lover put us on the street—before his wife found out.”
“ God, I’m sorry.” He gripped her hands between his.
“ It wasn’t bad at first, but as the months passed, it got colder and colder…” She shivered, the memory stronger than the heat in the room. “We nearly froze and I was so hungry.” A tear dripped onto her arm. When had she started crying? She pulled her hand free and swiped her cheek.
“ Honey, if this is too painful—”
“ No, I want to tell you. Maybe if I tell this secret the pain will go away.” And maybe if he could hear this confession without walking out the door, she could trust him with the secret she kept now. Maybe.
“ All right.” He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and dried her tears. “Go ahead.”
“ One snowy night, some men found us huddled in an old carriage. They yanked Mother out onto the ground and ripped her clothes. I ran down the alley, pounding on the doors until finally one opened and a woman with a shotgun helped me. Alice.”
“ Good,” he gritted. “I hope she killed those bastards.”
“ I believe she scattered some shot into a couple of their asses. But the damage was done. We took Mother inside the brothel and put her in one of the beds, but the rape had started her labor.” Eden closed her eyes, heard the moans, the screams. Heard the tiny cry. “My sister Sophia was born the next day.”
“ You have a sister?” His eyes widened.
“ Yes.” She could still feel that warm little body wiggling in her arms. The madam had wrapped her in a silk scarf before handing her to Eden and shooing them from the room to wait in the candle-lit parlor. And in the next few hours, she had fallen in love, as if Sophia had been her own child.
“ Where is she now?”
“ As far away from this life as I can afford to keep her.”
Sinclair stood and s crubbed his hand over his face, pacing back and forth in front of the stove.
So here it was. He was going to shake his head in disgust and walk out the door. Sh e really hadn’t expected more. Not really. What man—
“ And your mama?”
Her head snapped up. Sinclair had stopped pacing and stood in front of her, his expression achingly sad.
He didn’t leave. He didn’t leave.
Not yet. S he hadn’t told him the worst part. Then he would leave.
“ She died when Sophia was five days old.” Withered in the bed without ever speaking another word, without ever holding her baby. Without ever holding me again . “I—I tried to take care of Mama. I washed her and brushed her pretty hair, but—” A sob stole her words, the image of her so pale and lifeless lying in that bed ripping through her heart like a fresh wound.
He pulled her into his arms. “I’m sorry, honey.” His hands stroked her hair, her back, easing the tight grip the memories held. “So sorry.”
She slid her arms around him, holding on to his heat, listening to the steady beat of his heart. His hands rubbed slow, soothing circles on her back while tears soaked the front of his shirt. He didn’t push her to go on, didn’t make an excuse to leave. He just supported her while she cried. He just was.
When her sobs had wound down to shuddering hiccups, he eased her into the chair, then slipped the handkerchief into her hands and pressed a kiss to her forehead.
“ Stay right here.” He walked over to the sink and pumped the handle, then dipped a rag into the water and returned to the table, stroking the cool rag over her heated face. “I want to apologize for everything and every mean thing I said to you.” He gently smoothed her cheeks, tenderness from such large, rough hands. “Please forgive me?”
She nodded, partly too shocked to speak. Mostly too scared to breath e else she wake up from this dream. He was still here, still being kind. It had to be a dream.
S he watched him from beneath lowered lids. He seemed lost in thought, and not nice ones. His jaw hardened, a tick started above his eye.
“ Eden, did Alice
C. J. Cherryh
Learning to Kill: Stories
John O'Riley
Brenda Sinclair
Christopher George
Stephen Lloyd Jones
Karl Iagnemma
Celya Bowers
Jill Gregory
Aria Cunningham