The Hellion (Wicked Wallflowers #1)(38)

I want to stay here. I want to stay here where I have a place and a purpose . . . one that moved beyond the match her brother would have her make.

And then the truth slammed into her.

She had fled out of cowardice.

She’d spent but a handful of days as an outsider, away from her family, and had been on the cusp of being presented to Polite Society. Since she was at last being honest with herself, she accepted the truth: any slight, perceived or otherwise, she would have made into something more—just so she could have returned . . . here. For in the end, the fruition of Broderick’s goals entailed not only Cleopatra humbling herself before a world of people whom she’d spent her life hating, but worse, severing Cleopatra from this life—the only life she’d known. She caught the inside of her cheek hard. I am leaving. I am leaving, and avoiding, delaying, or running from my entrance before Society would change nothing. If she intended to make this sacrifice for Ophelia and Gertrude, then there was no other suitable end except her marrying. “Return,” she said softly. “I want to return.” She flexed her jaw. “I don’t want a Black . . .”—Thorne’s suspicion-laden eyes flashed to mind—“questioning my trustworthiness.”

Her brother snorted and pushed away from the door. “Trustworthiness is earned . . . as is respect.”

Cleopatra scrunched her brow up.

“A clever girl told me that once.” He followed that with a wink.

Yes, when he was new to the gang, she had hurled those words at him like a curse. To her, Broderick had been just another street boy who’d garnered Diggory’s respect and been afforded power because of his gender, and Cleopatra had hated him on sight. Only to be proven so wholly wrong where he was concerned.

You’ll not touch her, Diggory. Not her, nor her sisters. Not if you want your books kept and your letters written and missives read. Are we clear . . . ?

From the moment he’d challenged Diggory and asserted his role in their underworld kingdom, Broderick had ensured Cleopatra and her sisters something she’d desperately striven for and failed to find—safety. And even as proud as she was, she had never resented him for so effortlessly conquering Diggory. Rather, she’d loved him and called him brother from then on.

“Black and Thorne are in my offices,” he said somberly.

She went still. So that is how he’d discovered her presence here. “Oh?” she asked with feigned casualness. They’d followed her here? To what end? Why should they care whether she’d left? Nay, they should only be happy to have her gone, and be done with all the Killorans.

Her brother propped his hip on her vanity. “They mentioned you’d saved Black’s babe from a drunken nursemaid.” Pride filled his voice.

She shifted. “I’d hardly call it saving her. I merely brought it to their attention that she was a drunk.” She’d always been as uncomfortable with praise as she was a compliment. Disquieted, she reached for the ornate Prometheus porcelain clock resting on the desk in front of her.

“Thorne asked to speak with you.”

The Meissen timepiece slipped from her fingers, and she hurried to catch it. Given that Black was master of his household and the one who’d reached the agreement with Broderick, he should be the one wishing to speak to Cleopatra. What did Adair want with her? Setting it to rights with unsteady fingers, Cleopatra felt her cheeks burning. “Th-Thorne?” she squeaked. The man who’d passed searching hands over her in a possessive manner that left her breathless still wanted to speak to her, but for what purpose?

Feeling her brother’s gaze boring a hole into her person, she forced her gaze up.

Suspicion darkened his eyes. She damned her blushing and stammering and faltering. What hold did Adair Thorne have over her that he could turn her into a cake before her brother of all people?

“Something happen with Thorne?” he asked with his usual practiced casualness.

Her mind stalled. Yes and no, all at the same time, it did. For his hostility toward her bespoke a man who despised her, and yet his tender touch, even through his fury, hinted at a man who felt desire for her. It had been there in the hardening she’d felt thrust against her lower belly.

“Cleopatra?” her brother snapped.

“Nothing,” she lied, her voice steady once more. “Nothing happened outside of him taking my weapons, doubting my word, and finding me in the nursery.” She finished that enumeration as much for her benefit as Broderick’s. It was crazy to hunger after a man who’d treated her with such disdain.

And yet, how many times had women roughed up by Diggory craved his attentions and affections? She cringed. I will not be that woman.

“What will you do?”

There was a double meaning there that asked as much about her plans for Thorne as her intentions to see through the plans for connecting the Killorans to the peerage. I’ll do what I’m supposed to . . . Just as she’d always done with the betterment of her siblings in mind. Cleopatra squared her shoulders. “Where is he?”

“My office.”

She started forward. Most men, regardless of station, would have never granted the use of those private spaces to a sister, wife, or any woman. Broderick, however, had always respected her role inside the family and the club, and for it, he’d forever have her love and fealty. The floorboards groaned behind her, indicating her brother followed along at a slight distance.