13. Chapter 13

"You earned it." Callum held out a tumbler filled to the brim with brandy to her.

She'd only just left the children sleeping in her bed and collapsed onto the sofa down here in the library of her London townhouse when he'd appeared with the drink.

Always knowing where she was.

Taking his job seriously, whether in Scotland or in London. She should have known.

She glanced up at him and then took the glass, grateful.

Taking a sip, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath as the brandy fired a path down her throat, chest and into her belly. Feeling again. A shot through the numbness.

One more sip and the brandy did an admirable job of clearing the lump that had been wedged in her throat for the last five hours.

Her eyes opened and she stared at the flickering flames in the fireplace for a long moment and then glanced up at Callum.

He hadn't moved from the spot where he stood, staring down at her.

"You're staring."

"I am." His finger flicked toward the drink she clutched between her hands. "That help?"

"Yes. Thank you."

He didn't move.

"You are staring down at me for a reason, aren't you?" She took another sip of the brandy, then leaned to the side to set it on a small round table next to the sofa. She tucked her bare feet up on the cushions under the skirts of her wrap and night rail as she leaned on the side arm.

"Maybe."

"Well, don't dance about it." Her hand flicked in the air. "Say whatever you are going to say."

"Georgette and Jacob—you are planning something."

She inhaled a deep breath and looked up at him. She could avoid this for a while, but Callum would find out soon enough. And when he found out, she imagined Charley and Thomas would be told posthaste.

May as well push it right along with a splash of fortitude.

"I am."

"What?"

"Georgette and Jacob, they have lost both of their parents. The only other living relative they have is their great-aunt, who is a bitter skinflint that has a mean streak like a badger."

"And?"

"And I cannot let them go to live in her household." Her hand went to the lapel of her wrap, scratching at the slope of her bare chest. "Susannah already suffered that fate. Their aunt doesn't want them, doesn't like them, and I cannot bear to think of them under her care."

"I am sure their aunt will hire a governess."

"Yes, but what sort of a governess? One exactly like the one that raised Susannah? I have heard the horror stories she told of her governesses, and the governesses were preferable to the aunt."

His brows lifted as he stared at her, clearly thinking she exaggerated. "How bad could one old woman be?"

Her eyes narrowed at him. "A demon with a cane she isn't afraid to swing is bad at any age."

He exhaled a sigh, his head angling to the side. "Yet, what can you do?"

Her chin tilted up. "I promised her—promised Susannah I wouldn't let what happened to her, happen to them."

He let out a long sigh. "So you intend to take them? Steal them away?"

"What?" Her head snapped back. "Take them? What do you think of me?"

"I frankly don't know what you're thinking, Nem."

The line of her lips tightened as she glared up at him. "I am not foolish enough to steal them away. I intend to convince their aunt to let me have them."

He nodded, more to himself than to her, and moved to the table next to the sofa. He picked up the drink he'd handed her and took a large swallow.

Good. Maybe that would calm his wild ideas of what he thought she was capable of.

The glass in his hand, he moved to sit down next to her on the sofa. "You don't think she will easily let you have them? It doesn't sound as though she would want anything to do with them."

Nemity nodded, a deep frown setting onto her face. "One would think that of her. But Lady Agnes is a paragon of society. I fear she will never allow it."

"Why not?"

She scoffed a chuckle. "One, I am a spinster. Two, the scandals of my youth."

"What are the scandals of your youth?"

"You want the whole list or the most grievous ones in this instance?"

"Give me the grievous ones."

"Charley never told you?" She eyed him. "Thomas didn't tell you?"

"Tell me what?" He seemed to brace himself, then lifted the glass to his lips to take a swallow.

"I was nearly married twice. I have two broken engagements haunting me. Unwanted goods to anyone paying attention."

He jerked the glass away from his lips, choking slightly on the brandy. He looked to her. "Two?" He could barely get the word out for the brandy caught in his throat.

"Yes. Two. One broken engagement I could survive the scandal of—my inheritance alone gave me a pass on the first one. But two…two was one too many."

He stared at her, nodded, looked away as he took another swallow of the brandy, then turned to her, his silver-grey eyes settling on her face. "What happened?"

"Do you truly care enough to know?" Usually if men in society approached her without prior knowledge of her exploits, the moment they found out about her broken engagements was always the moment of stuttered excuses and impolite exits from her company.

Yet Callum was still sitting here. His attention fully on her.

"I do, actually," he said.

She stared at him, trying to judge his sincerity. She grabbed the glass from his hand and took another sip. Good thing he'd filled it full.

"With both of them, everything was set. The engagement, banns—people in the church on one of them."

He winced. "In the church?"

She nodded. "I was walking by a little cubby at the side of the church—out of sight—as everyone arrived and got settled. I was chatting with Charley when I heard my fiancé talking with the vicar." Holding the drink to her ribcage, her head fell back, her look on the delicate wisteria garland painted on the ceiling. "I believe my fiancé's exact words were, ‘Horses and donkeys must be beaten and bridled—and so must wives.'"

Callum grunted. "Ass."

"Yes. At that, he was. Fooled once." She lifted her head, tipping the glass up to her lips, her tongue rolling the liquid about in her mouth.

"And the second?"

"The second one didn't make it to the church, thank the heavens." Her head shook slightly. "Though I did rather adore my second fiancé. A week before the wedding I walked into his study unannounced and found him…engaged with another person." Her look dipped down to the drink in her hand and she swirled it, watching the rings in the amber liquid. "That person was not a woman."

Callum seethed in a breath. "Harsh."

"Yes, it was that. I actually thought that I could really love him and he could love me, but he was clearly settling when his heart was committed elsewhere. Fooled twice."

"No wonder you have chosen the path of a spinster."

"It has been the best option—suffering each of those scandals was utterly exhausting. So I have not regretted it. Not until this moment."

"Because of Lady Agnes?"

"Yes." She groaned, her head flopping back onto the sofa.

"Yet why would she not overlook all of that? Does she actually want them?"

"Heavens no. But she does know how it will look to society, abandoning her kin. And her reputation is all to her—she would never abandon them. She never abandoned Susannah, even though Susannah begged time again to be set free from her aunt's vicious claws. Susannah would have lived on the London streets if that's what it took—she even ran away three times, only to be found and brought back to her aunt. It wasn't until she married that her aunt stopped controlling every bit of her life."

"Yet you say she is an old lady now, probably mellowed with time?" He slipped the glass from her hand and took a swallow. Probably trying to stop her from getting foxed. His size alone meant he could handle liquor better than her.

She shook her head. "Evil like that does not mellow. It is the last thing to sink to the grave."

His stare set hard on her, willing her to take heed. "Yet this is not your place to interfere, Nemity. Not in your situation. Do not be rash."

Her head snapped straight up, glaring at him. "My situation?" The words seethed out, the blood in her veins turning to fire.

He didn't think she should do this. Didn't believe she could do this.

Ass.

What the hell did he know?

Nemity stood up from the sofa, stomping from the room.

She didn't need his damn permission to do what she must.

Let him—let society—think what they will.

She wasn't letting those children fall to that witch.