Music started below.
The play began again.
Wycliff clasped Ruth’s hand. He had to know her secret, everything that had happened after he had “died.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
The Boundaries, The Choices
In Adam’s carriage, I couldn’t get comfortable, not with the fact that this man had misled me, but that the same people who’d hurt us were still after us.
We’d left the theater, but I kept looking out the window to see if we were being followed.
I couldn’t look at him, not while I decided how hard to slap him.
He nudged my hand and gave me Papa’s knife. “This thing is too small to be effective.” He sighed. “Ruth, I don’t want to take you back to the Croomes, not like this.”
“Go ahead and decide. It’s not as if I need to know, when you decide things.”
“Your opinion matters.”
“Does it? I told you I heard the men that killed Adam at the theater. They said they are going to kill you.”
“My uncle and cousin are upset. They want me dead, but I’ve outplayed them. They won’t win.” He brought his thumbs to his lips. “You’re sure Nicholas was at the attack? You don’t know his voice from Madame Talease’s?”
“You are the worst.”
“What?”
“So caring and kind. My champion. Lies.”
“Ruth, I care so much I ache for you.”
“Why not just call me a liar, Liar? Ruth can’t be reliable because of her vision. Ruth can’t be trusted because she suffers from fits.”
“Your vision is poor, and you do have moments, but I believe what you are saying. Nickie is more involved than I thought.”
“More involved? I was there, Wycliff. I know what happened, but everyone makes up an excuse as to why Ruthybe lying. The girly isa lying.” I mocked him like I was Mrs. Carter with her condescending voice, daring him to admit the truth.
My tears wouldn’t quit. Adam was alive, sitting across from me, lying to me, thinking me capable of falsehoods.
“I believe you. If you say my cousin was there, that he directly sought to kill me, then yes, he did.”
“Killme? That’s what you said.”
“Yes, Ruth that’s what I said.”
“Now you admit it, just so you won’t lose an argument.”
“Ruth, I am Chatsworth Adoniram Wilkinson. I hate that name. I shortened it to Adam, then shortened it again to Adam Wilky.”
“Why? Why did you do this to me?”
He took my hands and put them to his face. My fingers sank into his silky beard. “It’s me. We lay in bed that morning until the innkeeper kicked us out. I wanted to go back to Scotland, you wanted to go home to see your parents.”
“I remember.”
“I remember your birthmark to the right of your delicious bosom that looks like a date. We joked about it, and I promised to feed you a mound of sugared dates while we lay in my bed. I know you are ticklish—”
