Nicholas, fist bulging, mole bulging, slunk across the threshold.
Wycliff’s gut had been right about finishing off Johnson early. Mrs. Johnson was too close to the Croomes. He predicted she’d disclosed Wycliff’s attentions to Ruth.
He took deep breaths, stretched with his sjambok. He needed to be calm before seeing Ruth.
Would Uncle rotting in Marshalsea for the rest of his life be enough for Wycliff?
And what of Nicholas?
Could a man asking for a second chance with Ruth deny Nickie a second chance at being a better man, a father to his son?
Rubbing at his aching neck, Wycliff headed back to his dinner companion and hoped after tomorrow’s theater performance his business would never again come this close to Ruth.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Secrets and Control
It was the middle of the afternoon, and I sat at my mirror, combing and pinning my curls for my evening with Wycliff. I’d given my tresses a good stiff brushing, trying to make them look smooth before I secured them with a ribbon.
I hated the theater, the noise, the busy people looking to be seen.
I hated pretending that I hadn’t heard one of Adam’s and my attackers come to Blaren House.
Putting my head down on my vanity, I lay next to my silver reticule. This beautiful beaded purse had been a birthday present years ago. It would be perfect this evening to go with my mazarine-blue gown. The sleeves were full and slimmed at my wrists. I was elegant, covered, and colorful.
The reticule held coins, a starched handkerchief, and Papa’s knife. Papa had a few, but this one with a pearl handle I’d kept with me these past few weeks. I didn’t know why, but I had.
It was palm sized with a blade that folded. Even if I never used it, it was with me.
The orange polish that anointed the vanity tickled my nose. I fingered the outside of the reticule, slipping my pinkie up and down the seed-pearl trim.
Now, I understood why Wycliff carried a sjambok. I needed something to feel a little more powerful when evil came calling.
Should I tell Wycliff?
What proof did I have other than recognizing a voice?
Though some things could never be forgotten, I needed proof, undeniable proof before I accused someone of something so vile.
Madame Talease would know. I would write her and ask those questions I had avoided.
I sat up and glanced at my reflection. My bodice was lower, with lace covering up my curves. I had curves. I hadn’t shown myself, not truly, not until Wycliff.
My neck looked long. It was devoid of a necklace, those things a fiend could twist and rip off.
Why did my thoughts fall back upon that memory? I didn’t want to dance with pity. It wasn’t my chosen partner. I chose joy. I could be happy about spending time with Wycliffandwatchful. The noise of the theater was nothing to his fingers entwined with mine.
The theater was Wycliff’s world, and he needed me. I could protect him.
The door to my room opened.
No knock.
Some things never changed.
Soft footsteps sounded behind me. Ester’s.
“Where is Lord Wycliff taking you today?”
