Page 33 of West End Earl
“I wish you’d let me help. You’ve been alone for so long, but you don’t have to be anymore. Trust me. Please.”
***
Phee recoiled from the gently spoken words. Trust him? She did…to a point. But wouldn’t she have to tell him everything at some point? Which meant answering questions about Adam and that day on the pond. There was no way he’d look at her with such sweet vulnerability on his face if he knew.
Flashes of memory assaulted her with images of pink water and Adam’s pale face, eyes wide open, as if dying young had surprised him too. The chair caught her when her calves bumped against it, toppling her away from Cal.
“You should leave.” The words scraped through a tight throat, while anxiety threatened to dislodge dinner from her stomach. Lord, she might be sick all over his perfectly polished leather shoes. Of course they were polished and perfect, just like the rest of him. The very opposite of her, with her one remaining suit of clothes, battered pillow, and two personal possessions.
Although it wouldn’t hide anything, Phee covered her face with her hands. The urge to tell him everything nearly overwhelmed her. To get it over with and purge every damning secret. He’d let her leave then, without a fuss. Accepting a liar was one thing. But a murderer?
However, this was Calvin. She sneaked a peek up at him standing there with hands on his hips and a fall of hair nearly hiding his disgruntled expression. This man’s generous nature sometimes overrode common sense. What if he tried to help? It would be nothing for him to wave his magic wands of money and connections and make it all better. Like assigning a footman to guard her while she slept, but on a larger scale.
“Get some rest. We can talk in the morning if you wish. There are just as many ways to run off when the sun rises,” Cal said gruffly.
The door latch closed with a gentlesnickas he left the room.
She ran her fingers through her short curls and sighed out a gusty exhale. Lordy, what a day. Beyond the glow of the lantern, the bed beckoned.
Staying the night wouldn’t change things in the long run. Besides, one place she’d be safe from Milton’s henchmen was Cal’s house, with its legion of footmen and the regular patrols outside protecting the residents of Mayfair.
Crossing to the window, she flicked the curtain open barely enough to peer into the night. Along the street, gas lamps illuminated tiny circles of pavement in otherwise inky darkness. No silhouetted men loitered in any of those dots of light, but that proved nothing.
Maybe things would look clearer tomorrow. Because to be wholly honest, she didn’t want to leave London. Not really. Feeling tired and frayed around the edges like this made the available options appear limited. Sleep might help. For now, she was safe.
She plucked her pillow from where it had fallen on the floor, and the pound notes inside crinkled with a soothing reminder of her life’s savings. After pulling back the blankets, she sat on the edge of the mattress and removed her boots. With that move, it became official, in her mind at least, that she’d stay for the night. After carefully folding her clothing, Phee snuffed the lamp.
The bindings around her chest had become a familiar pressure over the years. Sleeping in them wouldn’t be a problem, especially when exhaustion pulled at her limbs.
A down-filled pillow dipped under her head, and she cocooned herself in smooth linens and the comforting weight of blankets over bare legs. Sleep should come quickly.
Except it didn’t.
When she closed her eyes, her brain settled on one thing: he’d nearly kissed her. And she’d wanted him to. His pupils had taken over the warm chocolate of his eyes when he brushed a thumb over her bottom lip. Cal’s spicy scent had filled her head, even as she’d realized his breathing was as unsteady as hers.
As she rolled to her side and tucked the blankets into the crook of her neck, an ache in her chest grew with each new thought spinning in her head.
She’d never kissed a man.
When she and Adam turned thirteen, Uncle Milton had sent Adam to boarding school, then arranged a marriage for her to Sir Potter—who’d been seventy if a day, and some kind of business associate.
That was when she cut off all her hair and tried to run away.
When Milton found her, he locked her up until she agreed to marry Sir Potter. She stayed in that room for eight days, living on scraps the chambermaids slipped to her when they made their rounds.
Adam came home from school on the ninth day for a scheduled break.
He died on the tenth day after he picked the lock and sneaked them from the house to plot their escape. With the blind hope of children, they’d decided to stow away on a ship to America and start a new life.
Claiming grief, she avoided Milton until it was time to take her brother’s place at school.
That day by the pond, she’d dressed in her brother’s sopping wet clothes and stolen his future. In reality, she’d never really been a woman. A girl, yes. And that had nearly been the end of her. Since then, womanhood had been something she’d dreamed of, while keeping it firmly in the land of “someday.” With Cal’s near kiss lingering as a tingle where he’d touched her, it looked like someday was arriving earlier than expected.
The most beautiful man in London wanted to kiss…her. Which begged the questionwhy. And why now? She’d been wrestling with this attraction to Cal for two years. Like looking directly into the sun, it could only hurt to study her feelings when she couldn’t allow them free reign. The self-denial had been a near constant torment, although one she’d grown accustomed to.
Yet he’d almost kissed her.
Why?All the clamor in her head quieted under that one word. None of this made sense. A public relationship with “Adam” would be a tremendous risk for Cal, so why flirt in the hack or nearly kiss her tonight?
