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“You should be in bed,” he murmured, voice hoarse and low. “Your bed.”
“No.” She poured a glass of wine and pressed it into his cold hands. “Here.”
“Thank you.”
She refilled the glass when he emptied it, then poured one for herself. She’d been afraid to drink during his absence, sure she would overindulge and fall asleep. If she fell asleep she’d wake to find he’d never returned, just like ten years before.
Nick sat hard on the bed and stared at the fire as he took another long draw of wine.
“Will you reconsider meeting him?” She knew the answer already, and did not flinch when he shook his head. “I can’t.”
“Very well,” she said as if she weren’t filled with fear.
Silence fell as her mind twisted itself, knotting around all the horrid things lodged inside it. The thoughts were sharp rocks pushed deep in her brain.
Nick tossed back the dregs of his wine. “Ask whatever question it is that has you staring at me.”
“More?” she asked, though that wasn’t the question at all. When he nodded she handed him her glass and refilled his for herself. After a few sips, she felt braver and took a seat next to him on the bed.
“Was Richmond called Trevington before he inherited?”
“Yes.”
Yes, of course. Trevington. The man who’d come to Cantry Manor and taken Nick away. It had been Richmond, all those years ago.
Nick turned his back to her to look at the fire. She waited for him to say something more, but he said nothing. Despite the fear climbing up her gut, Cynthia swallowed hard and asked, “What happened?”
“I don’t want you to know.”
“The truth can’t be worse than my speculation.”
“I’m afraid it can be.”
“Nick…” She wanted to touch him. Wanted to hold him. But she was beginning to understand the reason he always moved her hands away. “What did he do to you?”
“What do you think he did to me?” he snapped, and then dropped his head into his hands.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m sorry. I should never have involved you. I should never have come to your house.”
“God, Cyn. Don’t apologize. Don’t ever apologize. It’s all my fault. I knew what he was, what he was capable of.”
She watched the edge of his jaw tighten and jump in the firelight. “What is he capable of, Nick?”
Nick’s hands dropped to his knees and he lifted his head to stare at the fire. “He took everything from me, Cyn. Everything.”
“Do you remember how agreeable I was?”
She stayed quiet behind him, and he was thankful for that.
“I try to go back and mark a point in time where I could have changed things. My family met him by chance when we went to York, do you remember that?”
“I do,” she whispered. “I was so envious.”
He’d brought home a little shell box for her which, now that he thought about it, had been a singularly uninspired idea. But York had seemed so exotic, perhaps because he’d been allowed to attend a play and two dinner parties. Richmond had been at the play too.
“He introduced himself to my father, and soon enough they were fast friends. ‘Your son needs a bit of polish before you think of moving to London,’ he told my father. My mother was overjoyed. We all were. The chance for me to travel, to make important friends, and to solidify our relationship with someone like him.”
“I remember,” she whispered.
