As he came back to himself, his mind returned to coherent thought. “Madame Sybila was a fraud. She’s gone. The Home for Wayward Children is gone. She stole from my mother and her friends.” He opened his eyes and turned his head to look at her. “And you.”
Selina had lowered her skirt and was wiping a hand across her forehead. She didn’t say anything, and he couldn’t blame her. She’d been defrauded just like the rest of them.
He realized he hadn’t come here to tell her they’d been duped—well, he had, but that wasn’t the primary reason. In his moment of defeat, he’d sought comfort in Selina’s arms.
There was nowhere else he’d rather be.
Selina hoped Harry couldn’t see her hands shaking. Standing, she sought to put distance between them.
What would that accomplish? Was she going to feel less awful across the room? What about two days from now? Of course she wouldn’t. The pain and regret, she suspected, would remain for some time, if not forever. She should end things with him right now. There was no reason for her to continue their association.
Except for what had just transpired. She’d seen the anguish in his face when he’d arrived, responded to the need in his embrace, reveled in the mutual surrender they’d shared. Never in her life had she felt more wanted or…right.
“The shopkeeper at The Ardent Rose said she left town to take care of family, and the man who owns the house on Ivy Lane said the Winters moved on with their children. I don’t believe any of it.”
Selina had walked to the window and now turned to see him staring up at the ceiling. He’d buttoned his fall, putting himself back together, at least externally. Internally was another matter. He sounded angry and almost helpless.
“What am I going to tell my mother?”
Selina’s chest tightened. There was nothing she could say. Guilt and shame nearly overwhelmed her. She’d swindled so many people, for good reason, she’d thought, but in this moment, it all felt so horribly wrong. “I’m so sorry, Harry.” Her voice sounded small and quiet.
He sat up straight and looked at her. “Why should you be sorry?”
She’d imagined stealing away after ending her schemes, just as she’d done every other time before, even with Barney. But this was wholly different. She couldn’t just leave. Not without telling Harry the truth.
“I have to tell you something.” She licked her lips, which had gone dry as a desert. “There is no good way—” Desperate for air, she sucked in a breath and blew it out. The words were so hard. Not the ones about her crimes, but about where she’d come from. When he learned what she’d been, he would be awash with disgust. She forced herself to speak. “I know you’ve wondered about my past. The truth is that I was very poor, so poor that I was forced to steal in order to eat. I’ve had to do things I am not proud of.”
Harry stared at her, seemingly frozen. Then he got slowly to his feet. “You stole.” It wasn’t a question, but she could see the confusion—and emotion—scrambling his features. “My mother’s necklace was stolen. It went missing during the soiree. You were there.” He looked directly at her. “But she found it. After you came to dinner.” He went quiet, and Selina simply couldn’t speak. “The woman at Spring Hollow. You and Beatrix were there too.”
Watching him put the pieces together tore Selina apart. She should say something. But nothing would come.
He paced away from the settee. “Other jewelry has gone missing from Mayfair, stolen from my mother’s friends. Like her, they saw Madame Sybila. A brooch was stolen from Mrs. Mapleton-Lowther’s house on the afternoon my mother and the others visited the Home for Wayward Children. With Madame Sybila.”
He stopped cold and pivoted to face her once more. His gaze slowly raked her. She could see his mind working, calculating all he knew. The facts were all there.
“Harry—”
He cut her off, his voice ragged. “Your scent. Orange-honeysuckle. Madame Sybila smelled like that too, as did her room when I searched it earlier.”
Her knees wobbled as she came to a stop in the middle of the room. “I can see you already know. I never meant to hurt you. I’ve done what I must—”
He held up his hand. “Selina, do you think I’m a hermit?”
She lifted her hand to her mouth, tears stinging her eyes.
“You walked beside me,” he whispered. “And tripped beside me when I told you about Anne Turner, the fortune-teller. You helped me. You shared your body with me.”
The truth flayed her as surely as a physical lash. “I lied about who I was, but everything between us, everything we shared was true.”
“Don’t.” He bared his teeth. “Just tell me.”
Her heart, which she’d long thought broken, shattered. “Yes, I am Madame Sybila.”
Chapter 18
It was as if the world around him had slowed, like a dream.
Or a nightmare.
Thoughts assaulted his brain: Selina leaving the Home for Wayward Children when he’d gone to check on it. The two young women—one tall and one short—who’d visited Madame Sybila on Finch Lane. His father had sent him a note the other day saying Rachel had witnessed bizarre behavior by Mrs. Winter and the fortune-teller during her visit to the house on Ivy Lane.
The regret in her eyes told him everything he needed to know but never wanted to.
“When I—Madame Sybila—told you I was a lost child, it was the truth. I lived on the streets of East London until my brother sent me away to boarding school. There, I met Beatrix—she isn’t really my sister.” Selina twisted her hands together. “Not by blood. We had only each other, and ever since then, I’ve done whatever I had to in order to care for her. Would it help you to know that I actually do give money to charities, particularly those that help children?” The truth, if that was what it was, tumbled from her mouth like an avalanche.
“No.” The word came cold and hard, like one of the rocks from the avalanche striking the ground and leaving a crater. “You’re a thief and a fraud. You stole from my mother. And her friends.” He wanted to rail at her. More than that, he wanted details. “Tell me about the Home for Wayward Children.”
“It was a fraud, as you presumed. Winter is an old friend, and his wife… I didn’t know her at all. He hired her to help.”
Everything had been carefully constructed. She’d done this before. “The children?”
“Also hired. I gave them extra money when I sent them home.”
Harry stared at her. “Your ruthlessness knows no bounds.”
She wrapped her arms around her middle. “It wasn’t like that. You don’t understand. You couldn’t. You’re the son of an earl. You’ve never wanted for anything.” Her voice rose in anguish, but he was unmoved.
“That excuses nothing. You’re a liar and a thief. Tell me about the jewelry you stole.”
She stiffened. “Madame Sybila doesn’t earn enough to pay for a successful Season. Beatrix has a—a problem with taking things, which, in times of need, has proven helpful.”