The Suffragette Scandal (The Brothers Sinister) (28 page)

She lifted her hand, gave a little wave. A moment later, he saluted her in return.

“Free,” Amanda said. “I’d never thought I’d say this to you of all people, but are your nerves overwrought?”

“No,” Free wrung her hands together. “My nerves are neither over-nor underwrought. They are wrought to the precise degree demanded by this situation.”

Amanda snorted in disbelief.

“The situation,” Free admitted, “is one of both dreadful confusion and enormous anticipation.”

He’d turned off the main track, starting up the path that led to her press. Her heart pounded. Her palms prickled.

“That’s it, then,” Amanda said with a smile. “I’m going in.”

“Wait…” But her protest was halfhearted. He was coming up to her now. His jacket was rumpled from travel and he was in desperate need of a shave. Free didn’t care—not one bit. She drifted down the path to him, holding out her hands.

Distance vanished. Time vanished.

“Mr. Clark.” Behind her, the press still thundered on. She could scarcely hear it for the ringing in her own ears.

He didn’t hesitate. He twined his fingers with hers, pulling her…not close, not really. Not when she’d imagined him so much closer for many months now. They were no closer than two people would be if dancing a country reel. But her pulse beat as if she’d just danced two sets with him, and she’d done nothing more than take a few steps down the path.

“Mr. Clark,” she repeated, looking up at him. “You are
very
tall.”

“And you,” he said in a low voice, “you, my most maddeningly beautiful, brilliant, Free. You are perfectly sized. If you
Mr. Clark
me once more, I shall be forced to do something dreadful, something like kiss you in public.”

Even her wildest fantasies had not had him saying something like that on arrival. She squeezed his hands and then looked up into his dark eyes.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Clark,” she said. “What did you say, Mr. Clark? Mr. Clark, I fear that I have become rather hard of hearing. The noise of the press is terribly distracting. What was that you said you’d do if I called you Mr. Clark?”

His hands tightened on hers and he inhaled, leaning in. But despite the hungry look in his eye, he didn’t make good on his promise.

“Alas,” he said. “Business comes before pleasure. There’s something you must know.”

Business. She could hardly care about business when he’d called her
maddeningly beautiful
, when he’d taken her hands and threatened to kiss her.

He eyed her. “James Delacey is targeting you again.”

Of all the things she thought he might have come to tell her…

Free frowned in confusion. “And you heard this all the way in Toulouse?”

“I hear everything.” He said this with a small smile. “There are some things you ought to realize. First, they’ve quashed the permit for your demonstration tomorrow. You should have received notice of that, but he managed to quash that, too.”

“That’s an annoyance.” Free frowned. It was too late to call matters off. They had no way to contact the participants, not at this late a date. The last call had gone out in their papers two days before. And she couldn’t leave the women to face the consequences alone.

“It’s more than an annoyance.”

“Yes, it’s a crying shame. We had planned such a nice demonstration, too. For every four women wearing white, we’ll have ninety-six in black wearing gags, to represent the proportion of women who would be able to vote under the proposed bill. It’s going to make such a striking display. We’ll have photographs of it all.” She sighed, but then brightened. “And the only thing that could make it better would be if they arrested the lot of us. Then
all
the newspapers will cover the story.”

He didn’t smile. “This is different. The constables have orders not to release you. And Delacey has plans for what will happen afterward.”

She shrugged. “My brother will raise the biggest… Ah. Well. I suppose he won’t.” He couldn’t, at least not immediately. He was out of the country with his family. “My father?”

“A fine pugilist, but he hasn’t the political clout necessary to effect your release. Free, I don’t think you’re taking this seriously. You don’t know what Delacey will do to you, and—”

She couldn’t think about that, not without a shiver of fear. Free shook her head. “What about the Duke of Clermont? He’s in town. He’s my brother’s brother. It’s complicated, and I’d hate to lean on him, but in a pinch, he’d do.”

He looked faintly annoyed. “I wasn’t thinking of Clermont,” he grumbled. “You’re making this difficult. You see, I had rather hoped that you might ask your husband to release you.”

Free’s mouth went dry. Her mind ceased to function.

“I haven’t got a husband.” But she could not look away from him, from his dark eyes resting on her. His hands still held hers. “And even if I did, he hasn’t any political clout.”

“Ah, but here’s the thing,” he said. “If you
did
have a husband, he might come up with any sort of political clout he wished. A signed, sworn statement of release from dead Prince Albert, if that would do the trick.”

Free choked. “Please don’t do that.”

“Of all the things that James might threaten, holding you in custody and doing you harm… I can’t bear thinking of the harm he might do.” His voice was low. “I’d learn necromancy and raise the dead myself, just to get you out.”

He was driving all possibility of thought from her. All thoughts of permits and arrest had been driven from her mind. She swallowed and looked up into his eyes. “Luckily, you don’t need to learn necromancy.”

“Luckily,” he agreed, “I don’t.”

“Even more luckily,” she heard herself say, “I don’t need a husband for that. I have you, and you could forge me false release papers without marrying me. Even if that were our only prospect. Which it isn’t.”

“Unluckily,” he said, without breaking into a smile, “you are right. There are several sad, gaping holes in my logic. I don’t suppose you’re interested in marrying a failed logician with necromantic tendencies, by any chance?”

Free took a deep breath. It didn’t seem to calm the whirl of her head. “That’s…a proposal of marriage? I just want to clarify matters. You see, it could also be a madman’s babble, and I want to be certain.”

“It’s a proposal.” His hands squeezed hers. “Of marriage. And this”—he reached into his pocket—“is a special license. Did you know the vicar will be around today until six?”

“Oh my God.” She dropped his hands. “Are you asking me to marry you
today?
Before you’ve had a chance to meet my parents? With nobody around to witness but Amanda and Alice?”

“I’m asking you to marry me within the next hour.” He simply looked at her. “I can’t think of a reason why you should. I have no moral sense to speak of. I lie, I cheat, I steal, and I’ll probably drive you away screaming within the week. But if you marry me, I’ll only do those things on your behalf.”

She shook her head reprovingly. “Edward.”

“Was that not any better as proposals go?”

“No. Not particularly. I can’t even tell if you mean it seriously.”

“Then try this one. I’ve spent all the last years of my life wandering around thinking, ‘This world is a terrible place; how can I take advantage of it?’ And then I met you.” He fell silent, but his eyes met hers.

Dark, deep pools. She’d only dreamed of him looking like that, looking at her as if she were everything to him. She felt her toes curl.

“I met you,” he continued, “and you said, ‘This world is a terrible place; how can I make it better?’ You kicked the foundation out from under me. You changed everything. You made me think that there might be more to my life than unending betrayal. So yes, Free. I want you. I want you to sit with me at breakfast and make me smile. I want you to lie with me at night and kiss me. I want you underneath me. I want everything about you.”

“Better.” Free squeezed his hands. “Keep going. I think that you can reduce me to a little puddle in another two minutes, if you keep at it. I’m halfway to liquid as it is.”

“Ah,” he said, leaning down to her. “Then I’d better stop. I love you with steel in your spine.”

She could not bring herself to let go of him. He was right. There were a thousand reasons she shouldn’t marry him. She didn’t even know the name he’d been born with. That hardly mattered; the family that had rejected him was nothing to her. Still…

“I have a handful of questions.”

“Only a handful?” His tone was light, but his hands tensed in hers.

“I’ll restrain myself for now,” she said, “and delay the other million for some later time. First, what of your business in Toulouse? Will we live here, and if so, what do you plan to do?”

He met her eyes. “I sold my business three days ago; I knew I was returning to England. As for what I am planning to do…” He let out a sigh. “There’s no hope for it, but I am going to pretend to be respectable. If I had my way, I’d start a metalworks here. I’d never interfere with your paper unless you wanted, and alas, I fear that general illicit activities would cause you problems. So I’ll abstain as best I can.”

She nodded. “Only one more question.”

She could feel the tension in him, every muscle from his shoulders on down going rigid.

“And that is: Do you love me?”

“
That
is a waste of a question.” He let go of her hands, but only to put his arm around her waist and draw her to him. “You know I do. I promised that if you
Mr. Clarked
me one last time, I’d take my retribution. And while I’m hardly the sort to keep inconvenient promises, this one…”

He leaned into her. His forehead touched hers; her lips warmed with the flow of his breath.

“This promise,” he whispered to her, “is the opposite of inconvenient.”

Free let out a soft sigh and brought her face up that last half inch, touching their lips together. He tasted so sweet that she could scarcely believe that she was kissing him again after all this time. But she set her hands on his shoulders, and he was real and solid. Her body pressed against his. Her mouth opened to him. Kissing him felt like sipping lamplight; she became more radiant with every touch of their tongues.

“Free, darling.”

“Edward,” she breathed.

“I still don’t have a good reason for you to marry me, but I have a multitude of bad ones. It’s impulsive. It’s foolish. I’m a scoundrel. There’s too much I haven’t told you, and no time for me to explain everything. You’ll hate me at least three times after this, before I convince you to love me.” His arm slipped down her body, pulling her even closer.

“But will you?” she asked. “Convince me?”

“Probably not,” he said huskily. For all the carefree tone of his voice, his eyes told a different story. He kissed her again, a long lingering kiss.

She couldn’t quite believe this was happening. Months of correspondence—some of it warm enough to heat her for nights—still hadn’t prepared her for this. He’d sold his business, come to London, and obtained a special license?

It all seemed to be happening so swiftly. Almost too swiftly.

“That special license you claim to have.” She swallowed. “Is that a
real
special license, or is it the
Edward
sort of special license?”

He leaned down and kissed her again. “You think I’d procure a false license? For God’s sake, Free. I’m trying to rush you
into
marriage. I have no desire to end that state any time soon. The only thing I forged was proof of my residency, and my solicitor assures me that can’t be used to invalidate a duly issued license. I asked.”

“Oh,” she said. She wanted to laugh. “Very well, then. I’m convinced.”

His hand tightened on hers. “Is that an
I’m convinced it’s a real license,
or…”

From the moment she’d received his telegram, they’d been coming to this. No, from before. Every instant since she’d met him had been leading to this pinnacle.

She smiled up at him. “Neither. It’s more like this: You idiot, why did it take you so long?”

A
FTER THE WHIRL OF THE NEXT FEW HOURS,
Edward couldn’t quite believe that it had really happened.

Frederica Marshall had married him. With scarcely a thought, without a moment’s hesitation. Tomorrow, she’d find out who he was and what he had planned. But tonight…

The sun had not yet set. They stood on the doorstep of her home, so newly completed that he could still smell the clean scent of sawn boards. He had his arm around her, refusing to let go for fear that she might come to her senses and leave at any moment.

“I’m off to London,” Lady Amanda was saying to Free. She had been one of their witnesses. “I had planned to go down early for the demonstration, and, well…” She glanced at Edward, and shrugged her shoulders. “All the more reason for me not to change my plans. I’m just here to get my bag.”

“Are you still speaking to Genevieve tomorrow?” Free asked.

Lady Amanda flushed faintly. “Yes.” She glanced over at Edward again, and then looked away. But even though the glance she cast him was suspicious, she didn’t say a word.