20. Chapter 20

CHAPTER 20

T hree hours later, Izzie was exhausted.

After being handed from one man to the next—three of them slightly lecherous, two of them abhorrently lecherous—she didn’t know how Sylvie handled any of it. Beyond the lecherous ones with slippery hands, there had been two shy ones, one charming one, and three respectful, if not boring ones. It ran the gamut. That Sylvie had managed all these types of men during the five years Izzie had known her was rather astounding.

For some of the men, it hadn’t even mattered that her feet were unsure in her steps, for they pushed and pulled her across the dance floor, manhandling her so forcefully she was sure she would have bruises along her ribcage for the fingers digging into her.

Maybe that was the true art form of dancing—finding a partner that worked with one, instead of forcing one where to go.

Three hours of dancing, and then, finally, a reprieve an hour past midnight—the meeting that Thomas had brought her here for.

A meeting that was completely unnecessary for her to attend.

True, she’d looked at the ledgers Thomas had asked her to, and she’d found several pages of Thomas’s father’s unusual accounting that she’d helped him decipher. All of the sheets were recordings of goods being moved and the prices of them during the last five years, so it was fairly easy.

But going through those ledgers had clearly not been consequential to his meeting. By the time Thomas fetched her and she was brought into the room, pursuing the ledgers was just a courtesy. It was obvious that the real dealings amongst the men in the room—two of which she had danced with that evening—had already been concluded. Her checking over the ledgers was just a verification of whatever had been agreed upon.

Leaving the other three men to their port, Thomas walked her out of the quiet study—and the echoes of the lively gaiety still going strong in the ballroom drifted along the corridor toward them from the rear of the house.

Izzie looked up at Thomas as the study door closed behind them. “What was that?”

“What do you mean?” He ushered her along the dark hallway that led through the house toward the ballroom.

She stopped in the middle of the corridor, planting her feet as she looked directly at him. “I mean I am tired and I think you are keeping from me the real reason that we are here. You did not need me to look at those ledgers—your business had already concluded by the time I stepped into the room.”

His head tilted to the side, his eyes narrowing at her. “You think to presume what my intentions were here tonight? I did need you to assure me of my choice to continue to do business with those three. Had the ledgers not held up to scrutiny, I would have pulled out of my dealings with them. In fact, in the past, I have not been able to decipher my father’s numbers on those particular books, which has held up our previous negotiations. Your assistance allowed me to move forward where I needed to.”

Her arms threaded together over her ribcage. “Try again.”

He heaved out a sigh, shaking his head. “You are exhausted. I can see that.” He grabbed her upper arm and started dragging her toward the front of the house. “I will take you back to the inn.”

While a part of her wanted nothing more than to escape all the people, she looked over her shoulder toward the ballroom, her feet dragging. “Wait—we cannot leave Sylvie.”

“We can. That woman is in her element and will be until the wee hours of the morning. I will send Hal back to pick her up and he will deliver her safe and sound to the room you are sharing at the inn.”

“But—”

“But nothing, Izzie.” He stopped, looking down at her, but he didn’t release her arm. His voice held a severe edge to it that sliced into her, making her feel as though she had grossly insulted him in some fashion. “Do you want to go back into that ballroom and dance for hours more? I can set you in there again, and watch more men fawn over you if that is what you wish.”

She looked in the direction of the ballroom, chewing on her lip. That was the last thing she wanted. Slowly, she shook her head, her voice going to a whisper, hating that he could read her so well. “No. I would rather not.”

“Fine. Then I am delivering you back to the inn.”

He turned and ushered them through the large house, fetched her wrap, and then brought her to the front walk where Hal leaned against the Hedstrom coach in the long line of waiting carriages.

Izzie went along with him silently.

Rode silently.

Stepped down from the carriage in front of the inn silently.

Walked up the stairs of the inn silently.

It wasn’t until he unlocked her door and set the key to her room in her hand that she finally looked up at him, her stare pinning him. “The numbers were just an excuse. You didn’t need me at that meeting—at that ball—for anything. So I ask you, plainly, Thomas, what is really going on?”

In the shadows of the hallway, he stared at her for long breaths, his jaw ticking back and forth. Stubbornly silent as always. Refusing to let her glimpse even the slightest peek into that tortured mind of his, and the frustration of it clamped down around her chest, making it hard to breathe.

He sighed, running a hand through his dark hair, ruffling the strands of it as his head tilted back. He puffed out a breath, but didn’t look down at her, his stare sticking on the dark wainscoted wall above her head, his voice gruff. “Those men you danced with tonight—pick one. Before the night started, I approved of all of those who danced with you, so pick one. I don’t care which one—just pick one of them and we can be done with it.”

Her cheeks lifted, her brow furrowing as she watched the strain on his face grow tighter with each word. Each nonsensical word.

“What are you talking about? Be done with what?”

His countenance turned to stone, his hazel eyes glowing golden with the yellow light of the sconce next to her room. Almost vicious in how he looked down at her, like she’d driven a blade straight into his belly.

His words came clipped, harsh. “Done with you living under my roof. Done with you driving me insane at every turn.”

Her gasp was audible and the second it hit the air, she wished she could take it back.

Had her entrance into his household been bumpy? Yes. But since he discovered she wasn’t feral, she had tried to not be a burden, to prove to him that having more people around Ravenstone could be good for him. Had she been successful at it? Apparently not.

He wanted her gone.

Which meant she was a failure.

Failure.

It wasn’t a dead body under her watch, but it was a failure just the same.

The wind knocked out of her lungs, her look dropped to his chest, and she gave the slightest nod.

Silently, she stepped around him and closed the door.

She didn’t move until his footfalls faded away and the door of the room next to hers opened and closed.

She had thought…had begun to believe that she had somehow ingrained herself into his life. Into Ravenstone.

He wanted to get rid of Sylvie, she understood that. But she had believed she had found a way to worm into his life so that he would accept her as something solid, something that was always there—like a bookcase. That was the best way to do this job. Be invisible until she was needed.

But she’d been too visible.

Talked too much. Admitted too much.

Let him kiss her. Kissed him back.

Yearned for more.

And now he wanted to get rid of her, just the same as Sylvie.

A clean slate, which would leave only Hal to protect Thomas from himself.

Failure.

A scream bubbled in her throat and she tried to stifle it, the sound coming out in a garbled squeak.

Damn her awful dancing.

Damn this dress.

Damn that this whole bloody plan was falling apart around her.

She heaved a breath, her skin hot and itching—the blasted dress was suffocating on her body and she twisted, trying to reach the knots in the back that Sylvie had tied tight. She reached the end of a tie and yanked, only to feel the laces pull hard into a blasted knot.

Another failure.

She couldn’t even get out of her damn dress properly.

She needed help to reach the ties—but no. She didn’t need anyone. She never had. Never would.

Hiking up her skirt, she pulled free the dagger she’d strapped to her thigh before the ball.

Setting the tip of the sharp blade into the seam under her arm, she froze. She didn’t think she could ruin something as beautiful as this gown. But Sylvie wasn’t here and she refused to go out and knock on Thomas’s door to ask for help.

She wouldn’t suffer more humiliation.

She was already failing miserably at this mission and would be off of it soon enough. A beautiful silk dress like this would do her no good for what the future held.

Her fingers tightened on the blade, ready to swipe downward through the seam.

She couldn’t do it.

Anger surged through her veins and she tossed the blade to the bed, heaving a sigh.

All of this would mean the end of her time with the Guardians, for Hector would cut her free for good for this failure. Services no longer required, as he had put it bluntly before she left for this assignment.

She would be on her own again after all her years with the Guardians. After foolishly thinking she had a home with them.

She didn’t.

She’d been an idiot to even imagine it—to be sucked into the farce of it.

Though none of that worried her more than what was on the other side of the wall to her right.

Breath after breath heaving into her lungs, she stared at the wall to Thomas’s room.

Breaths meant to calm, meant to expel all the frustration balling hot in her chest. Breaths that really just set more panic into her gut.

Who was going to watch over Thomas?

For if she wasn’t protecting him from himself, who would?