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“You know, you can tell me anything,” he said, catching her off guard. “It probably doesn’t feel like it, but you can trust me.”
She wanted to trust him. Oh so badly. But it had been far too many years. Far too many hard lessons. Too many betrayals. Ivy no longer had the ability to trust.
When silence stretched on for several minutes, he finally broke it by changing the subject altogether and shocking her by asking, “Who’s Moira James?”
She felt her eyes widen before swiftly gathering her emotions back under control. In a flat voice she answered, “How do ye be knowing about Moira?”
“It was your alias,” he reminded her, then added, “And statistically most people who take on a false identity, usually borrow it from a real person. Generally someone they know.”
She dropped her gaze.
“Did you kill her?”
Ivy’s head snapped back up. Surprised and hurt at his question. In Sam’s eyes, she would always be a murderer. He would never be able to see anything more.
The word no nearly rolled off her tongue, but then she caught it back. In a sense, she had always felt as if she had destroyed Moira. She had never done enough to help her. Never had the strength to fight for her. Perhaps Sam was right. She had killed Moira.
Looking away, she blinked back the sudden tears pooling in the back of her eyes. “James was me father’s name. Moira was me sister.”
“Was?”
“She disappeared when I was fifteen.” Her chest felt heavy even now, so many years later. “She was eighteen and with child. Weeks before she left, she appeared very frail, weak. The night she gave birth, she fled from the estate with her newborn. Or so they told me.”
He didn’t respond immediately. Then, “They?”
Ivy contemplated how much she wanted to reveal to Sam. He had asked her to trust him. But could she trust him with the memory of her sister? The image of Moira came to mind. So beautiful and so tender. Never was a gentler woman. It was no wonder she finally succumbed to the abuse. Her eyes lifted to Sam. He could not harm Moira.
“The Earl of Wittfield. He was her employer. After our parents died, he hired her on as a kitchen maid. We were the daughters of a gentleman, but no other relation wanted us, ye see. They abandoned us when we needed them most. It was a disgrace for her to join the ranks of the kitchen staff, but we were desperate. We actually thought our prayers had been answered. Particularly since he allowed me to stay in the household as well. I was twelve, but never done a finger of housework in me lifetime. I was able to continue living the life I was accustomed to. Little did I know the price Moira paid in those early days to give me those things. But it didn’t take long to figure out me dreams had turned into nightmares.”
“He was raping your sister?”
Ivy nodded.
“Whose child was it?”
“His.” She felt so ashamed admitting it out loud and so disgusted with herself for feeling that way regarding her sister. Moira never had a choice in the matter. But it was her almost lifeless attitude that angered Ivy. She could never understand how she could be so weak. She knew now, though. Her sister had been trying to save Ivy from the same fate.
“And,” Sam paused, as if needing to control his voice. “What about you? Did he rape you?”
She shook her head slowly. “I was ugly he says. Thought me possessed with the devil inside with me fiery hair and pale eyes. Moira would purposely make me as plain looking as possible. At first I never understood. I’d be crying when she cut me hair short. Says a man thought hair was a sign of beauty.” She paused, not wanting to continue. Yet needed to. “She, on the other hand, was grand. I remember hating her because she refused to cut her own glorious mane of hair. Little did I know…”
“She was luring him away from you,” he finished for her.
A tear escaped one eye and slid silently down her cheek. She refused to wipe it away. It was the only thing she could now offer her sister.
“And the scars on your back?” he asked quietly. “Where did they come from, Ivy?”
“From him. Or at least by his orders.”
He inhaled harshly and she thought she heard him curse under his breath. “Were you beaten often?”
Her mind drifted into the past. Even that long ago, the painful memories were still very fresh. “I was a stubborn child. I refused to obey. Moira warned me to be more docile. But I hated him, and his son. Hated what they were doing to us.”
Sam got up and came to kneel in front of her. He stared into her eyes. “You did nothing wrong, Ivy. That bastard should have been hung up by the raffles. Why didn’t authorities step in?”
She actually laughed. But it sounded pitiful even to her own ears. “They didn’t know anything about it.”
He frowned. “How could they not? He left the evidence of his abuse all over your back.”
