Isabella snuggled down into the warm bed, her sister wrapping an arm about her. “Thank you.”
Eliza rubbed Isabella’s arm. “I know this is tough but it’s for the best. What Aunt Mildred is doing making you attend events during the day—”
“She’s not actually our aunt,” Isabella said as she let out a jaw-splitting yawn.
“I know that.” Eliza clucked. “But by making you participate with us, you’ll have a chance at a real future—”
“Eliza.” She turned back and looked at her sister. “The veil has been lifted for me. I’ve seen behind the curtain of men and I can’t pretend to pull the curtain down again. Any man who expresses interest will know that I know.” She squeezed her sister’s hand. “I can’t pretend to be dewy-eyed any longer and I’m not sure I’d want to.”
Eliza wrinkled her nose. “When was I ever dewy-eyed? I can still marry and so can you.”
“And pretend that this never happened? You know I’m no good at that.”
“I suppose you aren’t. Neither is Emily. Now, Abigail and I…” Eliza squeezed her hand again. “There has to be a way to find you a future. I’m going to think on it.”
“I’m glad.” Isabella smiled as she closed her eyes. “Because I can’t think about anything right now.”
“What about Bash? Does he still look for any excuse to touch you?”
That made Isabella’s eyes pop open again. “No.” She drew in a ragged breath. “I’ve hardly seen him.”
“Odd,” Eliza whispered. “I thought for certain that he was smitten. I wonder why he’s avoiding you?”
Isabella closed her eyes again. She couldn’t think about it now. “You’ll have to ask him yourself. I haven’t the faintest idea.”
Just before sleep overtook her, she dreamed she heard Eliza say. “I think I will.”
The counting had gone late.
Bash scrubbed his face. Or very early, depending on the perspective. The sun was already rising as he left the club. They’d made four times the profits this month as they had the one before and January wasn’t even over.
But he’d begun to hate the club.
For the first time, he saw it through Isabella’s eyes. He didn’t like what he saw. Filthy, vile men, bad behavior. She hardly spoke while she was there. Just dealt and shuffled and dealt again.
And her eyes. They’d danced at first, but they were dulling. Slowly but surely.
He remembered that feeling.
It had been different, of course. He hadn’t just been watching the worst of humanity, he’d experienced it at his father’s cruel fist.
He remembered one particular incident when his father had brought several lords to their home to discuss a business proposition. One of them had brought a son along and he and Bash had gone out to the garden.
The other boy had pushed Bash, accidentally, and Bash had fallen into a puddle. It was typical boy behavior, but his father had flown into a rage.
Bash had been weak, he’d gotten dirty, he’d embarrassed his father. He’d received several lashes with the belt for his transgression.
And he’d stopped playing with other children.
He cracked several of his knuckles. As he’d grown older, he’d also become angry. He’d look for any excuse to fight. And when he did, it was always his father’s face that he’d pictured. Until one day, when he’d delivered a savage beating in the boxing ring, he’d caught his reflection and realized that his father wasn’t in the other man’s face but in Bash’s own features. He looked the picture of his father’s rage.
That’s when he’d decided it was better to care about nothing. And that had been working quite well for the last six years. Until Isabella.
Now, as hard he was trying, he did care about something. Her.
He’d cared that she suffered and sacrificed. He cared that she might get hurt. And he cared that she looked at him like he was her only hope.
The carriage stopped in the alley next to his house and he climbed out, looking forward to bed.