Pride and Papercuts (The Austens #5) - Staci Hart Page 0,87

who’d spoken them? Why, oh why, had I been haunted by that kiss, the one that made undelivered promises? Why couldn’t I forget the way it felt to be held by him, why I felt safe in his arms when he was the most dangerous man I’d ever known?

I’d spent a long time chastising myself, but never so much as sitting on that train with his letter in my bag. I couldn’t figure out what it was. An apology? A teardown? A list of puns? Blueprints for his summer home? There was no way to guess what he could possibly think. I suspected it mostly consisted of zeroes and ones, peppered with the occasional insult and swear word.

But it didn’t matter. I wasn’t going to read it. Historically, when I was through, I was through, and we were well past over it. Whatever was inside wouldn’t deter me, but there was a very high likelihood that it would make me angry. So I’d throw it away. No, I’d burn it. Or tear it into fifty pieces and flush it down the toilet. Or just throw it in the subway trash and never think about it again.

But I didn’t throw it away. I stormed off the train and all the way home, stomped up the stairs to our empty apartment, tossing my keys into the little dish next to the door with a clang. Bag off with a thump. Shoes off with twin clunks. Hands on my hips, I stared down at my bag, the letter all but glowing through the leather flap. I could light a candle, lavender maybe. Get all calm and Zen and watch that piece of paper get eaten up by a flame. I imagined it would be satisfying, but a niggling in my heart reminded me that not knowing would be much, much worse than knowing. It’d probably keep me up at night for the rest of my days.

So I knelt. Opened the flap. Reached in and retrieved the letter. It weighed a hundred pounds between my fingertips as I sank onto the couch, my name written in black ink by his hand in script with a calligraphic flourish on the L and the Y. It was almost too perfect to be someone’s actual handwriting, and I wondered why he would school himself to write with such precision. Another of Darcy’s many mysteries.

I slipped my thumb into the envelope flap, separating it from itself. My heartbeat thundered in my ears, my fight-or-flight kicking in with a rush of adrenaline.

I probably should have fled.

The paper was thick, folded in thirds, and when I opened it and saw my name again—this time in a strong, square, uppercase print—something in me snapped and flew away, released from an unseen tether.

Laney,

First, don’t worry—I have no plans to repeat the admission you found so repulsive when we last spoke. I write this without the intention to hurt you or to humble myself by dwelling on things I can’t have. I wouldn’t have asked you to read this if my character didn’t demand that I write it. And I’m sure something I say will offend you—it’s my way, isn’t it?—so I can only tell you in advance that I’m sorry.

I was accused of two offenses—the first that I played some part in keeping Jett from Georgie, and the second that in defiance of honor and humanity, I ruined Wickham and Georgie along with him.

I have seen my sister in love many times, and each time destroyed her in some small way—in Wickham’s case, ruined completely. And so I watched her with Jett, noticing instantly that I hadn’t seen her so happy since Wyatt. I watched Jett too, and though he seemed charming and true, we’d all been fooled before. I didn’t trust him, and I didn’t trust Georgie, and in that, I was wrong. I was misled by that error, and I hurt them both. I wanted to find his faults, but not because I wished it. Only because I wanted proof of my suspicions—that he wanted her money and would break her heart.

I have always been protective of Georgie, but after Wickham, I am incapable of restraint.

There is, of course, the matter of your family. The situation with your mother and my aunt grew to a proportion I couldn’t have anticipated. Catherine is my only living family besides Georgie, and this company is my legacy. But Catherine has the power to strip me of both my title and my family. In