“What do you mean, ‘people who fear their own instincts’?”
Donovan managed a sardonic grin. “You seem a clever man to me, sir. Have you not guessed by now?”
Marek didn’t answer. He had some private suspicions about Donovan, but none that he would ever give voice to.
Donovan moved, and grimaced with pain again, his hand instantly going to his side. “I think they broke a rib or two.”
“That should be bandaged. Be still—moving will make it worse.”
“Said like a man who’s had a broken rib.”
“I have.” As a boy, he’d fallen off a horse and broken a rib and his collarbone. To this day, he couldn’t lift his left arm as high as his right.
“If nothing else, I suppose you might take this as proof that you can trust her,” Donovan said.
“Trust her,” Marek repeated. “What are you talking about?”
Donovan squinted at him. “You said you didn’t trust her, aye? Is it not obvious to you now that she can keep a secret?”
Something clicked in Marek. All at once, everything made sense. His suspicions were born out—the strange relationship Donovan had with Mrs. Honeycutt. The way he looked at Marek. The talk of morality crusaders in the gazette and here again, tonight.
“Aye, you do understand,” Donovan said, and averted his gaze.
What Marek understood was that there were men in the world who preferred the intimacy of other men. He’d had acquaintances through the years that he suspected of those sorts of relationships, but Donovan was the first gentleman he’d met who was admitting it to him.
Donovan shifted and sucked in a gasp of pain between his teeth. “You’re shocked,” he said.
“Not shocked,” Marek said flatly. “Surprised.”
“Revolted?” Donovan asked, his gaze on the hearth, and for the first time since meeting him, Marek thought the butler sounded a little less sure of himself.
“No,” Marek said. To each his own. “Wary.”
Donovan smiled lopsidedly and nodded. “Fair enough. Mrs. Honeycutt was wary at first, too. But you may take my word for it, sir—there is no better woman in London. She allows people to think what they will of us in this house, all for my sake.”
Marek understood. And it seemed to him quite a sacrifice for a young widow on the fringes of high society to make.
“She can be trusted to keep your secrets and remain true to her word,” Donovan said. He looked at Marek again. “But if you betray her, I will kill you.”
Marek thought the threat unnecessary, as he didn’t doubt for a moment that Donovan would. He might have offered that he didn’t intend to betray anyone, and that Donovan was hardly in a position at the moment to make any threat at all, but Mrs. Honeycutt rushed into the room with a young woman behind her, and the two of them began chattering at once and fluttering around Donovan, and the threat was forgotten.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The Coalition for Decency and Morality has claimed victory in their uninvited war at Piccadilly Circus. Judging by the chatter around their latest round of violence, we may all look forward to the volunteers tidying up and down the Thames for us.
There are whispers that the peace talks between Alucia and Wesloria have stalled over disagreements to do with the Astasian region, a mountainous range between the two countries where rich coal deposits have been located.
Ladies, Mrs. Sutter of Lombard Street is making holly wreaths for purchase. Please do call Monday through Thursday.
—Honeycutt’s Gazette of Fashion and Domesticity for Ladies
“WHAT HAVE YOU done, Donny?” Ruth cried. She came down to her knees before her friend and put her hand on his chest. “You’ve got up to some trouble, you did, and now look at you.”
“I didn’t beat myself, lass,” Donovan said. “I didn’t—ach,” he said, wincing when she tried to take the neckcloth from his neck.
“We should get him to his room,” Hollis said.
“Thank you, I can walk,” Donovan said.
“You can’t possibly walk!” Hollis insisted. She hurried to the door to open it wider. “Will you help, Mr. Brendan?” Mr. Brendan did not respond. He was looking at Hollis curiously when she turned back to the room. His hearing! No wonder he’d seemed so aloof. He really couldn’t hear very well at all. “Will you help us get Donovan to his room?”
“Je,” he said, without a moment’s hesitation, and moved to stand in front of Donovan.
“That won’t be necessary, I can manage,” Donovan protested.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Hollis said. “You don’t even know if you can stand.”
She watched as Mr. Brendan leaned down, slipped his