Page 84

Hurt instantly flooded the young woman’s face, revealing eyes that displayed a child’s innocence that had no place in the streets where Malcom had grown up.

And it left him more rattled than the many times he’d had a blade turned on him in the London sewers and streets.

“Very well.” Livvie gave a toss of her head. “I trust you both have much to say after your time apart.”

Oh, he had much to say to the chit, indeed. Even so, he wasn’t so much a monster that he’d deliberately scare a child. He dropped a short bow. “A pleasure, Miss Lovelace.”

Verity’s sister started. Surprise rounded her eyes. “Did you see that, Verity?” She giggled. “He bowed to me like I’m a lady.”

“I saw, Livvie.”

At his back, Verity’s gaze bored into him.

Aye, the chit was wary enough, however, to expect he was that beast. But not sufficiently fearful that she’d not cross him. Again and again.

“My lord,” her sister murmured, dropping her head.

When the girl had gone, Verity held her towel in place with one hand and turned the lock with the other. The makeshift covering draped over her frame placed her shapely legs on display. And yet, where there’d been a rash explosion of unwanted desire whenever he was near Miss Verity Lovelace, staring at the young woman with her back to him and shoulders slightly hunched painted her in a vulnerable light. And it killed any previous stirrings of lust.

She cleared her throat. “That is my sister,” she said, directing that admission at the bronze hardware of the doorway. “As you obviously gathered.”

“Aye.” The sister with the slippers and in possession of blonde curls and fulsome cheeks, she couldn’t be more than sixteen or seventeen. A mere girl. One who he’d previously taken as a fictional sibling created by Verity in order to rouse sympathies. However, that sister had proven real, lending credence to Verity’s claims that she’d braved his presence and wrath for her. And he didn’t want that to matter. It was, simply put, easier to accept that everything had been a lie, and Verity’s motives ruthless.

Turning to face him, Verity fiddled with the towel.

“I expect you thought I made her up?” she ventured, accurately and eerily following his unspoken musings.

“Aye.” She’d given him little reason to trust her and every reason to doubt.

“Thank you for not being rude to her.”

He stiffened. That expression of gratitude struck like an insult she hadn’t intended. It found its mark, unerringly. “I’m only a monster to those deserving of my wrath,” he said coolly.

Her bare toes curled into the floor. “Fair enough.”

“I see you’ve filled her head with the same romantic drivel you’ve written in the papers.”

“I haven’t filled her head with anything. She’s simply artless.” In other words, her sister’s grasp on innocence was fleeting. Verity knew that. Accepted it, and still was hell-bent on preserving it anyway.

Had there ever been anyone like that in Malcom’s own life? Had there ever been anyone who’d cared about him above everyone and everything ... ?

You’re going to get well, my boy. We are nothing without y—

That distant voice faded into a cough so real he could hear it in this very room. Malcom didn’t move for several seconds. Or did minutes pass? When he opened his eyes, he found Verity’s wary gaze still upon him. She was safer. This, his deserved outrage, and not some obscure memories that might be nothing more than conjurings in his own head. He took a step toward Verity to better search her for shades of truth and lies. He’d fallen prey to this woman before. The candles flickered, casting her face in shadow. “And I take it you’ve shielded Miss Lovelace from the harsh realities of the world?”

Verity’s jaw tensed. “As best as I’ve been able.”

With that grudging admission, she proved yet again that she’d acted not for ruthless gains—at least, not solely. Unnerved, Malcom gave her his back and wandered around the fine chambers. The fine rooms she’d commandeered. It’d been far easier to storm here with the threat of Newgate and retribution when she’d been a ruthless schemer. It was altogether different, knowing she’d acted on behalf of another—the sister whose identity she’d spoken of since their first meeting in the sewers.

How she lived her life, for another person, was as foreign to him as circling another planet. “You’re not unlike her, though, are you?” he murmured. Completing his turn about the rooms, he positioned himself at the center. “Romanticizing my actions in the streets that night.”

“I didn’t romanticize them, Malcom. I wrote one article,” she said tersely. “One piece that conveyed the truth of how you treated me that night.” She smiled sadly. “You might take offense to my having written about you, but the facts remain: You did save me. You did provide me new slippers and a dress, and you did see me safely home.”

He stiffened.

“Yes, I knew that,” she said quietly, holding his gaze with her own.

She’d known that he’d followed her to see no harm befell her on her return journey through St. Giles, and yet she’d not printed that in her damned gossip column.Why?