The carriage rocked on, taking them back to London, or at least as near to London as they could reasonably reach in one day. How she wished Lucien would say something. His silence was worse than his vitriol.
“You went with him willingly?” he repeated at last.
“Yes,” she said quietly, shame nearly robbing her voice. She had deceived and betrayed her brother, and all for a love that was one-sided. A love that had been built upon manipulations. How stupid she had been. How easily she had allowed Strathmore to lead her by the heart strings.
All it had required was some kisses and caresses. Some well-placed words. The illusion he trusted her, that he cared for her, that she meant something to him.
A muscle ticked in Lucien’s clenched jaw. “You mean to tell me, the elaborate scene in which he took you hostage and held a makeshift blade to your throat, was all a ruse?”
She nodded miserably.
“Damn it to hell, Violet!” he exploded suddenly, slamming his fist into his knee with violent force. “What were you thinking? Have you any idea how worried I was for you? To say nothing of poor Aunt Hortense. She was in tears the evening I returned to find you gone. I was terrified Strathmore would harm you. That he would ravish you, or worse!”
Selfishly, she had not given much thought to the chaos she would leave behind. She had been far too concerned with saving Griffin from prison and finding him the time he would need to clear his name.
She winced, closing her eyes against the sight of her brother’s anguish and anger. “I am sorry.”
“Sorry does not ameliorate the damage you have done or the pain you have caused. Open your eyes and look at me, Violet.”
Violet shook her head. She did not think she could bear it, or the shame and misery swirling around her would close over her head and drown her, swallowing her whole. “No.”
“Yes, damn your hide,” he insisted, his tone commanding. “You will look at me and explain to me why you did what you did.”
She forced her eyes open, knowing he would persist, that his stubborn streak would always win out over hers. What she saw in the depths of his green eyes, eyes so like her own, made her heart ache.
“I believed in his innocence, Lucien,” she defended herself. “I…I still do, even after all that has come to pass. He is far from perfect, and he has wounded my heart and my pride both, but he is not guilty. Strathmore is not responsible for selling League secrets to the Fenians. Someone else is, and you must find the real criminal to protect yourself.”
“He is guilty as sin,” Lucien argued grimly. “A treasure trove of correspondence was extracted from his personal documents. I have proof a thousand times over of his guilt.”
“Someone broke into his home,” she countered. “Before it was searched. The correspondence was planted in his study at that time.”
“He knew he was under suspicion, and he was desperate. He staged everything at his townhome to shift the blame from himself, but we were wise to his actions. You know nothing of what happened, or the evidence that was unveiled, Violet.” Her brother’s tone was curt and dismissive. “I knew it was a mistake allowing him into Lark House, goddamn it. Home Office was insistent he needed to be watched, rather than arrested.
“From the moment I learned he was sniffing about your skirts, I had a terrible feeling of dread. When you came to me about not wanting to wed Almsley, you were already planning on running off with Strathmore, weren’t you? What did he do, sneak into your chamber and woo you with some kisses and pretty words? Is that all it took for you to betray me, Violet?”
She flinched at the ease with which he had unraveled her, with how close he had gotten to the truth. But she could not bear to acknowledge it. So instead, she fixated upon the catalyst for her running away with Strathmore and ruining her life.
“I believe in his innocence, Lucien. I am sorry I worried you and upset Aunt Hortense. I deeply regret causing you any pain. But you would not listen to reason, and time was running low.”
“And I suppose you imagined if you married the blighter, I would not be as inclined to see him tossed into Newgate, where he so richly belongs, to await his trial. Is that it? You thought you could save him?”
Yes.
She said nothing, trying frantically to assemble her thoughts. She had thought the idea had been hers, but she thought back to Griffin’s words earlier.
She has no inkling I had reached the determination on my own, that the only way I would be able to stave off Arden and escape from Lark House, was with her as my pawn.
She had been his fool, hadn’t she? Had she been wrong about his innocence as well? For the first time, she found herself doubting him. Questioning their every interaction, each word, touch, and deed.
“When did you marry him?” Lucien asked into the silence that had descended between them.
“Yesterday,” she whispered, biting her lip against a sudden rush of tears. She would not cry. She would not cry. She wouldnotcry. Yesterday felt as if it had been a lifetime ago. She could not have fathomed the changes awaiting her.
The disappointment.
The heartache.
The despair.
