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"You better have some goddamn good proof," he hissed.
Elliot flinched. "I don't under-"
"Show it to me." Ian spat the words. "Show me your proof."
Selena gave Ian a look of such stark, agonizing fear that he felt as if she'd struck him. Then she fainted.
Ian and Elliot both lurched toward her. Ian got there first, wrapping his arms around Selena, drawing her close. "Don't you touch her," he snarled, shoving Elliot away.
He scooped her into his arms and carried her to the parlor, laying her out on the overstuffed settee, loosening her gown so she could breathe. He saw the white outline of the corset. In another time he would have laughed at her, would have teased her for breaking her commonsense rule and wearing a straitjacket.
But there was no laughter inside him now. He kneeled beside Selena, stroked her face with a hand that couldn't stop shaking. He wanted a drink. Sweet Jesus, he wanted a drink. "It's okay, goddess, just rest a minute. I'll take care of this."
"Dr. Carrick__" Elliot said in a quiet, respectful
voice.
Ian jerked to his feet and spun around.
Elliot stood in the middle of the room. The residents clustered behind him like children, gawking, touching, pointing. Lara was crying softly, rocking the little bird in her cupped hands. Andrew looked stricken. Even Johann was pale. It fueled Ian's anger that they believed the old man, that they were afraid.
"Get out," he hissed to the crowd.
He didn't have to say it again. Andrew and Edith and the queen disappeared like smoke. One minute they were there; the next, they were gone. Johann was the only one who stayed. He leaned against the wall, his arms crossed. His pose was languid and relaxed; only the sharp narrowing of his eyes revealed his anxiety.
279
"Go." Ian had meant to say away, go away, but nothing else made it past his lips, just a growling fragment of a word.
"But-"
Johann gave Ian a last, meaningful look, then walked out of the room, closing the door quietly behind him. Ian turned to Elliot, and felt the anger again, rushing, cresting, burning. Jesus, he wanted to punch him, wanted to smash his scarred face into the floor. "You are not her husband, old man. Now, you've got ten seconds to get the hell out of my house."
On the settee, Selena stirred, released a quiet moan.
She sat up slowly. She saw Ian and smiled brightly, then she noticed Elliot and her smile faded.
Elliot dug through his pockets, finally pulling out a small, framed tintype. "Here." He shoved out his fleshy hand. "This is our wedding picture."
Selena threw Ian a sharp look, then walked toward Elliot. Ian came up beside her. He longed to touch her, slip his hand through hers and squeeze, but he couldn't. He was afraid he'd crush her fingers in his angry, punishing grip.
Selena touched the picture first, caressed the tiny, ornate frame and took the tintype in her hand.
A wedding picture; there was no
mistaking it. Selena and Elliot.
Selena gasped quietly.
Ian's anger shriveled, and dank, sweaty fear rushed in to take its place. He wanted to be angry again- howlingly, irrationally angry-but he couldn't find that kind of heat. He was cold suddenly, so cold.
"I look so young," she whispered.
'Twelve," Elliot answered.
Ian's head snapped up. "You married her at twelve?"
Elliot nodded. It looked for a moment as if he were going to speak again, perhaps to explain, but he didn't.
