“I’ll never have enough of you. We’ll just stay in your garden.”
Her back was to him. Her foot dangled, but she did not take the next step. “Why? Nothing more can come from this.”
“I need to meet Christopher. I need to see Adam’s son.”
He made the bold proclamation and waited. Ruth couldn’t deny him that.
She turned and adjusted her spectacles. “Yes. You need to see Christopher. I think he’d like to meet his big cousin.”
Wycliff bowed. He knew better than to press her on anything more. He knew she’d never be his unless she felt completely safe.
The end of his uncle’s business needed to hasten. Soulden Wilkinson walking free, not in debtors’ prison, was dangerous. He could strike at Ruth or the Croomes. Wycliff trotted down the stone steps of the entry, thinking about how to finish off the evil man. It needed to be done before Ruth decided Wycliff couldn’t keep her and her son from harm.
Chapter Sixteen
Her Morning Blues
I didn’t want to get up this morning.
Rainy mornings should be spent in bed, hiding beneath the covers of my pine bed.
I’d left the window open last night, so the early dawn shower sent nippy air into my room. My arm ached as it often did when the weather turned cool. The knitted bones in my forearm were stronger, but I still hated the questions the lump drew when my sleeves were short. I detested explaining.
It didn’t matter. I was grateful I could write and hold my son.
The fresh air filled my chest. Rain or shine, a soft mattress was the best remedy for being spent.
Tired beyond measure, I turned on my side and curled deeper into my favorite fuzzy blanket, a knitted piece of mint-green wool. Something Mama had made for me when I was eight. It reminded me of my old life, the simpler one above the warehouse. The softness of the well-loved wool—it felt like it knew my body. I could hide in it.
This blanket was safe and smelled of lavender. I liked lavender, but I loved Bay Rum. I slept on the baron’s cape again and let his fragrance surround me.
My new cousin, my kissing cousin. He’d been sweet to me yesterday. He was coming to see Chris today. I knew I smiled thinking of Wycliff.
He acted as if he loved me.
Adam had said he’d fallen for me fast like that. That scared me, a little.
I’d let Wycliff kiss me, and I’d kissed him.
I’d told him he did not remind me of Adam. That wasn’t quite true. He kissed like him, the way I remembered he had—passionate, toe curling, like the world would end if he couldn’t touch me.
If I closed my eyes, it was like I’d kissed my husband. I kissed Adam sometimes in my happy dreams, in those blissful half-awake, half-asleep moments.
But his arms had never felt this safe, not like the baron’s.
Wild me, kissing a boy on my street. I’d wanted Wycliff’s lips because I’d craved all the good pieces of Adam. I’d become me, that brave girl who’d talked to a boy she’d met on the docks.
Noises sounded outside my room. The day at Nineteen Fournier was well underway. Little Chris would be up soon. He didn’t understand when I grew quiet. Last night, my boy had kept asking,Mama ill? Mama ill?
Yes, I was—on cold nights, on rainy mornings, and sometimes outside.
But I was a good mother, one who didn’t want her son to be afraid.
I needed to repeat that I was wonderful as I was. I was alive. I was grateful to have Chris. I was grateful these topsy-turvy moments did not spin me so far that I couldn’t come back. I had seen girls at Madame Talease who had gone mad, crazed from their troubles.
I wasn’t mad or witless. I was good, good enough, better than good.
With a few blinks and a rub to my eyes, I started my day. The familiar blurs and shadows of my room offered comfort. Nothing in my vision had changed. That made me sigh.
