The Governess (Wicked Wallflowers, #3)(95)

Unnerved by her scrutiny, Broderick gathered up the remaining pages and set them down on the pianoforte. He stood and then held his spare hand out, helping her to her feet. His palm tingled from the heat of her touch.

He took a draw of his cheroot and blew out a small plume of smoke.

Once she’d finished organizing the stacks upon stacks of papers on the surface of the pianoforte, she picked them up and turned to leave.

“Stay?” he asked quietly. “Please.”

Reggie hesitated, and for a moment he believed she’d send him to the Devil as he deserved.

She set down the burden in her arms.

“I am going to hang.” Broderick took another pull from his smoke, needing her to understand when no one else did. Not even his siblings because he’d kept them deliberately out.

Reggie’s entire body jerked like he’d run her through. “What?”

“I am going to hang,” he repeated. He stamped out the remainder of his cheroot and tossed the scrap onto a nearby porcelain tray. At last, he’d uttered the truth aloud. Five words that, before this, he’d prefaced with “probably” and “likely” . . . when all the while he’d known.

The long column of her throat worked. “You don’t know that.”

“Oh, I do. I know precisely what my fate is.” It had been ordained long ago. “Nor did I hope to marry Gertrude off to save my neck.” He wasn’t so naive as to believe that his sister’s making a connection would see him pardoned from the crime of kidnapping a nobleman’s firstborn son and heir. “Just as I didn’t seek noble connections for Cleo and Ophelia for my own gains. Everything we’ve built”—because she as much as his siblings and the staff who’d called the Devil’s Den home had made it what it was—“it will eventually all be lost. Empires rise and they fall. My club is no different. And neither am I.” There; he’d at last forced the words into existence. He braced for the tightening about his throat at the mere mention of his fate. That did not come. There was something freeing in taking ownership of his eventual future. He’d been rushing frantically all over London intending to put his life in order. Only to find himself . . . free. Broderick filled his lungs with a deep, cleansing breath.

Reggie’s face crumpled.

He chuckled. “Come, you’re going to have me believe you’ll miss me when I’m gone.”

“Don’t say that,” she whispered.

Broderick lifted one shoulder in a slight shrug. “It’s true.” He held her stare. “I’ll fall, but when I do, I’ll know that all my sisters’ fates are secure. They won’t find themselves one day at London Bridge offering themselves to some undeserving bounder such as myself.”





Chapter 25

You are a blight upon this earth. Your life means nothing to anyone. And the world will rejoice when you’re erased from existence.

She didn’t want to know his motives.

She didn’t want to understand the reasons behind his sick obsession with the peerage or why he’d marry his flawless lady.

It had been easier to resent him when he was the ruthlessly driven proprietor who put his gaming hell empire and his fascination with the ton above all.

She’d never questioned the reasons he so admired the nobility, but now she knew.

He was a man putting his business to rights before he hanged. He’d been preparing for this moment long before Lord Maddock had threatened him.

A pressure weighed on her chest. He’d escaped certain doom countless times. She’d patched up wounds that would have killed weaker men. But this . . . this was different. Reggie’s own past had taught her that one didn’t cross a nobleman. Not without eventually being brought down. She’d escaped it, as had Broderick. Eventually, they’d all fall to that power.

Reggie trailed her gaze over his face. “You’ve always sought to create an order to people’s lives.” He tensed. She took a step closer, willing him to see. “People aren’t a puzzle. You can’t put the pieces of their existence into a neat frame and make their problems go away.”

His jaw clenched.

“There’s no shame in being human. You need to let go and allow your siblings”—and me—“the freedom of choice.” She gave him a small smile. “Even if the decisions they make aren’t ones to erase problems or build empires.”

“I want her to be safe,” he said almost pleadingly.

And then the truth slammed into her.

He was trying to explain his motives—to her. He wanted her to understand why he’d sought a link to those peers she so despised.

“Will she find safety if she marries a powerful peer? What if she weds one such as Glastonbury?” His cheeks went ashen. “It’s time you ask your sister what she wants. What life she prefers.”

“And what of you, Regina?” His eyes scoured her face. “What do you want?”

“Me? I prefer the raw honesty in the ruthlessness of the Dials.” Far more than she did the world he was so very determined to join.

A frosty glint lit his eyes. “I’d sooner cut a blighter from the Dials than see either you or Gert married to one.”

“At least in dealing with a thief and sinner, one knows precisely what drives them.” One didn’t risk making a misstep that would see one destroyed, as she’d been so taken down by Lord Oliver. Rather, one knew how to proceed, and invariably it was always with an eye out.