Chapter Nineteen

with true hidden depths.

—Anonymous,Memoirs of a Mistress

Christabel was having the strangest dream. She was floating up into the sky, carried aloft by some gentle hand. Then it set her on a cloud, and her feet were released from their earthly bindings. A voice somewhere above her said, “Let her sleep. She needs the rest. She can stay in her gown a bit longer.”

It was the sound of a door closing that awakened her. Slowly, she opened her eyes to an unfamiliar room lit only by a blazing fire in the hearth. It hadn’t been a dream. They must have arrived at Byrne’s Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv estate. He must have carried her up the stairs and laid her in this bed with its incredibly soft down mattress.

Sitting up, she winced as her corset pinched her breasts. She vaguely remembered waking from her nap in Byrne’s arms to find they were nearing a town where he meant for them to dine. Byrne had made love to her again, slow and easy and wonderful. And after dinner, their long ride had lulled her back to sleep. She rubbed her eyes, then glanced around for a clock. Midnight. They’d made good time. But where was Byrne? Did he mean not to share her bed while they were here? That didn’t seem likely of her lusty lover.

She surveyed the room more closely. Come to think of it, this didn’tlook like a bedchamber prepared for the master’s imminent arrival. Though the fire was starting to warm it, the air was still chilly, and bore the musty smell of a room long in disuse. Most of all, it was far toopink to be his, with lacy pink draperies, a pink canopy and coverlet on the delicate bed, and even a pink-and-cream rug. Not a Byrne room at all.

So where was he? Leaving the bed, she went to the door and opened it onto the main hall for the bedchambers. When she heard low voices from a few doors down, she went in stocking feet to explore. As she drew nearer the last bedchamber, she could make out Byrne speaking to someone. “So the doctor has seen her again? He’s sure she’s improved?”

Her? Who might that be? Her heart sinking, Christabel edged nearer, careful to stay out of sight of the doorway.

“Yes, sir,” said another voice. “I’m sorry that I sent for you.”

“Itold Ada not to,” another voice complained, this one reedy and thin, though the tone somehow managed to be imperious. “It’s nothing but a piddling cold.”

“That’s what you always say, even when you’re coughing up blood,” Byrne replied in the mildly indulgent tone of a man dealing with an invalid. “Fortunately, Ada has known you long enough to ignore you, Mother.”

Christabel’s heart began to hammer in her chest. Byrne’s mother was alive? And living here on his estate? Dear Lord, she couldn’t believe it!

What about the fire? Mrs. Byrne was supposed to be dead! Why did he continue to let the world think that she’d died? Though this did explain why he came to Bath whenever he was summoned.

“I’ll be here until tomorrow, Ada,” Byrne continued, “but I’ll have to leave first thing in the morning. If you’re sure she’s all right.”

“Dr. Mays says that she is, sir, but you did tell me—”

“Yes, and you were right to send for me. Thank you, Ada, you may go on to bed now. I need to speak privately to my mother.”

“Very good, sir.”

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv The woman’s low murmur sent Christabel into a panic, but before she could even hide, the woman left the room and headed down the stairs away from where Christabel lurked in the shadows. She didn’t even see her.

Uttering a silent sigh, Christabel edged back toward the door. Byrne was speaking again. “I brought someone with me on this visit, someone I’d like you to meet.”

“Another doctor? Please, Gavin, no more doctors. I’m doing better these days, no matter what Ada says, and Dr. Mays takes good care of me—”

“It’s not a doctor,” he broke in. “It’s a friend. A woman.”

“I see.” A long silence ensued. “So you’ve told her about me then.”

“Of course not. You vowed me to silence, and I’ve kept my vow until now.” When his mother said nothing, Byrne went on in a tight voice, “I’ve always abided by your wish to live in the country when I could make you more comfortable in town, and I know how you feel about meeting new people. But I’m asking you to make an exception for her. Please.”

A lump lodged in Christabel’s throat. She’d never heard Byrne use the wordplease to anyone.

“All right,” the woman rasped. “Before you leave in the morning, bring her to me, and I’ll speak to her.”

“I’ll do that, thank you.” His voice turned gruffer. “Now let’s see about making you more comfortable. This room is too damned cold. And your water jug is half-empty, too. I’ll call a servant to come fill it—”

That was all the warning Christabel had before Byrne came out the door and saw her. Caught in the act of being kind, he blinked at her like a fox startled by the hounds.

“Gavin?” his mother called out when he just stood there without summoning a servant. “What’s wrong?”

He let out a breath. Then a slow smile curved up his lips. “It appears you’ll be meeting my guest sooner rather than later, Mother.”

“I-I’m sorry,” Christabel stammered. “I didn’t mean to pry…I woke up, and you weren’t—”

“It’s all right.” He offered her his arm. “Come. Let me introduce you.”

Painfully aware of her rumpled gown and her lack of shoes, she touched a hand to her fallen hair, and said, “Oh, Byrne, I don’t know—”

“She won’t care about that, I promise you,” he said with a trace of irony. “Come on.”

Taking his arm, Christabel let him lead her into the room. A massive half-tester bed presided over the darkest corner of what must have once been the master bedchamber. Now it was a sickroom, the pungent odor of medicinal concoctions mingling with the sweet scent of freshly cut roses. She couldn’t see much in the dimly lit room, but the furnishings appeared feminine—delicate Windsor chairs, an elegant dressing table, and drapes in pretty prints that were probably cheery in the morning with the sun pouring in through the two massive windows. The bed itself wasn’t cheery in the least, Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv however, for its hangings draped its inhabitant in impenetrable shadows. Byrne led her near it. “May I present my friend Christabel, the Marchioness of Haversham. Christabel, this is my mother, Sally Byrne.”

“Good evening, my lady,” his mother said in a taut whisper. “And where is your husband this fine night?”

“She’s a widow,” Byrne bit out.

Not sure what else to do, Christabel gave a little curtsy. “I’m very pleased to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Byrne.”

Apparently that amused his mother, for a reedy laugh sounded from the depths of the bed. “Are you indeed? Never thought to have a marchioness in my bedchamber claiming the pleasure of my acquaintance.” A gnarled hand emerged from the shadows, beckoning to her. “Come closer, dear. Let me look at you.”

Swallowing, Christabel approached the bed. She could now make out a small form practically swallowed up by the night. But though the face was hidden, the eyes reflected the candlelight to play over her with an insulting scrutiny.

“She’s a pretty one, I’ll grant you that,” Mrs. Byrne finally said. “But short.”

“Mother,” he warned, “be nice.”

“It’s all right,” Christabel put in wryly, “there are plenty of times when I find shortness to be a defect myself.”

The woman chuckled, then coughed. “I’m almost as short as you, so if it’s a defect, it’s one we share. Don’t know how I managed to produce anything as tall as that rascal standing next to you.”

Silence fell as they all thought the same thing: The prince was tall.

“Gavin,” his mother added, “would you go fill that water jug for me while I chat with your friend?”

“Why?” he demanded. “So you can pummel her with questions about her character and her family?”

“Don’t be impertinent, boy,” the woman declared, though her affection came through in every syllable.

“You’re not too big that I can’t still rap your knuckles.”

That brought a reluctant smile to his lips. He turned to Christabel. “That was Mother’s favorite punishment—knuckle-rapping. It’s a miracle I can even hold a deck of cards.”

“Indeed it is, since I had to rap them often enough, you rapscallion,” his mother retorted. “Now go on, get that water.” She coughed. “I’m growing more parched by the moment. And I could use some of that good brown bread I had at supper, too. Fetch it for me from the kitchen, will you?”

Byrne eyed her askance, but released Christabel’s arm and headed for the door. Just as he reached it, however, his mother called out, “Don’t you dare stand outside listening. I want a full jug of water and a nice slab of bread and butter. If you don’t produce it in fifteen minutes, I’ll know you’ve been eavesdropping.”

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv Byrne cast Christabel a wry smile. “She knows me well.”

As soon as he was gone, his mother said, “Sit down, Lady Haversham.”

Her commanding tone with its faint hint of an Irish burr reminded Christabel so much of Byrne that she couldn’t help smiling as she took a seat in the chair nearest the bed.

“Now tell me,” Mrs. Byrne went on, “why is a woman of your station with my son?”

That wiped the smile off Christabel’s face. What was she to say? How much would Byrne want her to say?

She went on the offensive. “Why shouldn’t I be with him? He’s a charming man and a hard worker—”

“Not something most marchionesses admire.”

“I was a general’s daughter long before I was a marchioness. So Ido happen to admire a man willing to work hard.”

Mrs. Byrne digested that a moment, coughing behind her hand. “But that doesn’t explain why you’re here with him when you could be moving in the highest levels of society.”

Oh, if the woman only knew. Christabel tried for the most innocuous answer. “Your son has been helping me regain something my late husband…er…lost through gambling.”

“So the marquess lost money at the Blue Swan, did he?”

“Yes, but that’s not—”

“And you mean to pay off the debt by sharing my son’s bed.”

“No!” Christabel jumped to her feet. “I wouldnever share a man’s bed for money. And you insult your son by even implying that he would take advantage of a widow in such a scurrilous fashion.”

“True.” Those sharp eyes assessed her from the shadows. “So you aren’t sharing his bed.”

Christabel blushed, unsure how to tell a man’s mother that she was his mistress. “I…well…it’s just that…”

“You don’t have to answer. I can guess that much.” When Christabel groaned, she added in a dry rasp of a voice, “I’m not a fool, you know. I’ve heard about my son’s mistresses. Not from him, mind you—a man doesn’t tell his mother such things, after all. But there’s always the scandal rags, and Ada goes into Bath often to hear the gossip.”

Mrs. Byrne paused to cough. “The thing is, Gavin has never brought one of his women to meet me, never even asked to introduce one to me. Never, do you hear?”

Christabel wanted badly to take heart at that, but she didn’t dare. “I hate to disappoint you, but his bringing me here means nothing. He had no choice. He was forced into it.”

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv Mrs. Byrne surprised her by laughing. “Forced? Gavin? Have you ever known my son to be forced into anything?”

That gave Christabel pause. “No.”

“He brought you here because he wanted to, whether he admits it or not. So now I want to know why. What exactly do you mean to him?”

“I wish I knew,” Christabel answered woefully. “But I really have no idea.”

“Then tell me whathe means toyou .”

That brought Christabel up short. What did Byrne mean to her? Merely a way of getting invited to Lord Stokely’s party? Clearly not, since she’d started sharing his bed long after the invitation had arrived. He was her lover, yes, but he meant more than that, more than she wanted. More than she feared he could ever reciprocate.

“I can’t answer that…either.” She couldn’t keep her voice from cracking.

“Do you love him?” Mrs. Byrne asked, her raspy tone substantially softer than before. Christabel’s throat felt tight and raw. “If I do, I’m a fool. Because he will never love me back.”

“Nonsense.” She coughed a moment. “He fell in love with that idiot Anna, so how could he help falling in love with a sweet girl like you?”

She blinked. “But only a few minutes ago you implied—”

“I wanted to be sure of you, that’s all. I trust Gavin not to choose a fool, but he is still a man and susceptible to pretty women.”

“Not as susceptible as pretty women are to him,” Christabel muttered. His mother laughed. “True, true. The man has a way with women, I’ll grant you. But none has ever touched his heart. If you mean to do it, then you should know some things about him.” She gestured toward the fireplace. “There’s a candle over there, dear. Light it and bring it here.”

Sucking in a breath, Christabel did as Mrs. Byrne asked. As she approached the bed, the light from the candle fell full on the woman.

Though she’d half expected to find such a thing, Mrs. Byrne’s face was so hideously disfigured that Christabel couldn’t keep a gasp from escaping her lips, though she then tried to mask it with a cough.

“Stop that silly coughing, girl,” the woman snapped. “I have a mirror—I know what I look like.”

“I’m sorry—” Christabel began.

“Don’t be. These burns are my badge of honor for saving my son. I wear them with pride.” Her scarred lips twisted into a half smile. “Most of the time, anyway.”

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv Now that she could see the woman better, Christabel was horrified at the pain Mrs. Byrne must have suffered to have such scars. Her ears were half-gone, and no hair grew on her scalp, which was simply a misshapen mass of healed flesh. “I heard that you were in a fire, but I cannot imagine how you managed to…”

“Live through it? That was hard, I’ll grant you, but I was determined not to die. I couldn’t leave Gavin with no one in the world.”

“Then why did you let everyone believe you dead?”

“It’s a long story.” The woman beckoned her to sit on the bed. Taking the candle from her, Mrs. Byrne set it on the bedside table. “You see, right after the fire, there was a great deal of confusion. After I carried Gavin out, I collapsed. He didn’t rouse for a few minutes, and by then I’d been taken off to St. Bartholomew’s with others from the fire. They told him I was dead—most of those who survived the fire did die later, and we were unrecognizable when they carried us to the hospital. Indeed, it took weeks for me to recover enough to be able to speak my name and ask about him.”

Mrs. Byrne took her hand, and now Christabel could see that it wasn’t gnarled with age but twisted from the fire. “By the time I could find out about him,” the woman continued, “he was living with a blackleg who’d taken him under his wing, and he was doing all right. I thought he’d be better off without a crippled and disfigured mother to support. So I ordered the people at the hospital not to say anything to him about me.”

“Then how—”

She gave a rueful smile. “The boy is too clever for his own good, that’s how. It was nearly a year before I could even leave St. Bartholomew’s. Then a widowed nurse there offered me a place to stay in her cottage in the country. She had a chance at a lucrative position as nurse to a fine lady, but she couldn’t bring her babe with her, so I agreed to be the child’s nursemaid.”

Her hand squeezed Christabel’s painfully. “But I couldn’t leave London without seeing my own dear boy. I didn’t mean for him to see me, too, truly I didn’t.” She coughed a moment. “I went to the races in a hooded cloak, and I stayed well out of his way to watch him work, my fine strong lad, running an E-O

table as if he’d been born to it, coaxing the country bumpkins into betting.”

She shook her head. “Unfortunately, the races are a rough place for any woman, much less one like me, hobbling with a cane and dressed oddly. Some fool pulled down my hood to see what I looked like. You can imagine the reaction of those around me—a lot of silly screaming and such.” Tears welled in her eyes. “But my boy…he just came up and pulled the hood back in place. ‘There you go, miss,’ he said.

‘Don’t you pay attention to that lot of fools.’”

Christabel was crying by then, too, the tears falling heedlessly down her cheeks.

“I only said ‘Thank you, my boy.’ But it was enough for him to realize who I was, to put everything together. You should have seen the two of us then, hugging and laughing and carrying on. People thought we were mad.” She let go of Christabel’s hand to wipe at her eyes with the sheet. “Look at me—it’s been years, and it still turns me into a sniffling fool to remember it.”

“That’s all right,” Christabel whispered. “Who wouldn’t cry over a story like that?” Drawing out her handkerchief, she dabbed at her own tears, then handed the square of linen to Mrs. Byrne. Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv Mrs. Byrne blew her nose. “Gavin would laugh at us for crying, you know.”

“Probably. Men don’t understand.” She waited until the woman had composed herself, then added, “So what happened then?”

“That’s when I made him swear not to tell anyone I was alive. I told him I would disappear, and he’d see me no more if he didn’t swear it. So he swore, the poor dear boy, and I went out to the country to live in Ada’s cottage—she was the nurse, you see. And Gavin stayed in town.”

“But why? You could have lived in town with him. You could have worn a wig and veil and gloves if people’s reaction to your appearance bothered you.”

She coughed into the handkerchief. “That’s not why I wanted us to live apart. It was hard enough for Gavin before the fire, hearing people call me ‘the Irish whore.’ I told him it didn’t matter as long as we both knew I wasn’t one, but it mattered to him as soon as he was old enough to understand it. He got into fights over it, constantly in trouble for defending my honor to shopkeepers and idiots in taverns who bloodied his nose for his trouble.”

Christabel gave the woman a half smile. “He is still rather…er…sensitive about the term.”

“That doesn’t surprise me. Only think how much worse it would have been if he’d had to hear people talk their nonsense about his mother being punished by fire for her sins. They said such things after they thought me dead, but once a person’s gone, gossip fades.” A cough wracked her. “If they’d known I was alive, he’d have had to hear it daily, to witness how people took my disfigurement, to endure the silly jokes about the ‘burned Mrs. Byrne.’”

At Christabel’s groan, she added, “You’ve heard it, too, haven’t you? People are cruel sometimes. And I knew he’d need every ounce of his strength and will to survive in London. If he were a man alone, rootless, free, he might do it, but if he had me to take care of—”

“But he was only a boy,” Christabel protested. “Twelve is so very young.”

“Not for Gavin. He’d already spent months taking care of himself, already found a way to support himself. I couldn’t help him in London—I could only be a burden to him. As it was, I was lucky I could care for myself at Ada’s cottage.”

“You could have taken him with you to the country.”

“To do what? Labor in the fields? Serve as apprentice to a blacksmith? He was too clever for that, too ambitious. And while Ada could earn enough as a nurse for me and her babe, she couldn’t support him, too.”

Her lips tightened into a grim line. “Do you think I liked being apart from my son? Living from monthly visit to monthly visit? Not knowing whether he was hungry or hurt or—” She broke off with a raspy cough. “But look at him now. Would he have come so far if I hadn’t left? I don’t think so.”

Christabel wasn’t so sure, but she’d never been in a situation where she had to make such a hard choice. What would she have done?

Mrs. Byrne’s voice filled with pride. “He grew up to be a fine, strapping man, a true son of a prince.”

She patted Christabel’s hand. “You know about his father, don’t you?”

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv

“Yes. Byrne, however, doesn’t seem so pleased by the connection.”

She sighed. “I know. He blames Prinny for everything.”

“He has good reason.”

“Perhaps. But he doesn’t see that his suffering and mine made him what he is—strong, fierce. Who would he have been if Prinnyhad kept up the annuity? An actress’s bastard son, that’s all, living off the fruits of his birth. But now he owns his own club, and he’s done so well that he bought this place so I could—”

“—banish yourself to the outskirts of Bath,” Byrne said from the doorway. Entering with the jug of water and a plate, he glanced from the candle fully illuminating his mother’s face to Christabel’s damp cheeks, then added gruffly, “Have you been telling her the whole sad tale, Mother?”

“She had to,” Christabel retorted. “Younever would.”

“I couldn’t.” He strode over to the bed. “I made a vow.”

“You see?” Mrs. Byrne remarked. “Isn’t he a good son?”

“A very good son,” Christabel answered, her heart full as she watched him set the plate on the bedside table, then fill the cup with water.

He sat down in the chair Christabel had left and flashed both a rakish smile. “Keep that under your hat, or you’ll destroy my reputation for ruthlessness. Then I’ll have gentlemen refusing to pay their debts right and left.” He winked at Christabel. “Or sending their wives out to shoot me.”

“Byrne,” Christabel warned him, “don’t you dare—”

“That’s how we met,” he said, pure mischief shining in his eyes. “Lady Haversham shot at me when I came to collect on her late husband’s debt.”

“Did she really?” Mrs. Byrne chuckled. “That explains why you went after her. Your philosophy has always been if you can’t beat them, bed them.”

Byrne groaned. “For God’s sake, Mother—”

“I wasn’t born yesterday. I know what you do with your women.” She coughed. “Same thing I did with your father, though I can’t regret it, since it gave me you.”

“And a life of pain and misery,” he said in a hollow voice.

“Pish, everyone’s life has a measure of pain and misery. If I’ve had a greater share of it from time to time, I’ve also had a greater share of joy.” She patted Christabel’s hand. “Especially tonight.”

When she followed the comment with a fit of coughing, Byrne rose. “We’ll let you sleep now.” He bent to kiss her cheek, then turned to offer Christabel his arm. As she rose and took it, his mother said, with an edge to her voice, “Which room did you put Lady Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv Haversham in?”

“The pretty pink one.”

His mother smiled her approval. “At least you havesome sense of decorum.”

Christabel choked back a laugh. For a woman who knew so much about her son’s mistresses, Mrs. Byrne was surprisingly concerned about appearances.

Then again, here at his estate Byrne might be an entirely different person—the lord of the manor, a respectable gentleman. Christabel could hardly imagine it.

“Good night, Mother,” Byrne said.

They started to leave, then on impulse Christabel broke from him and ran back to the bed to place a kiss on Mrs. Byrne’s scarred cheek. “Thank you for telling me about him,” she whispered. Tears filled his mother’s eyes. “Thank you for trying to understand him.”

When Christabel returned to Byrne’s side, he was watching her with thinly veiled curiosity. As soon as they left the room, however, he said, “I take it you and my mother had a very emotional chat. I suppose she bombarded you with questions about your association with me?”

“What we discussed is private.”

“And I hope it will stay private outside of this house as well,” he said tersely, as they strolled together down the hall.

“I would never betray your confidence, or hers. Surely you know that.”

He shot her a shuttered glance. “I wouldn’t have brought you if I’d thought otherwise. Though I do wish she’d allow me to tell people about her. I’d like to have her in London, where she could be better cared for.”

“What does she suffer from?”

“Weak lungs. The doctors say it’s unrelated to the fire, but I have my doubts. In recent years, she’s been plagued by agues and pleurisy during the autumn and winter. They’ve brought her near to death a few times, so I often have to make emergency trips to Bath.”

He brought her to a halt outside her bedchamber door, and his manner changed. “I…er…that is…tonight you’ll—”

“Be sleeping alone.” She gazed up at him, eyes twinkling. “I gathered as much.”

“I suppose you find this very amusing,” he grumbled.

“That the wicked Mr. Byrne would put his mistress in a separate bedchamber out of respect for his mother?” she teased. “No, indeed. Why should I find that amusing?”

With a dangerous glint in his eyes, he pressed her against the door. “Perhaps I should remind you how I Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv got my reputation for wickedness in the first place—”

He kissed her, so deeply and soulfully it roused a painful ache in her chest that had nothing to do with desire. When he drew back long moments later, she could see in his eyes that he felt something else, too. But all he said was, “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Treating my mother like a person.”

She stared at him. “Sheis a person.”

“I know. But people confronted by a monstrous face tend to treat the person beneath it as a monster, too. Thank you for being better than that.”

“You’re welcome,” she said softly, a lump in her throat. When he bent to kiss her again, she stopped him. “But if you keep kissing me, I may be tempted to make your sacrifice to propriety all for naught.”

He laughed. “Then I’d better say good night, darling.”

“Good night…Gavin.”

He started to walk away, then stopped as it registered that she’d called him by his Christian name. He glanced back at her, one eyebrow raised.

She shrugged. “So you havetwo women calling you that—why not?”

“Why not indeed?” he answered. But his eyes burned into hers a long moment before he walked down the hall and entered his own room.

“Sleep well, my sweet prince,” she whispered after his door was closed. Her dear, sweet Prince of Sin. Christabel entered her own room, feeling bereft not to have him there with her. He was rapidly proving to be not so sinful after all. He was proving to be a man she might be able to trust, to care for…to love.

Never say those words to him if you want to remain his mistress. Blinking back tears, she unfastened her gown, then stripped off her stockings and sat down on the bed. What was she going to do about Gavin? Aboutloving Gavin? Because she did love him. She saw that now. And she began to believe that in time he might actually be capable of loving her, too. But they didn’t have time. The letters lay between them like the proverbial elephant in the room. Now that she knew the full extent of why he hated the prince, she knew he would never give up until he learned what was in them, even if he had to deal with Lord Stokely privately to do so. She groaned. Gavin and Lord Stokely could make plans together, and she would never know. She couldn’t be with Gavin every minute of every day, and as time grew short, she wasn’t the only one who’d grow more desperate.

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv Well, she could fret over how he’d act if he got to them on his own and realized their massive significance. Or she could trust him with the truth. She could take a chance that if she told him everything and impressed upon him the seriousness of what would happen if he tried to use the letters, he might let his conscience be his guide.

A week ago, she wouldn’t have attempted it. But that was before she’d seen the side of Gavin that understood how important it was to save one’s family. If she made him understand that she must protect her father as he’d protected his mother, she might get through to him. Or she might not. Did she dare risk it, with Papa’s life hanging in the balance? Did she dare not? She needed him to get the letters—that grew more painfully clear with each passing day. And the barony wasn’t enough to motivate him to remain onher side—having a title wouldn’t take away his mother’s pain, a pain that so clearly ate at him. Gavin wouldn’t stop until he’d avenged her. Unless Christabel could show him that vengeance brought only more pain. You make me want to be good.

Oh, Lord, she prayed he’d been telling the truth. Because now was his chance. And if he decided to use the knowledge for vengeance instead…

Hehad to do the right thing. Hehad to. This wasn’t a gamble she could afford to lose.