Page 76 of Evidence of Evil
A frown quirked her brow. “Why? Isn’t yours?”
He looked startled. “Mine?”
“For Constance. The kindest of gentlemen might forgive a single fall from grace, an advantage taken by the worst kind of man for purely selfish reasons of his own. But more than one man? For money? Isn’t that why you are not married to Constance? Because you can’t forgive her for all the men that came before you?”
A mask came down over his face like a shutter. “Constance and I are friends,” he said coldly. “There is no question of marriage between us.”
Elizabeth laughed, with more anger than mirth. The stupidity of men appalled her. “Oh,please. I’ve seen the way you look at her when you think no one is watching. She is beautiful, intelligent, fun, kind to a fault, devoted to you. And all you see is acourtesan.” She picked up Humph’s brandy glass and took a healthy swallow. “What if I were to tell you I have never seen her with a man? That no clients at her establishmenteverhave appointments with her? Not in the months I was there, not in the years some of the other girls have been with her. No one works there in that way if they don’t want to, and that includes Constance. Now do you look at her differently?”
His eyes were impossibly icy. “No.”
Her smile was twisted. “Because you don’t believe me.”
“Actually, I do believe you. It is you who doesn’t believe me when I tell you Constance and I are friends. But we are not the issue here. If you wish to keep your husband with any hope of happiness, tell him the truth.”
She pushed the glass away from her. “I can’t,” she whispered. “I love him and he’s all I have. He and the children. I would rather have doubt than outright contempt.”
“Would you?” Solomon rose to his feet. “Think about it,” he said gently, the compassion back in his melting, dark eyes. He walked behind her and on toward the door, where he paused and glanced back at her. “Why does she keep doing it? Why does she not walk away?”
“Because she is needed. And she makes a difference. I am far from the only one.”
His lips quirked. It might have been a smile, but she still could not read his eyes. He turned and quietly left the room.
Further along the hall, a door closed. Humphrey, seeking solitude in his study. He had sent her to bed like a naughty schoolgirl because he could not bear the sight of her. Solomon’s footsteps moved steadily on to the drawing room.
Tomorrow, probably, she would be ashamed of throwing Constance in his face. In fact, their relationship baffled her, though it was none of her business and she should not have interfered. But she was tired of women being blamed for men’s failings, of being reviled for doing their best, for falling and failing… Whatever Constance’s past—and Elizabeth knew very little about it—Solomon should understand that she was the best person Elizabeth knew.
Apart from Humph.
Tears prickled. Would she be proving her innocence of murder at the expense of her marriage, her happiness with the funny, kind, grumpy bear of a man who was her husband? Sheput her head in her hands and closed her eyes, squeezing them tight.
Then, slowly, she opened them again, let her hands fall, and rose to her feet. She left the dining room and walked down the hall to Humph’s study, a silent, wordless prayer in her head.
She opened the door and went in. He too was sitting with his head in his hands, although he raised it at once, looking more disoriented than irritated.
“Humph,” she said, “will you hear the truth and still believe I love you?”
He was unusually pale, even in the dim candlelight, and almost haggard. The pain in his eyes devastated her, drowning her last hope in despair.
“I don’t know,” he whispered. Then, blindly, he took her hand and drew her on to his lap. Burying his face in her neck, he said in muffled tones, “Tell me it all this time. If you can bear it, so can I.”
*
“It’s not Humphrey,”Constance said as soon as Solomon entered the drawing room. She was pacing the floor like a caged if graceful animal, not even pausing as she flung the words at him over her shoulder. Her wide skirts rustled expensively. The glow of the candles caught glints of red and gold in her hair, enhancing the flawless beauty of her skin.
It hurt to look at Constance sometimes. He had assumed that was because she could never be his. But now, suddenly, it was as if some glass wall between them had shattered. Only illusion, misunderstanding, had kept him from acknowledging his attraction to her.
Evenattractionwas a poor, weak word for intense feelings that rocked him in utter confusion.
Just because Constance did not lie with men for money? Was Elizabeth right about that?
Partly. A man wanted to be the only one…or this man did. But there was more. In some ways, Constance’s profession had been a crutch to him, preventing him from falling, and he had grasped it like a weapon. Because he was afraid of the depths.
Solomon had known women before. Charming, witty, soft, sweet or fierce, each had fascinated and soothed him for a while. But he had always been in control. With Constance…
He reminded himself sharply that he was notwithConstance. What the devil had she just said to him?
“It’s not Humphrey.”
