“This turns everything else into lies,” he said wearily. He was angry, but anger was merely thin defense against the devastation hovering to crush him. If he didn’t love her so much, she couldn’t wound him like this.
“You—” She swallowed, the movement of her slender throat vulnerable.
He fought the traitorous urge to take her in his arms and tell her everything was forgiven. Because, hell and damnation, he couldn’t forgive her. Not when he remembered his father dying a broken man, far from home, mocked by the world that once revered him. Not when he remembered schoolboy taunts about his dago slut of a mother. Not when he remembered the blazing agony of William’s knife carving his face, marking him forever outcast.
Sidonie watched him and if he didn’t mistrust every perception about this woman, he’d say his rage broke her heart. “You hate me now. I… I can’t blame you. It’s too late to make amends. You’re right. I should have trusted you. Even if I didn’t trust you, I should have told you. Every day William held the title after I found the marriage lines, I abetted his theft.”
She sounded so reasonable. He couldn’t bear it. He lashed out, just wanting her to go away and leave him to drown in his wretchedness. “Do you hope to wheedle a pardon?”
“No.” After a fraught pause, her voice emerged more strongly. She looked as severe as a stone angel. Whereas there was nothing angelic about her at all, God help him. “Jonas, hating me isn’t what’s important now. What’s important is what use you make of this information. If you tell people that you found the marriage lines before you visited Barstowe Hall and that’s why you went to see William, you’ll convince the authorities that you had no motive for murder. Faced with losing the title, William had stronger reason than mounting debts to kill himself.”
“It sounds like a fairy tale,” he said sarcastically. He fought the urge to crumple the marriage lines and pitch them at her.
“Except it explains so much. I imagine once you’re Viscount Hillbrook, the world will be happy to hear protestations of innocence.” She plunged a shaking hand into the pocket of her shabby cape and produced another paper. “This confirms Reverend Trask was in Spain when your parents married and there’s a letter with his signature for matching with the marriage lines.”
Looking at her stung him, stung like hell. His embarrassing, sentimental hopes for a life with her scattered like ashes. He hated her. He hated her almost as much as he loved her. He longed to destroy the love. He had a bleak feeling that the love would destroy him. “You’ve delivered your news. I don’t want you here.”
She paled even further and he muffled another unwelcome pang of guilt. She deserved to suffer. She’d cut his heart into mincemeat. Worse, she’d fleetingly and cruelly made him imagine that someone might love a monster like him. That was her real crime. He’d never forgive her.
She was ashen and unshed tears brimmed in her eyes, but she wouldn’t back down, no matter how beastly he was. Hesitantly she stepped forward and placed the letter on the table against the wall. “Please listen, Jonas. This is your key to freedom. If you say you went to Barstowe Hall to tell William that you’re legitimate, people will know you didn’t kill him. If anything, he had motive to kill you.”
“Why haven’t I mentioned this until now?” he asked, then descended to more sarcasm, hating himself, hating her, hating every damn thing in the world. “Did it slip my mind?”
She flinched at his tone and he felt mean and small for baiting her. He was so livid, he wanted to smash everything to Hades. But needling her made him feel like he tortured a kitten. Not that Sidonie was so defenseless. Or so innocent.
“You have—” She sucked in an unsteady breath. “You have every right to be angry. But please listen. If you say you waited to tell William’s family, and my visit here confirms that, people will believe you’re a hero rather than a villain. A man who, at risk to his life, considered the feelings of a suicide’s grieving widow and orphaned children.”
She sighed and brushed her hair back from her face. It was considerably untidier than when she’d arrived. He remembered as if it had happened to someone else how he’d dragged her against his body and how his heart leaped at the sight of her. When she came in, he’d felt complete. He’d never feel complete again.
“What a touching story. Unrelated to anything like reality.”
Her lips tightened. “Don’t let self-destructive rage win, Jonas. Once you think about this, you’ll realize that this piece of paper, however tardily delivered, gives you a future. And a name. And a way out of this murder charge.”
“Very bracing, my darling,” he said drily. “I find myself quite roused to action.”
She drew herself up and stared at him. The blank despair in her eyes mirrored the agony in his heart. He tried to tell himself that her anguish was more deception, but he couldn’t quite believe it. “Don’t let this chance pass you by because you loathe me. You believe I wronged you. I did. I had good reason, but that reason doesn’t justify my actions.”
“Get out of my sight.” He couldn’t bear to look at her. He couldn’t bear to remember everything she’d made him feel and know none of it was real.
She whitened and staggered before he watched her gather faltering courage and stand her ground. Shaking hand
s drew her hood over her rich brown hair. “I… I wish you well, Jonas,” she whispered and turned away.
Damn her, however angry he was, he couldn’t let her go like this. He didn’t even know if she came alone or with a maid. Newgate was in a dangerous quarter of London and it was the middle of the night. “Sidonie…”
“Yes?”
He couldn’t see her face but her rigid shoulders spoke of control barely maintained. “Do you have someone with you? I’ll pay Sykes to escort you home if not.”
She didn’t face him. “What do you care?”
The bitter, unacceptable truth was that he cared enormously. “I don’t wish ill upon you.”
“That’s big of you,” she muttered and rapped hard at the door.
“Sidonie, I want you safe,” he said helplessly as she swept past the turnkey toward the shadowy hall. “I want you to be… happy.”
She’d gone and didn’t hear.