Page 54 of Brigand

A gasp circled the table.

“Never say it.” Malcolm reached for his water glass andtipped it over.

“Aye.” She turned to Ned. “Do you remember Ewan St.Andrews?”

His brow wrinkled. “The groom? The one who pulled you fromthe ice?”

“I remember him,” Malcolm muttered. “The boy who kissedyou.”

Violet’s attention snapped to her younger brother. “How doyou know he kissed me?” she hissed. “I told no one.”

“I saw you. Turned my stomach. He was a servant, Violet. Heshould never have kissed you.”

The plums curled in her belly. “And you told father.”

Malcolm snorted. “Naturally.”

“He beat him, Malcolm.” To his credit, Malcolm paled. They’dall seen the sharper end of Horace Wyeth’s fury. “He nearly beat him to death.And then our father dismissed his mother. Turned them both out withoutreferences.” She swallowed. “It was winter, if you recall. A cold winter. Theyhad nothing and…and she was with child.” Oh. She couldn’t hold it in anylonger. Could not hold back the tears. They flowed down her face as she thoughtof that poor boy, the boy she loved, destitute and hungry and cold. Alone in acruel, hard world with nothing and no one. “His mother died, Malcolm.Be-because of us.” She buried her face in her palms. “Because of me.”

A warm hand settled on her shoulder. She glanced up to seeEdward standing beside her. “It’s not your fault, Violet,” he said.

“It is, Edward. Don’t you see? It is.” Her tears had becomesobs, which were threatening to become gasping heaves.

He drew her up into his arms and held her tight. “Hush now.It was all long ago.”

She shook her head and tried to tell him no, it wasn’t sovery long ago, and the scars had not healed and he hated her, but she couldn’t.All she could do was weep.

He shot a dark frown around the table and without a word,lifted her.

“W-w-where are w-we g-going?”

He strode toward his study. “You need a drink.”

“Not w-whisky,” she wailed. “H-he d-drank w-whisky.”

“Brandy then.” Edward settled her in the chair by the fireand poured her a dram, watching with fists on his hips as she drank it down. Itdidn’t stop the tears but it burned away the bitter cold that had invaded herheart. When her glass was empty, he filled it again, and then filled one forhimself. “I think we need to talk.” He pursed his lips. “When you’re ready.”

Ready? She would never be ready to talk about Ewan. Shecouldn’t bear it.

But apparently, in addition to its miraculous warmingproperties, the spirit could also loosen the tongue. Not only did she speak,she opened her mouth and the first words out were mortifying.

“I love him, Edward.”

He got that look again. Compassion and sympathy anddiscomfiting pity. “I gathered as much.”

“I always have. Since we were young. I love him with all myheart. And…”

“And?”

“He hates me.”

“When I spoke to him, I didn’t get the sense he hates you.”

She put out a lip, a trifle annoyed by his dissent. “It’s hardlysomething one proclaims in the course of a conversation.” She dashed at thedampness on her cheeks. “The point is, he will certainly never love me. Not theway I… Oh bother, Edward. What’s wrong with me?”

He knelt before her. Took her cold hands in his and strokedthem with his thumbs. “Nothing’s wrong with you, Violet. You are a beautiful,vivacious young woman about to embark on your first season. This should be themost exciting time of your life.”

Really, she was quite put out by his gentle charm. Whereverhad the heartless rake gone? “I’m not excited in the least.”