City of Ruin, page 23
My head tilts of its own accord.
“He was asking questions about you right before . . .”
I stare down at my bread, reeling at all the impossible coincidences that seem to surround me. “And what, exactly, was my father’s reputation?”
Greyson stubbornly walks as normal as possible toward the cellar, as if he doesn’t hear me. “I need a drink first,” he finally mutters. “Something stronger than tea.” He removes the kettle from the stove, wordlessly pours hot water into a mug for me, and disappears into the cellar. I almost offer to fetch a new carafe to spare him the trouble, but I won’t insult him by offering to help, especially since he seems to be in a mood tonight.
Instead, I plop one of Ms. Fairchild’s tea bags into my mug to steep and nibble on another piece of bread.
When Greyson returns, he pours himself a glass of clear liquor and takes a sip.
“Well?” I prompt as he eyes me closely. He’s procrastinating, but I’m determined to know whatever he does.
Jaw predictably tense, he scratches his stubbled chin before finally answering. “Are you sure you want to discuss him? Dredging up the past—”
“He was my father, Greyson,” I say starkly, and my shoulders slump a little. “I need to know whatever you do. It may help ease the guilt I feel in having such little remorse about his death.” Deciding I could use some liquid courage as well, I take his glass from him, throwing what’s left of it back with a cringe. An herbal aroma accosts the inside of my nose and the liquid burns going down. “Dear God, what is that?” I ask, wiping my lips with the sleeve of my robe.
A smirk threatens the corner of his mouth. “Gin. Or, Chauncey’s version of it, anyway.” When I set the glass back down, Greyson almost smiles. “All right then,” he says, refilling his glass. “I’ll tell you my thoughts, if you wish.” He sets it between us.
I pick at a piece of bread to keep from picking anxiously at my fingers instead. When I feel Greyson’s assessing gaze on me, I offer him a chunk, but he shakes his head. “No, thank you.”
Plopping another piece into my mouth, I sigh and wait.
“Cecil was known for whoring his way among the Council to get what he wanted, and I mean that in more ways than one.”
I stop mid-chew. I wasn’t prepared for that, but for some reason, I’m not wholly surprised. The lack of tears in my father’s eyes the day my mother died spoke volumes of his affection for her, or lack of it; and that he had such little regard for me meant he had to have loved someone. I just hadn’t expected it to be himself, even after all these years. “What else?” I prompt, since there’s no going back now.
Greyson takes another sip from his glass. “Word has it, one of his closest confidantes was the person I loathe most in the world, so Cecil’s presence on my land was, shall we say, worrisome. I’m assuming they’d been scheming, but the question remains whether your father knew you were the woman I’d purchased when he came to inquire, or not. The purchase is public record, if they’d cared enough to look.”
“I would say it’s not likely he came for me. He never tried to before, but I don’t know the man anymore. I don’t think I ever did, actually.” I pick idly at my bread. “But it is strange timing, I’ll give you that.” Finally, I look at Greyson. “Who is it you loathe?” Having never heard him speak so vehemently about a person, I can’t help but ask. I assumed it was Greyson Blackburn against the world, not one particular man.
“Edward Draven.” He practically spits the man’s name, but I can see why.
“Yes, he is an unnerving man,” I agree, and dab another tuft of bread into the butter dish.
Greyson’s fingers wrap around my wrist, and I freeze. His eyes are blazing when I meet his gaze, and suddenly, I’m afraid. “You’ve met Draven?”
I nod, afraid to even blink.
Recognizing my unease, Greyson lets go of my arm and swallows thickly. “When did you meet him, Selene?”
“I—” Shaking my head, I sort through the days. “When Paige and I were walking to the village—after the carriage was stuck on the road.”
“That was days ago,” Greyson says, and rubs roughly at his brow. “That bastard was on my land. How did I not know this?”
“I—I didn’t realize. He said he was the neighbor, that he was there on business.”
“Not with me, he wasn’t.” Greyson’s apprehension roils through the room, worrying me far more than his angry tone.
“I didn’t know I wasn’t supposed to speak with him. I would have told you.”
His eyes soften a little. “Of course you didn’t know,” he says, voice riddled with regret. “How could you?”
“Will you tell me why you’re so worried?”
Greyson downs what’s left of his drink and pours another. I can tell he doesn’t want to concern me, but he must realize it’s too late for that. “Draven is a man of greed and ambition,” he says, staring into his glass. “He did not inherit his land so much as scheme and steal it away. I don’t know why he covets Briarwood so much, but my sources have reported his whispers and constant interest in my affairs since he took over Northshire four years ago. He is not a man to be trusted. He’s been using my lack of an heir to rile the Council against me. And he’s seen to it to ensure it stays that way.” There’s a graveness in Greyson’s tone that sets me on edge. “Him knowing you are here puts you in danger.”
“Why?” I breathe. “What has he done?”
Greyson rubs his hand over his face, rough and agitated. “I don’t want to frighten you, Selene—”
“It’s too late for that,” I quip, and his gaze shoots to me. “Please. Tell me.”
His chest rises with a deep inhale, and I brace myself. “He killed Constance.”
“Miss Knightly?” Her name is a gasp, and quickly, I rifle through all I’ve learned about her so far.
“He made it look like she’d hanged herself, but I know in my heart she did not—there was no reason she would have. We were not in love, of course—it was an arrangement I’d approved to appease the Council. But she was willing to do what was needed. We’d discussed it, had agreed on a long-term arrangement that would satisfy us both once we were married. More than anything, she wanted security here, and my protection. I was supposed to give that to her—I promised her I would.” The ache in Greyson’s voice, the constant regret that riddles him, shrouds the room.
“I’m sorry,” I breathe, though I know it helps no one. “And you’re certain he would do such a thing?”
A false, angry smile curves Greyson’s lips. “I am certain it was him. And what better way to flare the rumors of the infamous Collector than for his second wife to follow the fate of the first, and worse than that, take her own life? Of course, I had absolutely no way to prove it.”
“It’s why you haven’t tried to remarry again,” I realize. “It’s why you sent me to Mona when the Council arrived.”
He nods. “I wanted to keep your presence here quiet for as long as possible, to keep you safe, and at the very least, to keep the Council from proposing some sort of ultimatum.”
“So that I wouldn’t be forced into anything,” I whisper. Greyson doesn’t have to answer. I know him well enough now to guess the rest. “And Draven has had too long already to plot and scheme against you, now that he’s seen me and likely drawn his own conclusions.”
He nods. “Draven was bound to find out. I was just hoping for more time.”
When Greyson looks at me, his expression is a mask of stone, but I see a storm brewing in his eyes—a tempest of doubt and fury and fear.
Recalling the look in Draven’s eyes the day I met him makes my skin crawl. “He has an heir to secure his estate then,” I muse sadly. “So he focuses on you now instead.”
Greyson huffs.
I frown. “He doesn’t?”
“Not yet, but he has a wife and many daughters he’s sold off to other landowners throughout the country.”
“And that keeps the Council happy, even if he has no male heir?”
“For now.”
I shake my head, leaning back against the shelf behind me. “It’s all so deplorable,” I grumble, and tea utterly forgotten, I take another swig from the gin glass. “Let us hope the earthquake will distract them all for a while,” I say, exhaling the fumes burning the inside of my nose.
“Yes, let us hope.” I can feel Greyson’s eyes on me, never wavering, as if he’s trying to gauge how frightened I am. But the truth of that matter is, I’ve been in a constant state of fear my entire life, so whatever threats Draven poses are nothing entirely new to me.
“I doubt he is more terrifying than I thought you were when I first met you,” I tease, trying to lighten the heaviness settling between us.
Greyson’s mouth ticks slightly up, but the intensity of his gaze remains hot against my cheek. It’s quiet for a few pounding heartbeats before he slides the gin glass toward me, then reaches for another glass on the shelf behind me.
Holding the gin glass in my lap, I turn it around in my hand as Greyson pours himself another.
“When I was seventeen,” I start, watching the way the liquid seems to glow in the muted light of the kitchen. “I snuck into Master Orson’s quarters, knowing he was out for the night, and I drank his coveted whiskey. He only had it on special occasions, and I wanted to anger him . . . It was the only way I could think to do it that wouldn’t summon his wife’s wrath.”
Greyson leans his hip against the counter a few feet from me, listening intently. “What did Orson do when he found out?” he asks, though I think he’s holding his breath because the words barely eke out of him.
I smile. “Nothing.”
“Nothing?” His voice is skeptical.
Shrugging, I take a swig from the tumbler, reveling in the burn once more as I lick my lips. “A part of me was disappointed,” I admit. “I’d wanted to anger him, for him to know I wasn’t some meek girl who accepted my fate so easily, simply because he expected it of me. But . . .” I turn the glass in my hand again. “If he knew it was me, he did nothing.”
“Why not? I would think a man like that would find every reason to punish you.”
I can’t bring myself to look at Greyson, so I pick a spot on the wall instead. “Because, in his own twisted way, Master Orson cared for me. I think he believed whatever he needed to keep the delicate balance between us.”
It’s quiet, uncomfortably so, and when I finally meet Greyson’s gaze, menace glows in his eyes and his jaw works so hard my teeth ache for his.
“Say something,” I plead, unable to stand his fuming silence.
“I don’t know what’s worse, Selene,” he says carefully, and my name on his tongue sends a flutter through me. “That you would prefer being back in a place like that rather than here, or that a part of you might still view me and my intentions to be the same as his.” The hurt and barely restrained fury in his voice isn’t only surprising, it’s heartbreaking.
“You aren’t like him,” I promise. “In fact, you are unlike any man I’ve ever met.” I allow the truth to simmer to the surface. “You’re fearsome in a way I’ve never known.”
Greyson’s eyes close, his lips pinched as if he is pained by my words. And that I have such power over him makes no sense.
“And yet,” I continue softly.
“And yet?”
“And yet, you are kindhearted and good in the most unexpected way.” I shake my head. “I don’t know what I’m trying to say, only that . . . No matter what I said before, I have never felt warm and comforted, like I do here.”
I’m not sure I’ve ever seen shock light Greyson’s eyes the way it does. “You do?”
I nod, ever so slightly, laying it all bare. “You make me feel that way, even if I didn’t understand at first.”
38
GREYSON
“You make me feel that way, even if I didn’t understand at first.”
I stare at her mouth, stunned. Selene can’t possibly mean she trusts me. She hasn’t said the words, but I see something in her eyes, and I dare not think it’s any sort of affection. But the air shifts between us. It charges with a hum I can feel beneath my skin, thrumming through my coiled muscles as I stand beside her with bated breath, waiting for her to say something to contradict it.
Finally, I can’t take it anymore. “You’re not still angry with me?” I watch her lips, anticipating the truth in her voice, because despite how hard she tries, she can never hide it.
Selene’s shoulders relax, as if she’s finally given in to whatever thoughts have been warring in her mind for days. “It’s difficult to be angry with a man who has the weight of a hundred men on his shoulders, as well as his daughter’s future in a world so bleak.”
Her words astonish me, and I’m not certain what to say in return. Days ago, she would’ve cursed me. Now it sounds as if she pities me.
“Don’t feel sorry for me, Selene.” Although I regret the edge in my voice, I refuse to be pitied by her. Me of all people. “I do carry a burden, but much of it is my own making. I’m a foolish man at times, and I will forever pay the price.”
“We cannot change the lives we were given,” she says, and there is enough solemnity in her voice that I wonder if she says it for the both of us. “But we can make the best of it.” Her eyes meet mine, shimmering like a crystalline pool in the firelight. “Perhaps that is what we are meant to do.”
It’s in that moment that I feel the gravity of all that she says, of her mere presence in this room with me—that she has decided to help care for me, to speak with me without judgement; that Selene has decided to stay in Briarwood at all.
I don’t know what thoughts churn behind her expressive eyes, but any uncertainty I had in bringing her here vanishes.
“When I first saw you,” I say, and my voice sounds far more amused than I feel. “The way you protected those children like they were your own blood, with that fire in you I knew could not easily be squelched . . . I thought Rebecca would want it to be you.” My eyes burn, not because of my dead wife, but because of the unexpected relief I feel in whatever this moment is between us. “You two would have been friends,” I tell her, shaking my head. “I wish Paige could have known her—she would’ve been a much better mother than I am a father—”
“You can’t say such things,” Selene chides hastily.
I look at her, my finger absently rubbing the rim of my glass.
“Even now, in the middle of the night, while you are injured, you worry about Paige’s future. About how you can protect her and what your next move will be against Draven and the Council. Imagine what Paige’s future would have been without you here. I would never wish your wife dead, but you can protect Paige far more than she could have.” Selene’s gaze is hard-set on mine, almost fierce. “Even if Rebecca and Henry had lived, they would need your protection—everyone who lives here does. This place would not exist without you. Never forget that.”
I watch the woman beside me, wondering how everything could change between us so unexpectedly. How she could have changed. Or perhaps she hasn’t at all, it’s that I’m only beginning to truly know her. As her words and utter certainty settle in, I’m overcome with an indescribable feeling. “Thank you,” I whisper, and I wait for her to look at me, to see and feel the weight of the emotion I cannot express. “Coming from you, that means more than you could possibly know.”
Selene’s eyes twinkle, perhaps with drink. “Good,” she says curtly. “Maybe you’ll remember it then.”
I grin and Selene does a double take. “That’s the second time today you’ve smiled.” I appreciate how disarmed she looks, and I don’t know how many heartbeats pass before I realize her eyes are on my lips.
“So,” she breathes, taking another sip from her glass. I wonder if the warm hum in my blood is because of the gin, her proximity, or if it’s a heady mixture of both. “What do we do now?”
“Ah, yes.” It’s the question that has plagued me since I woke to find Cecil was dead. I rub my eyes, wondering when the last time I truly slept was. “A good night’s sleep would be a decent start,” I mutter.
“Would you like help to your room?”
I almost laugh at her offer, but it dies on my lips when I notice her serious expression.
“You’ll have to sleep down here otherwise.”
“No.” I wave her away. “Don’t worry—”
Selene rises to her feet. “Well, I do. So, I insist you let me help you. Because unless you’re going to curl up on that stack of burlap with that mangy black cat, you need the warmth of your bed.” The wind rattles the window. “See,” she says, missing nothing. She waits with pure determination for me to accept my fate. And when I’m too lost in the sight of her to respond, she heads for my cane. “Come, let me help you.”
I glare at the cane, absolutely despising it as she brings it over, but all is forgotten when she stops in front of me. Whether it’s the alcohol or the simple fact that I am a man, my gaze roves over her robe, tight around her slender waist and open at the neck of her nightgown. I can’t make myself look away.
“Honestly,” she says. “I’m stronger than I look.”
I smirk. “I know you are.” And it’s not lost on me that a petite little thing like Selene Sinclair, with eyes as bright as the hidden sky and the slightest of limps, is hauling me out of the kitchen. That she could give two tosses about propriety, our past, or that I could crush her in an instant if I fell, makes it impossible not to smile, even if she doesn’t notice.
As we make our way through the kitchen, I inhale the faint scent of lilies that clings to her hair and feel the warmth of her body pressed against me. She fits perfectly, and all I can think at this moment is, what if?
What if it all works out in the end?
What if the little governess and I could find happiness together?
