Scandal in Spring (Wallflowers #4)(81)

As the earl strode away, Daisy stared up into Matthew’s face. “There’s so much I understand now,” she said. “Why you didn’t want to tell me.”

“Yes, I—” His voice was hoarse. “I knew it was wrong. I knew I would lose you when you found out.”

“You didn’t think I would understand?” Daisy asked gravely.

“You don’t know how it was before. No one would believe me. The facts didn’t matter. And having gone through that, I couldn’t believe anyone would ever have faith in my innocence.”

“Matthew,” she said simply, “I will always believe everything you tell me.”

“Why?” he whispered.

“Because I love you.”

The words devastated him. “You don’t have to say that. You don’t—”

“I love you,” Daisy insisted, gripping his waistcoat in her hands. “I should have said it before—I wanted to wait until you trusted me enough to stop hiding your past from me. But now that I know the worst—” She paused with a wry smile. “This is the worst, isn’t it? There’s nothing else you want to confess?”

Matthew nodded dazedly. “Yes. No. This is it.”

Her expression turned shy. “Aren’t you going to say you love me, too?”

“I haven’t the right,” he said. “Not until this is resolved. Not until my name is—”

“Tell me,” Daisy said, jerking his coat a little.

“I love you,” Matthew muttered. Holy hell, it felt good to say it to her.

She tugged again, this time as a gesture of possession, an assertion. Matthew resisted, his hands coming to her elbows, feeling the heat of her skin through the damp fabric of her dress. Despite the inappropriateness of the situation, his body pulsed with desire. Daisy, I don’t want to leave you…

“I’m coming to London too,” he heard her murmur.

“No. Stay here with your sister. I don’t want you to be part of this.”

“A bit late for that now, isn’t it? As your fiancee I have more than a passing interest in the outcome.”

Matthew lowered his head over hers, his mouth lightly touching her hair. “It will be more difficult for me if you’re there,” he said quietly. “I need to know you’re safe here in Hampshire.” Taking her hands from his waistcoat, he brought her fingers to his lips and kissed them ardently. “Go to the well for me tomorrow,” he whispered. “I’m going to need another five-dollar wish.”

Her fingers tightened on his. “I’d better make it ten.”

Matthew turned as he became aware of someone approaching from behind. It was the pair of constables, looking disgruntled. “It’s procedure for lawbreakers to wear ‘and cuffs while they’re being transported to Bow Street,” one of them said. He gave Daisy an accusing glance. “Pardon, miss, but what did you do with the cuffs that was removed from Mr. Phelan?”

Daisy looked back at him innocently. “I gave them to a maidservant. I’m afraid she’s very forgetful. She probably misplaced them.”

“Where should we start looking?” the officer asked with a puff of impatience.

Her expression did not change as she replied, “I would suggest a thorough search of all the chamberpots.”

CHAPTER 19

Because of the hasty nature of their departure, Marcus and Bowman brought few personal effects aside from a quickly packed change of clothes and the most basic toiletries. Sitting in opposite seats of the family carriage, they engaged in very little conversation. Wind and rain battered the vehicle, and Marcus thought with concern about the driver and horses.

It was foolhardy to travel in this weather, but Marcus was damned if he would let Matthew Swift…Phaelan…be whisked away from Stony Cross with no protection whatsoever. And it was obvious that Wendell Waring’s quest for vengeance had reached an irrational extreme.

Daisy had been astute in her remarks to Waring, that making someone else pay for the crime that Harry had committed would neither bring his son back nor serve his memory. But in Waring’s mind this was the last thing he could do for his son. And perhaps he had convinced himself that putting Matthew in prison would prove Harry’s innocence.

Harry Waring had tried to sacrifice Matthew to cover up his own corruption. Marcus wasn’t about to allow Wendell Waring to succeed where his son had failed.

“Do you doubt him?” Thomas Bowman asked suddenly. He looked more troubled than Marcus had ever seen him. No doubt this was acutely painful for Bowman, who loved Matthew Swift like a son. Possibly even more than his own sons. It was no wonder the two had formed a strong bond—Swift, a fatherless young man, and Bowman, in need of someone to guide and mentor.

“Are you asking if I doubt Swift? Not in the slightest. I found his version infinitely more believable than Waring’s.”

“So did I. And I know Swift’s character. I can assure you that in all my dealings with him, he has always been principled and honest to a fault.”

Marcus smiled slightly. “Can one be honest to a fault?”

Bowman shrugged, and his mustache twitched with reluctant amusement. “Well…extreme honesty can sometimes be a business liability.”

A crack of lighting came uncomfortably close, causing Marcus’s nape to prickle in warning. “This is madness,” he muttered. “They’ll have to stop at a tavern soon, if they can even make it past the Hampshire border. A few of the local creeks are stronger than some rivers. Given enough headwater surge, the roads will be impassable.”