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Ambrose stood in the silence, staring at the place where Douglas had been. The candles burned on. His hands were shaking, and he could not make them stop.

Beside him, Marina did not move.

Only minutes ago, he had held her in his arms beneath the chandeliers and believed, for the first time in his life, that he might have something of his own.

Now he did not know whether he could keep their family together.

Thirty-Two

Marina stared at her husband.

The little room was very quiet. Through the closed door she could still hear the ball going on without them: a waltz starting up again, a burst of laughter, the bright chime of glasses. It seemed impossible that the world out there had not stopped when hers had.

“What does this mean?” she asked.

Ambrose looked as though he had aged years in the space of a few minutes. The candlelight carved deep shadows beneath his cheekbones, and there was a grayness about his mouth she had only ever seen after the sun had burned him.

“It means,” he said, “that if I do not surrender everything I own and make myself a pauper, Douglas will take Emma from us.”

“But we cannot do that.” She heard her own voice rising and could not stop it. “You said you had a solicitor.”

“I do have a solicitor. But Douglas is right about one thing.” He dragged a hand down his face. “If we refuse to let him take her, he will play the grieving father to perfection, and we shall look worse than we ever have. Our reputations will never recover. We shall be the Beast and the Witch who stole a child.”

“I cannot believe you did not tell me any of this.”

“And I beg your pardon for it. But this is not the time to argue about that.”

He came toward her and placed his hands upon her shoulders. They were heavy and warm, and for one foolish moment she thought he meant to draw her into his arms. Instead he held her at a distance, very carefully, the way one might hold something one had already decided to let go.

“Marina, you must pack your things. I am sending you and Emma home with your mother. Today.” His thumbs pressed once against her collarbones, then stilled. “I am certain the Duke of Netherton will allow you to stay at his estate. I shall speak to him about it myself.”

The words made no sense. She heard each one, but they would not arrange themselves into meaning.

“What?” she said. “What are you saying?”

“I am saying that I must sign over my private fortune, because I cannot allow Emma to live with that man.”

His voice roughened, and his grip on her shoulders tightened until it almost hurt.

“He does not want her, Marina. He wants riches. If I do not give him what he wants, he will take Emma and shut her away in some back room, an inconvenience, a reminder.” Something flickered in the green of his eyes, something old and raw. “She will be mistreated as I was. I cannot permit it. I will not.”

“Ambrose—”

“I shall negotiate with him. I shall make certain that you and Emma have enough to live upon, even if it means I have nothing left. You will take her with you. I will not allow Douglas to separate the two of you.”

Marina struggled to follow him. It was like trying to read a page while someone else turned it.

“But you just said you were sending me away.”

“Yes. You and Emma will be safe with your family. I shall arrange what I can for your support.”

“And you?”

“I shall manage.”

“That is not an answer.”

He looked away, toward the dark window, as though the night beyond it were easier to face than her eyes.