He put a hand to her waist to guide her, to keep her from cracks or uneven places. “We’ll go to the end of the street and back. If you feel nervous at any point, claw my arm. Demand I take you back. I’ll do so immediately.”
Her steps became shorter, the closer they came to the end of the street. “A hundred and fifty steps. Wow. That’s far.”
Distract her.
That was what he used to do walking her from the docks to her father’s warehouse. “So many because you have delicate feet. What about we get you larger boots?”
“No gifts. Your flowers are enough.”
“Do you feel better earning things?” He stopped and put his hands to her cheek, brushing lightly until her eyes opened. “See, there can be a benefit to my coarse hands. You’ll be more aware of me.”
“That could be a benefit, but your footfalls are too silent.”
Ruth peered up. No hiding. No coy fluttering of lashes. No labored breaths. It was how she’d looked at him that moment at the blacksmith’s when she’d promised to be his. The world had been just theirs. It must be theirs again.
“Lord Wycliff, what do you see when you look at me?
“The answer to my prayers. Dreams I didn’t know I wanted. We are nicely matched, surely you see this?”
She dug into his pocket. Touching him, stirring up all manner of things in his chest. She might as well have reached in and given his dark, bruised heart a shine.
“I want my spectacles to see you, Wycliff, as you look at me.”
He caressed her chin. “You could just kiss me and gain the rest of the answers you seek. If it’s a good one, you could get account numbers, invoices, anything. I can be easy like that.”
Her eyes, soulful, dark orbs with swirling hints of henna and questions, focused behind her lenses.
“Say it, Ruth. Say what’s on your mind.”
“I met Adam on the docks, close to my father’s warehouse. He stopped some men from bothering me, then walked me back to the warehouse. He stayed with me until I was safe. I asked him if he wanted something to eat. He said my friendship, if he could earn it. The way you just said this, you could be easy like that, the way you tilted your head, I hear him saying it in his sweet voice. Why do you have to remind me of the good of him?”
The good?
That meant there was bad, more than what she’d already said.
How had Adam become the villain?
Those beastly women in the Croome household were the ones persecuting her.
He started them walking again, remaining quiet until they’d made it to the corner.
Fournier was vacant. No carriages, no children playing, no lovers walking about.
Just them, a man escorting his wife, a woman that didn’t know him, who didn’t want to because he’d failed her. His throat tightened, but he forced his words to be said. “Adam was good, a good person. He loved you with all his heart.”
“You say that like it’s a consolation, Wycliff. If I’d truly known the danger, I wouldn’t have eloped. Five days of marital bliss do not equal four years of pain. Maybe he’d have lived. He’d still be that sweet young man in want of a meal by the docks, and still alive.”
“Not being able to prove the validity of your marriage to Adam has wrought this much suffering? How can you forgo the love that he said was so strong?”
“I have a son, Lord Wycliff. He bears a false surname. His name should be Wilkinson.”
That would only be Adam’s fault if the boy was indeed his or born within a year of his death. He clasped her arm about her waist and left no distance for evasion. “Is the boy Adam’s?”
“Adam’s dead. Christopher’s mine, all mine.”
That wasn’t an answer.
But the calm she’d had before disappeared. She was shaking. He put his arms about her and kissed the scar on her temple. “Christopher is my concern now, too. He’s mine, Ruth. I claim him like I’ve claimed the Croomes.
