“You will not be arrested again, Johanna,” he vowed. “Not if I have anything to say about it.”
“Any more than you had a say about it the first time?” she asked.
“I do not blame you for not trusting me,” he said, “but I am determined to make this right however I can. You do not deserve to be imprisoned for your brother’s sins. Do you not see, Johanna? That is why you must marry me.”
A tear trailed down her cheek. “I will not marry you, Your Grace. Not even to save myself. Go now. I am tired, and I do not want to look upon you for a moment more. It hurts too much.”
He could have said the same. He hated himself for the suffering she had endured. For every hurt he had caused her.
“Think of me what you will,” he said then, his voice low with sentiment. “But know that there is one thing I have never lied to you about, and that is loving you.”
“Just go,” she whispered, looking away from him. “Leave me, Winchelsea.”
Swallowing against a knot of his own tears, he rose, offering her a bow. “The Duke and Duchess of Arden will keep you safe here, for as long as you need. I suggest you remain, for your own good.”
Knowing her, she would attempt to flee the moment he left the chamber.
“What I do or do not do is no longer your concern, Your Grace,” she said, her voice cold with finality. “You lost that right.”
He had lost so much more than that.
As he left the chamber and the woman he loved behind, he knew he had to find a way to keep her safe. No matter the cost.
Chapter Sixteen
Felix faced thechief investigator of the Scotland Yard Criminal Investigation Department. Like Johanna, Commissioner Vincent Ravenhurst had been injured in the Scotland Yard office bombing. Unlike her, however, he had not suffered a blow to the head.
Felix could not help but to think it rather a pity as he faced his nemesis now.
“What are you doing here, Winchelsea?” Ravenhurst asked.
He wore his left arm in a sling, and aside from some abrasions on his face, he looked hale and hearty as ever.
“I am here to aid in the investigation,” he said calmly, knowing that what he was about to do would require every bit of sangfroid he possessed.
“The investigation into your slattern?” the Commissioner asked with a smirk.
It took all his control to keep from rising and planting his fist in the man’s teeth.
“I do not have a slattern, Commissioner,” he corrected. “The investigation I speak of is the one concerning lignin dynamite along with papers belonging to Drummond McKenna, the American Fenian who so recently orchestrated the bombings at the Praed Street and Charing Cross stations.”
“Ah, yes,” Ravenhurst said. “Mr. Drummond McKenna, who happens to also be the brother of your slattern.”
“There is no need to debase Miss McKenna,” he gritted, allowing the Commissioner to get beneath his skin in spite of his best efforts not to. “She has no bearing upon this conversation, aside from the fact that she was wrongfully detained by your forces.”
“I am not debasing her, Winchelsea, merely speaking plainly to you.” Ravenhurst’s eyes were hard, gleaming. He was a man intent upon his prey.
And his prey was Johanna.
But Felix was not going to allow that to happen.
Not on his watch.
Not ever.
“You have bedded her, have you not?” Ravenhurst asked. “I cannot blame you. She is a prime piece. I thought about having a go at her myself when I arrest her next. What do you think?”
He thought he was going to kill the Commissioner of the CID. That is what he thought. He clenched his jaw so hard, pain spiked through his skull.
