“I’ve a carriage and I am familiar with the location of your brother’s estate.”
“I don’t live there,” she said, leaning up against the dark wall of the house, watching him in the darkness. “I live at the Angel.”
“No,” he said, “Anna lives at the Angel.”
“She’s not the only one.”
The statement grated. “You mean Chase.” She did not reply, and he added, “He lives at the Angel?”
“Most nights,” she said, so simply that he had to bite his tongue to hold back his retort.
She clearly sensed his irritation. “Why does it make you so angry? My life?”
“Because this didn’t have to be your life, nights spent on the floor of the casino. Carrying messages for Chase.”
“To and from you,” she pointed out.
Guilt flared. She was not wrong. “For what it’s worth, I’ve an excellent reason for tonight’s message. And I was not going to ask you to deliver it.”
“What is it?”
He could not tell her that his sister was in danger. Could not bring her any closer to the knowledge that he and Tremley were more than passing acquaintances. If Chase knew how much the Tremley file was worth to him, he might hold it ransom. And Cynthia would be more and more in danger.
“It’s not relevant to our discussion. My point is—”
“Your point is that you believe there was a life of tea and quadrilles waiting for me at the end of some path not chosen. Your point is that Chase has ruined me.”
“As a matter of fact, it is.”
She laughed at that. “Then you have forgotten what it is Society does to young women in my particular situation.”
“You could have survived it,” he said.
“No. I couldn’t have.” The words were so matter-of-fact, it was almost as though she weren’t the victim of fate at all.
“You could have done this ages ago. Married.”
She raised a brow. “I could have, but I would have hated it.” She paused. “What would you say if I told you that this was my choice? That I wanted this life?”
“I wouldn’t believe you. No one chooses exclusion. No one chooses ruination. You have fallen victim to a powerful man who has kept you in his pocket for too long, and now refuses to release you fully.”
“You’re wrong. I chose this life,” she said, and he almost believed her. “Chase saved me.”
Hatred flared at the words, the words of a woman in too deep. A woman who cared too much to see the truth. A woman who—
Christ. Was it possible that she loved him?
On the heels of that thought came another.
Was it possible that Chase was Caroline’s father?
Anger flared, hot and devastating. He could ask her, but she’d never confess it if it were true. And it would explain a great deal—why she chose this life, why she lived at the Angel, why she protected Chase with all she had.
He didn’t deserve it, her protection.
He deserved to stand in the sun and be judged like all the rest of them.
He swore, harsh and wicked in the darkness. “I want—” He stopped himself from completing the sentence.
She wasn’t having that. “What do you want?”
It might have been the dark that made him finish the thought. Or it might have been the moment, earlier in the evening, when another man, who wielded his unwelcome power all too similarly to the one they discussed, had managed him. Whatever it was, he did finish the thought. “I want to tear him apart for the way he treats you.”
She stilled. “Chase?”
“The very same.”
“But you are . . . friends.”
Everything inside him resisted the words. “We are nothing of the sort. We simply use each other to get what we want.”
She was quiet for a long moment. “And what do you want?”
I want you.
He did not say it. While it was the most pressing answer to her question, it was not the one she sought. “I want to sell newspapers. What does Chase want?”
She hesitated. Then, “Why would I know that?”
“Because you know him better than anyone. You speak for him. You carry messages to him. You . . .” You love him. “Christ, you live with him.”
“Anna lives with him,” she repeated his words from minutes earlier.
He hated them. “She’s not real.”
“She’s as real as any of us,” she said, and he wished he could blame the alcohol for the statement. But he couldn’t.
“How can you say that? You created her. When you live her, you do not live the rest of your life.”
She met his gaze, all seriousness. “When I live her, I live all of my life. Without hesitation and with pleasure.”
“It is not your pleasure,” he retorted, her words infuriating him. It was Chase’s pleasure. It was the pleasure of any number of men she’d been with since she began this charade.
She was a lady. The daughter of a duke. The sister of one. She was so much more than he was. So much more than he could ever have. And yet she sold herself short, accepting life under the thumb of a powerful coward.