Free Courtney Milan by What Happened at Midnight Page B

camaraderie—so easy that most of the time he forgot that he was pretending. In fact, he’d stopped probing after the first days. He had time, he told himself, and it would go better if she trusted him…and he was enjoying himself.
    He only remembered that he was lying to her at moments like this—when she looked at him with her eyes round and solemn, and he recalled that she had secrets he wanted to uncover.
    There was a luster to her eyes, something more than the reflection of starlight. There was something about the way she looked at him that made his chest feel tight.
    “I need another favor,” she said. “Two favors, this time, and rather larger. But in order for my requests to make any sense, you have to understand who—what—Sir Walter is.”
    One confidence was good. It might lead to another, after all, the one that he truly desired. But that didn’t explain the warmth that filled him at the thought of her trust, the smile that he felt come onto his face.
    “He’s an ass,” John said simply. “That much I can tell. But I’m sure you have specifics.”
    “He has not let his wife be in company for six years. Not to go to church; not to visit the shops. The last time her brother came to see her, Sir Walter threw him off the property and threatened to shoot him if he returned.”
    “What is his reasoning?”
    Mary shook her head. “Does it matter? His reasoning is flawed. He says he wants to keep her safe. I think he’s afraid that she will be as unfaithful as he has been.”
    It matched what little he’d seen of the man. Mary’s voice was scornful, but when he looked down, her hand was a little unsteady on his sleeve.
    He set his own hand over hers, holding it in place. “And what has Sir Walter done to you?” His voice went low. And angry—how angry he felt in that moment.
    “He withholds my salary,” Mary said. “I have no money—literally not a penny. I’m not allowed to speak to anyone. I live in fear that he’ll discover that I’m climbing out my window to talk with you at night. If he sends me away, I will have nothing, absolutely nothing. He made my world this small.” She held up her thumb and forefinger, indicating. “And I made myself fit into that space.”
    He pressed her fingers into his arm. “I could strike him.”
    “Don’t be too angry with him. I did it to myself,” she said. “I let him make me small. I
believed
him at first, when he said he knew what was best for my welfare. I gave up everything, because—”
    She was shaking. His hand on hers was no longer enough; he reached and put his arm around her, pulling her close. She had always fit against him so well; she did so again, her body molding to his. The skin of her arms had broken out in gooseflesh, even on this warm night. So he held her and said nothing, held her until she grew warm.
    “I let him,” she whispered in his ear, “because I thought I deserved it for what I had done.”
    Here was the other half of the confession—the one he had waited for so patiently. So why didn’t he feel any triumph?
    “Nobody deserves that,” he responded.
    “I thought I did.” She took a deep breath. “You see, when I left Southampton, I went to Basingstoke. I had only a little money, and so much I needed to do. I asked the maids at the inn if there was a doctor who might help me with a private problem for the least amount of money. The maid I talked to suggested Dr. Clemmons. I should have known what I was asking for.”
    John felt curiously calm, despite the words she was saying. As if all his emotion was just beyond his reach. “What did you need a doctor for?”
    She looked into his lapels. “To falsify a certificate of death.”
    His sense of calm grew. It was always thus when he became angry. He’d been right. She
had
been lying to him. Her father wasn’t dead; the money was still there. He should have been delighted to know there was something to recover, but all he felt was that ugly sense of