more than a year, and that was after I’d gotten home from meeting Brannon for lunch. He just … showed up. Brannon, I mean. He showed up at the door and I knew if I just shooed him away, he’d come back. If he came back when William was there, he’d…”
“He’d know,” Gideon finished for her when her voice trailed away. “Brannon would have known, and your brother would have killed the son of a bitch.”
Neve just looked away.
“Damn it, Neve, why didn’t you tell him then? He would have gotten you away!” Fury ripped through the professional distance he’d been trying to maintain. “If you realized that Brannon would care enough to kill the son of a bitch, then why didn’t you…”
He made himself stop when he saw the bruised look in her eyes.
“I can’t give you a reason. I barely even knew myself at that point.” Her voice was flat. “I can’t even explain it now . Except … there was too much of him inside me. Part of me believed everything William had been feeding into my head over the past couple of years. My only value was to him . He was the only one who was there for me.… I didn’t have anybody else. It didn’t matter that Brannon was there then . Nobody else had been there for years. They didn’t answer the few letters I sent—the birthday cards, nothing. And”—she blew out a rough, unsteady sigh—“I was afraid. William told me that if I left, he’d find me. I was his, after all. He’d always find me.”
The words were haunted. Her hands were fisted in her lap, so tight her knuckles pressed white against her skin. He heard her swallow in the silence and dread gripped him as she continued. “He was home before I was. I’d left Brannon at the restaurant. Picked a fight with him when he started pushing about why I hadn’t come home, when I’d bother to come home … It was getting late and I’d been waiting for something to chase him off with. That was the perfect reason. I threw one of my finest tantrums and raced off, left him there alone. And when I got home … William was there.”
She reached up, touched her cheek, trailing her fingers down it. Gideon could see the echo of memory in her eyes. Unable to sit still, he rose and moved to her, crouching down in front of her. He reached up, touched her cheek, angled her head to the side. There was no scar there but she tried to twist away. He didn’t let her. Instead, he continued his visual search. When he saw nothing, he pushed his fingers into her hair—there.
A long, thin line along the right side of her head, just above her ear.
“What happened?”
“He knocked me into a table.” Her voice was tight, but steady. “I don’t remember what else, but…” She sucked in a breath. “I couldn’t see well when I woke up—my vision was blurred and … my clothes were torn off. I hurt everywhere. I got dressed as best as I could, grabbed my purse, and snuck out the back door. The servants were all over—they called him at the drop of a hat. I called for a taxi but when the driver got there, I didn’t know what to tell him, where to go … he ended up taking me to the hospital.”
“Remember his name? If I’m ever in London, I want to buy him a drink.”
Neve smiled tiredly. “He died of a heart attack last year. But … yeah. He … um.” She rubbed the heel of her hand over her heart. “He was there waiting when they released me and he asked me what I was going to do. I didn’t know what he was talking about, told him to leave me alone. He took my hand, stopped me from leaving. Then he said something that probably saved my life. He said that maybe if somebody hadn’t left his mother alone, maybe she’d still be alive. Then he took me to a shelter for women and children, told me that if I let them, they could help me.”
* * *
Neve went quiet, thinking about Ned Satterfield. She’d gone to the shelter, told herself she’d stay a night. Just a night. She didn’t belong there,
“He’d know,” Gideon finished for her when her voice trailed away. “Brannon would have known, and your brother would have killed the son of a bitch.”
Neve just looked away.
“Damn it, Neve, why didn’t you tell him then? He would have gotten you away!” Fury ripped through the professional distance he’d been trying to maintain. “If you realized that Brannon would care enough to kill the son of a bitch, then why didn’t you…”
He made himself stop when he saw the bruised look in her eyes.
“I can’t give you a reason. I barely even knew myself at that point.” Her voice was flat. “I can’t even explain it now . Except … there was too much of him inside me. Part of me believed everything William had been feeding into my head over the past couple of years. My only value was to him . He was the only one who was there for me.… I didn’t have anybody else. It didn’t matter that Brannon was there then . Nobody else had been there for years. They didn’t answer the few letters I sent—the birthday cards, nothing. And”—she blew out a rough, unsteady sigh—“I was afraid. William told me that if I left, he’d find me. I was his, after all. He’d always find me.”
The words were haunted. Her hands were fisted in her lap, so tight her knuckles pressed white against her skin. He heard her swallow in the silence and dread gripped him as she continued. “He was home before I was. I’d left Brannon at the restaurant. Picked a fight with him when he started pushing about why I hadn’t come home, when I’d bother to come home … It was getting late and I’d been waiting for something to chase him off with. That was the perfect reason. I threw one of my finest tantrums and raced off, left him there alone. And when I got home … William was there.”
She reached up, touched her cheek, trailing her fingers down it. Gideon could see the echo of memory in her eyes. Unable to sit still, he rose and moved to her, crouching down in front of her. He reached up, touched her cheek, angled her head to the side. There was no scar there but she tried to twist away. He didn’t let her. Instead, he continued his visual search. When he saw nothing, he pushed his fingers into her hair—there.
A long, thin line along the right side of her head, just above her ear.
“What happened?”
“He knocked me into a table.” Her voice was tight, but steady. “I don’t remember what else, but…” She sucked in a breath. “I couldn’t see well when I woke up—my vision was blurred and … my clothes were torn off. I hurt everywhere. I got dressed as best as I could, grabbed my purse, and snuck out the back door. The servants were all over—they called him at the drop of a hat. I called for a taxi but when the driver got there, I didn’t know what to tell him, where to go … he ended up taking me to the hospital.”
“Remember his name? If I’m ever in London, I want to buy him a drink.”
Neve smiled tiredly. “He died of a heart attack last year. But … yeah. He … um.” She rubbed the heel of her hand over her heart. “He was there waiting when they released me and he asked me what I was going to do. I didn’t know what he was talking about, told him to leave me alone. He took my hand, stopped me from leaving. Then he said something that probably saved my life. He said that maybe if somebody hadn’t left his mother alone, maybe she’d still be alive. Then he took me to a shelter for women and children, told me that if I let them, they could help me.”
* * *
Neve went quiet, thinking about Ned Satterfield. She’d gone to the shelter, told herself she’d stay a night. Just a night. She didn’t belong there,
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