.
In the hack Thomas hired to send her home, Blythe couldn't calm her mind from the events of the past few hours. She thought of the girls and what they had endured and of Rose finally being reunited with her mother.
More and more, however, her thoughts were overlaid with what she was feeling for Thomas and what a disaster that was proving to be. She had always understood that if she was going to get the life she craved, she had to make sure men stayed out of it. Missionary wives were still subservient to their husbands, and a husband, in general, could end her adventures with a single word.
Even worse, Thomas was a Martin, and she knew what that meant. The ancestral feud between the Martins and the Carrows was the stuff of legend, with roots extending so far into the past that no one was quite sure what had really happened. The feud was no longer actually bloody, which was a good thing, but she had Carrow blood running in her veins, and she shivered to think of what Tristan or even kind Ned would think about what she was doing. If they had seen the last part of the evening, they might have called him out.
But... perhaps Thomas wouldn't be so bad?
She couldn't stop the tide of warm sensations she got whenever she thought about him. Certainly, this past evening's expedition would have been an outright disaster if he hadn't been there.
Blythe had been dead certain she was going to get caught when she heard the noise of someone rising from their bed above. She would be caught and exposed, possibly even arrested, and the girls would have been moved to a hiding place until the coast was clear. Then they would have been in an even worse situation with even less chance of escape, if Thomas hadn't stepped in.
As the hack rumbled through the still-dark streets, it occurred to Blythe that what Thomas had done with the man keeping the girls was in some ways very similar to what she had been doing for years. He played a part, he distracted, and he made sure to get what he wanted, no matter what someone else thought of him.
Was it a Martin trait, she wondered, or was it something unique to Thomas?
He's like me. A slight blush came to her cheeks. She pushed the thought away hard, because not only was that thinking silly, it was downright dangerous. Thomas could do what he liked because he was the son of a peer—wealthy, independent, loved, and tolerated by a Society that might tut at his fun but, in general, saw him as someone to admire and emulate. What she had, she had only because she was determined and willing to risk it all rather than live a dull life where she could predict every moment from the birth of her first child to her death. Thomas had acted for less than a quarter of an hour. She had to keep up this act every moment someone could see her.
No, it was ridiculous to think of Thomas Martin being anything to her at all. Now that he understood her, they probably weren't going to see each other again, and she had to be all right with it. It had been amazing having a partner for this evening, but it had been a limited engagement at best.
The hack dropped her off at the mouth of the alley that ran behind the houses off Grosvenor Square. It was still dark, but she could hear the servants beginning to move and start their day's work. Blythe was so tired she could almost fall over, and the worst part was that at eleven, she had a brunch to take with a ladies' aid society. Perhaps, if she went inside and went right to sleep, she might look a little less dead for the meeting...
Blythe had stolen one of the spare keys for the servants' entrance years ago. She'd used it since she came to live in London without anyone being the wiser. That was why, when she saw Tristan waiting for her at the still-empty kitchen table, her breath caught in her throat.
"What the hell have you been doing?" Tristan growled.
Seated in Tristan’s library again, Blythe did her best to keep her eyes downcast and her shoulders hunched, apparently humble. Tristan had dragged her into the library after she'd tried to stutter out an explanation, and then he had locked the door behind them.
Her mind raced, wondering how he had caught her out, what he was going to do, and most importantly, how she should play this off.
"Tristan, I know how this must look..."
"Do you? Do you know what it looks like when I realize you are not sleeping in your bed the way I assumed you were? Do you know what it feels like to realize that someone you have lived with since you were thirteen has been playing you for a fool?"
Blythe flinched, looking down at the floor. She might have thought many things about Tristan, but he was no fool, and underneath Tristan's anger was a thread of real hurt and confusion in his voice.
She almost told him the truth. He was her cousin, and she had grown up with him. Years ago, when they'd been visiting relatives in the country, he had saved her from drowning. He'd always been there for her, him and Ned both. They'd comforted her and loved her like a sister when she’d had no comfort in the world after her parents died.
For a single moment, Blythe thought he might understand what she was going through, why she did the things she did.
"What in the hell were you doing in Seven Dials?"
Blythe's jaw dropped open, and she stared at him. Something dark and remorseless lit her cousin's eyes, and if she did not know him so well, she would have been afraid. Hell, perhaps she should be afraid, because this Tristan bore very little resemblance to the boy she had grown up with.
"How did you know I was in Seven Dials?"
Belatedly, it occurred to her that perhaps she should have lied, but she had a feeling that Tristan would have been even more enraged if he'd caught her lying.
"I didn't like that you were so defenseless when Amory showed up in our alley, so I had Eckerts keep an eye on you when you were out of the house."
"The... the groom? You had one of the grooms watching me when I was out and about?"
"I thought I was protecting you, and apparently, it was warranted! One of the carriage horses needed to be watched for colic last night, and he saw you leave through the back. He followed you, and he only returned when he realized you were heading into Seven Dials. Blythe, a grown man was too afraid to venture into that neighborhood, and yet you entered as if it were home. That's what he told me." Tristan paused. "Is it true?"
Blythe was still reeling from the fact that her cousin had had her followed as if she was a straying woman in a cheap novel. "You had the groom follow me? Tristan, why would you?"
"Apparently, it was necessary! Otherwise, I would never have found out that my cousin, my ward, is going into the worst slums London has to offer."
"It doesn't matter! You can't just hire a man to watch my every movement!"
"If I hadn't, you'd still be running off to the slums whenever you liked. This isn't the first time you've done this, is it?"
Blythe looked at him, shocked, and he read his answer in her suddenly fearful face.
"Dear God. Blythe, what have you done?"
She started to say something about charity and good works. She was so shaken, however, that it sounded even more like a lie than it was.
Tristan shook his head in disgust. "Your pious little missionary act. You had us all fooled, didn't you? Me, Ned, my father. You were making fools of us all."
"Tristan, it's not like that."
"All those ladies’ aid meetings, all of those nights out doing good works. Do I even want to know what you were doing? Were you meeting a lover? Christ, were you stealing?"
"Of course not! Tristan, don't you dare say these things about me!"
"When I catch you sneaking out to the slums and not returning until close to dawn, I will damn well say what I want! Blythe, I don't care what you've done or what you've gotten away with in the past. This is over. By God, you will behave, or I swear I will lock you in your room and throw away the key."
Blythe's first instinct was to stand up and rail at him. She wanted to scream at him and to shout, to make him see what it was like to live in a world as restricted as hers, where the only adventure to be had was running out to buy ribbons. Instead, she let the tears that had been gathering in a hot lump behind her eyes spill.
Tristan stared at her as she started crying. They weren't crocodile tears, really. She was exhausted, she felt as if she were being flayed alive by Tristan's words, and she felt as if the sword that had been hanging over her head for years was finally crashing down on her.
"Blythe..."
She could sense him standing in front of her. She thought for a moment that everything was going to be all right, that perhaps now, finally, they could talk, and she could explain what she had been doing and why. Perhaps she could tell him about some of the work she had been doing, maybe he would even help her with getting those girls into homes.
Her hopes, fragile as shards of glass, were crushed entirely when he turned.
"For the love of God, stop your sniveling. Go to your room. You're not leaving until I'm with you. Whatever you were doing, Blythe, it's over."
He might as well have slapped her. Blythe knew once and for all that the cousin she had loved and grown up with was gone, and this implacable and unforgiving man was left in his place.
She stood and walked out the door with as much dignity as she could. Back in her own room, Blythe undressed and climbed into bed, but even with the exhaustion closing over her, she couldn't sleep. Instead, she rolled over on her stomach, burying her face in the pillow.
She had no idea what was going to happen next. None at all.