Matthew’s stomach heaved, and he was very much afraid he would vomit. Fresh, new embarrassment poured like salt over wounds that had festered for years.
He remembered the stale smell of woodsmoke, the odor of cooking meat, the stifling heat of the kitchen in summertime—a place his father had only ever ventured to oversee the results of the young maid’s folk “cures.” Matthew rarely saw his father except on those occasions as the man’s gray eyes nervously assessed him.
But those long-ago days were almost pleasant memories compared to recollections of his brothers’ tests. Their father hadn’t merely allowed his near drownings or the burning of his flesh, he’d encouraged it—as if it would somehow bring back his dead wife, a woman he’d always treated like a porcelain doll instead of a living, breathing human being. Or maybe it wasn’t her he wanted, but another son like his eldest two—hale, brash boys—not a quiet one who preferred sketching a flowering plant to fencing lessons.
Caught in the thrall of old memories and struggling to breathe through Hawley’s chokehold, Matthew acted on instinct. He gripped his brother’s hand, twisting it effortlessly away from his neck. Grappling with Hawley hadn’t been part of the plan, but Matthew couldn’t stop now. He subdued his brother quickly, twisting and yanking his arm behind his back. The position forced Hawley to stand on his tiptoes. Despite being several stones heavier than Matthew, the viscount could not free himself, no matter how hard he struggled. Sweat dripped from Hawley’s brow, and he gritted his teeth in pain.
“I am not a changeling,” Matthew said very calmly and then released his brother.
Hawley nearly crumpled but righted himself, glaring ferociously. For a moment, Matthew thought his brother would charge him. But Hawley didn’t—most likely because he didn’t wish to risk another humiliation. He just promised retribution with his eyes before he turned toward Charlotte.
“I should warn you not to attend Blackglen’s masquerade, especially if we are to be betrothed. However, I find myself ratherscintillated by the idea of dancing with my bride-to-be in such a sinful place. You are not exactly who I expected you to be, but that just makes me want to make you mine all the more.”
Flexing his bruised fingers, Hawley glanced briefly at Matthew, his mouth set in a sneer. “We shall meet again, Mat, and you will remember your place.”
Then he was gone.
“I’ll go after him and make sure he doesn’t say anything to Mother and Father,” Alexander said before he disappeared after the viscount.
Breathing heavily, Matthew leaned against a tree. His body threatened to shake like a green lad’s. One would think he’d never faced a hazard in his life before.
“Are you all right, Matthew?” Charlotte whispered gently.
Matthew lifted his head, his heart damn near bleeding from the effort. He didn’t want her to see him like this. He didn’t want anyone to. Alexander had, but that was years ago when they were mere boys, and his friend had been in terrible shape too.
He had no idea what to say to Charlotte. His brain, that marvelous center of thought, seemed to have utterly abandoned him.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Her heart a morass of pain, Charlotte gently tugged on Matthew’s hand. Like a sleepwalker, he let her lead him to her favorite bench—one tucked away from prying eyes. Wordlessly, he sank down, and she sat next to him. In the silence, she searched for how to offer comfort. One wrong word could hurt Matthew further, and he had already been immeasurably wounded. It had been clear from his haunted expression that he hadn’t wanted her to witness how his family had treated him like a scourge.
But she could not ignore the horrible, terrible scene either. The awful weight of it nearly crushed her, and she wondered how Matthew had borne it. Tears sprang to her eyes, but she did not let them fall. Matthew would notice. If he’d had the strength to endure years of abuse, she surely could manage to remain steady for him.
Finally, Matthew lifted his head. His countenance contained a raw vulnerability that nearly caused Charlotte to crumple.
He expected rejection. Horror roared through Charlotte as she suddenly understood how deeply and thoroughly his family had scarred him. Their relentless attacks had not just been aimed at his physical body but at his very soul.
She knew the pain of being molded into an image of perfection—of how much it hurt to be viewed as an ideal instead of a person. But Matthew’s father hadn’t even regarded his own son ashuman. He hadn’t just wanted to change him but exchange him with another, his “real” child.
Charlotte simply opened her palm and laid it on the weathered boards between them. Matthew turned to stare at her hand. Each passing second brought a burst of fresh pain to Charlotte’s heart. She was just about to return her fist to her lap when Matthew’s fingers closed around hers. They tightened almost painfully, as if he were afraid she would vanish if he didn’t hold on.
Charlotte ran her thumb over his knuckles in gentle, assuring sweeps. She hoped he understood that she would never abandon him. That she didn’t want to leave him.
“Changelings don’t exist,” Matthew spoke suddenly, and his choice of words didn’t just make her eyes smart but her heart as well.
“I know,” she said quietly.
“I am not one,” he added as if it needed to be said; and maybe for him, it did.
“You are not,” she agreed. “Even if you were, it wouldn’t alter my feelings for you.”
A bark of surprised laughter escaped Matthew but bitterness mixed with the mirth. “You wouldn’t be afraid of me whisking you off to a fairy hill and keeping you hostage?”
A realization that Charlotte’s heart already knew finally reached her mind. Matthew didn’t think her shallow. He had never thought her shallow. He viewed them as literally from different worlds.
Oh, she knew he did not actually believe himself to be a fae, but that didn’t mean that his family hadn’t convinced him that he didn’t belong. They had forced him over and over to endure tests meant to prove that he was not merely different but entirely alien. The examinations were meant to break the so-called fairy, and they’d fractured something inside Matthew, forcing him to regard himself as less. And that… that caused Charlotte’s very soul to bleed.
“I wouldn’t be a hostage, Matthew. I’d willingly go to whatever sphere you inhabited.”
