Page 20 of To Tempt Lady (Victorian Outcasts #10)

nineteen

Emma winced when Marcus left the study and closed the door behind him. “We offended him. Or worse, we hurt him.”

Trevor exhaled and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I just wanted to show my concern for his obvious fatigue. He has such evident dark shadows around his eyes that he looks like he was punched in the face. He hasn’t slept properly in months. Maybe years. And what if he carries a disease?”

“Don’t start. I share your concern about Marcus being tired.

” To an extent. After having seen Marcus shirtless, she was sure he wasn’t starving.

He was lean and muscular, not as broad and brawny as he’d been, but not scrawny as someone who lived on the streets.

Although he wasn’t the Marcus she remembered.

And she wasn’t thinking only of his body.

He didn’t radiate competence as he’d done before. “You should have been less direct.”

“He isn’t a stranger.”

“In a way, he is. He isn’t the same man we knew years ago.”

She didn’t want to linger too much about what Marcus had gone through those years, but he must have found himself in horrible situations.

“Fine,” Trevor said. “But I’m trying to prevent an accident.

A construction site is a dangerous place, especially when there might be foul play.

I want him to be fit and strong before venturing up the scaffolding.

I don’t want him to faint and fall from a height.

There have been incidents. We don’t need another one. ”

He wasn’t completely wrong.

“I’ll talk to him.”

“Fine by me.”

She put a hand on the knob. “Trevor, please be patient. He didn’t have an easy life, and we had a hand in that.”

He fiddled with something under his hand. “He and the boy won’t need to stay here more than a few days, will they?”

“I’m not going to answer that. They’re my guests and will stay here for as long as they want. When did you become so heartless?”

“I like my privacy in my home.” He lifted his hand, revealing Ophelia’s locket, but the moment she glanced at it, he stuffed it in the drawer and shot her a warning look.

Whatever had happened with Ophelia, she didn’t want to discuss that now. She had plenty of reasons to argue with her brother.

“Jesse is a nice boy, and you would like him, too, if you took the time to talk to him.”

He propped his elbows on the armrests. “I don’t like children. Is that a crime? I didn’t like myself when I was a child.”

“And look at the result.” She shook her head and left the study.

The closer she got to Jesse’s room, the slower she walked. There was some truth in what Marcus had said. She could have done more to help him because she wasn’t like Papa, as she’d told him. As she’d told herself too many times to count.

Or maybe she was.

But she and Trevor had searched for him. Could they have done more? Maybe, but Marcus hadn’t bothered sending word to them, either.

She knocked on the door. “Marcus, Jesse? May I come in?”

Marcus opened the door, stiff and cold. “My lady.”

She wanted to tell him to call her Emma.

“Jesse is asleep again,” he said. “I think he ate too much.”

She watched the boy asleep in the large four-poster bed. His breathing was regular and soft, and his arms were spread wide as if he were about to hug someone.

He pointed at the window. “The frame has been repaired, quite nicely, too.”

“You remember?”

A smile graced his lips. “I remember everything.” He didn’t sound as if he meant to reproach her for her lack of help.

A warm flutter started in her belly.

“I hired someone to repair it, but I wish it had been you.”

“I’m not sure I’m still good at repairing things.”

She was sure he was. “I have a room ready for you and another for Jesse. Follow me.” She led him to the guest room and opened the door.

“This room has an escritoire in the corner. You can read and study here. The library is downstairs, and Jesse’s room is through that door.

” She pointed at the door on the other side of the room.

“You and Jesse can stay here for as long as you want.”

“Thank you.” His tone was forcibly polite.

“I’m sorry if Trevor and I offended you. It wasn’t our intention.”

“I understand.” But he sounded like he didn’t.

“I tried to find you, and I know I could have done more to convince my father to help you. I regret that, too.”

His dark eyebrows formed a sharp V. “You don’t need to apologise.”

“It seems I do have to, if you resent me.”

“I don’t. I regret what happened.” He placed the folder on the escritoire.

“And I’m having trouble adjusting to this new reality.

For years, I did nothing but survive, worrying about my next meal.

And now I’m here, surrounded by wealth. It’s a huge change.

I’m grateful for your help and offer.” He touched the folder. “I won’t disappoint you.”

“I know. I trust you.”

For the first time, a light had flickered in his grey eyes, resembling the spark of vitality she remembered.

“I’m happy to hear that,” he said.

Another question lingered on the tip of her tongue, but whether she should ask it was debatable. “I was wondering…”

“Yes?”

“Forget it. It’s nothing.”

“I insist.”

“Well, how come Jesse is with you? Forgive me, but when he was delirious, he talked about his mother, and I wondered if you knew her.”

A muscle in his jaw ticked. “No, I didn’t. I found him. He was starving and weak, living in the rookery. He begged for help, and I decided to take care of him. Not that I did a good job.”

“That’s not true. It must not have been easy for you, but hopefully now you won’t have to worry about money anymore.”

He kept working his jaw, and she was thrown back to those days in Thistle Hall when she’d tried to understand him. She hadn’t been subtle back then and asked him blunt questions; she wouldn’t be subtle now.

“Marcus.” She moved closer to him, and he stiffened further. “I have the feeling that everything I say causes you nothing but pain.”

“I’m not the same person I was years ago.”

“Neither am I, but we were friends.”

He averted his gaze before staring at her again. There was a harsh quality in his stare she couldn’t dismiss.

“There are things about me you don’t know and that I’m not ready to discuss now.”

She had an idea. Living on the streets, he must have survived by stealing wallets and pocket watches when he didn’t meet someone who took advantage of him. She wouldn’t judge him for that. “I don’t care. I know your heart.”

Sadness crept into his crooked smile. “You can’t be sure of that. Many things have happened since we last saw each other.”

“Jesse is proof your heart hasn’t changed. You’re still the caring man who spent a day searching the river for survivors and who repaired my music box. That’s all I need to know. As for the rest, it’s your choice whether you want to share your past with me or not.”

The grey in his eyes melted like frost in the sunlight. “Thank you, Emma.”

She didn’t know what he’d done, but she knew she would never, ever blame him.