The Suffragette Scandal (Brothers Sinister #4)(55)

He let out a long, slow breath. “You stupid girl,” he said softly. “I’ve already won. No matter what you say publicly, no matter how you stain my reputation, it doesn’t matter. You see, I can vote.” He spat on the floor next to him. “And the last I checked, the only bill supporting any form of female suffrage that was even remotely mentioned this term was Rickard’s, and that was just a showpiece. Celebrate your victory, Miss Marshall. It doesn’t mean anything. It never will.”

“You don’t believe that. If I am already defeated, why did you even waste time bringing me down?”

His lip curled and he gave her an ugly look. “For the same reason I kill mice. Rodents will never rule the world, but even hiding in the walls they’re still vermin.” He hefted the papers she’d given him. “Congratulations, Miss Marshall. You survived to hide in the walls for a little longer.”

Chapter Fourteen

“FREE,” OLIVER SAID LATER that night. “We haven’t had much time to talk, but—”

Free yawned. It was not quite by design, that yawn. She was tired. After the guests had left, she’d stayed up even later composing changes to her article the next day. Oliver had sent one of his servants off to the telegraph office, and then had brought her up to the room he’d set aside for her for the evening.

He smiled at her. “And I know you’re tired. But that fellow you’re working with, that Mr. Clark…” He paused, looked away. “I’m not sure he’s proper.”

Free blinked at her brother. Oliver had paid her bail four times, had been the one to retrieve her from the lock hospital. He’d read every column she’d written in her paper. He knew how she spent her time. Propriety was not a word that had often been associated with her. That was a word that belonged to misses on the marriage mart.

“Oliver, are you worried about my reputation? That’s sweet. Stupid, yes. But sweet.”

He flushed. “No. That’s not it. I’m not sure he’s, um.” He cleared his throat. “Law-abiding. You know, he blackmailed Mark Andrews.”

Was she supposed to feel sorry for the man who’d done his best to ruin her paper? Who had stolen and lied and betrayed her brother’s trust? Oliver really had been in Parliament too long. “And Andrews gave in? Pfft. Weakling.”

When Edward had tried to blackmail her, she’d not so much as budged.

Oliver shook his head, sighing. “I can see you’re not much swayed.”

“I know he’s a scoundrel,” Free said. “He told me so himself. And you know me. If I was the sort to fall in with the first scoundrel who presented himself, I’d never have made it so far.”

“Well, there is that.” Her brother looked faintly relieved.

He shouldn’t have. She’d just called to mind Edward’s first blackmail attempt with great fondness. She could see herself with Mr. Clark at some point in the future—an old married couple sitting on a porch in summer, holding hands and reminiscing over past times.

Do you remember the time you blackmailed me?

Yes, dear. You blackmailed me right back. It was the sweetest thing. I knew then that we were meant for each other.

She wasn’t thinking about how dreadful he was any longer. She’d been thinking that her first investigations would have been so much easier with Edward to forge her references.

“I’m tired,” Free told her brother. “Thank you for everything. I’d never have been able to rid myself of Delacey without you.” She leaned up and kissed his cheek. “You’re my favorite brother.”

“I’m your only brother,” he said in dark amusement.

“You see?” Free spread her arms. “I can’t count on any of the others to even exist when I need them.”

“Go to sleep, silly.” But Oliver was smiling as he extinguished the lamp and left.

Free’s mind didn’t calm when she put her head on the pillow. Instead, it raced ahead—to the last rendezvous she had planned for the evening. One that she had not-so-coincidentally neglected to mention to her brother, on the theory that what brothers didn’t know couldn’t keep them awake at night.

The noises of the household died away. The servants’ footsteps retreated belowstairs, then their voices ceased altogether. When the house had been quiet ten minutes, Free slipped on a robe and slippers and tiptoed out, down the wide stairs, back through the pantry, out the servants’ door. The moon lit the mews in silver. She looked around, waiting…

“Free.”

When had he begun to call her that? She turned to the sound of his voice.

“Frederica,” he repeated, in that low, dark voice.

Edward came out of the shadows of the stables, and she put her arms around herself. She hadn’t precisely lied to her brother a half-hour past. Edward wasn’t the first scoundrel she’d met, just the best one. Amazing, how the world around her seemed to alter simply because he was present. She might have said his voice was like velvet, that the air was warm and welcoming. But his voice was far more like gravel with that hint of abrasion to it. The night was cooling off, and while a breath of warm air carried the sweet scent of newly cut grass in the square, it warred with the more mundane odor of the stables.

She looked up as Edward drew near, but could see only shadows on his face. “I take it you served Delacey successfully?” he asked.