Page 66 of The Wallflower Manifesto
He laughed again, watching that long-ago storm cloud conjure a few final wisps of thunder around her lovely head. “You were staring daggers into my soul,” he recalled fondly, “and how could I not have known right then that you were the one for me?”
“Because nothing says romance like irritation,” she replied snippily, only making him grin wider.
“My sweet Millie,” he sighed, releasing her hair from his fingers in favor of stroking her cheeks. “Who would I be murdering tonight, should you tell me the truth? I promise there is nothingin this world that is going to take me from sharing a bed with you tonight. Nothing. You can tell me.”
She stared at him, looking a little at a loss. “Well,” she managed, “good.”
And then she smiled at him, shaking her head and relaxing into her story. “It’s just a nobleman, no one you know, who did a horrible thing. He’s a terrible father, and his daughter started stealing jewelry from balls and tea parties and social visits in an effort to escape him. She eventually enlisted help, but it has all spiraled out of control. And the twisted choices of fate have somehow deigned to involve me.”
“And Freddy,” Abe said, clearly still confused.
“That was Ember’s idea. If anyone knows how to smuggle two wanted women out of Britain and onto the Continent, well …”
Abe snorted in offense. “Well, yes. Freddy knows how to do that, but I could have done it too!”
She nodded, patting the hand that sat on her cheek. “I know that, darling. It’s only that the girl’s father had beaten the accomplice so violently, and Dot insisted that such a thing would disrupt your better angels.”
He sucked in air. Both because she’d called himdarlinglike that, like it was natural, and because of what had been said directly after.
“She was probably right,” he forced himself to say, acknowledging the way his blood heated at even this sterile description of the thing.
“Was she?” Millie sounded surprised. She watched him for a moment, across the span of his pillows, her dark lashes framingthose big eyes in the dark. “Why did you punch that magistrate, Abe?”
Abe grimaced, shame scratching at his ribs. He rolled onto his back with a sigh, staring up at the ceiling. “Because he was a bastard,” he said, hating his own flippancy even as the words left him. “Because he deserved it.”
“I believe you,” she said after a moment. “But that isn’t really an answer, is it?”
He grunted in acknowledgement, casting a glance at her to the side, in the corner of his eyes. “No, it isn’t. But I also don’t want you to see me like that, to think of me like that.”
“Like what?” she asked, inching closer to him, crawling onto his chest so that she could see his face. “Like a man who sometimes loses his temper?”
“I don’t, though,” he protested, squeezing his eyes shut. “I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve lost myself like that. It isn’t who I am.”
“All right,” she said gently. “You don’t have to tell me. I understand.”
That was unacceptable, of course. The only thing worse than being caught on one of Millie’s barbed hooks of observation was being released from it and plopped back into the water to swim away.
“It wasn’t just one thing,” he told her, forcing himself to open his eyes and meet hers directly. “Do you know magistrates don’t have to be or do anything in particular to become what they are? They aren’t barristers or judges or even enforcers. Half the time they’re just well-connected toffs with more free time than theyneed who get drafted up by their High Society comrades to levy judgements down on people. A lot of them don’t even bother doing it at the courthouse, they just make us all come to their houses for legal proceedings. Did you know that?”
“I … suppose I did,” she said, wrinkling up her nose. “Though I never thought about it like that.”
He grimaced. “Wealth overrides everything, and this particular man is so beyond incompetent, so completely convinced that he is ordained to pass judgement because he had the good sense to be born on a velvet pillow. I don’t even remember what the final straw was, just that he deserved far more than a single punch to the face.”
She was quiet for a breath, likely imagining it. Then, “Did you do it in court? Tell me you did it in court.”
He gasped. “Millie!”
“What?!” she returned, looking a little angry herself.
He laughed, a strained, unexpected tear of amusement from his chest. “Yes,” he admitted. “In summary judgement.”
She grinned at him, her even little teeth catching the moonlight. “Good.”
He shook his head, that warmth in his blood heating in a completely different way now. He reached up to coil some of her hair around his finger, giving it a little tug.
“You were just chiding us for being irresponsible,” he reminded her. “Reckless, even.”
She lifted her brows. “Was I?”
