“Something tells me you have more than most, Johanna,” he said.
And then he touched her. One idle stroke of his forefinger down her jaw.
She felt that touch in her core. She had to bite her lip to keep from crying out, from asking for more.
“Why are you so concerned about the secrets I bear, Felix?” She mimicked him in the retreat from formality, using his given name once again.
“Do you know what caused the fire at my home last night?” he asked instead of answering her question.
His shift in subject took her by surprise. “No, I cannot imagine. What was it?”
“A bomb,” he said succinctly. “Two bombs, to be precise. One of them did not detonate, thank God, or the fire and damage would have been far worse.”
A bomb.
Good, sweet God.
All the heat that had been burning inside her was doused by that one word. Indeed, she felt as if all the warmth had been stolen from her entire being. Icy tendrils of dread wrapped themselves around her heart.
Surely it could not be… But as she told herself those words, she knew them to be a lie. Her brother was capable of anything, including ordering someone to lay bombs outside a residence. Perhaps he had done so in an effort to frighten her. To show her he was watching and his power extended across the sea.
She knew what she had to do.
Even if it meant her career as an actress would come careening to a halt, she had to seek out the police now. To give them all the evidence she had against her brother. She could not afford to wait lest anyone else get hurt. If something had happened to Verity, she would have never been able to forgive herself.
She took a deep breath before making her revelation complete. “My name is not Johanna Beaumont. It is Johanna McKenna.”
Chapter Eight
McKenna.
JohannaMcKenna.
Not Rose Beaumont. Not even Johanna Beaumont. ButJohanna McKenna.
The French accent was gone, and in its place was only the faint trace of a lilting Irish brogue. She stood before him, stripped of every artifice. Herself for the first time since he had first met her.
Felix stared down at the woman who had been driving him mad from the moment he had first seen her, his mind staggering about like a drunkard as he attempted to make sense of what she had just told him.
Good Christ.Surely she was not that bastard’swife?
“Please.” She reached out to him, gripping his forearm, her pallor stark as her expression. “I need your help, Felix. It is a matter of life and death. For me, for others. Will you help me?”
Life and death.
She wantedhishelp?
How rich. He ought to haul her to the nearest prison for being married to such a swine. For pretending to be someone she was not. Anger replaced the confusion, roaring through him like an inferno.
“I cannot promise you anything, madam,” he bit out. “What could you possibly need from me?”
Her grip on him went tighter. “I need your help finding the proper authorities to speak to about my brother. He is a dangerous man. I have great reason to fear him, to fear that he will harm either myself or others… Indeed, I believe he may have been responsible for the bombs laid at your residence last night.”
One word sank into him. Brother.
Brother.
Drummond McKenna was her brother? Could it be true? His mind grappled with this new revelation. Did he dare trust her? Dare believe she was telling him the truth? He did not know. Everything inside him was a swirling sea of confusion and turmoil, of emotions. Rage, despair, relief, agony.
