Chapter Twenty-One

"Y ou have to drink, Mason," Ruthie urged, holding the cup to her brother's swollen mouth. As before, she only managed to get him to take a couple of sips before he nudged her hand away.

"Please, no more. I can't. It hurts."

Ruthie leaned away from the bed and sat back in her seat. It had been two days since the terrible scene at the Lucky Fish, and her brother's face was still swollen and bruised. His mouth could barely move, and one eye still hadn't opened. Dr. Cameron had informed him that it might never work the same.

"The doctor gave you orders. He said you need to drink water and rest."

"He should have given me laudanum."

Ruthie frowned. "He said you didn't need it." What she really wanted to say was that the doctor wouldn't give him any because he thought Mason deserved the pain.

Mason groaned. "Oh, God," he said, muffled through his mangled lips. "I'll never drink alcohol again. As God as my witness, I won't. This is torture."

Their cousin Reggie appeared in the doorway, leaning lazily on the frame. Ruthie knew his easy demeanor was an act for Mason's benefit. He was just as worried as she was. "You're lucky you're still alive, mate," he announced jovially. "And every day you get luckier that Harry bleeding Holmes doesn't storm through my doors and finish what you started."

The mention of her husband caused Ruthie to flinch. She hadn't returned to the club since Ernest and a few of Harry's men had dragged Mason into a carriage and sent him off to Reggie's home. She'd followed her brother, wanting to be certain he lived, and also because she didn't have any clue what to say to Harry. He'd told her to leave, so she'd left.

Would he even want to see her now? That night had been confusing even before her brother barged in. Ruthie didn't know where they stood and lacked the courage to find out.

For now, administering to Mason was easier than dealing with her marriage.

"What were you even thinking?" Reggie asked, entering the room. He draped himself on one of the bedposts, glaring at his suffering cousin. "You could have been killed, or worse, you could have killed someone!"

"I know. I know!" Mason cried. "Please, stop. I don't want to think about it."

"Well, I'm sorry, but you're going to have to," Reggie mercilessly went on. "Just because you're alive doesn't mean you're out of the woods. Holmes can have you arrested for attempted murder. All of London knows what you were doing at the club. It's all anyone is talking about."

Mason jerked to Ruthie. It was difficult for her to meet his gaze. His one eye might work, but it was red and ghastly from all the broken blood vessels. "Do you think he'll do it? Would he accuse me in court?"

Ruthie lifted her shoulders. "I honestly don't know what he'll do. I don't know him that well."

"That's bullshit," Mason blustered. "Of course you know him. You love the bastard."

"Just stop, Mason."

"Don't tell him to stop," Reggie said. "It's obvious. It's been obvious from the beginning."

Ruthie glared at him. "Hardly."

"There's no use denying it," Mason said. "Why else did you marry him? Especially when you could have had the immensely popular and handsome Lord Dawkins."

Ruthie sighed through a smile. "Mason…" she drawled. "How can you laugh at a time like this?"

Mason chuckled and then groaned, lifting a hand to his ribs. "Christ that hurts. I laugh, dear sister, because that's the only thing you can do when your life is over. I'm done. I've ruined everything. I have nobody and nothing. I'm a grown man without a penny to his name who is afraid of his own mother."

"Can't fault you there, cousin," Reggie said. "She's terrifying."

Mason's lips curled into a dismal smile. "She is, isn't she? And she always has been."

"What are you talking about?" Ruthie said, picking up Mason's water glass again. She brought it to his lips. "You are her favorite, her darling boy. She's always pampered you and let you get away with everything."

Her brother sobered, pushing the water away. "You don't know the half of it."

"It's you who don't know," Ruthie countered. She placed the water back on the table and sat on her hands. She was close to throttling the spoiled imbecile. "She never hounded you like she did me. She controlled everything from my weight to my clothes to my calendar to my suitors. All while you got to go off on your whim, drinking and acting like an idiot with your friends."

"Because that's what she wanted," Mason replied. "Do you know how many times I heard that I would never be the man that my father was? Hundreds. Thousands. I was force-fed stories of his wild and crazy adventures, encouraged to make a name for myself like he'd done. Do you know how horrible it feels to have to live up to the man you hated most?"

His words struck her. Ruthie paused. "You…you didn't hate Father."

"I loathed him," Mason said. The words were low and deep, as if they'd come from the deepest reaches of him—the parts Ruthie never saw. "Do you want to know what the worst day of my life was? And no, it wasn't when your husband almost beat the life out of me. It was the day I watched Father sell our horses. I stood next to him and cried and cried as these foul men came and tugged them away, bucking and kicking. Then he smacked me over the head, said that I was a disappointment, that I wasn't behaving like a man." Tears wobbled in Mason's eye before they flooded down his bruised cheek. "But he was the one who disappointed me! I loved those horses. I would sit in the barn with them whenever Mother and Father had their rows. They were my friends. I took care of them. And then they were gone. And then Father was gone…before I could tell him how much I hated him."

Fresh tears dropped in Ruthie's lap. She was so much younger than Mason, but she remembered the horses, remembered how he would have to be dragged inside at the end of the night smelling like dirt and leather. "Then why do you act exactly like him? Why do you do such foolish things?"

Mason sniffed, blinking up at the ceiling. "I thought that was my destiny. I never had a choice. I was never as brave as you, Ruthie. I'm sorry I always let you down."

"Oh, Mason," Ruthie sobbed. "I'm not brave—"

"Of course you are," he said sharply. "You're the bravest person I know. Reggie told me all about the times he took you to the club. It was stupid and dangerous and so very, very brave."

Ruthie let her brother's words sink in, let them hug her heart. "Thank you," she said quietly. "I think I needed to hear that." She squeezed his hand, which was the only unbruised part of his body. "You have choices now. You can make a new plan for yourself. I'll help you." She wiped her eyes and looked at Reggie. "We all will."

Her cousin nodded. "Of course. Just tell us about that night, mate. Why did you do it? It doesn't sound like you. You can be rather thick at times, but I never thought you were suicidal. Where did you even get the blasted pistol?"

Mason covered his face with his palm. "I don't want to think about it right now. The last week has been so hazy. It makes my head hurt."

"Please try, brother," Ruthie urged. "It's important that you tell us. You mentioned money that night. What did you mean?"

Mason sighed, and Ruthie could see exhaustion creeping in. He needed to sleep, but Reggie was right—Mason had to tell them everything before his memory became even hazier.

"It's not me. I would never think to shoot anyone. You were right," he began, nodding at Ruthie. "I'm shit with guns. But there was this man. I can't remember his name. Why can't I remember his name? He's at the club. He's always at the club. He said he'd help me get my revenge, even pay me to shoot Harry. He said no one would blame me after what he'd done to Ruthie."

"He didn't do anything to me," Ruthie said.

Mason shrugged. "It didn't matter. I was drinking too much, not thinking straight. And I was embarrassed about everything that had happened. A man's ego is a fragile thing, sister."

"Think, mate," Reggie pressed. "Who was he?"

"Was it one of Dugan's men?" Ruthie asked.

Mason frowned. "What? Who's Dugan? No, I told you. He was one of the Harry's men at the club."

"That doesn't make sense. You're not remembering right," Ruthie snapped. "Try harder."

"I am trying hard, dammit!" Mason bellowed. "But I don't know his name. He never told me. He just had an eye."

"We all have eyes," Ruthie said.

"No…" Mason waved his hand over his damaged face. "He had a weird eye. One that never looks straight. I don't know. At least, it seemed that way. Maybe I was the one too drunk to see straight. Who knows anymore?"

*

Using Reggie's carriage, Ruthie went straight to the Lucky Fish. It was still early; the regulars hadn't begun to fill the main rooms yet, and Ruthie had no trouble entering through the kitchens unnoticed. Not that it mattered. For better or worse, the club had become her unlikely home for the last few weeks, and no one would question her. But Ruthie didn't have time for pleasantries, nor did she desire unwanted attention. No doubt the gossip had made much of her absence; she didn't want to give them any more.

True to his nature, Harry was exactly where she'd hoped he would be. She opened the door to their bedroom just as he was putting on his dark coat. Water from his afternoon bath still clung to the ends of his black hair, and his face was freshly shaved for the second time that day. If he'd been a wreck since she left, it certainly didn't show.

Ruthie would be lying to herself if she said she was happy about that sign.

Harry continued to study his reflection in the mirror as she stepped to the center of the room. The line of swords along the wall caught the waning sun. He straightened his necktie, scowling when he couldn't get it to sit right against his throat. His disregard stung her. The behavior was aloof and cold, something he'd never been with her before.

"You might not want to see me," Ruthie began softly, "but I need you to hear what I have to say. Regardless of how you feel about me right now, it's important that you listen."

Harry grunted and ripped the thin fabric off his neck, starting the process again.

The floor felt like it was wobbling underneath her feet, but Ruthie remembered what Mason had told her—especially the part about her being brave—and went on. "It was Vine. He was the one who put the pistol in my brother's hand," she said firmly. "I suspect it was Vine who was behind the other shooting as well. Your friend wants you dead."

Harry waited until he finished with his necktie and then turned to face her. His blank expression threatened to bring her to her knees. He was a stranger to her. But he was alive. Ruthie hadn't got to him too late. "I know that. The pistol your brother pointed in my face and threatened me with looked familiar." His words were perfunctory, his tone amiable and bereft of any knowing. "I stayed up the entire night thinking about it. I didn't put two and two together right away. But when Vine continued to stay away from the club, I began to understand why. Once he discovered your brother was still alive, he knew it was only a matter of time before I found out."

Ruthie placed her hands around her face. "But why would he want you dead? You've known him since you were children."

Harry shrugged, not nearly as upset as Ruthie had expected him to be. "Hazard of the trade, remember? Besides, there's no honor among thieves. I should have suspected, really. It was my only fault for being so…preoccupied. Vine had told me that the men were upset with the way I was running things, focusing more on legitimate ventures. But it seems that he was the one upset. He wanted to run things. Bring everything back to how it was. What can I say?" He lifted his arms at his sides. "I suppose some men just aren't made for change."

Ruthie wasn't ready to tackle that comment. "Did you find him? Did you…deal with him?"

Harry's arms fell and his expression darkened, almost as if he were disappointed that she avoided the real topic—them. "Not yet, but I will. I heard that he ran out of town. But I'll find him. I always do."

"And then what?"

He cocked his head. "What do you mean? And then life goes back to the way it was."

Ruthie stepped forward, and Harry stared at her slippers. "Am I a part of that normal?"

His voice was gentle. "I didn't think you wanted to be."

"You told me to leave, so I left."

Weariness lined his features. Harry sighed and walked back to his bureau. He reached for the tiaras, grazing the emerald one at the top of the pyramid with his fingers. "I suppose it's for the best."

Ruthie was shocked that she couldn't hear her heart crack. The pain felt worse than Mason's face. "The best for whom?"

"You. Me. What does it matter?" He turned to face her. "The fact is that I was selfish when I married you. I knew you deserved better. I knew I was using you and I still did it. But I think it's clear now that it was a mistake. I'll never change. This life will never let me."

"What are you saying, Harry?"

He shoved his hands in his pockets. "I'm saying you tried your best, darling, but even you can't save my soul. There's no use trying. You saw me that night. You believe I'm one man, a good man, but I'm not. And no scribbles in a journal will change that."

Ruthie's knees shook. She was finding it harder and harder to stand her ground. But her legs were strong, and her determination even stronger. "I know you. You're better than this."

"Really?" Harry asked bitterly. "Even though you believe I only married you for charity? Even though you honestly think I wanted you because you made me feel safe?"

Ruthie bit her lip, staring at the floor. "I don't believe that. You lie to yourself because you're afraid. You're afraid to see who you really are. I know you care for me. I know your affections have grown since we married—"

"My affections haven't grown!" Harry slammed his hand to his chest and balled his lapel up into his fist. "They were always this size, so fucking big I worry that any second my fucking heart might beat out of my chest. But it doesn't matter now. I don't need you anymore. I'm a lost cause and I'm never going to be the man you deserve."

"You're not even trying," Ruthie cried. "You promised me you would never stop."

Harry sighed haggardly. "I'm too old and too tired, darling. Besides, I'm giving you your ultimate freedom, Ruthie. You don't have to stay here anymore, in the same room, in the same club, with the same people. Go out and experience the world. Go out and be the person you want to be. Isn't that what you always wanted?"

He strode to the door and held it open for her. Ruthie couldn't look at him as she walked by. But she couldn't leave without saying one more thing. "I don't know what I want anymore."