The Hellion (Wicked Wallflowers #1)(83)

A pang struck sharp in his chest, and he cursed his brothers to hell for springing this upon them. For not allowing him any time to think it through, to read the file . . . to interview Brewster.

Her head bent over the top sheet, Cleopatra’s spectacles slid forward, and she angrily shoved them back into place, reading frantically through . . . and then she stopped. It was an imperceptible pause that most would miss, but studying her as closely as he did, he saw it. She knew the truth from whatever was written there. Cleopatra briefly caught his gaze, and a flash of worry turned her brown eyes a shade darker.

Then she looked away, effectively shutting him out.

Her fingers shook slightly as she shut the folder. “It wasn’t Brewster,” she said in her usual defiance, erecting a barrier between them.

“He’s being brought in for an interview now.”

All the color bled from Cleopatra’s cheeks, leaving her an ashen shade of gray.

“Your belongings are being packed as we speak,” Ryker went on with his usual ruthlessness.

“Ya cannot send her away,” Adair gritted out, and a sickening dread twisted in his belly.

“I am sending her away,” Ryker said tightly. “The terms of our arrangement only existed as long as there was a truce. The truce was off the minute the fire was set.” His face set into a hard mask that sent shivers of apprehension skittering along Adair’s spine. “I’m having charges brought against Killoran for organizing the plot.”

Cleopatra cried out and surged forward. “Ya bastard!” Adair caught her in his arms. She thrashed and flailed wildly. “Ya’d see to put my brother in Newgate? He didn’t burn down your damned club.”

“His head guard did,” Niall called over the fray. “Do ya expect us to believe ’e acted on his own without any interference from his employer?”

“Oi don’t care what ya believe, ya miserable rotted cur,” she spat.

Out of breath from his attempts to restrain her, Adair adjusted his hold, and all the while his panic spiraled. His brothers would never trust Cleopatra. They’d never see her or know her the way Adair did. What kind of future could they have together with this enmity between their families?

“Let me go,” she hissed, and wiggled herself free. Cleopatra bolted to the corner of the room, and his heart lurched painfully. She’d the look of a wounded, fearful animal braced for battle.

“Have you spoken to Killoran?” Adair demanded.

Varying degrees of shock and pity filled the three pairs of accusatory eyes now on him.

Ryker rolled his shoulders. “I’m going shortly. The constable has orders not to make any formal arrests until we speak.”

“Bastard,” Cleopatra spat again.

Adair held a palm up, silencing her. “I’ll not let you turn Cleopatra away without confirmation of an investigation.”

“Oi don’t want to stay here,” Cleopatra said quietly, with a restoration of her usual calm that increased the dread knocking around his insides. There was a resignation there that hinted at her double meaning. She didn’t want to be here with him.

Presenting his back to his brothers, Adair strode over to where Cleopatra had taken up position. Careful to angle his body in a way to conceal their exchange, he lowered his brow close to hers. “Don’t you dare quit on me because this is hard,” he demanded in hushed tones. “Our families hate one another, but in time—”

“Stop.”

He’d expected to see rage reflected behind her round wire-rimmed spectacles. The grief there hit him like a kick to the gut.

“You need to stop them. You need to go protect my brother.” Tears shimmered in her eyes. “It wasn’t Broderick.”

And mayhap it spoke to just how much he’d been ensnared by this woman before him . . . but he believed her.

“You’re not leaving.” He turned back to his brothers and glared them all into silence, dared them to deny him. “She’s not leaving. She’ll remain . . . until I return.” And then he’d take her from here, a place where she was constantly doubted and questioned . . . and marry her. That is, if she’s willing to take you with all the tumult that comes because of your family . . . His hands formed reflexive fists.

“I don’t see the point in her staying,” Niall said, resisting. “Even if it wasn’t Killoran, it was Brewster, or”—he glared at Cleopatra—“another in their club. The end result is the same.”

“She. Is. Staying,” he barked. Dismissing his family once more, he whipped about, prepared to convince her to remain.

“Don’t let them take him to Newgate,” she pleaded.

The evidence of her suffering, begging like one stripped of her pride, ran ragged across his heart. “I won’t,” he vowed. “I’ll return.” And when he did, he’d convince her that their love was enough to overcome even the age-old feud between their families. He lingered, wanting to have that talk now. “I love you,” he mouthed.

Her throat moved spasmodically. “I know,” she whispered.

He gave her a pointed look, and a half sob burst from her lips. She touched her fingers in a quick, bold caress over his scarred cheek. “I love you, too.”



My God. My family is guilty.

Just not in the way Adair’s family believed.