The Hellion (Wicked Wallflowers Book 1) Page 28

  “Your brother cannot be deterred in any of his goals,” the other woman finally settled for. “He can convince a person to do anything and even get that person to believe they, in fact, were the owner of the decision.” She held her gaze. “But he cannot control Gertrude and he cannot control Ophelia.” She paused. “And he cannot control you. They will be all right. They’ll find love.” Just as I did . . .

  “There cannot be love. Not with . . .” Her lower lip quivered, and she bit it to hide that tremble. “Not with everything that’s come.”

  Reggie smoothed her palm over the top of Cleopatra’s head. “There’ll always be love. That won’t go away simply because of anything that’s come to pass or won’t or will. You love him,” she said simply. “And if he’s truly a man who’s deserving of your love, he’ll not hold you to blame for your brother’s crimes.”

  The chamber door opened, and Broderick stepped inside.

  Reggie instantly hopped up. “I’ll leave you to speak with your brother,” she said quietly.

  Cleopatra carefully studied the other woman’s retreating back. She lingered, her gaze touching briefly on Broderick. Wordlessly, he stepped aside, allowing Reggie to take her leave. Her fool brother’s focus, however, remained fixed on Cleopatra.

  Reggie shut the door, leaving them alone.

  “How are you feeling?” he asked, coming over.

  Like my heart is breaking and I’ll never be happy again. Was I truly happy before Adair? “How is Stephen?” she countered. Since she’d returned home, and the truth of his actions these past months had come to light, he’d carefully avoided Cleopatra. Instead, by her sisters’ accounts, he remained largely confined to his rooms, with a guard assigned him.

  Broderick lingered at the doorway. “He’s afraid to see you.”

  Conflict raged within. Had Stephen been born to a different station and a different lot, he would have been a child. But he’d been shaped by the ugliness of life, like all of them. “I’m his sister,” she finally said. Of all the people to fear, Cleopatra should be the last of them.

  Silently, Broderick reached behind him, pressing the handle.

  Shuffling back and forth on his feet, Stephen directed his gaze to the floor. And in this instance, he’d the look of the child he, in fact, was.

  “Stephen,” she greeted in steady tones, wanting to rail at him, knowing it would accomplish nothing. No diatribe she rained down on him could ever restore all Adair had lost. And all I lost, as well . . .

  Her youngest sibling reluctantly picked his head up.

  Broderick motioned him forward, that single, wordless command as masterful on the always recalcitrant child as it was on all the most hardened thugs in the streets. Stephen came to a stop beside him.

  “Why?” she implored. “Why would you do this?”

  “I—I did not think you would b-be angry if you found out.” He spoke so faintly, Cleopatra leaned forward in a bid to hear. “They are the enemy.”

  They are the enemy.

  Cleopatra sank back.

  Four words Diggory had uttered countless times to all of them, passing down the torch of his hatred, keeping that flame burning strong. Cleopatra herself had been as guilty of hating sight unseen, knowing nothing really about Adair or his brothers. She looked hopelessly at her brother.

  “We are not arsonists or murderers, Stephen.” Broderick’s harsh chastisement set the boy’s lips to trembling.

  “I didn’t want anyone to die.”

  Which by the miracle of God himself, no one had. But others had been burned in the first blaze set by him, and cherished businesses had been lost.

  Cleopatra turned her palms up. “Then tell me why. Make me understand—”

  “Because I didn’t want you to go there,” Stephen cried out. “I wanted you to stay here with me . . . with us.”

  Her heart cracked.

  “And you knew if the truce were broken, that Ryker Black would force me to return,” she breathed.

  Her youngest brother nodded once.

  Over the top of his bent head, Cleopatra and Broderick exchanged looks.

  “It’s all your fault,” Stephen snarled at Broderick, and then favoring him with a dark glare, he raced from the room, slamming the door in his wake.

  Broderick dusted a tired hand over his face. “Black and his brothers came by a short while ago.”

  She froze. His brothers. Adair. Adair had come. Did he wonder after her? Wish to see her? Or had it all been about exacting payment? “Wh-what will happen to him?”

  Her brother grabbed the chair vacated a short while ago by Reggie and pulled it closer to the bed. “Black asked if I was capable of watching after him to see that he doesn’t carry out the same acts.” Again. “I assured him I would,” he said, after he’d sat.

  Her heart thudded wildly as she silently screamed for him to continue.

  “They promised not to pursue criminal charges.”

  “What?” she whispered.

  Stretching his legs out before him, Broderick shrugged. “It would seem Adair Thorne convinced them that the child should not be punished, but mentored.”

  If it was possible, her heart filled to overflowing with her love for him.

  “I’m not marrying a lord,” she said without preamble, wanting her piece said. He froze. She loved her brother, would always love him, and understood the hunger for security, but she now knew it could not come at the cost of her, or any of her siblings’, happiness. “I don’t want to marry anyone.”

  Broderick lowered his eyebrows. “You don’t want to marry anyone?”

  No, that wasn’t altogether accurate, either. “I love him. I love Adair Thorne, and I don’t care about the security, wealth, or connections that would come in marrying a lord.” When at one time nothing had seemed more vital. “I’ll not wed when my heart belongs to another.”

  Her profession was met with a blanket of silence. Broderick drummed his fingertips on the scalloped arms of his seat. “Adair Thorne of the Hell and Sin?”

  She nodded. “I don’t believe there is another Adair Thorne, is there?” she asked in a bid for levity.

  He abruptly stopped his incessant tapping. “He’s not who I imagined as a husband for you,” he said drily.

  No, with his lack of noble connections, Adair wouldn’t have been, but she loved him for who he was. “He is a good man, Broderick.”

  “We may beg to differ there,” he muttered under his breath.

  “Our brother burned his club down, and he forgave him. Convinced his brothers to do the same,” she said directly. “I don’t know a better man.”

  Broderick sighed. “I only wanted you with the best.”

  And to him, a link to the peerage defined that. “I’m tired, Broderick,” she said wearily, lying back down.

  “Of course.” He shoved to his feet, pausing when he reached the doorway. “You’re certain you love him?” he tried again. “Because I believe—”

  “I love him, Broderick.”

  Mumbling, he gave his head a shake.

  “And Broderick,” she called, when he’d opened the heavy panel.

  He glanced back.

  “Someday you’ll understand something of it, too.”

  Broderick snorted. “I assure you that will certainly never be a concern there. You’re certain about—”

  “I said, I’m certain.” Cleopatra pointed to the doorway.

  Sighing, he let himself out.

  Cleopatra lay there, grateful for the click of the door signaling the parade of visitors was at an end. She didn’t want any more questions about her time with Adair or discussions about the fire that had ruined his club. And her heart. She didn’t want to talk about how her heart was aching anymore.

  A firm knock on the door ended the all-too-brief solitude.

  Damning her brother’s tenacity, she shouted. “I said I’m . . . certain, Broderick. I—” Her words died quickly as the door opened and a tall, beloved silhouette filled the entrance.
“Adair,” she whispered, blinking slowly, certain she’d conjured him of her own greatest desires.

  “Cleopatra,” he returned in his low, mellifluous baritone.

  She drank in the sight of him as he came over. Immaculately clad in a midnight jacket and breeches, he exuded power and beauty. How was it possible to so miss a person after just a single day apart? “How did you get in here?” She glanced to the window.

  He chuckled. “No scaling involved. Your brother allowed me to see you.”

  Broderick had? Trying to make sense of that incongruity, Cleopatra struggled up onto her elbows. “Why are you here?” she asked quietly.

  Quirking his lips in the corner, he perched himself at the edge of her mattress. “And where should I be, Miss Killoran?” He brushed his knuckles over her cheek in that familiar, tender caress.

  Then the horror of the past twenty-four hours slashed into the stolen moment of joy in seeing him again. “Your club.” As soon as the words slipped out, she flinched. “I didn’t mean . . . what I’d intended to say . . .” She looked at him squarely. “I am so sorry about your club, Adair.” How inadequate that apology was when he’d lost what mattered most. “All the hours you toiled over that building, and my b-brother destroyed it a-all.” Her voice cracked again.

  Adair let his hand fall to the bed. “Do you know the interesting thing about my club, Cleopatra?”

  His ruined club. She shook her head.

  “All these years, my siblings and I placed the Hell and Sin above all else. Nothing and no one superseded the club in importance.” He smiled wryly. “Then my sister married, and then Ryker, and Niall, and eventually Calum. I resented them,” he admitted. His gaze traveled over to the wide windows across the room. “I could not understand how they could forget all the effort and struggle and strife that went into building it . . . for a person.”

  Cleopatra bit down hard on her lower lip. Unable to meet his eyes, she studied her coverlet.

  “Until you.”

  That husky murmur brought her head shooting up. She touched a hand to her chest.

  He nodded. “The Hell and Sin can be replaced.” Adair shifted closer until their thighs brushed. He paused, lingering his stare on her bandaged lower leg. His face contorted in a paroxysm of agony. “But you, Cleopatra, cannot.” Emotion hoarsened his voice. “When I learned you were there, in that building, I didn’t think about the money I’d stolen as a boy to purchase it. I didn’t think about the first patrons who’d stepped through the doors or the money lost.” He cupped her face in his hands, and she struggled to see him through the tears clouding her vision. Those drops fell fast and furiously down her cheeks, and he brushed each drop away. Another only replaced it. “I thought about you. I thought about marrying you, and having children with you. I love you, Cleopatra.”

  She ached to take the gift he stretched out before her. It was all she’d never known she wanted, and now the only thing she desperately needed. Still, reality held her back. “What will you do now—”

  “What will we do now?” he amended, and her heart quickened.

  We. A marriage where he’d never seek to change her into someone she was not, or would ever be. A union that was a true partnership.

  Adair drew himself closer and dropped his brow against hers. “You were correct. I’ve been straddling two worlds, committing to neither . . . and part of that has been fear to leave the only streets I’ve ever known.” He spoke with an animation that stirred an equal excitement within her. “I thought of a club, the way you described, in the fashionable end of London, safe streets where our children will know greater security than either of us did.”

  A tantalizing image stirred—of a future with him . . . and babes: a gift she’d not allowed herself even to dream of. Now she let the possibilities sweep through her, filling every corner of her being with a healing warmth. “Babies,” she repeated, her voice hoarse. Not children forced to murder, steal, and beg, but cherished ones who’d be nurtured and loved by her and Adair.

  He caressed her cheek. “Brave, clever, beautiful girls like their mama.”

  Tears pricked behind her lashes. At one time, she would have viewed those as tokens of weakness. No more. Adair had shown her there was no shame to be found in feeling. “And boys. Honorable, good, and handsome like their da.”

  “A compromise?” Adair pressed his brow to hers, an easy smile on his lips. “We’ll have both.”

  A half laugh, half sob escaped her. “Agreed.”

  He caught a lone teardrop with the pad of his thumb.

  His grin dipped as a somberness settled within his rugged features.

  “What is it?” she asked hesitantly, not wanting anything to intrude on the future he’d so beautifully painted of their lives together.

  “I’ll not have them live as we did. Not in St. Giles or the Dials, but a place where we might have apartments within or a townhouse nearby if you want that, because whatever you want is yours.”

  Cleopatra cupped him about his nape and angled her lips up toward his. “You still don’t know?” she whispered against his mouth. How could he not know?

  He shook his head once.

  “I love you, Adair Thorne. You are all I ever want, Adair Thorne. You are all I want.”

  And as he kissed her, Cleopatra smiled, eager for their future—together.

  Acknowledgments

  Writing a book is just the first part of the publishing journey. There is so, so much more that goes into a story, from its inception to the final product that lands in readers’ hands. From the multiple rounds of developmental edits and then copyedits to the cover creation and marketing plan, it requires a team.

  I’m so very fortunate to, in Montlake Romance, have the most amazing one an author could have ever hoped for.

  About the Author

  Photo © 2016 Kimberly Rocha

  USA Today bestselling author Christi Caldwell blames novelist Judith McNaught for luring her into the world of historical romance. When Christi was at the University of Connecticut, she began writing her own tales of love—ones where even the most perfect heroes and heroines had imperfections. She learned to enjoy torturing her couples before they earned their well-deserved happily ever after.

  Christi lives in Southern Connecticut, where she spends her time writing, chasing after her son, and taking care of her twin princesses-in-training. Fans who want to keep up with the latest news and information can sign up for Christi’s newsletter at www.ChristiCaldwell.com or follow her on Facebook (AuthorChristiCaldwell) or Twitter (@ChristiCaldwell).