“You did, didn’t you?” She gave him a surprised look before turning back to stare ahead. “Yes. Anyway, it’s only fair that you know that, er… I’ve told my family that we are… that we are in love.”
He paused to consider her words. “If you really think it’s necessary.”
“I do. It is.” Melanie nodded. “After reading the article in the paper, my brother, Reed—he was ready to insist I leave London. In order to prevent that, I had to find a way to convince him that this is what I really want.”
Malum turned onto Oxford Street. “So Standish was willing to send you away, at his own peril, and be the martyr, then.”
“Yes. He said…” When she trailed off, Malum glanced over. She was frowning. “He said I’ve suffered enough for this family.”
Feeling a twinge of respect, but also annoyance with her brother, Malum flicked the reins casually.
If this engagement had been a real one…
As the wife of a brothel owner, she would have endured her share of humiliation. No matter the extent of his power, Malum wasn’t deluded to imagine he could silence what was said behind closed doors. Gossip was a force unto itself—unpredictable, insidious. The most anyone could do was manage the fallout it left in its wake.
She’d been right to turn him down.
“Standish isn’t wrong, you know,” Malum said.
“I’ll be fine.” She shook her head. “But Reed stands to suffer far more. I can’t… He can’t…”
Malum swallowed hard. She’d endured the deaths of multiple beloved family members, followed by the threats to her brother. Of course, that pain lingered with her still.
She was so damn brave.
And yet… “Helton says you were the only person present when the fire began,” he said.
“Yes.”
“But you haven’t been able to give an account of what happened.”
“… No.” Her answer was quiet, the wavering in her voice apparent in that single syllable. Malum looked at her then, and he immediately registered the strained lines around her eyes, the stiff tension in her lips, her neck.
He could almost see it spreading, and in its wake… her speech was retreating again.
It was as he suspected, then. Her difficulties with speech—and their seeming disappearance in his presence—likely had little to do with himself as a person and more to do with the typical subjects of their conversations. The lack of reminders, the distraction from the tragedy that had upended her world.
Melanie had never stepped forward to prove her brother’s innocence, even in those initial days after his ascension to the title, when the consequences fornotproving his innocence were verging on dire.
She would have been an invaluable witness—had she not been so devastated—wounded in a way that affected her speech and most likely her memory.
Out of necessity, no doubt, in the days and weeks following the fire, her family would have pressured her to tell her account of that night—to exonerate her brother once and for all.
And Malum remembered… by the time Standish had come to theDomuslooking for help, the possibility of the earl’s younger sister coming forward hadn’t been a viable option at all.
While quietly organizing his thoughts, Malum steered his horses around a broken farmer’s cart.
If, however, she could convey what she saw that night, Standish could be closer to putting those accusations to rest—accusations involving opium, murder, and very powerful men…
Malum’s instincts stirred. Was it possible that whatever it was that she saw might be more important than Standish’s innocence?
But as they approached Park Lane, he shelved the possibility.
This wasn’t the time or place for that conversation. Revisiting the fire would leave her vulnerable, and their current plan hinged on their ability to appear calm—and convincingly in love.
That aside, she’d kept herself to that window for a reason. Thetonwas unforgiving, often cruel, and Melanie was at her most defenseless when words failed her.
Malum found himself caught between wanting to press her to speak about the one thing that might save her family—and a surprisingly powerful urge to protect her from it entirely.
