Page 53 of The Devil in Her Bed
She frowned. “It’s like you want it to be their fault. Hattie and Charles Hargrave were the loveliest people. So good-natured and kind. If they had something to do with the deaths, it couldn’t have been by design—they died, too.” Sighing, she added. “It’s strange that the Lord Chancellor didn’t mention them to me.”
“I know you were fond of them, and Pip. I was, too. But if they’d never said anything, the household would still be alive. If they knew anything about the council, they knew that to mention it was to toy with death.”
“Sounds like a lot of supposition to me.”
“Just trust me,” he said. “It isn’t.”
Trust me.He’d said that before. He’d shoved her in a tree and then told her to trust him.
And they’d lost twenty years.
“I gave you the information you asked for,” she said. “It’s your turn.”
“My turn?”
“To trust me. To tell me what you know.”
He turned away from the destroyed glass and reached out, grazing her cheek with the backs of his fingers. “I trust no one,” he said as if it were a regrettable, unchangeable fact. “A symptom of the industry, I’m afraid.”
“But… you know me. I’m your friend.”
“I am not a man who is allowed friends,” he said, as though not just telling her, but reminding himself.
She wanted to be angry, but she felt akin to him, sometimes. She had the Rogues, but she also left them out of so much of her life. For their own good.
“Well then, I’m the enemy of your enemy, and that means…”
“You are still someone who can betray me.”
Taken aback, she huffed, “I would never!”
“I believe even you, yourself, aren’t aware of the depths of depravity of which you are capable. It is my design to keep things that way. To not pull you into my world.”
She was aware of her capabilities. She’d hidden more bodies than your average countess. Not as many as Elizabeth Báthory, but still.
“I’m already a part of this. You don’t get to decide for me what I am capable of or not.” It was a churlish comeback, and they both knew it.
His eyes upon her were assessing, and then appreciative. “You’ve managed to surprise me thus far, I’ll give you that.”
“And what does that mean?” Dammit, her arms were crossed again.
“Francesca.” He brought his caressing finger down her jaw to her chin, lifting it up with a firm but gentle press. “If I don’t tell you anything, it’s for your own good.”
“My own good?” She jerked her head away. “Youmustbe joking.”
He shook his head. “This is an official investigation. You don’t understand what I must do next.”
“Thentellme, Declan.”
“I’mnotDeclan anymore. I never really was.”
“Fine.” She threw her arms out. “That’s all right with me. You can be anyone you choose on any given day and I’ll be there for you. We are not like others, we never have been and especially cannot be now. We wear ourpain as armor, don’t we? We use it to make us strong and decisive and to do what must be done.” She went to him, putting her hands against his chest, letting the warmth of his core seep into her cold fingers. “Our shared memories can purify our bond and our shared purpose can perhaps heal us one day. It’s all right if you’re not Declan. I’m not exactly Francesca, either. I’m—”
“No.” He took her hands from his chest and firmly put them to her sides. “That isn’t how this works. That isn’t howIwork.”
“I’m telling you it doesn’t matter.”
“It fucking matters to me!” he thundered, raking a hand through his disheveled hair. “I do dark things, and I will keep doing them. Things that would haunt your nightmares for years to come. Things that make me wonder if I’m becoming the monsters I’ve fought for so long.Thatis my reward for cranking the engine of this empire and for keeping the Crimson Council at bay.”
