“I give them magic.” He stabbed his fingers into his chest. “Everything they touch is steeped in it. It’s all Icangive them.” He fell back a few steps, his voice losing its heat. “Magic does nothing.Isnothing.” He flicked a hand toward the chill fireplace, and flames leapt to life. They cast off no heat. A glamour only. “Worthless.”
The glamour wavered, and the flames died. And he was vulnerable—spine curved, face carved into drooping lines.
“Victor, do not sell the hospital. Let me run it. I can?—”
“There’s no damn money! You know that. Father was shit with it. A bad investment. And… there was not much to begin with.”
“Do not make me marry someone I do not know.”
“If you’re looking to help, Jane, it’s the only way. We may have old roots, but these metal men, they have new money. Lots of it. We need it.”
She backed away from him. “I can’t. I love?—”
“These children? You love them, right?” Of course she did. He knew that, and it was why the corner of his mouth hitched into a grim smile. “Perhaps your new husband will keep the hospital open. Ask him.”
He flung open the door and slammed it shut behind him, leaving her alone. She heard him, voice muffled by the door, in the hallway, ordering a Kringle to stand watch.
She was a prisoner.
“Release me!” She opened the door, but it only budged a few inches. The big body in front of the door worked better than a key and a lock. Though he’d likely hunt down Jameson and have that shortly.
“Could you not hit me, Miss Dean?” the giant in the hallway mumbled. “I’m just doin’ what I’m paid to do. Don’t mean you no harm.”
She leaned her back against the door and slid to the floor. “You truly think Sir Nicholas would harm me?”
Silence. A long silence. Then a grunt. He wouldn’t agree with her. But he hadn’t disagreed either, and for some reason, that lifted her spirits. Just a bit. Not that it did much good. They were all the way at the very bottom of the ocean. No retrieving them now.
She screamed. And it felt damned good, so she did it again, letting it rip up her throat and wake the entire western coast of England. Then she added a curse, let a bevy of them fly throughthe room until she knew no more, until her throat was raw. She no longer cared who knew she was the type of woman who spewed profanity when the situation called for it.
And this situation called for it.
When she lapsed into silence, she heard the floorboards in the hallway squeak. “You all right in there, Miss Dean?” the Kringle asked.
“No.”
“Ah. Do ya need anything?”
She laughed. “How about a sleeping potion to knock out my brother, stuff him in a coach, and send him on his way. Oh! Or better yet, a potion that makes a man forget.” Because he knew who Nico was now. He might try to have him arrested for last year’s breaking and entering. There was no evidence to convict him, but dukes didn’t need any.
“I apologize, Miss Dean. I can’t help you with any of that.”
“I know. You don’t have the power, and neither do I.” She frowned. That felt… wrong. She was trapped, of course, a prisoner in her own bedchamber. And she did not possess the power of glamours or the ability to shape metal. But she’d won a husband, hadn’t she? She’d protected the children. She’d found many of them homes.
She considered the window. Only one floor up. There were sturdy vines climbing nearby… She pushed to her feet and stuck her head out. Her brother’s coach had been taken into the stables. The courtyard was empty. She’d have to run. She might even have to steal a horse.
Very well. So be it. She threw the window open and hitched up her skirts.
There were a lot of things she could not do, a myriad of ways she had no control. But at least she knew not to go through a window arse first.
9
A TERRIBLY GOOD WAY TO GO
December 24, almost midnight
Nico hid in the night-dark forest outside the hospital, half dressed for the evening’s activities. His greatcoat wine red. Red, too, the cravat and nightcap he’d stuffed in his pocket. He’d been collecting the garments all year, wanting to make himself a little bit merrier than he’d been last year in all black. Though—and the objection sounded like Jane in his head—black was certainly more practical.
He’d visited Bowen Hall for only as long as it took to grab what he needed, and he’d spent the rest of the day in an out-of-the-way run-down pub by the docks, plotting. The duke’s presence complicated matters but changed little. Nico still planned on stealing into the hospital to leave his gifts. Now more than ever the children would need them. And the damned duke certainly wouldn’t allow them to have any drop of joy. Likely because he hadn’t any joy himself, the humorless arse.
