“My own making?” She leaned forward, anger overcoming caution. “My brother’s debts are not of my making. His disappearance is not of my making. Being left alone with a child to protect and no money to do it with is not of my making!”
Aaron straightened, the raw emotion in her words and his guilt over accusing her unsettling him. He let out a long, quiet breath.
“Where are your parents?” he asked.
The abrupt question deflated some of her anger. “Dead. Mother seven years ago, Father three years past.”
“And your brother abandoned you to deal with his debts alone.”
Louise bristled. “George isn’t cruel. He’s just …”
“Irresponsible? Cowardly? Selfish?” he completed for her.
“Lost.” The word came out quieter than intended. “He’s been lost since our father died and left him with a title he never learned how to bear.”
Aaron shifted closer still, his presence filling the small space. “You defend him even now? After he left you to face men like Bragg alone?”
“He’s still my brother.”
“He’s a coward who deserves whatever trouble he’s found.”
Louise’s hand moved like a snake striking a mouse, aimed for his cheek. Aaron caught her wrist easily, his fingers warm against her racing pulse.
“Temper, temper.” His voice dropped lower, rougher. “Although I admit you’re rather magnificent when angry.”
“Let go of me.”
“No.” He tugged gently, throwing her off balance, so she had to brace her free hand against his chest or fall into his lap. “Not until you admit the truth.”
“What truth?” Her voice cracked on the last word. “That I’ve failed? That my six-year-old sister will pay for my failure? Is that the truth you want to hear?”
Aaron felt the press of her palm through his waistcoat, noted the tremor that ran through her at the contact.
“That you’re relieved I intervened. That beneath all this righteous indignation, you’re grateful you don’t have to go through with Bragg’s scheme.”
Louise tried to pull back, but his grip remained firm. “Grateful? You think I’m grateful?” Her laugh held an edge of hysteria. “Bragg said he’d take Emily to a workhouse. Or worse. He made sure I understood exactly what ‘worse’ meant. So no, Your Grace, I’m not grateful. I’m terrified.”
“Men like Bragg always want more. One night would never have been enough. He would have asked more of you.”
“At least it would have bought me time. A day, a week, something.” Her free hand fisted in his waistcoat. “Now I have nothing. No time, no options, no way to protect her.”
Something in her voice shifted then, the sharp edge of fury giving way to something far more dangerous.
Desperation.
It coiled in his chest, tight and unwelcome. He had seen fear before, had heard women beg, bargain, lie.
This was different. This was a woman cornered with no shield left but her own body and the love she had for her sister, who depended on her.
The realization unsettled him. He had misjudged her, and the weight of that sat heavily between them in the cramped carriage. The space seemed to shrink, the air thick with the scent of damp wool and her quickened breath. He was suddenly, acutely aware of how close they were.
When he spoke again, his voice had lost its edge. “You’re not as alone as you think.”
Her laugh came sharp and disbelieving, but it faltered almost immediately. Louise tried to pull back, but his grip remained firm. “You’re insufferably arrogant.”
“And you’re a terrible liar.” His thumb traced the inside of her wrist, finding the point where her pulse hammered against thin skin. “Your body tells the truth even when your mouth won’t.”
“My body tells nothing.”
