If that was the gratifying case, well, two of them suffered torments over that.
On the whole, he suffered because she suffered.
But he suffered for his own reasons, too.
For the first time in his life, he’d dishonorably reneged on a deal, when he’d vowed to himself that he would never be that kind of man.
He told himself that his reasons had been noble. He was saving the viscount’s daughter from something she’d regret, no matter how desperate her straits seemed now.
But he suspected in this instance that “cowardice” was masquerading as “noble.”
And lurking beneath the cowardice were reasons he simply did not want to face.
And he suffered because he’d asked Hogarth to send the letter describing “his” plan to repay his debt to Lucifer’s Fall. The royal mail between London and Sussex was usually swift, but it hadn’t yet arrived. He ought to have stood over the boy and demanded he write it in his presence, so he could take the letter back to London with him.
He’d just been so eager to return to the Grand Palace on the Thames. To be wherever Ginny was.
He’d imagined presenting Hogarth’s letter to her and watching her face go soft with joy and pride, savoring the miracle of it.
He’d wanted to be her bloody hero.
But Marchand was accustomed to getting on with things. He knew from experience that despite outer circumstances, if he didn’t keep kicking to stay afloat, the waves would eventually suck him under. And he’d always valued his own worthless life, although God only knew why. Perhaps he’d somehow known he would wind up someday kissing a beautiful girl in a churchyard, which would make everything he’d done to survive up until that moment worth it.
He found he could hardly countenance the notion of burdening her with the truth about his feelings. He wouldn’t knowhowto tell her, anyway. He’d never done such a thing in his life.
Because he could not know for certain how she felt.
Even the possibility of witnessing pity in her soft eyes if he told her the truth made him want to shrivel. It would haunt him bitterly for whatever remained of his days. How could she possibly understand that making love to her would destroy him if he had to let her go?
He’d asked Mr. Ogden to make a certain appointment for him two days hence. On his calendar for that day Marchand wrote the word “retribution.”
He took ice-cold satisfaction in the anticipation of meting out punishment and settling a grave wrong.
Before she returned to Sussex, if all went according to plan, he would be able to give Ginny’s life back to her and to the people she loved.
So it seemed to him that he had arrived at the solution for what he could do for her. Perhaps it was the only point of him.
And for that, he thought he could endure anything. Even her hate.
The need for solace finally drove Ginny outside to the little park in front of the Grand Palace on the Thames after lurking in her room for the better part of two days. It seemed as good a place as any to look for a stone heart, even though she’d already found one there. Lightning could very well strike twice.
No stones immediately leaped into her line of vision, as they had that magical day in the park next to Marchand. Gordon did, however. The plump striped cat who roamed the halls of the Grand Palace on the Thames was sleeping beneath a shrub, and he hopped up next to her on the bench. She scratched him under the chin. The purring was admittedly consoling.
“I hope you don’t have any fights with Pumpkinhead and Inkblot,” she told him sincerely.
“Prrrp,” he trilled, noncommittally. Promising nothing.
Her head shot up when she heard the squeak of the gate.
She went so rigid so abruptly that Gordon shot straight up and then vanished in a tabby blur.
Marchand froze before her.
She was literally caged in by a wrought iron fence.
His expression suggested that of a man silently shouting “Bloody hell!”
It was the first time she’d looked at him for two long days, and it might as well have been the first time she’d ever seen him. The impact on her was entirely the same. In the bright daylight, he looked magnificent, intimidating, and exhausted. Exactly like a man who hadn’t slept at all since she’d interrupted his sleep two nights before.
