The Suffragette Scandal (The Brothers Sinister) Read online

  “You could see me more, too,” Genevieve said.

  Her tone was light and…and…

  And no, oh no, Amanda was not going to even think of what else it was. Unbidden, though, the word whispered in her mind.

  Flirtatious.

  It was almost flirtatious, and Amanda had been trying her best to see everything Genevieve did in the light of friendship, not flirtation. It wasn’t working so well any longer.

  “That would be very nice.” That sounded rather too stiff.

  Genevieve reached out and set her hand on Amanda’s knee. It was a light, gentle touch. A friendly touch. That’s all it could be. “Good. Then that’s settled. I should like to see more of you.”

  Amanda’s mouth had gone dry. And Genevieve’s hand didn’t move. It rested there, poised on her leg. “Yes,” Amanda said awkwardly. “I’d like to see…more of you, too.” That pause made her sentence sound like a double entendre. Which it was. Mostly unintentionally done, on her part. She felt her face flush violently.

  And then Genevieve moved her hand up a few inches—a distance so meaningless to her, so burningly painful for Amanda. That inch transformed the place her hand rested from the knee to the thigh.

  If Genevieve had been at Girton College with Amanda, among women who regularly whispered of such things, Amanda would have known precisely how to take that hand. She’d have taken it in her own and kissed it.

  But Genevieve had gone to an elite, proper finishing school. She’d spent all her time in polite society with ladies who were…well, ladies. The possibility that Amanda might have been burning with unrequited lust quite likely did not occur to her.

  “Do you think,” Genevieve said, “that you might ever want to stay with me while you’re in town?”

  Amanda jumped up, pulling away from the heaven of Genevieve’s touch.

  “No!” Her voice was a high-pitched squawk. “No, I do not think that is a good idea. You’re very sweet. And a good friend—a wonderful friend. But you’re so…ah…”

  Genevieve sat in place, a faint blush on her cheeks.

  “So innocent,” Amanda finished.

  Genevieve snorted. “I’ve spent the last ten years as social secretary to Mrs. Marshall, who runs a hospital and a charity on medical ethics. What about that position makes you think that I’m innocent?”

  Amanda swallowed. “I don’t mean innocent innocent. I just mean… That…” She swallowed. “Not all women are alike. Some of us don’t wish to marry because we want other things from life.”

  Genevieve stood and came toward her. “I haven’t married,” she said. “I want other things from life.”

  “Different other things,” Amanda muttered.

  “I try to dress demurely and speak politely.” Genevieve was coming close—too close. “I don’t do those things, Amanda, because I’m too innocent.”

  She stood so close that Amanda could see that her skin wasn’t really perfect. She had faint freckles on her nose—three adorable, kissable freckles.

  “I do them,” Genevieve said, “because you have to pretend to be proper on the outside when you aren’t. When you want different other things.”

  Oh, God.

  It was too much. She’d been trying not to see Genevieve in this light for months now—trying and failing. She’d never failed so badly as she did now. She’d never hoped as painfully as this, either. Her heart was racing.

  “You see,” Genevieve said, “I’ve always admired you. But these last months—listening to you talk of Parliament, watching you slowly gain confidence as you returned to society. I’ve found myself admiring you more. And more. And hoping that maybe…you might admire me, too.”

  There was no mistaking her meaning now. Not when Genevieve took Amanda’s hand in her own and pressed it to her heart.

  Amanda swallowed. “How did you know what you wanted? I didn’t truly understand it myself—not until Girton, until someone else explained.”

  Genevieve simply looked at her. “I understood,” she said, “because I met you.”

  Amanda felt all aflutter—foolish and happy, giggly and alight.

  “I met you,” Genevieve said, “and suddenly everything my sister had ever said to me about her husband—it all made sense.”

  Amanda couldn’t help herself. She reached out and cupped Genevieve’s cheek, running her thumb along those freckles on her nose.

  “So let me repeat my question,” Genevieve said. “I know that I do my best to be proper. But do you think there’s a chance that you might want to be improper with me?”

  Amanda’s thumb found Genevieve’s lips—pale pink, so perfectly sweet. She swept her fingers over them. Genevieve’s lips parted.

  Amanda leaned down. “I’m mad for you.”

  Genevieve smiled, looking up. Amanda could feel her breath against her lips, warm and sweet.

  “Good,” Genevieve breathed.

  Their lips met. Genevieve dropped her hand, but only so she could bring her arms around her. And all Amanda’s last fears came to a thundering, crashing, delicious halt.

  “Good,” Genevieve murmured against her lips once again. “I’m mad for you, too.”

  THE CARRIAGE ROBERT HAD HIRED from the station pulled up to a stop in front of Free’s parents’ house.

  “Well then,” Robert said. “Shall I wait here?”

  It was ridiculous. Free was a grown woman. She ran her own business, managed fourteen full-time employees and many more writers. And right now, she wanted nothing more than to go home and curl up in her mother’s arms.

  But now was not the time for that. She turned to Robert. “Come in,” she said simply. “And thank you for last night and this morning. I feel…”

  Not better, not by a long ways. But she felt more at peace.

  Robert and Minnie had given her a long explanation of how they spent their time. Minnie had stayed awake with her until one in the morning. Minnie had her own set of difficulties: She felt anxious in crowds and being a duchess hadn’t cured that. So they’d adapted. They had made it work.

  Free didn’t want to be a viscountess, but it was rather too late for that now, though. The only questions were what sort of viscountess she wanted to be…and how she would get on with her viscount.

  Robert was watching her, wondering how she would end her sentence.

  “I feel more important,” she said.

  He turned his head away and smiled—a shy smile, as if he were actually embarrassed by her gratitude. “You’re welcome, Your Fierceness.”

  For a second, she wondered if he would mind if she hugged him. Then he shifted in his seat, looking down at his hands, and she was fairly certain he wouldn’t.

  She slid across the seat and put her arms around him. “Thank you,” she said again. “For being my brother when I needed one.”

  He brought his hand up to pat her back. When she pulled away, he coughed into his hand. “Of course,” he said. But his voice was just a little too rough. “Of course.”

  “Come in,” she said. “My parents will be happy to see you.”

  He sat up straight. “I don’t know… That is… It’s a little more complicated than that. I don’t want to impose, and given the rather odd history between our two families…”

  “Come on,” Free said, with a roll of her eyes. “If you’re not by my side, I’ll burst into tears when I see my mother, and that will be very embarrassing. After all that I’ve been through in the last few days, you can’t subject me to that.”

  He looked at her for one second. Oh, the man definitely did not have younger siblings if he actually believed a word of that. He was far too susceptible to a touch of guilt.

  “Oh, very well,” he said in a put-upon voice. “If you insist.”

  But he didn’t look put upon. He looked pleased. He handed her down from the carriage, unhitched the horses, and tied them up. When that was all taken care of, he offered her his arm and conducted her up the path to the house.

  It occurred to her
, as she knocked on the door, that something was amiss. In all the time they’d been dawdling on the road, somebody ought to have seen them. But neither her father nor her mother had appeared.

  Too late to wonder. She heard a noise inside, and then her mother opened the door.

  Free’s heart stopped. Her mother—oh, God, her mother. Her eyes were dark. Her face was lined. Free hadn’t seen her look like that since Aunt Freddy passed away years before. It had taken her mother a few months to lose that look about her, that grief-stricken look that said the world had betrayed her. Now it was back, and the only thing that Free could think was that something awful had happened. She gasped.

  “Oh, thank God,” her mother said.

  “Oh, no.” Free spoke atop her. “What on earth is wrong? Is it Laura and her baby?”

  Her mother gasped and put one hand over her heart. “What’s the matter with Laura?”

  “It isn’t Laura? Then…”

  There was a moment while they stared at each other in confusion. Another moment, when her mother let out a breath. “Free. I was worried about you.”/

  “Me.” Free looked around. “Why me? I’m…” Perfectly fine, she had been about to say. But she wasn’t. She didn’t know what she felt any longer.

  And then her mother put her arms around Free, pulling her close. It was utterly ridiculous. Free had made her own way for years. She was far too old to bury her head in her mother’s apron and bawl. But somehow, when her mother held her, the sound of her breath, the feel of her shoulders, the distinctive smell of her soap… They all combined to mean something like comfort. Comfort had been in short supply in recent times.

  And then her mother whispered in her ear. “I don’t care what your father says. Say the word, and I will walk back into the kitchen and stick a knife in his back.”

  Free pulled back. That sense of comfort withdrew, leaving her uncertain. “Who are you planning to kill?”

  “He’s in there.” Her mother gestured to the house with her head. “Claridge.”

  Free’s hands turned cold.

  “And I swear to God,” her mother continued in that low voice, “I did not raise my daughters to become some filthy lords’ playthings. I have no idea what happened, what hold he has over you, but if he’s done a damned thing to hurt you, he’ll pay. They can hang me. I—” She stopped, took a deep breath, and looked to her right.

  Just as well that she’d stopped talking. The thought of someone stabbing Edward in the kidneys didn’t make Free feel any better.

  But her mother was looking at the man standing next to Free. “Oh,” she continued, in an entirely different voice. “Your Grace. How…ah… How unexpected to see you.” She brushed at her skirts and grimaced.

  What flitted through Free’s mind was nothing rational. She had nothing to say to comfort her mother. What occurred to her instead was this: What’s the difference between a lord and a bit of algae?

  She’d never heard that particular joke. Still, she didn’t have any difficulty coming up with her own answer.

  One of them’s a slippery, slimy, disgusting thing. The other is necessary to the proper functioning of freshwater ponds. It was deeply, impossibly inappropriate. She was fairly certain that this was proof that her tenuous hold on calm rationality was slipping from her grasp. Another five minutes, and she’d start staring off into space, laughing at nothing at all.

  What’s the difference between a lord and a pile of horse manure? It was too easy. One of them smells terribly; the other, applied judiciously, increases the productivity of fields.

  But then, she could have said the same thing about ladies. And now she was one.

  Next to her, her mother and Robert were still talking. “You mustn’t talk that way,” the duke was saying. “I’ll do it, if it must be done. They’d have to go through the Lords to hang me, and there are extenuating circumstances. Such as the fact that Claridge is a lout. They’d never convict me. But…” He frowned. “No, sorry. Before I agree to commit a crime with witnesses present, I really ought to talk to Minnie. She’ll have a better idea.”

  A smile touched her mother’s face. “You are a handy person to know. Would you…two…care to…”

  Come in? Abscond? Free wasn’t certain what she wanted. She didn’t want them to kill Edward—even though they were probably joking. Robert was, at least; she wasn’t entirely sure about her mother. But she didn’t want to see him. She didn’t want him near almost as much as she wanted him close. She was afraid that if she caught sight of him, he’d charm her into compliance.

  She drew a deep breath. “We can postpone Claridge’s inevitable demise,” she said. “At least until we’ve spoken with Minnie. And until I’ve…”

  Behind her mother, Edward came into the hall. He caught sight of her and came to a halt.

  Or maybe it was Free’s world that stopped instead. Her heart ceased to pound. Her breath ceased to circulate. Every atom of her being seemed to slow and come to a standstill.

  What’s the difference between a lord and your husband?

  None. There was no difference at all.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  FREE STOOD ALL OF FIVE FEET from Edward, real and solid and safe. He’d spent the night worrying about her. She was separated from him now by a mere two paces on the one hand, and a gulf of lies on the other. Edward didn’t know if he could reach her if he tried.

  “Free,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

  Her eyes seemed an impenetrable wall. At least she didn’t turn on her heel and walk away.

  “I’m dreadfully sorry,” he said. “I ruined everything, absolutely everything. What I did was unforgivable.”

  She didn’t move.

  “Inexcusable,” he kept on. “I know you’ll want nothing to do with me. Whatever it is you want—a sworn statement that I’ll not interfere with your business, a promise to keep my distance—whatever you want, Free. You can have it. I owe you that much.”

  She opened her mouth once, closed it, shook her head, and then opened her mouth again. “Why did you do it?” she managed to get out. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you let me know?”

  “Because I’m stupid,” he said. “And selfish. I should never have asked you to marry me.”

  Free held up a hand. “That isn’t what I meant. You had to know I would find out—and find out soon. Why didn’t you tell me the truth before?”

  “Because…” He frowned. “Because I knew you wouldn’t marry me. I wanted to make sure you’d be safe—and as I said—there was a hefty dose of selfishness involved.” He didn’t have any good reasons to offer her—just that feeling of sickness at heart, of panic at the thought of losing her, at what might happen to her if he didn’t have her…

  “That doesn’t make any sense,” Free said. “I don’t know that I would have walked away if you’d told me the truth. How could you know I would?”

  He swallowed. His heart beat a painful rhythm against his chest.

  “You had to know there was no future in what you were doing,” she said. “So why did you do it that way? Wasn’t it worth the chance that I would say yes?”

  Everything hurt. He shook his head. “I don’t know anything of planning for futures. I always assumed…”

  She raised an eyebrow.

  “That whatever happened to me was going to be awful, no matter what I chose.”

  She let out a long breath and looked about. And that was when Edward realized that they stood in her parents’ hall, surrounded by her father, her mother—good God, that man standing over there was the Duke of Clermont, and what he was doing here, Edward didn’t want to know.

  Free let out a long breath. “Come. Walk with me.” She gestured.

  Her mother twitched, frowning, but didn’t say anything.

  Free turned and went out the front door into the sunshine. He followed. She didn’t wait for him outside, though. She turned to the left and began picking her way along a path. He trailed after her, feeling as if he were
Eurydice following Orpheus out of hell. Except that he had the strangest feeling that if she looked back, she would disappear, not him. She took him over a faint path worn through the fields, over a hill, down an embankment, to a line of trees along a stream.

  A few massive rocks lined the bank. Free seated herself on one of them, smoothing her skirts before looking up at him.

  God, her eyes. He never wanted to see her eyes like this again—so hurt, so uncertain. He’d done that to her.

  “If it helps,” he said, “I’ve always known I didn’t deserve you.”

  “How odd. I’ve only begun to doubt that in the last twenty-four hours.”

  He seated himself across from her. “Yes. You’ll only doubt it more the better you know me.”

  She shut her eyes. “How could you be so certain?”

  “Because I hurt everyone I love. My best friend as a child—I convinced him and his brother to speak, and my father had them whipped in front of me.” Edward glanced down. The next words came out low. “And that’s not the worst of it.”

  “What is the worst of it?”

  The worst of it was a dark, echoing memory, one that at odd times seemed to have happened to someone else. “I told you that I stayed with a blacksmith near Strasbourg,” he said. “That was my father’s punishment for my earlier choices.”

  She nodded at him.

  “It was a lovely punishment,” Edward said. “I was there for two years. He was paid to look after me, but I expect my father thought of me ‘laboring’ and imagined I would hate it. I didn’t. He taught me things like how to shoe a horse. He’d lost his own son years past, and he never treated me as a burden. I loved him.” His voice roughened on those last words, but he shook his head. “He showed me how to work metal. His name was Emile Ulrich.”

  She nodded again.

  “And then Strasbourg was taken. I thought to get the two of us out of occupied territory. I failed, and I was taken in by Soames after my first attempted forgery. Ulrich found out what had happened, and he came to Soames, determined to get me out. He started to raise a stink about what Soames was doing, holding me in a cellar.”