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392 pages, Kindle Edition
First published January 1, 2011
"After Elijah died, I moved my laboratory into the back of the shop for awhile."
"How kind of him, to allow you to use his space in your work for his business. I'll wager he doesn't pay you enough either."
"Did you tell him that?"
"Maybe."
The corner of his mouth quirked up. "Anyway, that's not what I meant. I moved it there because I--well, I caught myself eyeing the bottle of arsenic. And I didn't think I would, but I knew I wouldn't if my cousin Clara might find the body."
The oyster Serena has just eaten transformed itself into a brick in her stomach.
"I couldn't sleep and I'd show up there at all hours to work. Uncle Hathaway took to waking at three or four in the morning and coming downstairs. He'd bring in tea, and then he'd go into the other room and work. He didn't try to talk to me, but I could hear him through the door and it--it helped."
Serena leaned back against a tree. "I--"
"I said I didn't want to discuss it."
"I know. I just wish I could have been there."
Solomon looked at his hands. "So do I."
"You're right," he said again. "I haven't been fair. I was afraid, too. Afraid of being alone, I suppose. Afraid of being without you. But--you know, I--" His voice cracked. Damn.
"Solomon--" she said, and he loved the way she said his name so much that he had to keep talking or he might do something selfish like tell her that.
"I never believed, before I met you, that I could go my own way," he said. "That I could deserve more than someone was willing to give me. That love might not be worth the sacrifices we have to make for it. You've taught me that. What I mean is--I do understand, if you decide you don't want--" He waved a hand between them, as if in a moment the word that would describe all that lay between them would pop into his head. As if such a word existed. He shook his head. "This."
She stared up at him, the shadows making her eyes look huge.
"You're giving up?"
He stood up. "That's exactly the problem. This has turned into some kind of tug-of-war. I'm not giving up. I'm just saying that I won't push you anymore. I won't ask for anything. I've been torturing you, and it's not fair. If nothing's changed when we go back to London on Sunday, I'll leave. Just please--make a decision that will make you happy. Take good care of yourself." She looked as lost as he felt. He went to the bed and stood looking down at her: at her perfect face and her perfect body that suddenly, for the first time, looked ordinary.
She wasn't a goddess, or an angel, or a harpy. She was a woman, a frightened, unhappy, determined, beautiful woman, and he loved her so badly that just leaning down and brushing his lips across her left temple, where her birthmark was, brought tears to his eyes. "Thank you for everything," he said, and left.
“I know this is how you want me to be. I saw how you were looking at me in that church. You want that laughing flower of a girl who clings to your arm, but I can’t be that girl. You think that if you just keep digging at me and trying to crack me open, I’ll giggle and say ‘Oh, la, Mr. Hathaway, what a tease you are!’ You think it’s somewhere underneath but it’s not. I am what I am and---and you can go to the devil.”
“My father could have me locked up on a word,” Serena said flatly. “Lord Braithwaite threatened and insulted me at a ton party. René could pretend to be my husband and take everything I owned, and no one would stop him. Because I’m a woman and because of the life I’ve lived, I sleep with a bar across my door and a loaded pistol in my night table. And I’m not asking for your approval for any of it.”
“It’s easy for you to say ‘I love you’. Plenty of people have loved you and stood by you and told you you were worth the trouble. I---it isn’t easy for me. I don’t know how to say it, I don’t know how to do it. I don’t even know if this is love. It’s deeper than I thought it would be---if I tried to uproot it, it would pull my heart out of my chest. I need you desperately. I need you to make demands, I need you to hurt me. I need you to love me, and you can’t stop. You could decide I’m not what you wanted after all, that I’m not worth the trouble, and I won’t be able to stop feeling this was, I won’t be able to hate you, I won’t be able to live”
Poor Solomon. He didn’t even ask her to be pleasant. He just wanted her to be willing to like him, and show it. He had such low expectations, and she still couldn’t meet them. What made it worse was that she liked him so damn much. But she couldn’t show it like other women did. She couldn’t be like other women. She didn’t want to be. It was too frightening; it would make her too vulnerable.
His eyes widened. “You mean you—you slept with the Prince Regent?”
The pleasant heat faded. Not this again. “I did.”
He chewed at his lower lip. “Can I ask you something? I wouldn’t, but I’ve always wanted to know—”
“Certainly,” she said coolly. “But I shan’t promise to answer it.”
“Does he use French holes?”
She stared at him. She hated to admit that Solomon knew of a perversion of which she had never heard, but there was nothing for it. “French holes?”
“On his corset,” Solomon said impatiently. “You know—most use ordinary buttonholes, but some use a sort of eyelet made of ivory or bone. You can lace them tighter that way.”
She blinked. Then she bit the back of her hand, shaking with silent, helpless laughter. “I never noticed,” she admitted, when she could speak again.
He sniffed scornfully, but his eyes were warm.