She shook her head. “I did horridly. I just shot a man. And I caused the trouble to begin with. I should never have run out. Don’t you see? That’s exactly what my father meant.”
“Meant?” he asked, squinting his eyes into the shadowy carriage.
“He said that I had the curse. Exactly like him. And that everything I touched would turn to ash in my hands.” Her voice trembled as she raised them to her cheeks. “I’ve done terrible things.”
“He’s wrong and nothing you’ve done could have been that bad.” He wanted to touch her, hold her close.
“He isn’t,” she whispered. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” She looked out the window rather than at him. Her hands slid to her temples as her eyes closed.
Mason’s voice was gentle but firm. “Tell me then. Explain it to me.”
She slipped off her bench and came to sit next to him. “Do you know the priest who took me in?”
Sick dread filled his stomach. He was weakening and he couldn’t hold his body against it. He slumped down in his seat. “What about him?”
“Ended up on an island that’s nearly deserted.”
“Clarissa,” he said, his voice cracking. How did he explain he’d arranged the priest’s exile?
“I think they sent him there because money was missing.” His gut churned as he caught an inkling of where this was going and how he had contributed to her fears.
“He was sent there because he was a mean man who didn’t deserve a flock.” He squeezed his eyes shut but then opened them again because he needed to see her face and know that she understood. “And if you are the reason that money is missing, good for you. Not everyone is strong enough to do what’s necessary to get themselves out of Hell.”
She let out a small cry and in the darkening carriage he didn’t know what it meant. Had his words hurt? Helped? But then she pressed her hand to his stomach, leaned over, and kissed his lips.
Longing and love coursed through him as he raised a hand to her cheek. No kiss had ever been sweeter. Her lips were warm pillows of comfort and his mouth clung to hers. “None of those things were your fault.”
But she jerked back and lifted her gloved hand. The white of the fresh glove marred by a startling amount of blood. “Mason?”
Chapter Eight
Cold fear gripped her as she stared at her hand.
“Mason?” she said again, her voice sounding strangled. “From where are you bleeding?” And then she began pulling at his clothes.
It wasn’t hard to find the wound. On his left side, blood oozed down his shirt. He reached a tentative hand behind his back. “Good news, the bullet went clean through. It’s really just a flesh wound in my side. A graze.”
“How is a flesh wound considered good news?” she cried, ripping off her cloak and balling it up, then pushing it against his skin to apply pressure to stop the flow of blood.
He hissed. “You know I’m right. You’ve got a great deal of practice in caring for wounds. I can attest to that. It just hurts.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I need to slow the bleeding.”
“No. It’s good.” He covered her hands with his. “We need to continue talking.”
“You can’t be serious.” She looked into his ashen face then. “Why did you let me blather on while you were hurt?”
“Because you’re hurt too.” He lifted his hand and placed it over her heart. The feel of his fingers on her chest made her ache. She wanted to rest her forehead against his and close her eyes. Forget the rest of the world. “Your father was wrong and you’re wrong too. And you need to know that. You are not bad. You’re one of the best people I know.”
“Mason,” she huffed as she leaned over and brushed her lips against his again. “You were shot while standing next to me. You don’t think that proves I bring destruction to those around me? That I am not good?”
A small smile touched his lips. “No, I don’t. The club is in a neighborhood that’s gotten increasingly rough over the last decade. Perhaps it’s time to move.”
She shook her head. “You’re not listening to—”
“You’re not listening.” He grabbed her arm. “I sent that priest away. I’m so sorry that I caused you guilt with my actions. But I couldn’t allow more children to be under his care. And I chose to protect you today.” He coughed then, wincing as he did, and fear made her shiver.
“Mason?” Part of her wanted to be angry with him. He’d sent Father Byron from the church? But all she could feel was worry. He was hurt. What if something happened to him? He was the one person in the world to whom she’d confided all her secrets. She needed him. More than that…