Page 40 of To Dare the Devil

The building followed a familiar design, in common with many such buildings. It was cruciform, with four wings, each wing completed by a yard, surrounded by high walls. She had been right, of course. From the street side, the side that anyone driving past would see, it was a grand edifice, if forbidding. Once inside, it was a prison. It would certainly act as a deterrent to the workshy. Max could not imagine just how desperate a person might need to be to step through the gates of such a place, but even considering it made his guts roil. Worse still, they separated inmates by gender. So they separated husbands and wives, and kept women apart from their sons, and fathers from daughters. Max found he could not bear to meet the eyes of the inmates he saw, all of them set apart by a bland uniform of rough, ill-made fabric that loudly announced these people were the lowest of the low. And then there was the stench, not just of dreadful sanitary conditions, unwashed bodies and disease but… hopelessness. You could smell it, the scent of despair so tangible he could taste it too, lingering on his tongue like sour milk.

“I’ve seen enough,” he said, needing to escape, needing to get out and see the sky above him and breathe clean air. That was his right and his privilege. A privilege not available to all. “Mr Higgs, this place is a disgrace. That you have wilfully ignored every one of this young woman’s pleas to make conditions better for those poor devils who have no choice but to come here is beyond belief. We will do something about it.”

Mr Higgs spluttered and made noises of outrage, but Max ignored him.

“Miss de Beauvoir.” He turned to her and offered her his arm, unwilling to go another step without being certain she was beside him, wanting the reassurance of her close to him, knowing she was safe.

They exited the building and the immense doors slammed shut behind them. Max turned to stare at her.

“My God,” he said, letting out a shuddering breath. “My God.”

Burt might have ended in a place like that, when he was too old and ill to work any longer, or Pike, if anything happened to Burt before he was old enough to look out for himself. Max closed his eyes for a moment. No. He would never let that happen. They were safe. He’d see to that.

Max opened his eyes with a start as something caressed his face. Miss de Beauvoir was staring up at him, her gloved hand touching his cheek.

“Are you well, my lord?” she asked gently, her wide grey eyes full of concern.

Something shifted in his heart, the giving way of some defensive structure, brittle with age and cynicism. The floodgates opened, longing sweeping through him like an incoming tide. It washed away everything in its path. Old hurts and resentments, fears and doubts, and when they were gone, there was nothing but her, the nearness of her, and the realisation of how very much he wanted her beside him, always.

He stared, knowing he would never be as certain of anything as he was of her, seeing before him the embodiment of his every dream, and knowing she was out of his reach. She would never consider a man like him. She’d made that very clear. Unless… Unless he could prove to her he was worthy. It would be a lie, of course. No man could ever be worthy of such a woman, but perhaps if he proved it every day for the rest of his days, he might make it true. He’d do it too, for her.

Max shook his head, unable to find words.

“You’re very pale,” she observed anxiously. “Do you need to sit down?”

He gave a startled laugh, fighting to find his tongue. “I think I ought to be more concerned about your tender sensibilities, Miss de Beauvoir. I should never have asked you to accompany me. It was selfish and—”

“And if you had gone without me, I should never have forgiven you,” she said, her voice tart. “Besides, which you ought to know by now, I have no tender sensibilities.”

“I beg to differ,” he said, feeling something close to anguish as she withdrew her hand.

The desire to pull her into his arms was an ache beneath his skin, but he resisted the urge. How, he did not know, when he had spent his entire life giving into temptation at every turn, and he wanted her beyond anything, beyond reason. Instinctively, he felt she would keep him on the right path. This woman would never let him get away with anything, never let him slip and be anything other than his best self, and he would never slip, for he would never want to disappoint her.

“A cup of tea,” she said decisively. “A cup of tea and some cake.”

Max nodded. “Would you mind awfully if I put a tot of brandy in the tea?”

She frowned at him. “Only if you neglect to put any in mine.”

He laughed then, and she smiled at him. The expression sliced through his heart like a blade. Oh, lord. He was in deep trouble, and it was nothing less than he deserved. How many women had believed themselves in love with him, and he’d laughed in their faces? Abruptly, a particular young woman’s face came to mind, her beautiful eyes filled with tears, as she pleaded with him to help her, and he —

The memory lanced through him and shattered his newly vulnerable heart. If Miss de Beauvoir knew what he’d done—if she ever discovered that—she’d despise him for all eternity, and rightly so.

“My lord?”

He stared at her, shaken to the core. “Yes. Come, let me take you back to the carriage and away from this dismal place,” he said, pasting a false smile to his face.

There was no future for them. Not in this lifetime. Not even if he lived as a saint for the rest of his days. He knew that. As much as he wanted to leave the past behind, he could not. He had burned his bridges, given up any chance for happiness because of his loathsome behaviour. His own fault. His own damn bloody selfish fault.

Reap what you sow. That was it, wasn’t it? Well, he might have a second chance at life, a chance to make amends, but no one had said he had a right to be happy, had they? No. This was retribution for his sins, to fall in love at last and know he could never declare himself, never be worthy. For some sins were unforgivable.

Chapter 13

Thorn,

I am in a world of trouble. For God’s sake, come to the address below before the 25th, and bring as much money as you can lay your hands on. I am being blackmailed and I need to silence the devil quickly. You see, there’s a child. Her happiness is too important to risk and… Hell, I can’t explain this now. Don’t, whatever you do, breathe a word to a soul. If our father gets wind of this—Christ, I can’t bear to think of it. Damn me, but I am a thousand times a fool. But it will not only be me who suffers for my selfishness and lack of foresight.

I do not know what to do, who to turn to, and I know I am a wretched fellow for dragging you into my mess and asking you to bear the burden of such a secret, but I do not know where else to turn.