Chapter Seventeen
The Patriarch Needs a Word
I sat in front of my mirror, balancing my spectacles by pushing them up and down my nose, as I tried to get the focus right.
Wycliff was coming for tea. I had an urge to take a little more care.
Ester popped inside, whipping through the door I’d purposely left open. “Here, use these pearl pins. They will make your curls so pretty.”
I grabbed my brush but saw my sister’s reflection in the mirrored glass.
Why did she frown? Why were her lips trembling?
“Out with it, Ester.”
“I didn’t mean for Christopher to be in trouble. I didn’t look…for just a moment. He could’ve been hurt.”
I turned and grabbed my sister and pulled her into a hug. “Chris is fine. He’s fine. I’m his mother, and I couldn’t even get to him. If not for Lord Wycliff… Let’s not talk of this anymore.”
My sister wiped at her eyes. “He did us a great service. I’m indebted to him for saving my nephew. I know this is wrong to say, but I still don’t trust him, Ruth. He’s hiding something.”
Everyone has secrets.
I did. I’d hinted at being found at a brothel, and the man hadn’t even blinked. Too smooth. Or because of his nosiness did he already know?
“Ruth, Bex thinks he’s involved with unrest at the docks. The Wilkinson family is deep into shipping. There are strikes and strange occurrences. People have died.”
“One man. A mulatto man is responsible? Ester, do be serious.”
Pacing, Ester crossed her arms about her sand-colored shawl. She was a desert priestess and oracle of bad news. “How do I help you see what I see?”
“Sight puns are beneath you. Maybe you can try something from your favorite Shakespeare.”
Tugging at an errant lock, I pinned it high on my head. I took one of the daisies that had bloomed from Wycliff’s bouquet and slid it right into my braid before forming my chignon. “I do trust him. And I owe him my son’s life. That has to mean something. Why should I question his business dealings? Maybe he is as good as Papa at keeping family safe from his dealings.”
“That could be, but Papa’s been at this a long time. This Lord Wycliff has come from nowhere. Bex can find nothing on him other than his father retired to the country four years ago.”
I put down my brush, then swung my legs and turned on the stool. The hem of my mulberry gown flapped as I faced Ester. “You had your husband look into him?”
Cornered, my sister folded her arms. “Yes. I had him look into the barrister, too. You remember Mr. Marks, the man with whom you’ve been exchanging letters.”
“Perhaps he’s forgotten.” I picked up the parchment wrapped with a scarlet ribbon. “Another regret. He’ll not be able to take me on a drive this week. Next week, he will.”
“He is very busy. He saved a widow from being convicted of coining. That could be a capital offense, forging false coins.”
I pushed at my brow and remembered how differently my sister and I thought. “I respect the work Mr. Marks does, but he has forgotten this widow, the one here on Fournier Street. What would be my Christopher’s fate if Lord Wycliff hadn’t been here?”
“What are you saying?”
“I don’t think Mr. Marks is for me. I chose him from the men responding to my newspaper advertisement for his respectability, but I need to think about Christopher. He’s an active boy. He needs a father who is around. He’s lived long enough without one.”
“You need to be loved, Ruth, and cherished and safe. Maybe none of these men are it.”
“If Lord Wycliff was Lady Hartwell’s or Mrs. Fitzwilliam-Cecil’s choice would you be saying this? Or is it because you still think my judgement is not sound? You don’t trust that I might know my own mind.”
“It’s not the same. My friends—”
“Yes, your friends. Women who you respect.”
“Their husbands are all safe. And Bex and I. I almost let him go because of the danger he faces as he fights for good. Our uncle, Papa’s brother was killed. Remember how his bloodied coat was laid in front of Papa’s warehouse?”
“I remember. I found the jacket. I had come from a walk and found it on the steps.”
“I forgot that.”
“And I witnessed my husband die a brutal death. I saw it. I bear the scars of the attack. Don’t you think I know danger?”
“I fret too much.” Ester’s lips went to my crown and she put a big sloppy kiss along my scar. “I want you to be happy, Ruth, but I won’t be silent.”
“You never are, Ester.”
“Papa could hire another servant to keep watch on Chris. Then you can refuse Marks and Wycliff.”
“I still want my own. I want my slippers untouched. My own knitting parlor.”
“It’s Mr. Whip-thingy. He wants you, and you’ve always liked danger. I remember you sneaking out to the docks.”
Yes, I used to be much braver. Somehow, I felt like that girl again, with Wycliff. “The whip is a sjambok. If you hadn’t gone with me to Blaren House, you wouldn’t know about it at all.”
“But he still wants you. It doesn’t seem decent, and if you get carried away, he’ll leave you a fallen woman. Then a respectable man like Mr. Marks won’t come near you.”
I raised my head, anger blooming and filling my empty chest. “You don’t think I am smart enough to avoid a compromise? You think I don’t know how to handle Wycliff?”
“Honestly, no. If one part of your story is true, then the rest is true. I know why you chose Mr. Marks. He is the safer, passionless choice. Wycliff is fire. I don’t want you to be burned.”
What if I want to be burned a little? What if I, the dormant tigress, want to be a little singed? Maybe Wycliff could take away all the horrible memories and I could lie in his arms unafraid. Maybe he could make me forget the bad. He reminded me so much of Adam, the good parts— kissed soft like him, so attentive like him. But the man had to be smarter to keep me and Chris safe.
Was I folding Wycliff into Adam or Adam into Wycliff?
That was wrong, yet I couldn’t help it. I wanted the best of both of them.
Ester held on to me. “Ruth, do take care.”
“I need more time to sort things through. And I want the baron to be a part of Chris’s life. Chris is a Wilkinson. He should never lose that connection.”
“Ruth, I’m saying what’s on my mind, like we used to do. I have to look out for you.”
She started taking down one of my braids. “I will make this even. And don’t worry. Papa and Bex are talking to Wycliff as soon as he arrives. They’ll figure out his game. We’re not letting anyone take advantage of you.”
I closed my eyes so Ester couldn’t see the fear those words wrought: Papa and Bex talking to Wycliff.
This couldn’t be good.
Wycliff had better not be dishonest. The ramifications would hurt not only me but my beautiful son. The tigress in me would come out and rid my life of anything that could hurt my Chris.
…
Wycliff sat in his carriage outside of Nineteen Fournier.
He didn’t know what to say. His throat felt so dry, almost stripped of words. “Lawden, are you sure?”
His man, his trusted advocate, nodded his head. “Yes, my lord. I’m sorry.”
Folding the flexible end of his sjambok betwixt his fingers, Wycliff cleared his throat. “She was one of Madame Talease’s girls.”
It made sense. The madam who specialized in exotics, as they called Blackamoor and mulatto women, would have had his Ruth. He’d checked with Talease to see if Cicely had been intercepted but had never received word.
“We’ve been checking for my sister at the bawdy houses in town. I should’ve been asking more questions. I made a joke about Ruth and her sister being Talease’s bed wenches. How awful I am.”
He punched at the low tufted ceiling, a jet-colored silk roof that matched the onyx seating. This was a crisp, orderly place for the madness in his head.
No one could begrudge Ruth for doing what she had to survive, work for Madame Talease. Living, eating, a roof over one’s head was everything. Talease didn’t force her girls. She was known for that.
“My lord, you need to get in there.”
“In a moment. You rarely shock me, Lawden.”
This bit of news explained Ruth’s alleged frigid nature, her aversion to a full marriage. Talease’s girls were highly sought after, well cared for, often kept as courtesans for rich men.
“My lord, your toy for the child.” Lawden handed him the frog puppet.
Christopher. The sweet boy.
Wycliff shook the toy and watched its limbs move. “Nice.”
He’d thought he’d be able to look at the boy and know his flesh and blood. With Ruth as one of Talease’s girls, he’d never know.
He wiped at his face and started out of the carriage.
“Wait, my lord.”
Wycliff turned back.
Lawden again handed him the toy. “Your cousin Nicholas Wilkinson has been to Blaren House twice today. He knows you made a deal with the Captain. He’s talking about old times and friendships, my lord.”
“I can’t think of him or any Wilkinson now.” He passed the toy back. “Tomorrow, with this gift. Tonight, it will look too calculated.”
“Maybe it is time for you to wrap up this intricate courtship. Get the girl and go on a long wedding trip. The things you set in motion will follow through even without you being in London.”
“I won’t run. That gives Uncle Soulden and Johnson a chance to strike. I ran before. Not again. My enemies stole the life and care Ruth should have had. Not again.”
Lawden adjusted Wycliff’s collar. “Good, my lord. Then go in and win the woman and the boy.”
His man made it sound so simple. Perhaps it was.
“Thank you, my friend.”
Wycliff exited the carriage and pounded up the steps.
As he entered, a young woman came toward Clancy, cradling her pregnant middle.
“Mrs. Johnson, I’ll see about your carriage.” The butler stepped out the door.
She stared in Wycliff’s direction.
“Do I know you, ma’am?”
“No, but I’ve heard of you, Lord Wycliff. I’m Mrs. Loftus Johnson. My husband is in shipping.”
Mr. Croome’s business dealings were as tangled as Wycliff’s. He was a perfect match to this family. He nodded and moved toward the stairs. Family of enemies were off-limits. They weren’t responsible for their husband’s dealings.
“You know the name, Lord Wycliff. He’s in a bit of bad straights.”
Of course, he knew the name. Loftus Johnson’s wealth came from his dealings with Uncle Soulden. The men were thieves. They were tightly knit. They were dirty. Because of Wycliff’s plans, they were both facing debtors’ prison.
“I’m sorry you are distressed, ma’am.”
She played with a shiny black tendril curling about her milky face. “He’s mighty desperate. I don’t know what he’ll do. What if I knew where a ledger was? Would that buy help?”
Wycliff had copied two of Uncle’s ledgers. One he’d hidden in his father’s study, the other in Ruth’s trunk. This second book had more of the men’s dirty dealings and the false entries that had placed blame on Wycliff’s father.
But dead men served no prison time. Wycliff didn’t need the second copy for his plans to succeed.
“What are you asking, Mrs. Johnson?”
“I know Ruth from a long time ago. I have the book now.”
His gut was a dangerous thing—so was a woman bent on proving something. Lawden’s earlier information on Croome’s business associates should prove handy.
“I congratulate you. You were one of Madame Talease’s girls? Old Milly, done come up.”
Her cheery face froze.
She must not be used to people identifying her from her former life at the brothel. Ruth’s trunk must have ended up at Madame Talease’s. Miss Milly must have stolen it from her at the bawdy house.
The attractive woman blinked her luminous blue eyes a dozen times before any words came to her lips. “I have. I’d appreciate it if you keep that to yourself.”
“I hear discretion is the better part of valor.”
“Yes.” She moved back toward the exit.
Clancy returned. “Our fellow, Jonesy, he brought a carriage around.”
“Thank you.” Mrs. Johnson pulled on her chestnut coat and fled.
Chuckling to himself, Wycliff pulled out his pocket watch. It was late. Christopher was probably in bed. He’d like to check in on the little fellow.
“Might I see you for a moment?”
A deep baritone voice caught Wycliff’s attention. He turned and saw a very big man, an easy six-four and two hundred pounds, coming toward him. The patriarch of the Croomes, Josiah Croome.
The man wore a slate-colored jacket against his deeply-bronzed skin.
“Now, Lord Wycliff.”
“Mr. Croome, I presume? Yes, we were to meet yesterday, but for the frog incident.”
“Thank you for that. I hear you had some quick thinking. Right, Bexeley?”
A younger fellow stood beside Ruth’s father. He was tall, athletic, and as pale as Wycliff, paler.
“This must be the legislator, Mr. Bexeley, the husband to Mrs. Wilky’s sister.”
Bexeley’s deep-blue eyes slid away, but his confident smile remained. “Let’s go to Mr. Croome’s study. It will be an easy chat.”
He wasn’t concerned about the politician, they were about the same height, but Wycliff was more muscled. Working the depths of the frigate had given him the ability to hold his own, added power to delivering his blows.
The older man, though crippled in his leg and using a cane, probably threw a vicious punch.
What a time to be without his sjambok. Wycliff put his hands behind his back. “After you, gentlemen.”
They led him down the hall to the room opposite the parlor, the book-lined study where he’d found Ruth during the garden party.
Bexeley shut the door. It closed with a solid slam.
“Gentlemen, is this the Croome welcoming committee?”
The politician’s smile widened, but the old man’s face remained stone.
“You are related to Wilky,” he said, as Bexeley eased him into his chair. “Adam’s cousin? He was a real person. Horatio was telling me Adam was true. Not a lie.”
“Yes, Adam Wilky was a flesh-and-blood person, and he loved Ruth Croome desperately. They married in Gretna Green.”
“So why are you here now?” Croome pounded the top of his desk. “Though I am grateful for what you did for my grandson, four years is a little late to come for a visit.”
“Yes. I’m very late, but I’ve only been back to London since December, four months ago. Made it back in time to spend two months with my father before his passing.”
“You are new to the barony.” Croome sat back in his chair, as if it hurt his back to do so. “So is Wilky dead or run off?”
What a way to put things. “Ruth and Adam were attacked en route from their wedding, five days after marrying. It was believed that both died, but you know how hard it is to find a body when some murders are committed.”
Croome sat up a little straighter. He surely caught the reference to his own brother’s death.
The man nodded “Yes, Wycliff. That’s true. You do your work, finding things out.”
“Sorry for your loss, Wycliff,” Bexeley said. With folded arms he leaned against a bookcase. “But my wife tells me you’re up to no good. She described a horrible scene at your Blaren House.”
“Your wife didn’t lie. It was very chaotic when the ladies came. But you and Mr. Croome understand what it takes to clean house. Again, if I had known the ladies were coming—”
“You wouldn’t have called them bed wenches.” The politician sounded as if he were in Parliament, chin lifted, velvet voice echoing.
Wycliff clapped. “Good performance. You’re missed on the stage. Yes, if I’d known they were coming, I would have cleaned house earlier, then broken out the good china, if the thieves hadn’t already stolen it.”
The politician looked perplexed, but Old Croome belly laughed. “Bexeley, leave us. I want to talk to Wycliff alone.” The man’s words were slurred, his face and hands bore signs of flames, but he was still as Wycliff remembered from the docks, an all-powerful ebony Zeus.
“You’re sure, sir?”
“Yes, son,” Croome said. “Go on. Find that young daughter of mine and let her enjoy an early evening without you running off for law-making.”
Bexeley’s smile broadened. The man headed out of the study.
Mr. Croome sat back. “What do you want, Wycliff?”
“Mrs. Wilky has been dealt an injustice. I intend to make all of that up to her.”
“That’s mighty nice sounding. I watched you with her at the garden party. My wife told me of how close you two have become. I might be slow, but not slow in the head, boy. Tell me, now.”
The simplest truth was best. Wycliff put his hands flat on the desk and leaned. “I want her. I intend to woo her and beat the barrister at gaining Ruth’s acceptance of an offer of marriage.”
The man started to laugh again, harder and heavier than before. “You don’t mince words, do you?”
“No. I have Blaren House that needs to be made a home. I want to integrate Ruth into my world, so I will require her time, lots of her time. I’ll use everything in my power to sway her.”
Croome pointed his finger at him, the index finger that could shoot lightning to strike down mortals. “Now, you’re a little too direct. I don’t know if I want her swayed. She’s had a hard time. And if she wasn’t lying about Adam, then there’s a lot of other things she was telling the truth about. I found her, after Wilky died, at a brothel, Madame Talease’s. You know what that means.”
Yes. Yes, he did. Ruth sold herself to men who had a taste for Blackamoor women. The bawdy house was outside of London. It might not even be that far from where they were attacked.
He nodded to Croome. “Everyone has a past, and whatever she felt she had to do to live, was because of Adam. He left her unprotected. I’ll make everything up to her.”
“Sounds as if you love her. You just met her, right?”
“Adam shared everything about Ruth, her strong opinions, her caring heart. I’ve seen her every day this week. I make up my mind very fast. I want her. I need her. I must have her…in my life.”
Mr. Croome banged his cane on the floor. “Well that sounds convincing. Mrs. Croome says you are mulatto. If I squint, maybe. Are you?”
“My mother was once enslaved, but she was freed by her owners when they discovered her love of language. My father met her, this wonderful negress poet, in his travels in the Americas. He convinced her to return with him to England. They married here on these shores. It’s why I inherited my title, from their legitimate union. Does it matter?”
“No. I just want to know what I’m dealing with and what type of troubles my girl should expect. White or light, many folks are going to be upset. What type of dowry do you want?”
“Nothing. I’ll take her with the clothes on her back or without.”
“Boy, you talk smart, but you sound crazy, just like Mrs. Croome. Is that what happens when the races mix? Lord, help my grandchildren.”
“Do I have your approval, sir?”
“To marry, Ruth? Sure, I’ll even root for you. Save me twenty thousand pounds. Yes. I’ll bet on you, blackjack. But if you hurt her, boy, I’ll come for you, Bexeley will come for you. Hell, Mrs. Croome and Ester will, too. They all are a touch crazy.”
“I’ll never hurt Ruth, and I’ll take great pleasure in convincing her of my plans.”
Mr. Croome powered to his feet, and Wycliff extended his arm to steady him.
“Sir, I intend to have her as my wife as soon as possible. I intend to tempt her any way I can. I’m determined. I’ll not fail. She may be returning late or not at all.”
“Wycliff if you just implied what I think, I need to punch you.”
The door flung open and Ruth stormed in. “I heard what he said, Papa. I’ll do it, then send him on his way.”
Laughing so hard he might fall over, Mr. Croome headed to the door. “Wait till I leave. You don’t want a witness to you beating a peer. Good luck, Wycliff.”
The older man moved from the room and closed the door with a thud.
“How dare you? I trusted you. I defended you against everything negative, and you tell my father you plan to seduce me.” Ruth swung at him, palm flat heading toward his face but he caught her arm.
“You already had your one hit, my love, on the day we met. You really need to stop this. That’s not the habit I want for us.”
“I heard you. I’ve never been more disappointed.”
“And I have never been more enthralled.” He pulled her into his arms but just kissed her nose. “Never mind the man-talk with your father. The question is, what are we going to do? You have a suitor who completely adores you and your son.”
Fury was in her eyes. Her breaths were fast and fleeting.
“Yes, I want you. I think we should marry. Chatsworth Adoniram Wilkinson needs to wed Ruth Croome Wilky. I love you. What are you going to do with me?”
…
I readied to explode. I stood in my father’s study with Wycliff. I was in his arms, and he grinned as if I hadn’t heard his plans for seduction. He was smug, so assured that he could win and have at me.
“You are awful, Wycliff. No grinning at me, telling me what to do.”
“My given name is awful.” He kissed my palm. “Am I grinning at the most beautiful woman in the world? Don’t be mad that I desire you and act like a man that wants you. Would you prefer me to lie and feign indifference?”
He wasn’t indifferent, nor was I, especially not in his arms with my pulse pounding, punching the drums of my ears. Something would break, but the passion in me was broken.
With my hands on his shoulders, I struck him. My palms began to hurt from the repetition, the rhythm of me beating this immoveable mountain.
His hands slipped to my waist, strong, secure, yet easy. I could pull away from him if I wanted, but I needed to be in his face so he could see how disappointed I was.
“Wycliff, you go from caring and kind to Chris and then you joke with my father about seducing me. How could you? I had them trusting my judgement again. Now you’ve ruined it.”
“I’ve done nothing of the sort. What I’ve told your father wasn’t a lie. I was truthful. I intend to marry you. I want you as my own.”
I ramped up the speed of my hands drumming upon his shoulders. I couldn’t stop. I was too angry, too hurt. “All this time, defending me, making me think I could trust you. It was just to lower my defenses. You’re a blackguard.”
“This is beginning to hurt, Ruth. You’ll leave bruises. You’ve seen how easy I get marks.”
I groaned and kept working him. “You just told my father I’m a doxy. You want a harlot. You’re Adam’s cousin. All his cousins are evil.”
“Ruth, I said nothing of the kind about you being anything but a wife. Always a wife, my honored partner.”
“You already called me a bed wench. That’s your plan.”
“My plan is to marry you, to love you. You’re a woman of fire. What’s better to tell a man like your father, that I will ignore you or that my soul won’t rest until we are one? I ache for you. I’ll be as patient as you need me to be, but I intend to have a full marriage, one of respect and one of passion.”
My head screamed—lies, pain, never-ending pain. “You think you’re so clever.”
“No, Ruth.”
I said no. I said no a lot. I remembered saying no and being hurt worse. The memories that I kept beating back were present, replaying in my head, stealing from me, taking what I no longer had to give.
“Ruth, talk to me. Tell me.”
Was I crying? I’d cried then. I’d shouted until an arm, a coarse arm, had crushed my throat and ripped Adam’s necklace away.
“Ruthy, let me help. I’m here, Ruthy.”
My face was a flood. Big, fat tears robbed me of the little sight I had. I couldn’t scream anymore, they’d taken my husband, and they’d taken what was his.
Shut up and take it.
Someone tried to clasp my hands, but I wouldn’t let him. I whacked him again.
“You’re fighting something that’s not me. Tell me what you see. Ruth, where are you?”
I blinked and I was half in the woods, half in Papa’s study.
Adam was trying to calm me, trying to make me think this was not my fault.
But it was.
I made this happen. I claimed to want truth, but I only wanted a sliver of my truth.
The piece that said honorable wife, aggrieved widow, desperate mother—that’s what I wanted known. The other piece, the one that proclaimed me a victim, a victim of the worst kind—I wanted it buried in an empty bottomless hole.
“Ruth, it’s me. Whatever is going on, let me help.”
Wycliff was better than the rest. He forced me to own all the labels.
“Talk to me.”
His raspy voice wasn’t loud enough to cover the mocking laughter, the slurs, the taunts. The sounds of me dying and hurting.
Then I shut up and took it.
Volcano me erupted. The speed at which I slapped at the shadows increased. “Jokes, jokes. Jokes.”
I knew Wycliff didn’t deserve this, but lava rushed my veins. I couldn’t stop.
I hit at him for failing Chris, for the shop glass I’d walled around me.
I punched at being stuck at every step.
Harder. Faster. Heavier.
I beat at the bottle glass that had become my lenses, the headaches that descended daily—the darkness that would come.
I knocked. I pushed. My hands were red, but I kept fighting.
No more shutting this up in me. No more taking it.
No more.
No more.
“Let it out, Ruth. I’m not going away. Fight with everything that you can.”
The raspy voice resonated. It filled up the hollowness in my chest. It might just make up for the heart that had died four years ago. I looked up and Wycliff’s eyes were closed. He mumbled a blessing, then other things I couldn’t discern.
I didn’t want to.
The shame of striking him, of punishing him for things he hadn’t done was too much.
Now I had to be rid of him. He was nosy. He’d figure things out, if he hadn’t already.
My hand pressed at his throat to stop his sweet words. He winced and caught my fingers. Holding them at his side, he took a step back. “I’ll be the proxy for this fight but tell me what we fight.”
His voice was worse. It was as if by touching his neck I’d hurt him and made him hoarser.
Shame covered me more, like double-wrapping a present, but this was no gift. This was my nightmare.
I looked down at my reddened hands. They were scarlet, not much different than the mulberry color of my gown.
I thought of the worst thing to say to make Wycliff leave. “There’s no we. Here’s the truth. I’ve made you into Adam in my mind.”
“I am Adam to you?”
“Yes, you are similar, you’re just bigger. And your voice is horrible. You can’t sing.”
“But I am Adam to you?”
“Yes. I’m horrible, trying to make you into him. I’m mad at myself for doing that.”
I stepped away, and he let my fingers go. My guise must be working. “I’m horrible.”
“No, you’re not. Do you remember loving Adam?”
“No, I remember none of that. I was a silly girl who cared for him and ran away for the excitement. It was wild. I was wild.”
“You don’t mean that. You loved each other.”
I rubbed my head. I wasn’t good at lying. Everything in me centered on truth, but I couldn’t go on like this. “I’m spent, Wycliff. I need to be alone. Please go.”
“May I see you tomorrow?”
“No.”
“Next week.”
“No more.”
“This is it for us?”
“Yes.”
Wrenching at his neck and the jacket that I’d wrinkled, he walked to the door. Those footfalls were still silent, still horrible. “I’ll respect your wishes. Send for me, day or night. I will come.”
“I won’t. You’ve done what I needed. You’ve been my proof. If you find the other half of the registry send it, but your presence is no longer required.”
“I’m not sure I can walk away. Fight me tonight, but don’t give up on us.”
“There’s no us, just a memory of a man who’s dead.”
“There’s more, Ruth, and what you won’t tell me, I’ll have to find out. I’m a nosy man. I should put my talent to use, to save you.”
“The Ruth that needed saving died with Adam. Please go.”
“I still owe you and Christopher protection. I’ll see to that.”
“Must you be as determined as Adam?” I put my arms about me, trying to stop my limbs from shaking, to keep from turning and running to Wycliff and saying, I’m scared, and I need you.
He put his hand on the door molding. “I don’t mind being Adam. I know you loved him. You are my Eve, the beginning of everything for me. I’ve the strength to fight whatever harmed you, but don’t lump me into those things that make you cry.”
Then he blew through the door.
He was gone.
I fell into my father’s chair, trembling, trying to think of things I was grateful for, but that list ended with the man I’d just made leave.
My headache and my memories had to go. I tossed my glasses to the desk then put my thumbs to my temples.
Pushing Wycliff away was for the best. I wasn’t sorry. I didn’t want to be manipulated. I didn’t need a man with secrets when I had my own.
Tonight, I’d save me, put me first, but Wycliff wasn’t done digging. My secrets needed to remain like my Adam, buried in an unmarked grave, lost in the woods.