Page 47 of The Winter Husband
“Marie.” Lucas tightened his grip on her hand, his eyes soft with concern. “You’re shaking.”
She thought,No, it’s the bed shuddering. It’s the room itself.Her teeth rattled against one another, jarring her gently, and she realized Lucas was right. Her whole body was trembling, from her toes to her breath. All the secrets she’d hidden so deep vied to rise to her lips.
“Men can be monsters.” Lucas cupped her cheek in his hand. “Whatever happened, all blame lies with the one who hurt you.”
“He was,” she gasped, words filling her throat, “a terrible, monstrous man.”
The story tumbled out of her, unfurling in a tangle of words. She told Lucas about the plan hatched by her and Genny and Cecile, she told him about François’s empty promises and false claims of love. She turned her back to Lucas when she confessed the worst of her sordid foolishness, so ashamed of her stupidity. François had tucked her away from the world and made her his captive. She’d given herself away, not knowing any better. She told Lucas how cruel François had been when he revealed his plans for her, and how she’d seized a knife and swung it at her deceiver. She heaved as if she were still racing through the streets of Paris.
“Mother Superior took me in, when it was all over, but she had no choice but to call the authorities and report my deception.” She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, remembering the suffocating stench of pomade as men in velvet coats and gold braid sneered down at her. “They accused me and Genny of hoodwinking the king. They said because of our ruse, every bachelor in Quebec would wonder whether the high-born among the King’s Daughters weren’t really just laundresses in disguise. And no matter how hard I insisted that I’dgiftedthe honor to Genny, they accused her of stealing the three hundred silver coins the king gave for my dowry. They called us swindlers, thieves, the worst of villains. Then they shipped me here to identify the woman who’d taken my place.”
She clutched her ribs, sore from gasping. What could Lucas be thinking? She heard not a single creak of the bed-ropes, not the slightest rustle of cloth behind her. Fear stopped her from looking at him, lest all kindness be washed from his face.
“When I arrived in Quebec, Talon threatened me with such terrors. I had no choice but to identify Genny as my accomplice.” She raised her chin. “But the authorities mistook me for someone helpless. They put me in a convent cell, not in a jail cell. At the first opportunity, I slipped away and set Genny free. I couldn’t bear for her to pay the price of my foolishness. ” Silence hummed in the room, broken only by the low crackle of the dying fire. “You know the rest.”
She swiped moisture from her shame-scorched face. She felt as emptied as a sack of wheat, squeezed free of every grain. She couldn’t bear to look at him, see scorn or contempt. She shoved herself off the bed. Seizing her shift from the tangle of clothing, she struggled her arms into it, letting the hem fall below her knees to cover her utter nakedness.
The mattress creaked behind her. “Marie—”
“You must be hungry.”Don’t ask me anything. Please. I have nothing left to give.“I’ll put some cornmeal into the pot and start—”
“Forget about food.”
His voice was firm, unyielding. Her shoulders tightened. “You say that now, but you’ll think differently when your stomach is growling and there’s nothing in your bowl.”
“Please stay.”
Tears pricked behind her eyes. She found her corset on the floor, but not the ribbon to weave through the grommets. The urge to flee into the empty wilderness was unbearable. Right now, she’d prefer to confront a bear or a lion or one of Lucas’s mystical moose rather than answer any questions or be subjected to his pity.
Or worse…disgust.
“I’ve always known something bad happened.” His voice unnerved her in its steadiness. “Etta warned me that you’d been hurt.”
Hurt.As if she’d scraped a knee or bruised an elbow. What a shock it must be to learn a different truth. She crouched down, making herself small as she pretended to search for the ribbon while wishing she could disappear between the floorboards.
“Did you love him, Marie?”
She swayed on her heels. She remembered François’s sweetly flattering poetry, the secret notes, and the excitement of the courtship. Most of all, she remembered François’s dancing black eyes, and the moment they turned rapier sharp.
“I believed I loved him.” She glimpsed the corset ribbon and gathered it to her chest. “I wanted it to be true.” Was it so terrible a dream, to yearn to be loved? “It’s an old story, Lucas. He was the devil, and I was the fool.”
“Stop.”
The mattress creaked as Lucas stood up. He began pacing along the length of the bed. Of course he was angry. She didn’t need François’s lessons to know a husband didn’t like discovering that the woman he’d married—even in name only—had been with another man. Let him be angry, then. If this was the limit of Lucas’s kindness, then it would be easier to never fall into the trap again, of mistaking joy in the bedchamber for something more profound.
She mustered some dignity and rose from her crouch. She wrapped the corset around her body, imagining it a cage around her heart, and the ribbon she wove through the grommets the lock to keep it safe.
“You’re no fool, Marie.” He stepped into his breeches, then approached to face her, intimidating in his shirtless beauty. “I know it, because it’s taken me this long to piece you together.”
“Piece me together?” She glanced at his torso, riddled with scars. “Likeyou’repieced together? You’ve said not a word about all of that.”
“You can see my wounds, Anentaks. Until now, I couldn’t see yours.”
She frowned as her fingers fumbled with the laces. She was the one wearing clothes, yet she’d never felt so naked.
“I’d kill that soldier for you.” He filled the air between them with his body’s heat. “I’d skin him alive over burning coals for what he did.”
The ends of the ribbons fluttered from her hands. He sounded angry, but not at her. He sounded protective…possessive. But no—they were words, only words. Lucas’s honor was involved. His fury at François had nothing to do with her, not really…and yet a fluttering of a thousand wings began in her belly.
