Page 88 of A Deal With a Notorious Devil
Phoebe gave an unsteady nod. “It’s why I came myself,” she said, her fingers going to the healing cut upon her throat. “He’s attacked me once before, and I—”
“What?” Laurence snarled.
“You didn’t tell them?” Kit asked incredulously.
“I didn’t want anyone to worry.”
“For God’s sake, Phoebe!”
“Donotshout at me!” she shouted back, and cringed at the sound of her own voice. Oh, her head ached something awful.
Laurence spoke through gritted teeth. “I’m coming with you,” he said to Kit. “That bastard laid hands upon my sister—”
“He’ll die for it,” Kit said, and swiped one hand down his face, rubbing at his jaw as if the conversation had grown tiresome. “That was never in question. Take your damned sister home, Laurence. You’re not killing anyone tonight. Or ever.”
“But—”
“Christ,” Kit snarled. “Ihavegot some shreds of conscience, you goddamned imbecile. His death won’t weigh upon me, but for some godforsaken reason, the needless staining of your pristine soul would. So let me be the monster in the dark this evening.” With one hand, he snatched at Phoebe’s shoulder and shoved her toward Laurence. “Bath. Doctor. Brandy. In that order,” he reiterated.
And before Laurence could offer any more objections, he turned on his heel and walked away, fading into the shadows like the monster he’d claimed to be. There to do the nefarious deeds of which he was perfectly capable and more to the point,willingto accomplish when he had determined they were required of him. Not conscienceless, Phoebe thought. Only morally flexible enough to take on burdensome tasks that might have troubled another.
Shewouldsleep easier for it.
“Do you know,” Laurence said slowly, “I never thought I would say this. But it’s…somehow comforting to have him in the family. I’d kill to protect my daughters. And when they marry, I suppose—I suppose I would like it to be to men who would do the same. Even if they aren’t quite gentlemen.”
He couldn’t know it, but Kit had just won himself high praise indeed. Phoebe felt her breath escape on a sigh, her shoulders listing down once more as the last of the remaining tension dissolved. “I really would like a bath,” she admitted, swiping at a bit of blood that was drying upon her chin. “And then—bed, I think.”
Laurence gave a low laugh. “Oh, no,” he said. “It’s a bath, a doctor, and brandy for you, as ordered. And then…then, I think you have quite a few explanations to make before you’ll find your bed.” He canted his head, considered a moment. “Possibly there will be shouting.”
Lord. Kit would not be the only one up until dawn. She was certain of it.
∞∞∞
Phoebe had been sitting out in the garden for most of the night, her back pressed against the wall that separated her parents’ garden from Kit’s. She’d watched clouds slide across the oppressive black of the sky, listened to the wind rustle the leaves, and thought quite a lot about her marriage, her husband, and herself. Who she had been. Who she wanted to be. How she might temper the expectations of her family, of the society into which she had been born. How she might carve out some small scrap of happiness—her version of it—from the tapestry that hadshe had been woven into from birth.
Dawn was just kissing the horizon, shining through the remaining cloud cover in tiny rays when at last she heard Kit’s garden door open. There was the tap of Kit’s cane upon the stone as he approached the lawn, steady but slow. Each step must be painful, she thought, given the way Russell had lashed out at him evening last, collapsing his knee from beneath him.
He gave a muted groan as he reached the wall at last and sat heavily upon the bench just on the other side of the wall. “It’s done,” he said quietly.
“Good.” Phoebe bowed her head, emotions conflicted. Primarily there was relief, of course, but there was also worry, and the last lingering dregs of fear. “And…there will be no further trouble?”
“Not from him.”
“That’s not really what I meant.” Phoebe wiped her suddenly-clammy palms upon the thin linen of her nightdress. “I mean to say, should anyone discover—”
“Rafe can keep a secret,” he said. “And so can Brooks. Your brother is less certain, but I doubt he’s likely to go bragging about it when he really didn’t do much of anything. But Russell will never be found, and I doubt he will even be missed.”
Good. That was good. She’d not been eager to lose her husband to the point of a pistol; it was just as well that she was unlikely to lose him to the business end of a noose.
“Nightmares?” he asked.
Phoebe shook her head, although he plainly could not see her over the garden wall. “I haven’t been to sleep yet,” she said. “Mama, Papa, and Laurence spent a good portion of the evening shouting at me.”
“Good,” he huffed. “What the hell were you thinking, Phoebe? You might have been killed!”
“So might you!” Perhaps they were not precisely on speakingterms at the moment, but she supposed shouting terms were acceptable, given the level of upheaval that had been wrought upon their lives just lately.
“I taught you to defend yourself,” he seethed, “not to protect mylife but to saveyours.”
