Alexander shrugged his shoulders. “In the end, I was let go. I was too pathetic to be worth the trouble and I was told that starving a boy wouldn’t make the debt disappear. He put me in a cart, drove half a mile, and left me in the middle of the road.”
Alexander turned then, and for the first time, she saw the pain he had. It was carved deep into the lines of his face, no longer fresh but deeply embedded inside him.
“I walked home,” he said. “When I arrived, my father was hosting a dinner party. He looked at me once and told the butler to send me upstairs. He didn’t ask what happened. I suppose he did not want to spoil his mood by finding out.”
Penelope brought a hand to her mouth. She couldn’t hold back anymore. Her arms reached for him, and wrapped around his torso. She pressed her cheek to his chest.
It took him a moment. But then his arms came around her, too.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, and her voice cracked. “Alexander. I had no idea. No one should ever have gone through that. Least of all a child.”
He didn’t answer, but the way he held her was answer enough.
“I kept the club,” he said after a long moment, “because I needed to prove to myself that I wouldn’t become him. That I could hold that world in my hands and not fall into it.”
She pulled back just enough to see his face. “And you haven’t?”
“Never gambled a day in my life,” he said. “And I never will.”
“You’re a strong man,” she whispered, and the words came out as if spoken from her very core. “Stronger than anyone I’ve ever known. I mean that. You carry all of these horrible things with you, but you do not let it show.”
His gaze met hers, softened now in a way she hadn’t seen before.
“I admire you,” she added. “Not because you endured it, but because you refused to let it turn you into something cruel. Youbuilt something out of it. I am sorry for implying that you were anything like him.”
“You did not know,” he offered weakly. “But now that you do, know that me wanting to keep my family safe is not the same as my father. We might share a liking for control, but that is where the comparison ends.”
“There is no comparison to begin with,” Penelope went on. “I should be more understanding of you. I thought I had it hard with my own father at home, but yours makes him sound like a saint.”
“Do you think George would appreciate that argument?” T he corners of his mouth turned upwards, and Penelope could not believe how he managed to find humor even in a moment like this.
“I suppose,” she said and embraced him again. “I am here for you, Alexander. No one will ever be so cruel to you again.”
“Strange,” he muttered against her hair. “I have never had someone say they will protect me before.”
“Then I will say it,” Penelope said. “I will never let anyone hurt you again.”
“You know, I have more enemies than I have friends due to my work,” he admitted. “Are you sure you are up for it?”
“I did not stutter,” Penelope said with confidence.
In reality, Penelope did not know if that was even possible for her to do. But to the best of her abilities, she would protect Alexander however she could.
Emotionally, for one. He had a lot of healing to do, and now that he was finally opening up to her, she was going to help him along every step of the way.
When Penelope finally left, Alexander could not sleep again. He hadn’t meant to say so much to her. But it had been difficult to stop once he had started.
He exhaled, dragging a hand through his hair, annoyed at the persistent ache behind his eyes.
What had come over him?
He had always been careful. Emotions were to be managed, not indulged. But Penelope had so easily broken through his barriers.
And now she knew things. Things he hadn’t even spoken aloud in years.
“What am I to make of you?” he wondered out loud to himself.
Could it be—God help him—that he was beginning to feel something?
