Page 60 of Tempting the Scoundrel
Alex backed away, her hands grasping her dress so hard that her knuckles were white. She took gulping breaths, her body visibly shaking with the effort. Then, with each passing moment, her exhalations began to slow. Her body began to relax. And something cold and hard settled in her gaze as she stared at him. It was a wall, he comprehended. A citadel she erected around herself, brick by brick, until it reached an unscalable height. He was left out in the cold, circling those high walls, until he had no choice but to retreat. She was no longer open to him.
Her heart was a fortress.
“I’m taking the carriage to my brother’s,” Alex said flatly. “You will not come with me. And you tell my . . .” She clenched her jaw. “Tellthe earlthat if he informs a single person about this marriage, I’ll tell everyone who will listen that his wife made him a cuckold.”
Thorne would do more than that. He’d make threats if he had to. He’d do whatever she asked—whatever she wanted. He owed her that much.
“All right,” he said gently. “There’s a tavern in Whitechapel called the Hare and Hounds. Will you send word—”
“I will only send word if I am with child.” Her expression was hard. “Legally, I can do nothing about the fact that my money now belongs to you. Take it. Do whatever the hell you want with it. Spend it all, if that’s your wish. But you will not seek to contact me. I don’t want to know you.”
The fist around his heart tightened.You deserve this. You deserve this. You deserve this.
But he had to tell her that there was one truth. Only one. “Alex,” he said. “I meant what I said last night.”
I love you. Remember that when we return to Stratfield Saye.
She stiffened. The last words she spoke to him broke his heart in two. “I don’t believe you.”
Alex spoke to the coachman and got in the carriage. He watched as the conveyance disappeared down the drive.
Chapter 18
London. Four years later.
The hack would not go into the St Giles rookeries.
Thorne could hardly blame the driver for his reluctance. There were certain places in London vehicles didn’t stop, even in the light of day.
As they walked past the tenements, Thorne kept a wary eye out for pickpockets. Just from the look of Alex, it was clear she didn’t belong. Even her plain gray walking dress was too clean and well-made for these parts.
“Up here,” Alex said, indicating with a nod. She ignored the old drunkard who stared, his trembling hand plucking at the buttons of his worn trousers as he relieved himself against the wall.
“Who is this woman, exactly?” Thorne asked, following her across the street.
“Millicent Kirkpatrick was trafficked to Australia to work in Lord Seymour’s opal mines.” She took them down a narrow alleyway. “One of the guards there took a fancy to Millie and helped her escape and, by some grace of god, she ended up back on English shores. She supplied me with all the information on the conditions in the opal trade.” She stopped in front of a tenement door and knocked.
Thorne eased his body in front of hers as a group of youths passed. “How often have you come here?”
She knocked again. “Often enough.”
Thorne’s body was tense. He did not like being out in the streets with Whelan still alive. He fought against some animal urge to bundle Alex up and take her back to the Brimstone. “Alone?”
Alex pressed her lips together and hesitated. “Yes.” She gestured to her clothes and knocked a third time. “Usually I am in something more practical.”
Thorne made a soft noise. “Practical or no, it’s not—”
“Safe? Few places in London are for women.” Thorne would have argued at length with her, but Alex muttered a swear and glanced at him. “You’re a thief. A decent one, so I gathered.”
“Retired thief. I’m practically respectable now.”
Alex snorted. “Practically,” she muttered. She plucked two pins from her coif and passed them to him. “I assume you can pick a lock. Do me the honor, if you please.”
Thorne took the pins from her. “Don’t change the topic.”
“You’re about to lecture me about safety and I wish to avoid that conversation entirely.” She watched him with interest as he got to work on the lock. “Where did you learn to do this?”
A soft, wistful smile came to his face. “My ma.” With the pin, he felt for the give and resistance of inner mechanisms, listened for the right clicks. “She had a crew back in Dublin. They stole only what they needed and took care of each other. But the famine hit hard, and they had to choose between leaving or starving. The others settled in New York. Ma was the only one who came to London. Hoped she’d get back to her country one day.” He lifted a shoulder. “America seemed too far. Too unfamiliar.”
