Page 28

“Can we become other than what we are?”

—Marquis de Sade

M oving the duchess bodily back to the other bench had been a harrowing experience in more ways than one. Peregrine gritted his teeth, ignoring the wet warmth seeping at his waist, trying to decide which member of the Tribune was the traitor.

Charity had subsided into a grim silence. In the occasional light that filtered through the crack in the curtains, he could see she had wrapped both her arms around her middle again. From what he could hear, there was no distress or tears. She seemed merely… thoughtful and unhappy.

The leash becomes a trap rather quickly, does it not? his mother asked, the shadows giving her a greater freedom to haunt him.

Peregrine could almost feel her drawing a phantom finger along his bleeding side, increasing the pain. You have become so soft. No longer the creature you used to be—that hard one with the strength to defy me because he felt so little fear of my retribution. But he is gone now, isn’t he?

Peregrine closed his eyes briefly, drawing in a ragged breath. He could feel Charity’s attention on him in the darkness, drawn by his soft noise.

Life was so much simpler when you did not care, wasn’t it? his mother murmured. You have to care about something to feel fear. I thought you had taken my warnings to heart. But now it will be so easy to break you completely.

But before Charity could speak, a change in the gait of the horses warned them that they were nearly to their destination.

Peregrine twitched back the drape, seeing that Atholl House had been lit in anticipation of the duchess’s return.

By the time Hodges brought the carriage to a halt, the front door was standing open, light spilling out across the front steps.

Quickly, one of the Graves brothers opened the door, and Peregrine squinted into the shadows to make out the figure of Jack. “Help Her Grace inside. She cannot walk.”

“Really, Perry, I can probably walk—” she demurred.

“Take her.” Peregrine moved out of the way, letting Jack reach in so he could lift Charity into his arms.

The carriage rocked as Owen dismounted as well, but Peregrine got out on his own. Flustered footsteps at the front of Atholl House sounded as her servants stationed inside quickly realised that this was no ordinary return and hurried to assist.

Peregrine made himself keep within a few paces of Jack, following into the foyer. So he heard, clearly, when the maid clattered down the stairs and gave a shocked cry at the appearance of her mistress.

“Your Grace! You’re hurt!”

“I turned my ankle, Miller. And really, I am sure I can walk by now. Please put me down,” Charity asked his footman .

Jack lowered her feet carefully to the floor. Miller’s face was aghast, and she pushed to Charity’s side, her hands snatching at Charity’s skirt. “But—there is blood on your dress.”

Charity twisted in the footman’s hands, looking at the dark stain on the hip of her gown. And then she looked up sharply at Peregrine, her eyes both somehow fearful and accusing. “ I am not bleeding.”

“No,” he said wearily, caught. “I suppose that is me.”

“Fetch bandages,” Miller said sharply to one of the under-footmen. “And hot water—Mrs Temple may already be abed, but wake her if you must?—”

“There is no need to trouble yourselves,” Peregrine told them, trying not to be curt to Charity’s servants. “Take care of the duchess. I will take myself home to be bandaged.”

“Do not be ridiculous,” Charity snapped at him, pulling off her gloves. “Take him upstairs. We can let him stay in the Duke’s room again for the night and see him properly tended?—”

“No, Your Grace,” he interrupted, his voice a shade sterner than he intended. But he would not let her keep him at Atholl House this night. At once, she gave him a hurt look, and he had to steel himself against it. “It would not be proper of me to impose on you that way.”

Charity’s jaw tightened, but she nodded. “Fine. Take Lord Fitzroy then to the drawing room. I would at least like to ensure he is bandaged and in no danger of bleeding to death all over my front hall before he tries to go home.”

Peregrine felt the corner of his mouth turn up. But he allowed himself to be led by a limping duchess to the drawing room, which was quickly being set up as an impromptu infirmary. Miller bustled, bringing her sewing kit, hot water, linen, and vinegar with which to bathe the wound.

“Thank you,” he told her, trying to send her with Miller. “I am sure Jack and I can tend to this. ”

“I want to help you,” she said, reaching for the buttons of his coat.

He blocked her hands and tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear to soften his rejection. “I have already brought too much blood and violence into your life, Charity. You shouldn’t have to endure this horror too.”

She paused, studying his face with troubled eyes. “Caring for you is not a horror.” Then she smiled a little ruefully. “A difficult endeavour? That I might agree to.”

“Not caring—me.” He saw her confusion, and it made him feel hollow inside. “You should cast me from your house. You should be terrified of me. Disgusted. I might have killed a man in front of you tonight. This… this was not even the first time I have hurt people in front of you.”

Charity looked down for a moment, and then she looked up at him again.

“The violence in your world shocks and horrifies me,” she said softly.

“But not you. I cannot pretend to be afraid of you any longer, Perry. I don’t know how to.

Not when I have seen over and over that you only do what you must to survive. ”

His fingers felt nerveless, and Charity tugged her wrists away, continuing to unbutton his jacket and waistcoat briskly. Behind him, Jack helped him out of each coat, Charity carefully peeling each layer away from where it clung to his side.

When he was down to just the linen shirt, she could see how it had begun to dry in places, sticking to the bandaged wound in his flank. She pushed him into a chair, using the wet cloth to loosen it as carefully as she could. Jack helped her unwind the old bandages to reveal the wound.

Since he was put to work holding up the cloth of his shirt, he could not see the injury. But he knew how it had looked before—ugly, angry, and red, bumps of raised flesh forming where the stitches had been placed, had torn around the scar tissue, and been stitched again .

Apparently, the damage was not improved by this latest fight. Charity gave it a long look. And then she poured vinegar over the wound with the grim resoluteness of someone who had tended it before, cruelly ignoring his hiss of pain.

“Fortunately, the tearing is shallow, and it’s still trying to heal clean. But it is turning into a terrible scar because you keep disturbing it.” She avoided looking into his face. “Are you still determined to go home?”

“Yes. We do not know who else saw us tonight. I have to look further into our two most likely suspects. At least, I have to try.”

“And you are sure we should not give both of them up to the Crown instead?”

“I can’t. I can’t send people who might be innocent to gaol… or worse. Our charade did what we needed it to do, Sparkles. We wanted to stir the ton . Well, you can be sure they will be talking tomorrow. We should not waste that effort.”

He let the fingers of his unbloodied left hand lightly trace along the line of her jaw. Tipping her chin up to face him, he gave her a gentle look. “Your guards will keep you safer than I can tonight. All I can do by staying is cause you harm.”

She hesitated for a moment, pressing a cloth to the seeping wound. “I know. But… I almost cannot bring myself to care.” Her eyes flickered briefly to Jack.

He was struck harder by the words than he should have been, unable to muster any sense of gratitude for her understanding. Her defiance. Instead, he felt a kind of grief because of what she could lose by loving a man like him.

“To think, just a few short weeks ago you cared so much about your reputation,” he teased her, falling back on the only defence he had left. “And I was the prig who didn’t care if I left a little dirt on it.”

“Yes. You are rather lucky my servants kept your annoying tendency to housebreak silent,” she said tartly. “If you keep soiling my furniture with blood and dirt, however, I cannot promise they won’t decide to toss you in the gutter.”

“I consider myself warned,” he said, standing up at her direction so that Jack could help her wind fresh bandages around his waist. And when she was done, he tested the bindings, lifting his shoulders slightly. “Thank you, Your Grace.”

“Think nothing of it,” she said absently, bundling up what was left, busying her hands and turning to go. “I am quite exhausted. I hope you will not object if I retire. I will stay here, I suppose… and you can call upon me if you need me later.”

Before he even realised his own intention, he caught her wrist, halting her retreat.

She turned to him in surprise, her eyes wide.

Meeting her eyes, he lifted her hand, slow and deliberate, to press a soft kiss to her knuckles, ignoring the spots of his blood marking her skin.

“I enjoyed your company this evening,” he murmured against her hand.

“And I’m sorry I ruined your dress. You looked beautiful tonight. ”

The darkness in her eyes eased, and she gave him a breathtaking smile that made him as dizzy as her perfume did. But she only pulled her hand from his after a moment, leaving him in her drawing room alone.

It was nearly three in the morning again by the time Hodges got them back to the Fitzroy estate. The lanterns in the front hall had been dimmed for the night, but one was still burning low by the servants’ stairs. Peregrine stepped inside the front door, filthy and weary.