Beyond Innocence (15 page)

She would be safe, as safe as she'd ever dreamed. Freddie was a good man: young in some ways, but decent to the core.

"Yes," she said, squeezing his hands. "I'd be honored to be your wife."

She was not sure whose palms were colder: Freddie's or her own.

* * *

"Congratulations," Edward said,
his jaw almost too stiff to force out the word. His brother had broken
the news in Hypatia's private parlor, amidst the comfortable chairs and the thick pile rugs and the knitting work she loved to nod over by the fire. "You'll want a quick wedding, of course."
Florence
furrowed her brow and looked to Freddie, who pressed a kiss to the back of her hand. The gesture was given and
taken so naturally Edward's heart twisted in his chest.

"Yes," Aunt Hypatia agreed. "A small, quiet wedding, so as not to break
your
mourning too badly. The vicar at St. Peter's is a friend of mine. I'm sure he can fit you in."

"I don't understand."
Florence
looked from Edward to his aunt. "You aren't upset. You seem pleased.
I don't mean to insult you, your Grace, but I honestly thought you'd agreed to sponsor me because you hoped I'd upstage Greta and Minna Wainwright."

"And you think this won't do that?" Hypatia barked out a laugh. "No, no, my dear, while I admit the thought of foiling their mother's ambitions lends this match an extra
savor,
I assure you I had no such ulterior motive. I'm fond of you,
Florence
.
More so now than ever.
You've made my nephew a happy man."

"But I'm only—"

"Only my goddaughter," said Edward's cheerfully mendacious aunt as she leaned forward to kiss her cheek. "We're not snobs. I'm sure you'll be a credit to the Burbrooke name."

Florence
began to cry, slow fat tears she tried to hide behind her hands. With a fond smile, Freddie
pulled her into his shoulder and stroked her hair. She looked as if she belonged there, as if they were married already.

"There, there," he said. "It's nothing to cry over."

 "You've been so kind," she said, with a teary hiccup. "I don't know how I shall repay you."

"You can repay us by being happy," Freddie said. "That's really all we ask."

His gaze met Edward's over her shoulder. His expression held a grief Edward could scarcely bear to
face, a grief not so much for himself as for
Florence
—as if, between them, they were committing some terrible sin against the girl.

But they weren't. Edward tugged his lapels and set his jaw. They were saving her. They were making
her happy. Any idiot could see she and Freddie were meant to be. This would not be a marriage like
his parents', with one partner cold and the other miserable. This would be as near to a love match as
Edward had ever seen. If a deception made that possible, well, so be it.

"We all want you happy," he said, his voice gentler than he'd intended.

She looked around at him, her cheek still pressed to Freddie's chest. Her eyes dazzled him, soft with emotion, green as the buds of spring. With no more weapon than that, she speared him to the floor.

Good Lord, he thought, chill with horror. I love her.

"Thank you," she said, as if his approval meant the world. "I'd be proud to join your family."

She held out her hand to him, her small, soft hand.

He thought the hardest thing he'd ever done was clasp it and let it go.

CHAPTER 6

Edward's idea of a
quick wedding was not the same as his aunt's. He saw no reason to wait beyond
the obtainment of a special license. She, however, cautioned against the appearance of undue haste.

"It won't do," she said. "Anything less than six months is simply vulgar."

But that was before Imogene Hargreave extended her claws.

Hypatia heard the news before he did. He was sitting down to breakfast when her carriage dropped her
at his door. She didn't wait for Grimby to announce her, but strode straight through. Edward looked up from his plate, too stunned by his aunt's appearance to venture a greeting. Her skirts swished loudly
with her haste, then released a cloud of lavender as she flung herself into a chair. Her hat was
askew,
her yellow gloves an offense against her purple dress. Her cane was nowhere in sight.

"We have trouble," she said, yanking off the gloves as if she wished to do them harm. Her hat followed with equal force.

Edward swallowed his final bite of toast. A hank of silver hair was standing up from Hypatia's head. Suspecting she needed bracing more than he did, he slid his steaming cup of tea in front of her.
"What trouble?"

Her face twisted with anger. Edward hadn't seen her in such a fury since the one and only time his father had struck him. Freddie had been six, as he recalled, and the earl had decided to take him cub hunting, it being common practice for inexperienced riders to be set after the younger foxes before the season. Freddie hadn't understood what would happen until it came time to "blood" him with the kill. He'd turned hysterical then, refusing to let their father smear his forehead—no surprise, since the boy still slept with a stuffed rabbit. Only Edward's intervention had stopped the earl from shouting his younger son deaf, for which act Edward had earned a black eye.

He'd known at once his father regretted lashing out. The earl had grown very quiet; actually picked Freddie up and carried him back to the house—gently, too, as if he meant to comfort him. When Aunt Hypatia discovered what had happened and slapped her elder brother across the face, the earl accepted her judgment without a word.

She looked as if she wanted to slap someone now, but her fingers merely tightened on the teacup. "It's that bastard Charles Hargreave," she said. "He's telling people he saw someone who looked 'uncommonly like Freddie Burbrooke' coming out of an introducing house on

Edward sagged back in his chair. Despite his fears, the news caught him completely unprepared. An introducing house was a homosexual brothel that specialized in underage boys. If it was
true ...

"I don't believe it," he said, breathless and hot with shock. "Freddie gave me his word. Even if he hadn't, he would never do anything to take advantage of the young."

He wouldn't, he told himself, the possibility unbearable. Not Freddie. Not the brother he loved. His hands clenched so tightly the skin over his knuckles stretched white.

"I'm inclined to agree with you," said his aunt. "Whatever his faults, Freddie has never been a bully."
Her mouth pursed with distaste. "To do what one would rather no one did, with those too young to give permission, to even understand what they risk, isn't something I want to think he would consider. But it hardly matters whether the story is true. If people believe it, the damage will be great enough.'"

Edward smashed his fist into his thigh. "It's Imogene. That bloody bitch put her husband up to it."

Hypatia stared at him, one thin brow raised in judgment. That she'd indulged in similar language did not seem to matter. Edward rubbed the ache in the center of his forehead.

"Sorry," he said.
"Shouldn't have lost my temper."

"Of course you should have. Hargreave's behavior is despicable, even if his wife is behind it." Calm now, she turned the blue and white teacup in a circle. She reminded him of merchants he knew, planners,
men
of business. Her gaze was as cool as theirs. "I won't ask why Lady Hargreave might have a grievance against this family. I simply trust that no one in it will have anything further to do with her." Edward's laugh was brief and bitter. "You can rest easy on that."

"Good." With a brisk rustle, the duchess rearranged her skirts. "Now all we have to do is decide how to get
Florence
to Greystowe."

He blinked at this change of tack. "To Greystowe?"
"Well, we can't let her stay in
London
. She's bound to hear the gossip. And we can't send her anywhere alone. She's half in love with Freddie already. If we throw the two of them together, she'll be committed to him by summer's end."

Without quite realizing he'd done it, Edward pressed a hand over his stomach.
Summer's end.
Was that
all it would take?

"They'll need a chaperone," he said, his voice strangely distant to his ears. "Are you willing to accompany them?"

"More than.
But I think you'd better come, too."

"Me?" The ache in his belly increased.

"I trust Freddie," said the duchess. "But I trust him more when he knows your eyes are on him."

Edward wished he could close those eyes and shake his head. 
Florence
.
In his house.
With Freddie.
Leaving her in the hall.
Her laugh.
Her twinkling footsteps.
His aunt had no idea what she was asking.

Which was good
news,
really, even if it meant he'd be living out Imogene's curse. She'd kept her word, damn her; she seemed not to have told anyone that
Florence
had enamored him. She'd found a better
way to hurt him: through Freddie, through the brother who was his heart. But at least they'd be taking
Florence
beyond her reach. He didn't trust his former mistress to hold her tongue should the two meet face-to-face.

* * *

Edward's chance to
speak to Freddie came that afternoon. He found him in the study, slumped in a
chair with the curtains drawn, a bottle and glass close to hand. A single lamp burned on the table by his elbow. The low yellow light turned his wavy brown hair to gold. From the rumpled state of his clothes,
it appeared he'd been sitting—and drinking—for some time. His collar was open, his tie
a draggle
around his neck. He looked a fallen angel, one who mourned his former state of grace. Where had he heard the news?
At his club?
On the street?
At a loss as to how to begin, he walked to Freddie's side and looked down. His brother did not look up.

"Join me?" he said, his voice slurred but steady. "We can drink to the end of Freddie Burbrooke as we know him."

Edward's breath came faster. "I know you didn't do what they're saying."

Freddie finished his drink and poured another. The decanter clinked against the cut-glass rim, but the liquor did not spill. "How do you know?" he said, eerily calm. "I'm a deviate, aren't I? The victim of unnatural urges. Who can say where my depravity ends?"

Edward grabbed his shoulders and shook him. The glass tumbled down Freddie's shirtfront, spraying whiskey over them both on its way to the floor. Freddie's head rolled back and forth like a rag
doll's
,
but Edward could not stop.

"I know you didn't do it," he said, almost shouting. "I know!"

With a sudden burst of energy, Freddie pushed him off. He wasn't as strong as Edward but he was
strong enough. He stood and put the chair between them. "You don't know, damn you. I can see how afraid you are. I can hear it in your voice." He raked his hair back with a curse,
then
pointed in accusation. "You can't know because you don't know anything about that side of me. You don't know how it works. You don't know how it thinks. I don't blame you for doubting me, Edward, but I swear
to you, I'd rather die than do a thing like that."

Edward stepped to the front of the chair and laid his hand on Freddie's shoulder. His brother was
shaking, his teeth chattering with the force of his distress. His eyes were red but dry. They seemed to burn as they met Edward's gaze.

"Never," Freddie said, tight and low.
"Never with anyone but an equal.
Never with anyone who didn't want it as much as I did."