“Do you want to sit?” Honora made her way to a bench before he answered, and while he never did give an indication either way, he also did not protest as she sat down, pulling him along with her.
He turned, and she gasped when she saw him in the brighter light provided by the lamps. She lifted a hand to his cheek. “I’m so sorry.” Her thumb grazed the skin, as if that would wipe it all away.
“Let us not worry at the moment. We only need to get home.” He pulled her hand down, but he didn’t let it go, keeping them clasped on the bench and tucked between them.
He looked up toward the Thames and saw two young men stumbling along their way, likely to their own apartments after a night of drinking. Then Leonard spied their saving grace making its way down the street.
“Ah. So there will be a way home,” he said on a sigh as the hackney ambled closer to the post.
They stood, and Honora slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow as they walked over to it.
Chapter Nineteen
She awoke in the middle of the night, guilt clawing at her—scratching at her insides and swirling in her mind—making sleep an impossible task. So she had spent the remainder of the night staring at her ceiling, stomach hardened and nauseated. Finally, when the sun was high enough that dust particles danced in the light in her room, Marianne entered.
Her maid tiptoed across the floor as if to not awaken her, but Honora rolled her head toward her. “What is it, Marianne?”
The young girl squeaked, clutching a small square of paper to her chest. “Goodness, you startled me.”
“I apologize.” Pushing up in bed, Honora sat back against the pillows. “Now, what do you have in your hand?”
Marianne chewed her lip. “Another note.”
Honora closed her eyes, taking a soothing breath through her nose. The third one. Was he really so impatient? Or did he just enjoy watching her scramble under his demands? It was a sick game of cat and mouse, and this time, Honora was the mouse.
She opened her eyes and held a hand out. “Thank you, Marianne. You can send up some tea when you leave.”
Her maid bobbed a curtsy, her eyes trailing over Honora’s face before she turned and left the room.
Honora didn’t waste time opening the letter. The handwriting was dark. The quill used clearly pressed firmly into the page. Even the letters seemed angry, marching across the page with a harsh slant to them.
The gist of the letter was short. He wanted to meet Honora at ten this morning, while his wife would be visiting a friend. Another friend. A friend who was not Honora. And, Honora feared, Mrs. Hind might never be her friend again. The injustice caused fury to light up her spine, but she was at his will. And she was very much afraid that no matter where life took her, she would always be at someone’s will—never free of her past.
Under a fitting gray sky, Honora made her way up the front steps of Mr. Hind’s home. She squared her shoulders, trying to appear confident. Men like him seemed to love having people cower beneath them, so she would not give him the satisfaction.
A doorman greeted her, then ushered her upstairs and down a hall to where Hind’s study resided. It was walled in a dark wood paneling, the floor covered in a deep red carpet, and an enormous desk sat in the center. It was strange that he never seemed to use the desk for anything other than intimidating people. All it contained was a small stack of books on one corner and a lamp on the other.
Instead of letting him get the first word, she didn’t waste any time. “A rather large desk to be used for merely reading novels.” Her lips curved into a smile.
Hind sat behind the desk, his hands folded neatly on top of it. His clothing was perfectly fitted, his hair slicked to the side and not a single one out of place, and his steely blue eyes glancedover her—assessing, ever vigilant. “I do my business here, Miss Gillingham.”
“Mrs.,” she corrected.
A sly smile slithered across his lips. “We both know that to be a lie.” His smile widened and he brought one arm up, propping his elbow on the desk. “Speaking of which. Have you found the necklace?”
Her teeth clenched. “No. Pratt double-crossed me.”
“That is the way of thieves, is it not? You should know.” He reached below his desk, then rummaged through a drawer and emerged with a small can. He removed a bit of snuff, tucked it into the hollow on his thumb, and quickly inhaled it. The act took no more than three seconds.
“I have told you I will pay you for the necklace.” Honora forced a lackadaisical air, then sauntered to a chair and relaxed into it, keeping her shoulders loose. People preyed upon fear or weakness, and she would not let her own show.
With a laugh, Hind shook his head. “You know I do not care about the money.”
“No. You only care about having control. Pray tell, does that have to do with a low sense of self-worth? Bringing others down so you can feel strong since you apparently have no true admirable qualities of your own?”
His fingers curled into a fist, one after the other, like a fan folding into itself. “I wouldn’t be so confident if I were you, Miss Gillingham. You know I have the winning hand in this game.”
Drat it all. He did. And she hated him for it.
