland. S-so it would be harder for me to say n-n-no this t-t-time.”

His hand stilled. “This time?”

She was hardly aware of having said those words, but hearing him repeat them, she knew they were true too. Why, it would take more than the fingers of one hand to count the friends Charles had brought to Tavisham in the last couple of years. To shoot, he had said. At the time, the frequent visits had baffled her; Charles had made no secret of his disdain for country life. But perhaps a part of her had always suspected that her brother wanted to relieve himself of the burden of caring for her. What better way than by marrying her off?

She didn’t speak again until she was certain she could do so without stammering. “Yes,” she said, holding herself up a little straighter, twisting in his half-embrace to face him. “But this time, I got away.”

“You did.” He nodded encouragement, and the firelight slipped over his raven hair and glittered in his beard.

But the words offered little comfort when she recalled what had happened since. “Oh, why did you do it? I could’ve explained.” She fought to keep her voice from rising. “I was wrong to lie, but you had no cause to seek out my brother, to—”

“I didn’t,” he interrupted hastily, shifting closer to her once again, as if to offer further reassurance. “I had no idea I would find him in Kilready. The business that took me there had nothing to do with him. Or you. It had to do with a poor boy imprisoned in Dublin, whom I hope to defend from changes of theft.”

She struggled to mask her surprise. It was not the sort of case with which she would have expected one of Dublin’s top barristers to concern himself.

“I met Lord Dashfort quite by happenstance as I was preparing to return to Dublin,” he continued. “He’d been out riding with his children, and another gentleman. Your brother, as I came to understand. The village was all atwitter with the story of the young woman who had refused the earl’s offer of marriage. But I had no notion it was you. I would never have made the connection if Dashfort’s son hadn’t asked if there was any news about Miss Gorse.” She felt more than heard his hesitation before he added, “I’m afraid I did a poor job of masking my astonishment when I heard your name.” In his dark eyes, she once more glimpsed an unmistakable glimmer of guilt.

She froze. “Did my brother take note of your reaction? If he seeks you out to discover the reason for it…”

“I did not even give my real name. He has no way to find me. To find you.”

She knew from experience that Charles would not be so easily thwarted. “You’re right, of course. It’s impossible,” she lied, forcing a smile. Once more she raised her hand to Paris’s face. Gently, this time. Beneath her cool touch, his skin burned as if with fever. “I’m sorry for striking you earlier. As your sisters will tell you, I’ve not been myself these last days. I—I panicked. I expected any moment to see Lord Dashfort and my brother behind you.”

His hand came up to hold hers in place. She relished the pleasing prickle of his beard against her palm. “You won’t.”

She had not always understood her brother. But she did now. She knew it was not a promise Paris could keep.

“I should go downstairs,” he murmured, not releasing her hand.

After dredging up the ghosts of her past, and fearing what lay in her future, she couldn’t bear to be left alone now. That tempting lock of hair had fallen over his brow. Her heart fluttered in her breast, an uncertain rhythm that made her lightheaded and breathless.

“Please,” she whispered, leaning closer to him. “I’d feel safer if you stayed.”

* * * *

Safer.