Brazen and the Beast (The Bareknuckle Bastards #2)(55)

She gave a little laugh at that. “First of all, my father has never in his life referred to a ball as perfectly enjoyable. And neither have you.”

He raised a brow. “Tonight might have changed my mind.”

“If it did, it was the part that came after my escorting you from the ballroom that changed your mind, sir.”

That much was true, and it was Whit’s turn to offer up a little laugh. Her gaze flew to his. He tilted his head. “What is it?”

“It’s just that . . . you don’t laugh.”

“I laugh,” he said.

She cut him a disbelieving look. “You barely speak.” She waved away any answer he might have found. “It’s no matter. I won’t be deterred. What did you tell him?”

Her father. “Nothing.”

It wasn’t true, and she knew it. “I told you,” she said. “He’s not behind the attacks on your business.”

Whit knew that, but he wanted the information from her. “And I am to believe you?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because it goes against all reason for me to lie to you.” His brows went up at the words; true, but not something to which most businessmen would admit. “I understand that you are in the position of power, Mr. Whittington.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“I cannot call you Beast in front of all the world.”

Irritation flared. “It’s not all the world, Hattie. It’s an infinitesimal subset of the world. A weak subset. A useless subset. Nothing like the rest of us, who work for food and dance for joy and live our lives without fear of judgment.”

She watched him as he spoke, the whole time making him wish he wasn’t running his damn mouth in front of her. More so when she replied, “No one lives without fear of judgment.”

“I do.”

It was a lie and she heard it. “I think you live with more of it than most of us.” Whit resisted the instinct to flinch at the words as she spun the conversation back to where they’d begun. “You needn’t believe that I wouldn’t lie to you. Believe that history does not lie. My father has been at the helm of Sedley Shipping since he returned from the wars. He sailed with an incomparable skill—one that had every nefarious businessman in Britain after him, offering king’s fortunes to get him aboard their ships.

“He was approached by the worst of the world—men who wished to transport guns, opium, people.” She shook her head, as though she’d seen the face of evil and still couldn’t believe it existed. Whit knew that evil. He and Devil had received the same invitations as her father. Refused them without hesitation, just as the earl had. “Our company has had its highs and its lows, but he never would have authorized stealing from you. Never.”

Our company. Whit had spent enough time in the world to know that daughters were too often overwhelmed with filial loyalty when it came to their fathers—but there was something more than that in Hattie’s words. She did not merely defend the integrity of her father . . . she defended the integrity of a business about which she knew a great deal. Of herself.

And once Whit saw that, he did not hesitate. “I know.”

“Never,” she repeated, before realizing what he’d said. “You know?”

“I do. Shall I tell you what else I know?” She did not reply, and he added, “Someone made a mistake, didn’t they, Hattie?”

The briefest of hesitations. “Yes.”

“I believe it wasn’t him. And I believe it wasn’t you. And I believe you don’t want me to know who it was, because you are afraid of something else.”

Losing.

She shook her head. “No, because we had a deal.”

That deal, the one that would kill him if he let it—the one that ended with her naked in his bed. “We did have that. And still do. But I told you that I couldn’t just let it all go back to normal. There is too much on the line.”

“It won’t,” she said, all certainty. “You shall be repaid. My father would never risk crossing you. And I only want—”

He hated the way she stopped, the words she refused to entrust to him. Clever girl. You shouldn’t trust me. It was good that she didn’t finish the sentence. If she had, he might have decided to give it to her, whatever it was she wanted.

Instead, in the wake of her silence, he said, knowing he was about to change everything, “Your father wouldn’t risk it, Hattie. But your brother did.”

She froze for an instant, just long enough for him to see the words strike like a blow—one he had tried to deliver softly, even as he knew the sting it would bring. She hid her surprise almost instantly, and he could not ignore his admiration.

“How long have you known?”

He didn’t want her to know he’d known from the start. “Does it matter?”

“I suppose not,” she said. “You promised you would discover everything.”

“I did.”

“Do you plan to . . .” She hesitated, and he wondered at the question—the urgent panic in it, but somehow, devoid of fear. Why had she been protecting her brother so thoroughly?

My girl Hattie is smart as a whip, the earl had told him earlier, pride in the man’s rheumy eyes. Always fancied herself heir—which was my fault for enjoying her company. The boy was never so smart. But Hattie needs to find herself a good man and have herself a good son.