Page 26 of The Marriage Method

“We are not anarchists, sir,” she said.

“I didn’t expect you were. That would imply a lack of purpose.”

She folded her hands to mask their shaking. “Purpose we have in abundance. And warmth, and community, and the bonds of sisterhood. The Academy provides all those things for the orphan girls who come here. For the teachers, too.”

Miles glanced back at her with solemn attention. “You’re loath to leave it?”

The tension in her coiled tighter. “Who says I must?”

“Given what transpired yesterday, you must have considered it.”

Nell had been considering little else since her interview with Miss Corvus yesterday afternoon. It served no purpose to discuss it with him. He had no part in her future. Not even if Miss Corvus commanded it. Not even if marrying him meant that Nell might one day return to her role as deputy headmistress of the Academy.

She moistened her lips. “Speaking of yesterday, did you go to the police? About Mr. Cowgill?”

He gave a stiff nod.

“What did they say?”

“That they’ll investigate the matter.”

“You don’t sound convinced.”

“London is rife with crime. My reporter’s murder is but one of many.” Removing his hat, he ran a hand over the back of his neck. “It doesn’t signify. I’ll be investigating Cowgill’s death myself.”

Nell’s brows swept upward. “Isn’t that dangerous?”

“Probably.” He met her gaze. “I didn’t come here to discuss the fate of my late gossip columnist.”

Her stomach quivered at the gravity in his expression. “Yes, I gathered that.”

“The matter we discussed yesterday—or rather, began to discuss—” He stopped himself before continuing, his voice taking on a gruff edge. “I’m aware you released me from my obligation to you, but the fact remains…You have an obligation to me.”

She stared up at him, temporarily speechless. Of all the extraordinary reversals. Was he implying that she had ruined him?

“I beg your pardon?” she managed.

Miles soldiered on as though he’d prepared a speech and was committed to reciting the whole of it. “I don’t exist within these gates,” he said, “in this alternate world you’ve created for yourselves. I live in the real world. And in that world, actions have consequences that can’t be ignored.”

“I assure you—”

“I’m speaking about my reputation. My professional reputation. What happened yesterday took place at the Courant. It may not affect your life in here, but it’s already affecting mine out there, and decidedly for the worse.”

“You’re wrong,” she informed him.

His face hardened. “Shall I provide examples?”

“Wrong about me,” she amended. “It has affected my life here.” She gave a short, hollow laugh. The sound stuck in her chest. “Indeed, it’s ended my life here.”

Miles stilled.

“The fact is,” she said, “I’m leaving the Academy. I’ll be gone within the hour.”

An inexplicable look crossed his face. But he didn’t speak. He didn’t question her. He only waited, his gaze fixing on her face with uncommon attention.

It struck Nell that this was exactly how he must deal with one of his skittish feral cats—all immobility, patience, and quiet. Biding his time in silence until they willingly came to him.

In that moment, she understood why they might.