Page 60 of Marry in Secret
“Thomas?” she whispered. “Oh, Thomas.”
He didn’t say anything. What was there to say? What was done was done.
“When you told me... I didn’t think... never imagined.” Her voice broke, and he slipped an arm around her waist.
“Don’t upset yourself, love, it’s all long in the past.” Several months at least.
“It’s wicked what they did to you, wicked!” She gingerly touched his back. “Does this hurt?”
He almost laughed. He could barely feel it. The scarring had made his skin as tough as an elephant’s hide. “No, it’s just ugly, that’s all.”
“It’s not ugly, it’s—” She broke off. “It’s evil.” She bent and he felt a warm, damp flutter on his back, then another. She was kissing his back, his ruined back. And there were tears. He felt them.
“Don’t weep for me, Rose,” he said huskily.
“I’m not,” she lied, wiping her eyes. “I’m angry. Nobody has the right to do this to another person.”
She continued tending to his cuts and bruises in silence. When she was finished she helped him back on with his clothes. “Thomas,” she said decisively, straightening his neckcloth. “We must bring your sailors back immediately. As soon as possible.”
He noted theweand started to smile, then winced as his cut lip sent a message of disapproval. No smiling for a few days at least.
They joined Ollie, Galbraith, Lily and George downstairs in the drawing room. A short time later the earl and countess joined them. Ashendon was still a mess, only now he looked even worse because the unguent his wife had applied was green. His handsome face was bruised, swollen, lopsided and greenish.
Thomas told himself it would be ignoble to enjoy it. He failed; nobility had never been his forte.
“My, my, you two did have a time of it,” Lady George commented. She eyed their injuries with interest and added cheerfully, “That lot will have scabbed up beautifully by the day of the ball.”
“The ball!” Lady Ashendon and Rose exclaimed in unison, and looked at each other in dismay.
“Oh, why must men be so foolish!” Lady Ashendon said crossly. “As if fighting ever solved anything.”
The butler and a footman entered with tea and refreshments—sandwiches, little savory pastries, dainty fruit tarts, curd cakes and more. Lady Ashendon was a superb hostess. Ashendon gave the butler some invisible signal and he immediately poured brandy for all the men, leaving the women to their tea.
“So, why have you brought us all here, Cal?” Lady Ashendon asked.
***
Cal looked at Thomas. “Go on, you might as well admit it, now that we’ve seen what those boots are hiding.”
“Admit what?” Thomas took a bite of a savory pastry.
“That you’re a convict.”
Rose shot from her seat. “Cal, he isnot! How dare you make such a vile accusation! Thomas is a man of honor.”
Cal barely glanced at her. “He’s got scars around his ankles, Rose. Manacle scars, the kind convicts get from wearing a ball and chain.”
Rose turned to Thomas. “More scars, Thomas? Oh, that’s wicked.” She ached for what he had endured.
Cal sat forward. “What do you mean, ‘more scars’?”
Rose glanced at Thomas, silently asking permission to tell them. He gave it with an indifferent lift of one shoulder. “He has whip marks on his back,” she told Cal. “Dreadful scars.”
“I’m not going to ask how you came to see his naked back,” Cal said thinly. “But I will point out that convicts get whipped for bad behavior.”
“So do slaves,” Thomas said. “Especially ones who repeatedly try to escape.”
“Slaves?” Cal stiffened. “Are you saying you’ve beena slavefor the last four years?”
