The Suffragette Scandal
Page 81

James blinked, as if trying to understand that.
“I married her because she made me believe in her,” Edward said. “Because I wished her beyond your power, not under mine. You have no idea of the debt I owe her. For her I’d do the unthinkable.”
He glanced back at Free.
“If she asked me to do it,” he told James, “I’d even forgive you.”
He let that settle in, let his brother understand it. He watched as James turned to Free, his jaw working. He wondered if James would find the words to beg, or if, as he’d done with the door, he’d be brought up confused and short.
He never would find out.
“Don’t bother,” Free told his brother. “Whatever you have to say, I’ll not be moved. You’re young. You’ve a good education and several years of funds. It’s never too late to learn a trade.”
James let out an inarticulate cry of rage. “A trade!”
“A trade.” Edward found himself smiling. “It’s what most men do. Try it sometime; it might agree with you.”
James’s hands balled into fists. “You’ll regret this. You shall truly regret this. There will be a scandal, I tell you.”
Free came forward. “Yes,” she said simply. “We are going to make the most massive scandal. We’re good at scandals, you see. And if you think that what has happened to you will be the extent of that scandal, think again. You are going to be the smallest, the most forgettable, part of what we do.”
Her fingers crept into Edward’s hand, and he grasped hold of her. She felt real and solid. She felt as if she’d come to his side not just for the moment, but…for good. Forever.
She drew up her chin. “Now get out of our house,” she said.
And James left.
THE DOOR CLOSED BEHIND Edward’s brother.
Free stared after him, hearing her own words echoing in her mind. Get out of our house. She’d just accepted all of this.
“Free.” Edward’s hand clenched in hers. He turned to her, slid his other arm around her waist. “Are you all right?”
That was when she realized she was shaking. “Yes. I—it’s just—”
“I know,” Edward said. “It’s just.”
Free took a deep breath and looked around the blue parlor. She still didn’t fit. She didn’t know how to take on this role.
“Ah,” Edward said. He smiled at her—that smile that she’d learned to read as vulnerability rather than wickedness. “When I said we, of course, I didn’t mean to imply—”
She took hold of his shoulders. He stopped midsentence and then shook his head.
“I meant,” he whispered, “me—and—if you should decide—”
“Oh, you idiot,” Free said. “You’re the only one who would make all this worthwhile.”
And then she did what she’d been wanting to do since she first saw him at her parents’ house: She kissed him. Not lightly. Her hands dug into his coat, her fingers tangling in the fabric, and she pushed up to him. His mouth met hers.
“Free,” he groaned. “God.”
They would make it work. Somehow.
“I have to believe this,” she told him. “I have to believe that with the jokes about thimbles—the way we have been able to weather every crisis that has come our way together…” She took another kiss from him. “I have to believe that with all of that, that we can figure this out, too. I don’t know how yet. But if you believe in us, then I will, too.”
His thumb traced down her throat, a sensual line. “I love you. How could I not believe in you? But—”
She brought him close. “Don’t say it,” she said. “Don’t tell me how little you trust yourself, Edward. I’ve had enough of that. Tell me I can believe in you. That I can trust you. That you’ll never let me down.”
He let out a long breath. And then slowly, his lips came down to hers. “I…” His voice was rough. “I…”
“Because when I look at what you’ve done for me, I can believe in you. You saved my newspaper from the fire. You rescued me from prison. You gathered evidence so that I could prosecute a suit against your brother.”
His lips were rough against hers. “Free.”
“And I haven’t even mentioned the puppy-cannon.”
He kissed her. “Sweetest, I have another confession to make. This may be almost as bad as the last one.”
She pulled away, looking up at him, almost afraid to hear what he had to say.
He leaned down and whispered. “I don’t have a puppy-cannon.”
“No puppy-cannon?” she echoed.
“No. The physics of cannons are actually really unkind for dogs. I can’t endorse the idea, however cuddly it sounds in principle. Although I have to admit that it would make an excellent parliamentary tactic. You could sit in the Ladies’ Gallery. On my signal, when someone said something ridiculous…” He made a noise that sounded something like a rocket.
“Arf, arf,” she added, half-smiling. “Will it shock you to hear that I believe in you, even sans cannon? I do, Edward. I believe in you. And I wish you would, too.”
He let out a long, ragged breath. “I…I believe.” His voice was harsh. “I believe in us.” And then he pulled her to him.
His kiss consumed her. His hands were hot against her body. She wasn’t sure whether she undid his trousers, or if he did; she wasn’t sure if she wrapped her legs around his hips, or if he lifted her against the wall. But when he joined with her, his hands strong against her waist, she let herself fall into the feel of him, the sweep of his kiss. The thrust of him inside her, building—joining.
Roughly though they’d come together, her climax came slowly—not a sudden wave, but a slow, rolling gentleness, one that built until it overwhelmed her senses, taking over her. He came shortly after, thrusting hard, holding her in place against the wall as he did.
When he’d finished, he smiled. “God,” he rumbled. “It’s worth it. It’s all worth it, just for you.”
She couldn’t disagree.
He took her up to bed afterward.
Even that seemed odd and unfamiliar. She smiled at him as he helped her into her nightrail. She curled up in the bed. But she felt small in that vast expanse of linen. Even when he joined her, curling his body around her, all that empty, extra space surrounded them like hostile territory.