“I would not let the man touch me.” She waited for Renard to breathe again before continuing. “The duke raged and threatened me, struck me, bullied me, beat me until my skin broke, said he would have my mother throw me out into the streets if I did not obey.” She could still feel the sting of the belt across her back, the memory of the pain lasting long after the skin had healed.
Remembering her father’s slackened jaw when she’d spat in his face and walked from his study, head held high, the blood running down her back, brought a smile to her face... until she remembered the rest of that night.
She’d wandered through the rookeries, her triumph tainted knowing the duke would keep his word. She’d be left destitute, homeless, and friendless.
Then she’d found Scarlet behind the Prodding Pony, her clothes torn and her body bleeding—as Camille was torn and bloody—and they’d formed an instant sisterhood. After she’d settled Scarlet in the clinic, Camille had stomped back to the club and released her full ire at Madam Clarice, not caring what happened to her when the older woman took offense.
But Madam had done the one thing that had saved her: She’d offered Camille a job and protection. It was that boon, that brief moment of belief she’d bested her father, that had led her to make the one mistake that night.
“The next morning, I went to the papers,” she said. The reporter had lapped up her story like a horse at a trough. “The story was printed that same day as a special edition. I was so caught up in justice for my father’s actions, I forgot how the scandal would affect my mother.”
‘Affect’ was too kind a word. Left without benefactor or offerings for any other bedmate, her mother had retreated into herself, not emerging for anything save drinking or screaming insults at her ungrateful daughter who’d destroyed their lives. In place of freedom, Camille had led herself into another cage, one of resentment and responsibility.
“That bastard.” Renard released her to pace, his hands gesturing wildly. “Of all the insidious acts, using his flesh and blood for advancement. Good thing he’s dead. Not worth the privies he pissed in.”
Renard stopped and pivoted back towards her. “You are perfect, you hear me? You could have been born with a tail and horns and you’d still be worth a damned king’s fortune over that idiot. Of all the asinine, evil deeds in the world, making youbelieve you were less than a miracle. The duke was the monster, Camille, not you.”
Camille stared, not fully comprehending the pain in her chest was her torn heart stitching itself back together. Still, her head wouldn’t relinquish the guilt. “I ruined our lives—”
“Whose lives? The duke’s? Your mother’s?” Renard huffed. “Good riddance. You did what was best for you that day, probably for the first time. The only one to blame is the duke.”
Camille clutched her chest as Renard continued to spout all the ways the duke should have been punished, sure her heart couldn’t take much more. She knew about the body’s anatomy; she knew the heart was but a muscle, but the way the tears mended at his words defied medical marvel as the truth rendered her guilt and past to shreds.
“If I’d but known three years ago, I’d have poisoned the duke’s scotch and hung for it, gladly.”
Camille blinked as her brain processed Renard’s continued rants, and his admission brought their conversation—and the purpose of this meeting—back into focus. “Is that why you killed Grey and Flank? Out of a sense of familial responsibility?”
Renard stopped. “What are you talking about?”
“The bodies of Flank and Grey you left in the streets.” She ran a hand over her face, too tired to play this cerebrally. “I’d forgiven you the moment I realized what you’d done, though I’d still stay away from Dockside. I know Syd falling off the roof was an accident, but Markus tends not to listen to reason where his daughters are concerned.”
“Camille!”
Her head shot up at his alarmed tone. His eyes were wide, his face pale.
“Y-You think I had something to do with bodies in the streets?”
Camille wouldn’t trust the hope flaring in her gut at his stunned expression. “You didn’t?”
He ran a hand through his hair, his body trembling. “Wait! Is that why you ran? You thought I was killing people to keep you safe? I would gladly have beat those three ratbags to the ground for what they put you through, but I would never kill someone—” His voice cut off. He squared his shoulders and his expression darkened. “I have to tell you something.”
She stilled, heartbeat erratic. “What is it?”
“I didn’t touch those scumbags after that first night. I swear it on Charlotte’s soul. I would never put you at risk like that. You said Flank and Grey, which means Hawkins is still out there. He probably did his men in to frame you. Though the man doesn’t seem to have the brains for such schemes.” He shook his head. When his gaze met hers, his eyes blazed. “If you doubt me in everything else, know I did not do this.”
Truth rang in his words, but she couldn’t give into relief. “Madam had a file on you. It said you admitted to murder.”
Renard cursed Madam’s name. He ran a hand through his hair and seemed to collect himself. “I swear to you, Milly, I had nothing to do with those deaths in Dockside. Ask that snake of a woman and she’ll confirm I never confessed to anything like that.”
“But...” Hope sprang anew. Only for confusion to take its place. “Then what about—”
“Madam was right. Ihavekilled before.”
Camille’s insides squeezed.
“But it’s not what you think.” He took a deep breath, one of courage and acceptance.
“My parents. Their deaths were my doing.”
