The door to the study opened. Lawden came inside and bowed. “My lord, you have an appointment.”
Wycliff moved from his seat and stood between the sisters and his trusted aid. “Prepare the carriage and take these ladies to Cheapside. And look outside. Mrs. Wilky has lost a pair of spectacles.”
Ruth nodded. “Nineteen Fournier is in the old Spitalfields part of Town. And thank you for looking for my spectacles.”
“It shall be done.” Lawden backed out the door.
“It will take a few minutes for my man to bring things around. While we wait, is there anything you’d like to know about Adam?”
Ruth looked down, never up or at him, not that she could see him. “Why was he so secretive of his name, even to me? I hate that he didn’t trust me with the truth.”
Wycliff hated that he’d done that, too, but that was how he’d navigated the world. Loving Ruth hadn’t been part of his plans.
Sidestepping the sisters, Wycliff scooped up his ebony cape and put it about Ruth’s shoulders. “He had his reasons. I’m sure if he’d lived, he would’ve told you all.”
“At lease he completed the registry with his true name. I can take comfort that he didn’t go to such lengths just to invalidate our union.”
That was what she thought.
No. Never.
He opened his mouth to confess, but how would she react when she already had so many doubts of his character? He fixed the collar of the cape, taking a chance to finger her falling curls. “He had his reasons. Perhaps as we reminisce, we can discover what they were. When may I see you again?”
Mrs. Bexeley grabbed her sister’s arm. “We need to be out of here, Ruth. This is not what you want. There’s enough to fret about with my husband giving his abolition speeches or Papa’s business. Must you fret over ghosts, too? Do you, Lord Wycliff, want that for her? Would Adam?”
He didn’t want Ruth in danger, but she was. The person who sent the trunk knew of her existence. That already put her in danger. He helped Ruth down from the desk but couldn’t resist leaving his hands about her waist.
Firm, probably still ticklish. “I owe Mrs. Wilky the opportunity to clear up confusion about her late husband. I can only imagine what you endured mourning a man who died too early. You’re too young to be a widow. You and Adam, you two should’ve grown old together.”
She poked him in his chest. “While you may have read it in the paper or a coroner’s notice, I saw his murder with my own eyes. And in your voice, I hear fear again. The conspiracy Adam talked of was true. They may have his sister.”
“No, I don’t think so, but you remember Adam’s ramblings?”
“I remember too many things, mostly how he suffered. And my regret of how things could’ve been different if things hadn’t been left unsaid.”
He should have let her slap him again.
That would hurt less than knowing her memories of Adam weren’t good.
Her love had waned. His hadn’t. That was unfair.
Mrs. Bexeley shook her fists. “Remember Chris. You can’t have this man around him. If we leave now, we can put Chris to bed. He needs you safe.”
Ruth backed away from Wycliff, her shoulders slouching. “Yes, Ester. You are right.”
The way Ruth crumbled.
It was the first time she’d acted afraid, and it was over thisChris. Her child? Her sister’s?
Anger again simmered in his gut.
A child, a potential marriage—Ruth had kept living, even though he hadn’t. Four years ago, he’d been a man who’d lost everything, just when he’d found all he’d needed in Ruth.
Now he was poised to win, but he’d lost Ruth.
Stepping in front of her, he adjusted the drape of the cape. It dragged on the ground. “Loving Adam was a choice. Having me about you to remind you of him, that’s your choice, too.”
“Thursday. My mother’s throwing a garden party for friends and family. I need you there to tell my parents about Adam.”
