“Take it from someone with far too little,” he said in that self-deprecating way of his. “It is entirely possible to have too much.”
Whether it was his hands on her hair, or the warmth in his voice, or the very careful way he worked the strands of her hair so not to pull at her scalp, Maddy felt herself giving way to his question.
“I was supposed to marry a man who was very generous with his compliments in public,” she said, thinking back on Malcolm Ferguson. Malcolm had a full crop of dark hair, a million-dollar smile, and an eye for making money.
“I know the type,” he said. “They came after my sister in droves. Smooth talkers, looking for her money.”
“Malcolm used to tell me how pretty I was,” she said. “How my hair was like liquid fire, or some nonsense. He couldn’t wait to be married to me. He was going to be the luckiest man in town.”
“And he would have been,” he said with a confidence Maddy found she couldn’t share.
She remembered the horrible sinking feeling that had come over her the moment she’d called on him unexpectedly. He was with his friends, and they’d been drinking. And he’d told them he’d how he’d managed to snag the Murray fortune. He’d managed to convince old man Murray that his oversized daughter with the face that could stop a train in its tracks was the only woman for him.
“Only because of my dowry,” she said, her voice dropping to a whisper as she recalled the words that had wormed their way into her heart. “He told his friends he’d won the prized sow.”
* * *
She’d spoken so softly, it took a moment to understand what she’d said. But there was something in the air, and it was fragile. When his brain put finally this impossible thought together, his stomach dropped. Finally, it all made horrible sense. Every time he’d flattered her. Every time he’d tried to tell her how dazzling she was.
She cleared her throat, and it occurred to Beau that she might be crying. Something inside him shifted and he was tempted to turn her around, but he stopped himself. Madeline Murray was an intensely private person. Instead, he continued to untangle her hair, partially because it felt so damn good to touch her, and partially to keep himself rooted to this space, instead of finding whomever it was that broke Madeline Murray’s heart and handing his arse to him. His fingers worked her curls, and before he knew what he was doing, he’d braided her hair back in a simple plait and tied it firm at the end with the damp handkerchief he’d stuffed in his pocket. It was hardly expert work, but it would keep it from tangling as it dried.
“There,” he said, putting his hands on his hips, trying to lighten the mood. “I don’t think I’m in danger of replacing any one as a ladies’ maid.”
She reached back and felt the braid. “Thank you.”
“Please tell me you didn’t marry this idiot who clearly wasn’t worthy of the dirt under your boots,” he said at last. The idea that she may have found herself tied to this absolute asshole set Beau’s jaw on edge. He swallowed his anger and sat down beside her, reaching out to hold her hand. He half expected her to push him away, but instead, she gave him the most heartbreaking smile.
“Not for his lack of trying,” she said. “I went to my father and demanded he call off the wedding. My mother wouldn’t hear of it. She said I was lucky to have anyone want me.”
Beau was renowned for his poker face while in the middle of intense negotiations, but his ability to keep his emotions hidden were failing him now. This woman brought out every ounce of passion he had. The idea that her mother would be so heartless to her own daughter must have been all over his face.
“She was a beauty,” she continued, answering Beau’s unasked question. “She gotten far on her looks, and I had always been a disappointment, I guess. But my father must have been considering it, because Malcolm came to see me.”
“To beg forgiveness?”
“To force me,” she said.
If the police had found him before this moment, he would have said he wasn’t a man given to violence. After that moment, that would have been a lie. He turned her gently, facing her, and her hand. It may have been a decade too late, but he needed her to know she wasn’t alone.
“I didn’t let him,” she said.
He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “I am so sorry they were so horrible to you. You didn’t deserve it.”
“Maybe I did in the end,” she said.
“How can you say that?”
“Because he died,” she said, then looked straight at him. “And I think I may have killed him.”
Beau paused, giving himself a moment to measure his response to her shocking admission. “You weren’t sure?”
“He forced himself on me,” she continued. “He’d been drinking heavily. He said so many horrible things to me, but he seemed determined to make me the cause of all his ills. His failed job prospects. His inability to find a prettier wife.”
“You don’t have to tell me this,” he said.
“I have to tell someone,” she said, her eyes bright with unshed tears. “It’s been so long. I can’t live with this anymore.”
Beau smiled and brushed a few strands of hair from her face.
