Page 11 of To Tempt Lady (Victorian Outcasts #10)

ten

Aweek had passed since the Tay Bridge disaster, but to Marcus it felt like only one endless, exhausting day.

He’d spent the days and good parts of the nights with Father in Newport-on-Tay, either on a boat searching the shore or discussing the load the bridge had endured before collapsing. His sleep had been short and riddled with nightmares of the train vanishing from sight.

The police had asked them the same questions over and over, and a barrister had been involved.

The exhaustion was taking its toll on his energy and mind, making it difficult for him to understand what Father and Sir Horace were telling him in the drawing room.

Father was as pale as he’d been a week ago, while Sir Horace fidgeted nervously whenever he sat.

“It’s not possible,” Marcus said. “You always do a thorough job. They can’t blame you. The maintenance of the bridge was Kingston many of them have changed jobs, and your name is on that bloody paper. ”

“Can you prove where you were on that day?” Marcus asked.

Sir Horace groaned. “I don’t remember where I was. It’s not me who has to prove where I was. It’s your father who has to prove I was here.”

“If Father said you did it, then you did it!”

“Careful, Marcus.” Sir Horace matched his tone. “Don’t talk about things you don’t understand.”

“I understand very well.”

Father was always precise and meticulous in recording every activity of the company. If he’d recorded that Sir Horace had gone to Newport-on-Tay to inspect the bridge, then that was what had happened.

“Father, say something.” Marcus didn’t want to raise his voice at Father, too, but he looked worryingly dejected as if he had already accepted his fate.

“I’m sure every misunderstanding will be cleared up, and that’s everything I have to say for now.” Father left the room, dragging his feet.

“The misunderstanding will be cleared up as long as people tell the truth,” Marcus said.

“You aren’t as clever as I thought.” Sir Horace stepped closer, regarding him as if Marcus were a stain on his brand-new suit. “If I were you, I would take a good, hard look at the situation and decide on which side you want to stay.”

“Go to hell.”

“I’m offering you a safe future.” The hard glint in Sir Horace’s eyes offered slavery rather than safety.

“My place is next to my father.”

Sir Horace strode to the door and paused. “When you fall with your father, don’t worry. I’ll take good care of Lady Emma for you. Has she rejected you yet? Or are you still waiting like a beggar for a scrap of her attention?”

“If you hurt her, I’ll kill you.” His honesty and determination must have come through in his voice because Sir Horace lost his cocksure attitude.

“I warned you. Your choice.” Sir Horace left.

Marcus couldn’t breathe. Cleared up my arse.

If Father’s name was on those papers, he couldn’t prove he hadn’t been the examiner of the bridge. He couldn’t prove Sir Horace was lying.

Marcus rushed up the stairs, not wanting to meet anyone while he was so furious. He headed to the window at the end of the corridor, which opened to a balcony and stepped onto it, letting the cold air cleanse his lungs.

Moonlight flickered in the puddles left by the storm, and he focused on the glittering light, not to think about the bad news.

Because of a stupid mistake, Father risked going to prison, or worse. Sir Horace was the only one who could spare him that fate, but Marcus had no hope in that swine’s honour.

He bent over the handrail of the marble balcony, and even though he was shivering from the cold, he stayed there. The scent of pine resin and wet soil filled his lungs.

Her Majesty’s Railway Inspectorate would need a culprit and would need one quickly. He didn’t have much faith in a thorough investigation. Not when the evidence pointed at his father. Besides, however the inquest went, Kingston it was all the encouragement he needed to speak.

“I’m scared and worried,” he said in a low voice.

“No matter how I look at the situation, the outcome is never good. The evidence points to my father, and Sir Horace doesn’t want to take his responsibility.

I don’t know how to help my father. He seems so defeated, crushed.

Had Mother been alive, he wouldn’t have been so distraught, and I fear I’m not enough for him to fight for what is right. ”

She cupped his cheek, causing him to suck in a breath. “Of course you’re more than enough for him. He’s probably overwhelmed and saddened by the incident. We could sit in the sitting room and talk if you want.”

His heart melted under her touch. If she knew how much her touch affected him, how deeply, she would run away from him.

He swallowed hard. “No. I want to feel cold.”

She removed her hand, and he missed its warmth immediately. “What do you mean by that?”

“I want the cold to punish me and make me feel pain because I can’t do anything to help my father.

He gave up. He didn’t say that, but I felt it.

He thinks there’s nothing he can do to clear his name, and I don’t know how to convince him to fight.

He isn’t risking only his company. He could be hanged.

” He leant against the wall behind him as a lump swelled in his throat. “And I can’t do anything. I’m useless.”

“Nothing has been decided yet, and there will be another inquest.” She took his hand, and once again, the contact was ridiculously comforting. “If you give up as well, what will be left?”

He could breathe better with her soft hand on his and her beautiful voice in his ears, which made him feel selfish as if he were one of those people who trapped a beautiful bird in a cage only to hear it sing.

She inched her hand away, but her stunning stare stayed on him. “Don’t give up. I promise you we’ll help.”

“Thank you.”

“I didn’t do anything.” She lifted a shoulder, and the shawl slid an inch.

He pulled it back up to cover her. She’d shared her light with him. That was more than she thought of.

A moment of silence stretched between them as it’d happened before. They were close to a point where their friendship was about to change, but he wouldn’t know in which direction, and none of them wanted to take the first step.

Voices sounded from downstairs, breaking the fragile spell.

She tugged at her shawl. “I have to go and change for dinner. Will you join us?”

“No. I’ll have a small supper with Father in his room. We aren’t a good company, I’m afraid, and we have taken advantage of your father’s hospitality for too long.”

“Don’t lose hope. Please.” She rose on her tiptoes and gave him a kiss on the cheek before hurrying away towards her bedroom.

She was fast. Instead, he couldn’t move. Her lips had left a trail of fire going through his body, making him forget his worries for a brief, wonderful moment.