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He waved a breezy hand through the air. “She was a means to an end.”
“A means to what end?” Cecelia asked.
He shrugged, pacing again. “I needed funds for m
y estate. His Grace is good with investments. But she ruined me.”
“And she made you angry when she ruined you. So, you shoved her from the turrets. She fell to her death.”
“I would never have pushed her.” He laughed, but it was a sound with no mirth. “I thought about it many times. But her daughter was with us that day. She walked in looking for her mother. Her mother didn’t want her to see me. So, she tried to rush her from the room. But I think the girl could smell her mother’s desperation.” He laid a hand on his chest. “I would never have shoved her from the tower with the little girl there. I’m not a monster.” He looked shocked.
“I didn’t know Lady Anne was there,” Cecelia said.
“What are my other sins?” He motioned for her to continue.
“You tried to shoot Claire and Lord Phineas.”
“Yes, I did do that,” he admitted. “But I hadn’t slept for days. Do you think they would accept my apology?”
Cecelia bit back a snort. It was difficult, but she did. “We could try. Shall I go and get them?”
He motioned with his gun, jabbing it toward her. She flinched every time he moved it. “No, no. That’s no good. I need your help. Tell me what to say to them. Tell me what will fix it.”
Cecelia certainly doubted that anything could fix this man. Particularly not while he was alone with her with a gun. Marcus would find her soon. She was sure of it. He would come. He always did.
“I’m not a bad person,” the earl said, clasping the sides of his head between the gun and his flattened palm. “She always said I was a bad person. But I’m not.”
“Who said you were a bad person?” Cecelia asked. She sat down on the low stone wall that surrounded the turrets.
“She did.” Mayden sat down on the other side of the stone room and began to rock slowly back and forth, back and forth.
“Who is ‘she’?” Cecelia asked, keeping her voice low and soft, although all she wanted to do was scream and run.
“Her. My mother. The late countess.” His rocking became faster and faster. He clutched himself with his arms.
“What did she say to you?”
“I can’t repeat it. It’s too vile.”
Cecelia could help him. She knew she could. “Will you let me help you?” she asked. She leaned toward him. He was leaving her in his mind, she could tell.
“I need for someone to help me,” he said. A tear rolled slowly down his cheek.
Cecelia’s heart broke for him. “I’m going to reach into my reticule and then I’m going to show something to you,” she said slowly. “Will that be all right?”
He looked at her, focusing only slightly, and he nodded.
“I have magic dust, and I’m going to blow it into the air. I want to see the truth. Will you be all right with the truth?”
“The truth about me?” He pressed a hand against his chest. “You can see the truth about me? That’s all I’ve ever wanted anyone to see. I want someone to see the truth.”
Cecelia poured some magic dust into her hand and said the words, “See every lie, see every sin, but before we do, let’s go back to where it begins.” She blew the dust from her hand, and it began to swirl in the air.
A small tornado of magic dust formed in the middle of the space, and the wind spun, waving cobwebs and dirt into her face. But then the dust began to take shape. Rather than the pictures she’d expected to see of scenes from his head or memories, she saw his thoughts. They came out in single words. The word “fear” formed in the cloud, and then it grew teeth like a tiger and chomped its way across the turret.
He’d known fear. Mayden moved his feet from the path of the chomping word. He began to tremble. But he didn’t look away.
The word dissolved, and another took shape. “Hopeless” formed in the dust, and it wafted about like a kite caught in a storm. It had no direction, and it had no place to land. It just floundered about, with nothing to anchor it. “Rage” formed next, and it beat itself about in the dirt, bouncing off the walls and against the floor.
