From The Ashes (The Ministry of Curiosities #6)(58)

He suddenly stood and closed the short distance between us with two long strides. He went to grab my arms, but when his gaze met mine, he stopped at the last moment and put his hands behind his back. "You don't forgive me."

"No."

His nostrils flared. "I can only apologize again."

"I don't want to hear it anymore."

A frown sliced his brow. "Then…how can I make it right again?"

Tears burned the backs of my eyes. I hated that he could still make my heart ache like this, could still draw a reaction from me that I'd sworn never to have again. "You can't. I don't expect you to."

His gaze searched mine until I could no longer bear looking at him. I lifted my face to the ceiling, but he caught my chin. I braced myself and once again looked into his eyes. They swirled with raw, dark emotion that stripped all my remaining strength. I wished I'd seen coldness again, like the day he'd sent me away. It would be easier than seeing this vulnerability.

"Charlie…" he whispered. "There must be something I can do to earn your forgiveness."

I pulled away from his touch because my chin wobbled and it was one thing that he could see it, and quite another for him to feel it. I sucked in a breath and let it out slowly. It helped. "You sent me away because it suited your needs. You didn't think for a moment how it would affect me. You are a selfish man, Lincoln. You say and do whatever you want and everyone else must fall into line or get trod on as you charge toward your goal. I cannot forgive you for what you did." The damned tears, so near the surface, finally spilled down my cheeks. It was difficult to talk with my throat constricted, but I needed to finish my piece. "I can't forgive you, because if I do, I'll allow you back into my heart again. I can't risk it being broken a second time, and I certainly can't let you crush my spirit. It's the one thing that's truly mine, that's truly me, and I will guard it fiercely from now on."

The silence that followed my words was absolute. Lincoln didn't move. He'd gone so still that he seemed not to be breathing. The strange thing was, I wanted to reach out and stroke his face, to soften the blow of my words. Part of me worried that I shouldn't have spoken with such brutal honesty. How did someone so inexperienced with emotions cope with the feelings that must be assaulting him now? Or was I mistaken, and he felt nothing?

It was impossible to tell. Despite the small muscle pulsing high up in his jaw, his face gave away nothing.

Lady Vickers breezed into the sitting room, her hair around her shoulders. "Charlie, I need your help with choosing—" She stopped dead. "My apologies. I'll come back later." She turned and hurried out.

Lincoln took a breath. "Thank you for your time," he said, as if we'd just conducted a business meeting. "I won't keep you." He marched out. His hands, still clasped behind his back, twisted together in white-knuckled knots, much like mine.

I followed a few moments later and headed to my own room. I ran the last part along the corridor, hoping not to see anyone. Once inside, I threw myself into the armchair by the fire and burst into tears.

Much later, I realized my tears weren't born entirely from misery. While I did feel a little sick for dashing any hopes Lincoln may have had, I also felt lighter for unburdening myself. I was proud, too. I hadn't given in. I'd made my stance very clear and, best of all, I'd come through it unscathed. I didn't regret that I'd laid myself bare to him. He wanted to know what I thought and I why I couldn't forgive him. He needed to know.

Now, it only remained to be seen if the uneasy relationship we'd forged since my return got better or worse.



The committee finally arrived while I ate supper in my rooms. My immediate reaction was to remain out of sight, but I quickly dismissed the idea as cowardly. The committee knew that I was back, so there was no point hiding. Besides, no one would dare attack me in front of Lincoln.

Heated voices signaled their presence in the drawing room. They all spoke over one another, but the theme was the same—they accused Lincoln of working without their authority. If Lincoln responded, he couldn't be heard above the noise. It was more likely he stood there, allowing them their say while somehow managing to seem above the squabbling.

I squared my shoulders, lifted my chin, and marched in. It proved an effective method of silencing them.

"Good evening," I said, going to stand by Lincoln at the fireplace. Whatever our personal differences, I wanted to present a united force, both to the committee and to him. They all needed to know that I was on his side and trusted his decisions in all matters regarding the ministry. "Is Doyle bringing tea?"

"Brandy," Lincoln told me. "Something stronger is called for." He did not look at me, but at his guests, seated around the drawing room.

"So it's true," Lord Gillingham said. "You brought her back."

Lincoln didn't answer.

"Then what did you send her away for?" General Eastbrooke bellowed. His mutton chop whiskers weren't as neatly trimmed as usual, and the lines on his face seemed more numerous. For once, he was showing his age.

The other committee members appeared more harried than usual too. Lady Harcourt's lovely face was paler and her eyes darted all over me, as if she were inspecting me for any signs of change. I wondered what she saw. Lord Gillingham rubbed the head of his walking stick, over and over. His face was a rather unhealthy shade of red as he spluttered his protest over my presence in the drawing room.