He blinked, his lashes dipping slowly before he looked at her in disbelief. “You can’t think there could be a future for us?”
“No. But maybe if you understood my past, you could forgive yourself for trusting me.”
“Forgive myself, but not you?”
She shook her head. “I don’t want you to forgive me. I don’t deserve that.”
“Tell me who you were.”
“Our parents—Rafe’s and mine—died when I was very small. A man who claimed to be our uncle, but who later confessed he was not, brought us to London. He used us. He would say I was sick, and people gave him money. Then he sold us to Partridge to work as pickpockets.” Selina swallowed. She’d never told anyone the next part, not even Beatrix. “When I was eleven, one of the men who worked for Partridge tried to take me for himself. He said it was time I moved on to my next profession—the only one I was good for. He was drunk, and I fought him. He fell out the window and died. After that, Rafe sent me away to school. He said it wasn’t safe for me in London.”
“He was right.” Now there was the barest thread of anguish in his voice.
“Because of Rafe, I had the opportunity to be something other than a prostitute. When I had the chance to become a governess, I was so happy, so relieved. It was more than I’d ever dreamed.” She clutched her hands together, her muscles tensing. “But then my employer did what the other man couldn’t. He made me a whore.”
“No.” Harry’s eyes turned fierce, his brows pitching down his forehead. “He did not.”
“I ran away and fetched Beatrix from the school—she was incredibly unhappy there and had nowhere else to go. We had no means, no family. I’d lost touch with Rafe, and I was too afraid to come back here.” It had taken her years of building her confidence and regaining her self-worth before she could return. “We lived the only way I knew how, and I thank God for that, because without my ability to steal and scheme, we would have starved. Or worse—we would have been at the mercy of men.” She straightened her shoulders. “I swore I would never depend on anyone ever again.”
“I take it you were never actually married.”
She hated that he had to—rightfully—question everything she’d ever told him. “No.”
He stared at her, but she couldn’t read him. She wanted so badly to touch him, to heal him.
“I’ll try to find Luther,” she said. “But he may be trying to avoid me. I kept refusing his advances.”
“Please don’t put yourself in any danger. Promise me?”
She would promise him anything. “Yes. Luther wouldn’t hurt me.”
“Because he loves you.”
She hated his dispassion. “But I don’t love him.”
“Let me know what you find out.”
Selina couldn’t stop herself from edging closer to him. “I will. There are people I can talk to. From…the past.”
He nodded. She reached up and barely grazed her fingertips against his jaw. “I’m so sorry, Harry. I wish things were different, but I don’t know how they could be.” She stood on her toes and brushed her lips over his. Then she stepped back.
Harry seemed completely detached. Good. He was better off that way.
Without a word, Harry turned and left. Selina stared after him while her knees melted to water. After she heard the front door close, she wobbled to the nearest chair and wilted onto it.
“Why did you let him leave like that?” Beatrix strode into the sitting room and stood with her hands on her hips.
Selina looked up at her while her body fought to calm itself. “Were you eavesdropping?”
“Yes. Why did you let him leave?”
“Why would he stay?”
“Because you love him, and he loves you.” Beatrix looked at Selina as if she were mad. “You belong together.”
“He does not love me.”
Beatrix let out a breath of pure exasperation. “Of course he does. Weren’t you listening?”
“Yes, and I was standing right in front of him as he stared at me with the coldest expression you can imagine.” Selina shivered.
Beatrix rolled her eyes and dropped her hands from her hips. “It was obvious to me, and I was just listening outside.”
“How can you possibly tell?”
“He is clearly jealous of Luther. And when he stopped you from saying what Boyer did—” Beatrix clamped her lips together. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to say his name.” They’d agreed long ago to never say it again. Beatrix came forward and squatted down in front of Selina. “Harry cares for you. I can tell. You forget that for a time—a time I remember quite clearly—I had two parents who loved each other. Even if they weren’t married,” she added. “Unlike you, I know what that looks and sounds like.”
Yes, Selina did forget that sometimes. Beatrix had memories Selina couldn’t imagine. She was so bloody deficient in every way! “How could Harry possibly care for me? Or want me? Or love me?”
“Why does there have to be a reason? You’re an amazing woman who would captivate any sane, intelligent man.”
Selina shook her head. “That’s not me.”
Beatrix stood and threw her hands up. “It is you. Or it should be anyway. You are the strongest person I know, and yet you so often fail to truly believe in yourself. You don’t even think you can love, but you can. You do.”
She did. She loved Harry so much. Shouldn’t that make her feel good? It sure as hell shouldn’t make her feel weak or defeated.
Selina pushed herself out of the chair. “I should fight for him.” It came out sounding a bit like a question.
“Yes, you should,” Beatrix said firmly. “You have never shied away from risk. It’s time for you to take the biggest one.”
Beatrix was right. Selina wanted him. She wanted a future with him. First, she had to tell him everything, every horrid detail of her background.
She should also tell him that her brother and the Vicar were one and the same, but she didn’t want to endanger her brother’s plans. Not after everything they’d been through since their parents had died.
Selina had known fear before, but not like this. She’d experienced joy and hope—and love—which would make the loss of it that much harder to bear.
Harry threw himself into a chair in one of the offices at the Magistrates’ Court. It had been a grueling day, during which he’d gone to a wedding in Mayfair and arrested the bloody groom for extortion. Yesterday, a friend of a friend, the Viscount Colton, had come to report the extortion.
The tale had been rather involved, but it included the Vicar, who’d loaned money to the viscount. The groom, Chamberlain, whom they’d arrested, was the one who’d put the viscount in touch with the Vicar. Unfortunately, the groom could only say the Vicar lent money from St. Dunstan-in-the-West, which was of no use to Harry since he already knew that.
Furthermore, Selina hadn’t sent any word about Frost. Harry had to accept she’d probably lied to him again. Except he knew she was still in London. He’d checked last night, standing across the street from her house like some sort of prowler.