Lorraine Heath - Midnight Pleasures with a Scoundrel

It seemed that minutes ticked by before he finally said, “Probably not nearly as much as you despise yourself.”

She peered over at him, surprised by his candor, yet relieved by his words. Although judging by how much she loathed herself, perhaps his dislike for her was greater than she wanted. “You are oh so very wise, James Swindler.”

“My life has brought all sorts through it. Some guilty. Some innocent. Some deserving of what fate brought their way. Some not. There was one lad I knew, long ago, cocky bastard. Greedy, too. Wanted everything he set his eyes on, he did. One day he saw a gent take a gold watch from his pocket. It was so shiny. The boy thought, ‘Oh, I’d like to have that, I would.’ So he pinched it. But he wasn’t very good, you see.

“The gent missed his watch straightaway, started yelling for a constable. The boy got scared. His father was standing nearby, so into his father’s pocket he dropped it. I suppose it was the surprised look on his father’s face that caused the constable to search him. And the gent, well, he was a lord. Didn’t appreciate having his watch pilfered. He saw to it that the man was hanged for his offense within the fortnight. Not once did the man ever declare his innocence. Not once did he ever point the blame at his son. He walked up the steps to the gallows as though he had no regrets. The regrets were left to his son.”

Her chest ached as though it had grown too small to contain her heart. “You were the son.”

She saw the answer reflected in his eyes. Twenty years to live with regret.

“My father told me we were playing a prank, we were swindling justice. When Feagan took me in, when he took anyone in, he made the boy change his name. Swindler seemed to suit a lad who’d managed to have his father hanged in his place.”

Although all these years had passed, her heart still went out to the boy who was now sitting before her as a man. “Oh, James, he wouldn’t have wanted you to live with the regrets. He knew what he was doing. Parents sacrifice for their children all the time.”

“It doesn’t make it any easier to live with, Emma.”

“That’s the reason you don’t carry a watch.”

“Can’t bring myself to purchase one-even though I can now well afford it.”

As though they’d only been talking about the weather, he returned to reading the journal. Because she could think of nothing significant to say to comfort him, she left him to it.

Because he’d taken an overly long sleep that afternoon, due to the unfortunate draught that Eleanor-strange how the name he’d once adored suddenly grated on him-had slipped him, Swindler was far from tired when the clock on the mantel chimed ten. Emma, on the other hand, was wilted. She told him to sleep in her bedchamber. She had plans to sleep with Eleanor. If sleep came at all.

Although aware that he appeared a buffoon without manners, he didn’t stand when Emma rose from her chair. He knew if he got to his feet, nothing on earth would stop him from approaching her, taking her in his arms and carrying her to bed. If he could last that long. His body was wound so tightly from being alone in her presence that it was quite possible he’d try to have her before they ever left the room. So he’d stayed where he was, given her a distracted good-night without ever looking up from the journal. It was bloody hell to sit so near her without touching her.

To make matters worse, he’d revealed his deepest, darkest secret as though it were a fairy tale. Whatever had possessed him to confess his sins regarding his father? Now she knew he, too, was responsible for a man’s death. He may as well have murdered his father, dropped the noose around his neck. The guilt had gnawed at him for twenty years now, leaving behind raw wounds that would never heal. No one knew about them, not even Frannie, but where Emma was concerned, he seemed unable to keep any secrets.

It was long past midnight when Swindler set the journal aside. He wanted to come to know the girl so he could better understand how whatever had happened might have affected her. Perhaps a bit of him was also searching for hints regarding Emma. He didn’t want to believe that she’d been completely duplicitous while in London. She had to have shared her true self with him, even if her name and her reasons hadn’t been honest. Damn it, he didn’t want to lose her, lose the woman he’d met in London, the one who intrigued him, made him laugh, made him glad to get up in the morning, gave him reason to anticipate the day.

He thought the woman he’d known in London was more Emma than the woman who watched him here, the one with worry in her eyes and suspicions. He didn’t blame her for whatever doubts she might be harboring. He wasn’t even certain that he could explain all the reasons that had brought him here. Pride, because he’d allowed a murderer to escape his clutches. Honor, because his word could so easily be brought into question. But it was more than work. It was so much that he couldn’t explain.

The storm still raged outside. Swindler wasn’t certain he’d be able to sleep with all its howling and shrieking. Even the rain was louder than anything he’d ever heard in London. Rubbing his stiff neck, he decided that with both ladies in bed, what he really wanted was a hot bath.

Just off the kitchen he found a bathing room. No doubt a recent addition. While he was able to pump water to fill the tub, because he preferred it near to boiling and because he liked it full and was in the mood for a bit of indulgence, it took him a while to get the water to his satisfaction. He’d just pulled his shirt over his head when the door opened.

His heart galloped as he turned around, and just as quickly it slowed to a canter. “Eleanor.”

Releasing a soft laugh and drawing her shawl more tightly over her night rail, she took two steps toward him. “Oh, James, I can’t tell you how it hurts me that you fail to recognize me. It’s me. Emma.”

“The bloody hell you are.” Dismissing her, careful to keep his back from her view, he dipped his hand in the water. Still hot enough, but not for long.

“I can’t believe after all we shared-”

Spinning around, he grabbed her wrist before she could touch his bare shoulder. He wasn’t certain what his face revealed, but judging by the widening of her eyes, it was exactly what he was thinking. “Leave me be. I want nothing to do with you.”

She sagged as though all remaining life had been drained from her. “You really can tell us apart. No one else has ever been able to do that. Not even Father. How can you be sure I’m not Emma?”

Releasing his hold on her, he stepped away. “Your eyes.”

“They’re the same shade of blue.”

“The same shade, perhaps, but the souls they reveal are very different.”

She released a harsh scoff. “Mine is harder, I suppose. He deserved it, you know. You’ll see. Once you’ve finished reading the journal. Emma said you want to read all of it. There’s little point. It was last summer that destroyed her.”

“I’ll handle this matter as I think best.” Dipping his fingers in the water again, he nodded toward her bandaged hands. “What happened?”

She rubbed them together. “I can’t get his blood off. I keep trying, but there’s always a little bit that I seem to miss.”

“Soak them in vinegar. It dissolves the blood.”

“Truly?”

No, but the remedy had worked after his father’s hanging, when Feagan took him in. Swindler had scrubbed his hands raw trying to get off the blood that only he could see-he and Feagan. It had been years before he realized that Feagan had tricked him into believing what he needed to hear so he’d stop scraping the imaginary blood off his hands. But the nightmares were something Swindler had been forced to come to terms with on his own. They still visited on occasion, usually on the anniversary of his father’s death.