Fiona kept pace with the guards. After three flights of stairs and more twists and turns than she could count, they led her into a small, windowless room.
There he was, sitting at a table, his head in his hands. He looked up as she entered. Worry lines were etched into his face. His eyes were grief filled. His hair was disheveled, and he still wore the clothes he’d worn at the ball, although his cravat was loose and there were small specks of blood on his shirt.
She was too tired and too scared to care what had happened in the hours previous. All that mattered was that he was there.
He was up and with her in seconds, gathering her into his arms. She buried her face into his chest, breathing in the scent of him, and then the tears started falling. She pressed her cheek against him and sobbed.
His arms tightened around her, and she felt the warmth of his breath as he kissed her hair. She cried harder. She wanted to wrap her arms around his neck and sink into him, but the shackles prevented it, so she clutched at the lapels of his coat.
“Shhhh, love. It will be all right. Shhhh.”
His gentle soothing calmed her. The tears slowed, as did her racing heart. When he pulled back, his expression was soft and comforting, but it darkened quickly when he saw her wrists bound by irons.
“Take these off her.”
“We’ve orders, Your Grace.”
“Take these off her and leave us.”
The guards hesitated, but they knew who he was, the power he had. Reluctantly, they unlocked the shackles and left the room.
Fiona immediately collapsed into him, her arms around his neck, pulling him into her like they could become one person. When she could compose herself, she stepped backward and wiped the tears from her cheeks.
She had been shivering for so long now, she barely noticed it, but he must have because he frowned and removed his greatcoat and placed it over her shoulders. She wallowed in the warmth. Wallowed in the calming scent of him.
“How bad is it?” she asked as she took a seat at the table. He took a seat on the opposite side, far, too far away, and took her hands into his. Quickly, he explained the evidence they had against her. With each point, her heart thudded, heavy and erratic.
“Oh, God. What did I do?” The words tumbled out, a quick, quiet staccato. “What did I do? What did I do? What did I do? What did I do?”
She wasn’t guilty of the crimes they were charging her with, but it was her fault that the case against her was so strong. If she had just gone to Edward for help rather than stubbornly trying to solve the problem herself. If she had simply weighed the risks properly.
“They want Tucker and your father. The bastards were almost apprehended on the palace grounds—one was shot—but they had a boat waiting on the Thames. The authorities haven’t seen them since.”
Shot. There was a chance her father was dead and that she might hang, and while she should be furious, all she could think was that this time, he might be gone for good.
“Tell the inspector where they are and we might be able to arrange a deal.”
“I cannae.”
“Damnit, Fi. This is serious. I understand that he’s your father, but surely you won’t take the fall for him.”
“Icannae. I dunnae ken where they are. Ed, I swear, I am not a part of this.” She could understand why he thought she might be. What other reasonable excuse could she have for her actions? She’d been stupid, bullheaded, and stubborn. Most intelligent people would never let a situation devolve intothis.
Edward racked his hands through his hair.
“I’m going to hang,” she said, hands covering her mouth.
“No, you’re not.”
“Ye dunnae ken that.” She dropped her head in her hands and pulled at her hair, taking comfort in the slight pain it caused. “This is nae William in trouble for racing where he shouldn’t. We’re talking about treason. They might nae hang a duke based on this evidence, but they’ll sure as hell hang a girl from nowhere.”
She was such an idiot. Her bloody pride. Her stupid, bloody pride. She should have gone to him for help the moment she’d heard that someone was trying to steal her matches.
Edward reached out across the table. “Which is why we need to be married.”
“What?Nae. Nae, nae, nae, nae.Ye cannae marry me because of this. Ye need a proper duchess.”
Disbelief warred with fury on his face. “How could you think Iwasn’talready going to marry you? I’m not in the habit of deflowering virgins. I was simply waiting for the right time to propose. This is it, apparently.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a ring box, opening it to show a delicate gold band studded with rubies.
