A Secret Surrender - Darcy Burke Page 0,97
take care of Luther?”
“I will.” He stepped aside so she could pass.
She had to step over Remy’s sprawled legs on her way to the door. Pausing at the threshold, she turned her head. “Thank you.”
And then she was gone.
Harry looked down at the man he’d called friend. Nothing was as it seemed. Good people were bad, and bad people were good. Or something. He wiped his hand over his face and contemplated just what things he was going to say to her.
Chapter 21
The clock chimed once, prompting Selina to get up again and pace the sitting room.
Beatrix glanced up from her book. “If you keep doing that every quarter hour, you’re going to wear a hole in that carpet.”
“He should be here by now.” A thousand scenarios had run through Selina’s mind, and she kept landing on the worst one. “What if Remington escaped his binding and attacked Harry? What if he killed him? I shouldn’t have left.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“I’m going to Bow Street.” Selina strode from the sitting room, then stopped short as she heard a knock on the front door.
She raced forward and threw the door open. Harry stood on the doorstep, his handsome features exhausted.
“You’re here.” Those were the only words she could seem to manage.
“I’m here.” He glanced past her. “May I come in?”
Selina shook her head briskly to clear it of her idiocy. “Of course.” She held the door as he walked into the hall, then closed it firmly.
Beatrix stepped out of the sitting room. “Good evening, Mr. Sheffield.”
“Good evening, Miss Whitford.”
“You look as if you need a brandy,” Selina said.
He gave her a single nod. “Yes, please.”
She preceded him into the sitting room and went straight to pour him a drink. Turning, she saw that he’d come inside, and Beatrix had followed him.
Selina took him the glass and ignored the pull she felt toward him as their fingers brushed. She wanted to take him in her arms and soothe the anguished lines in his face.
“I’m sorry,” Beatrix blurted. “About stealing things. I can’t help myself, but I do try.”
Harry swallowed a drink of brandy, then arched a brow at Beatrix. “You’re telling me the only reason you stole that jewelry was because you were compelled to do so?”
His sardonic tone gave Selina a rush of hope.
Beatrix grimaced. “No. We needed the money. Sorry.”
“Beatrix, I don’t think you’re helping,” Selina said softly.
“She’s not harming matters,” Harry said. “You’re both thieves. But you’ve returned the jewelry. And, apparently, the money. My mother sent a note earlier that she’d received a letter from Madame Sybila returning the money she’d donated to the Home for Wayward Children after learning it was a fraud.”
Selina wrung her hands. “I considered telling her the full truth, that I’m Madame Sybila, but if I did that…”
Harry finished for her. “If you did that, there would be no possibility of a future between us.”
“And this is where I take my leave.” Beatrix looked between them. “I know you love each other. I also know this didn’t start as it should have. Please make sure it ends that way.” She pursed her lips before spinning about and leaving the sitting room, closing the door as she went.
“Your ‘sister’ is impertinent.”
Selina couldn’t draw a deep breath. Hope filled her chest, silly as it was. “Exceedingly.”
“She’s also right. I know you love me.” He glanced down at the brandy in his hand. “And, as it happens, I love you too.”
Selina slapped her hand over her mouth before a sob escaped. But Harry noticed anyway.
He set his glass down on a table and walked toward her. “Are you all right?”
She nodded. “It’s been a terrible week.”
“Yes, it has.” He pressed his lips together, and she braced herself for whatever he might say next. “I wanted to despise you. And then I despised myself because I couldn’t. Nor could I even arrest you as I should have. What kind of constable does that?”
Oh, she’d ruined him. Selina’s heart cleaved in two. “I’m so sorry, Harry. Please, arrest me. I should pay for my crimes.”
“I think you already have,” he said softly, eliminating the space between them and taking her hand. “When I think of your childhood, of the dangers and hardships you’ve faced, I am torn between a furious anger and a deep despair.” He gave her a weak smile. “How you didn’t succumb to your circumstances, I don’t know. But then I suppose you did. You became what you had to in order to survive.”
He understood. Dear God,