“Had your cousin expressed his intent?” he asked.
“He said that before I left the house again no other man would ever want me,” she said. “I believe I was screaming and fighting. I saw him nod to Hobson.”
“His valet?”
“Yes. And then he came up behind me.” She caught sight of her hands, which were twisting in her lap. She stilled them.
“Brocklehurst’s mother and sister had left for London?” he asked. “Why did they leave you without a chaperone?”
“They do not care for me,” she said.
“You were going to the rectory,” he said, “to stay with Miss Booth. Why did you leave it until the evening?”
“You are well-informed,” she said. “You appear to know everything.”
“Houghton is a good man,” he said. “But it is the whys that still puzzle me.”
“Matthew was expecting guests,” she said. “They would have played cards and got drunk. I could have slipped away unnoticed. But they did not come. It was the day his mother and sister left. I suppose he planned a night alone with me.”
“But you tried to leave anyway?” he said.
“Yes,” she said. “He caught me. I think he knew and was waiting for me.”
“You did not steal the jewels?” he asked.
“No,” she said. “I knew nothing of them until he mentioned them to me here.”
“And so you fled,” he said, “with only the clothes you were wearing. No money?”
“A little in my cloak pocket,” she said. “Very little.”
“Why did you not go to the Reverend Daniel Booth?” he asked.
She looked at him and bit her lip. “Daniel?” she said. “They would have come for me there immediately. Besides, he would not have harbored a killer.”
“Not even if he loved her?” he said.
She swallowed.
“How long did it take you to get to London?” he asked.
“About a week, I think,” she said. “Perhaps longer.”
He got to his feet and stood looking out through the window for several minutes, his back to her.
“I would guess that Brocklehurst is prepared to make a trade,” he said. “Your body in exchange for your life. Am I right?”
“Yes,” she said.
“What is your decision?” he asked. “Have you decided?”
“It is easy to be heroic in one’s imagination,” she said. “I am not so sure I will be a hero when it comes to the point. I told him two days ago that I would not marry him or be his mistress or have anything more to do with him, and yet when he gave me a few more days to make a final decision, I did not have the courage to repeat what I had just said.”
“And yet,” he said, turning to look at her over his shoulder, “you are capable of great courage, Fleur. I have seen proof of it, if you will remember—in a certain inn room in London.”
She felt herself flush.
“You might have asked for my help, you know,” he said. “Iwould have given it. And even if I had said no, I could hardly have done worse to you than what I did. But you had the pride and courage—and foolishness—to sell what was yours rather than beg.”
