“What you may not know is that if you had died that night, there would have been a part of me that died, too.”
She caught her breath at that admission, spoken in the same broken tone that he’d used when he asked her what she believed she should have done that horrible night. His eyes were wide, a bit wild, as if just the idea of losing her set him on a terrible path in his mind.
“The best thing you ever did, the best decision you ever made, was to keep yourself alive by any means possible,” he said. “You did what you needed to do. And now I am going to ask you something very difficult.”
“What?” she asked, caught up in how intense he was. How focused. How close.
“I am going to ask you to believe in me. Believe in the vow I’m about to make.”
She couldn’t find her breath, but someone managed to squeak out, “Vow?”
“I vow to you, Felicity, that I will not let anyone hurt you. I know you trust no one, I even understand why, but I am going to ask you to trustme. To know youcantrust me.”
Her lips parted. Trust him. With her life. With her future. With her everything. Because he currently held everything in his hands.
She gripped his forearm with the hand he didn’t hold and stared up into his eyes. “I-I’ll try.”
His lips turned up in a small smile. “I’ll take trying.”
He leaned in and his mouth brushed hers, gentle at first but then with more heat, more possessive power. She wrapped her arms around his neck and let all her thoughts and fears bleed away, pushed out by the pleasure being with him brought her. She forgot it all and just let him in.
Eventually, he drew away. “There’s nothing I’d love more than to continue this right here, right now, but the others are waiting.”
She jerked out a nod and when he offered his arm, she took it. But as he led her from the room, back to her family, she feared that what had just happened between them would be obvious on her face when they rejoined the others.
Because it felt like everything had changed in those stolen moments. And nothing could ever be the same.
Chapter Twelve
Asher sat in a tavern on a side of town he doubted Stenfax or Gray had ever been to. It wasn’t the worst part of town, but it wasn’t the type of place a man of rank or privilege ever frequented. It was the retreat of the honest working man. The chimney sweep, the lantern lighter, the servant.
He hadn’t been to this place in years. Not since he first arrived in London. Nowhedidn’t belong here, either. He was a different kind of worker now, one who wore a white collar with a cravat and a fine tailored jacket. Even if, in his heart, he still felt like the boy who’d been raised a servant.
The door to the place opened and a man stepped in. He was about the same age as Asher, with bright red hair and mischievous green eyes. Asher grinned as he stood up and waved. The man met his gaze and also smiled as he crossed the crowded floor, a hand outstretched.
“Asher Seyton!” he cried as they shook hands. “As I breathe, it’s good to see you!”
“And you, Hendrix. Sit, please. Let me get you an ale.”
They sat and Asher waved at the barmaid to bring them two drinks. As they waited, he looked at his companion. Hendrix had been a friend he made in his teens, when they both served houses. Asher had been moving through different jobs, trained by his father. That summer, the family had come to London and he’d served as a footman. So had Hendrix. While they waited around for their masters at balls and events, they talked. They’d become friends.
“So you’ve made good for yourself,” Hendrix said, looking Asher up and down.
Suddenly Asher’s clothes felt a bit too tight. Like he had wrapped another man’s skin over himself. In some ways, he supposed he had.
“I just changed the way I dealt with men of rank,” he said.
Hendrix’s eyes twinkled. “Don’t downplay it. I’m happy to see you rise above your beginnings. Gives me hope for my own sons someday.”
Asher tilted his head. “You have children?”
Hendrix flinched slightly. “No, not yet. My current master doesn’t allow for his servants to marry or have children. I have a lady I court, but I’m trapped. I’m hoping to get out of Fitzgilbert’s employ soon, though.”
Asher tensed. There it was, the real reason he’d asked to meet with his friend. Hendrix served in the house of Celia and Rosalinde’s grandfather. Since Fitzgilbert was the only one who was potentially paying out to their villain, Hendrix was the best lead Asher had to finding that man and ending all this.
“Gregory Fitzgilbert,” he said cautiously. Oh, he and Hendrix and a dozen other servants had talked about their employers in the past. But there was a difference in talking to one of their own and to an outsider. He wasn’t certain if Hendrix would think him the first or the second.
Hendrix eyed him carefully. “You want to know about him.”
