Page 23 of Summoner of Sins

“Let me show you to your rooms,” a maid said as she bobbed a curtsy. “The child must be tired. Or is she hungry?”

“Just tired,” Sophie answered, but then she touched Max’s arm. “Will you be close?”

“I’ll be close.”

An hour later, Sophie had been seen by a doctor, and she’d settled Abigail into a large canopied bed. A second had been brought in, smaller, likely meant for Abigail, but Sophie knew she’d sleep with her sister in her arms tonight. She was relieved to know that Max had been placed in the connecting room. It was surely meant for married guests, but tonight she couldn’t give a fig about propriety. She just wanted to be safe.

Max opened the door between the rooms. “Everything all right?”

“I’m fine,” she said, getting up from the spot on the bed to cross to him. She wore one of Ironheart’s dressing gowns, her body swimming in the folds. “You?”

“Good,” he answered, his eyes sliding down her body as he frowned. “Worried about you.”

“I’m good,” she said, stopping in front of him. “I’m no longer at the mercy of my uncle or Lord Whitehouse.”

“He isn’t your uncle.”

Sophie blinked several times. “I beg your pardon?”

Max reached out and pulled her into his arms. “He isn’t your uncle. His name is Plimpton, and he’s been part of Whitehouse’s organization for many years.”

“That can’t be true. He was at my uncle’s address, he…”

“I have no idea what happened to your real uncle. I’ve only been investigating Whitehouse for a few months, but at some point, Plimpton moved into the house and assumed your uncle’s identity.”

Details began to click into place in her mind, but she still wasn’t certain she wanted to believe it. The very fact that she’d placed her and Abigail’s care into the hands of an imposter jolted her. “If you’ve only been investigating for a few months, how do you know he’s not my uncle?” Her breath was coming out in rapid little huffs as her blood rushed in her ears.

Max gently pulled her closer. “I knew Plimpton before. He and I traveled in the same circle.”

“What circle?”

Max’s face spasmed as he looked away. “I don’t think it’s important…”

“I want to know.” She tapped his shoulder. “Tell me everything.

Telling long stories was not exactly his specialty. He said more to Sophie than he’d spoken to anyone else in actual years. But this was different. First, it would all frighten her. Even worse, if his stutter didn’t frighten her off, his past certainly would, or perhaps, that was his present.

“I don’t even know where to begin.”

“At the beginning.”

They might as well sit. Lifting her into his arms, he started for the armchair that sat in the corner near the fire. Settling in, he held her in his lap. “My father and I don’t like each other. He hated my stutter, and I hated him.”

Sophie frowned, her large eyes holding his. “How awful.”

“When I was of age, he sent me to the military. I hated it. He thought the discipline would cure me, but it only made me angrier, and more reserved. That’s where I met Plimpton.”

“That explains his anger that first night at the ball. He knew you’d recognize him.”

“I’m sure.” Max sighed. “Rather than staying in the military, I came home and started a life outside my father’s influence.”

She nodded. “That makes sense.”

He frowned. “The position I took was for a group of titled lords who run a secret club. Only I know their identities, and only I know every detail of the group. Which is how I know that Lord Whitehouse is responsible for the death of two of our members and that his son is among our roster.”

“Death?” Her hands tightened on his biceps. “Why?”

“I’m still working on that. I know that Lord Whitehouse’s men move a great deal of goods that have not been taxed. He uses the funds to support his cause of making England a more m-moral…” He tripped on that one word. He’d heard it often as a child. His father had been convinced that if Max were pure of soul, he’d not be so damaged.

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