The Hellion (Wicked Wallflowers #1)(91)

Four words Diggory had uttered countless times to all of them, passing down the torch of his hatred, keeping that flame burning strong. Cleopatra herself had been as guilty of hating sight unseen, knowing nothing really about Adair or his brothers. She looked hopelessly at her brother.

“We are not arsonists or murderers, Stephen.” Broderick’s harsh chastisement set the boy’s lips to trembling.

“I didn’t want anyone to die.”

Which by the miracle of God himself, no one had. But others had been burned in the first blaze set by him, and cherished businesses had been lost.

Cleopatra turned her palms up. “Then tell me why. Make me understand—”

“Because I didn’t want you to go there,” Stephen cried out. “I wanted you to stay here with me . . . with us.”

Her heart cracked.

“And you knew if the truce were broken, that Ryker Black would force me to return,” she breathed.

Her youngest brother nodded once.

Over the top of his bent head, Cleopatra and Broderick exchanged looks.

“It’s all your fault,” Stephen snarled at Broderick, and then favoring him with a dark glare, he raced from the room, slamming the door in his wake.

Broderick dusted a tired hand over his face. “Black and his brothers came by a short while ago.”

She froze. His brothers. Adair. Adair had come. Did he wonder after her? Wish to see her? Or had it all been about exacting payment? “Wh-what will happen to him?”

Her brother grabbed the chair vacated a short while ago by Reggie and pulled it closer to the bed. “Black asked if I was capable of watching after him to see that he doesn’t carry out the same acts.” Again. “I assured him I would,” he said, after he’d sat.

Her heart thudded wildly as she silently screamed for him to continue.

“They promised not to pursue criminal charges.”

“What?” she whispered.

Stretching his legs out before him, Broderick shrugged. “It would seem Adair Thorne convinced them that the child should not be punished, but mentored.”

If it was possible, her heart filled to overflowing with her love for him.

“I’m not marrying a lord,” she said without preamble, wanting her piece said. He froze. She loved her brother, would always love him, and understood the hunger for security, but she now knew it could not come at the cost of her, or any of her siblings’, happiness. “I don’t want to marry anyone.”

Broderick lowered his eyebrows. “You don’t want to marry anyone?”

No, that wasn’t altogether accurate, either. “I love him. I love Adair Thorne, and I don’t care about the security, wealth, or connections that would come in marrying a lord.” When at one time nothing had seemed more vital. “I’ll not wed when my heart belongs to another.”

Her profession was met with a blanket of silence. Broderick drummed his fingertips on the scalloped arms of his seat. “Adair Thorne of the Hell and Sin?”

She nodded. “I don’t believe there is another Adair Thorne, is there?” she asked in a bid for levity.

He abruptly stopped his incessant tapping. “He’s not who I imagined as a husband for you,” he said drily.

No, with his lack of noble connections, Adair wouldn’t have been, but she loved him for who he was. “He is a good man, Broderick.”

“We may beg to differ there,” he muttered under his breath.

“Our brother burned his club down, and he forgave him. Convinced his brothers to do the same,” she said directly. “I don’t know a better man.”

Broderick sighed. “I only wanted you with the best.”

And to him, a link to the peerage defined that. “I’m tired, Broderick,” she said wearily, lying back down.

“Of course.” He shoved to his feet, pausing when he reached the doorway. “You’re certain you love him?” he tried again. “Because I believe—”

“I love him, Broderick.”

Mumbling, he gave his head a shake.

“And Broderick,” she called, when he’d opened the heavy panel.

He glanced back.

“Someday you’ll understand something of it, too.”

Broderick snorted. “I assure you that will certainly never be a concern there. You’re certain about—”

“I said, I’m certain.” Cleopatra pointed to the doorway.

Sighing, he let himself out.

Cleopatra lay there, grateful for the click of the door signaling the parade of visitors was at an end. She didn’t want any more questions about her time with Adair or discussions about the fire that had ruined his club. And her heart. She didn’t want to talk about how her heart was aching anymore.

A firm knock on the door ended the all-too-brief solitude.

Damning her brother’s tenacity, she shouted. “I said I’m . . . certain, Broderick. I—” Her words died quickly as the door opened and a tall, beloved silhouette filled the entrance. “Adair,” she whispered, blinking slowly, certain she’d conjured him of her own greatest desires.

“Cleopatra,” he returned in his low, mellifluous baritone.

She drank in the sight of him as he came over. Immaculately clad in a midnight jacket and breeches, he exuded power and beauty. How was it possible to so miss a person after just a single day apart? “How did you get in here?” She glanced to the window.