The Perfect Crimes of Marian Hayes (London Highwaymen, #2)(69)

“I don’t suppose he’ll cooperate with the court and let me hand the whole estate over to him in one tidy but morally complicated package?” Percy asked.

“Ha! No.”

Percy looked at her for a long moment. “Do you love him?”

“Yes,” she said immediately.

“And is he in love with you?”

Marian swallowed. “He says that he is.”

Percy sighed with relief. “Well, he could marry you. That would be very convenient for you and Eliza.”

It would be. There would be no loss of status for her and very little for Eliza. And Marian would be on hand to show Rob all the things he didn’t know about his new position. The thought made her feel acutely ill.

“And even if he’s not interested in wealth or station,” Percy went on, “being with you might sweeten the bargain.”

Now Marian thought she might actually be sick all over Percy’s fine suit. “I never want to be part of anyone’s bargain ever again. Not my hand, not my body, none of it. Just—don’t ever say that again, all right?”

Percy looked shocked and mortified. “I didn’t mean—I’m sorry.”

“You couldn’t have known,” Marian said when her heart stopped racing.

“It was not a good year,” Percy said, and it was such an understatement that Marian started to laugh. Then Percy started laughing, and Marian had to bury her face in her skirt so she didn’t frighten the servants.

“It wasn’t all bad, though, was it?” Marian asked when she finally recovered. “There’s Eliza, and you’ve made a new friend in your Mr. Webb. And . . . well.”

“Well, indeed. Definitely not all bad,” Percy agreed.





Chapter 32




The fire at the Royal Oak was blazing and the ale was very good, so Rob saw no reason to peel himself off his chair and return—well, he had no idea where he would go. His luggage was in one of Kit’s spare rooms over the shop, so he supposed that was where he’d sleep.

He had a passing notion that he probably ought to do something about that. At his age, it was high time for him to have a steady address. He probably ought to find work, as Kit was done with thieving and Rob didn’t want to work with anyone else. He needed to find something to do with himself.

Rob had finished two more pints and made respectable progress on a third when the chair across from him scraped across the wooden floor. A person dusted the seat with a handkerchief and gingerly lowered himself into it.

“Kit said I’d find you here,” said Lord Holland, surveying his surroundings. He wore a blue suit of clothes so fine that Rob wanted to set things on fire. “You’re pouting. The Talbot bone structure isn’t made for pouting, I’m afraid, so you only look slightly louche. You really ought to cultivate a glare, or possibly a glower, if you’re up to it.”

“What do you want, Holland?”

“Do I need a reason to further my acquaintance with my own brother? I think not.”

“First of all, shut up. Second, I’m not your brother.”

Holland had the nerve to give him a pitying look. “I had hoped that you might be clever enough to keep up with Marian, but it seems you aren’t clever at all. I suppose she’s found some use for you, though.”

Rob gripped the edge of the table. “Don’t talk about her like that.”

“Good Lord. You’re either very drunk or very deluded if you think Marian would object to my talking about her like an adult human being with free will who’s able to do as she damned well pleases.”

And, well, Rob actually was pretty drunk, now that he thought about it. But Holland’s words rankled. “Free will? Do what she pleases? I wish Marian would do as she pleased. Instead she does her duty,” he scoffed.

Holland looked at him as if he had just barked like a dog. “Her duty? Marian? Marian Hayes? Black hair, bad attitude? Of course she does her duty. But she also does precisely what she wants.”

Holland made a gesture to someone over Rob’s shoulder, and a moment later another pair of pints appeared on the table. “When we were about thirteen,” Holland said, “we took out one of my father’s hunters. The horse bolted, and only Marian’s talent for a quick dismount saved her neck. I was in for a hiding and Marian knew it. So she took the blame, saying that she took the horse out over my protestations. I was furious with her. I didn’t need anyone to take my punishments, what did she think of me, et cetera.”

“What did she say?”

“She said that if I thought she was going to let me get whipped without even trying to stop it from happening then I was a bigger idiot than I looked. And then she told me never to pester her again with trifling considerations of pride.”

“Oh Christ.” Rob could imagine a younger Marian saying exactly that.

“And then she kicked me in the shins.”

Rob ran a hand over his jaw. “Naturally.”

“I was whipped regardless, but my father said it was for not shouldering the blame for Marian. Meanwhile, Marian’s father was very indulgent and never laid a hand on her, although he made her copy out some tiresome passages of Plato. My point is that Marian has always made choices that put the comfort and safety of the people she loves above her own, and often without their permission. She has her own ethics. It comes from too much time with untranslated Greek, I’m afraid.”