Page 14 of Hooked

He smiled at that.

It wasn’t that I didn’t want to take part in their rescue attempts. I wouldn’t mind it at all, but I’d been able to keep my feet from taking me out into the yard ever since I realized just how much of me he could see. There were parts of my life that belonged to no one but me. History I needed to guard. Secrets that must be kept. And as I contemplated the importance of keeping those secrets, a question that had been burning a hole in my sanity finally broke free. “Why did you—” I hesitated, not certain I really wanted to open the topic again, but my curiosity and worry got the better of me. “Why did you think I had been hurt?”

He looked at me, obviously surprised by my choice of topic.

“Before,” I clarified, worried he didn’t know what I spoke of. “Two weeks ago, when you asked if I’d—”

“I remember,” he said, his work uninterrupted by the conversation.

“Why? What made you ask that?” What had he seen in me that gave away my secret so easily?

His head tilted a little as he studied me. “It was mostly intuition, but it was also your voice and expression when you spoke of—was her name Anna?”

“Annabelle.”

“Yes, Annabelle. You were fond of her, perhaps even enjoyed the work there in Tethurn. But you ended up coming to work for Lord Rockwell, so there must have been some sort of catalyst.”

“Oh,” I said on a sigh.

“And you’re skittish. Not all the time, but whenever anyone new comes around—or any man, I should say. You shrink.”

Saints, he really did see everything.

“There’s usually a reason for such things,” he said gently.

I took a slow, stuttering breath. “Yes, there is.”

His eyes focused fully on my face then. I don’t think he had expected me to admit to it. I hardly believed I had done it myself. It had slipped out, and as I stood there trying to decide if I should move forward with an explanation or simply turn back to brushing my mount in the hope that he would allow the subject to drop, I sensed the way he studied me. He wanted to know. His investigative, protective, apparently brilliant mind wanted to know, but this time he was keeping his questions to himself. He shifted from one foot to the other but remained quiet, and it was almost funny to see him resisting the urge to question.

Most importantly, I appreciated that he didn’t pry or insist on an answer. He was leaving it up to me, and I decided it was likely better if I controlled the narrative of my life instead of letting him wonder or, heaven forbid, ask other people. “It’s not as interesting a story as you might think,” I said.

He came a little closer, fully prepared to listen.

I turned back to my mount, raising the brush and pulling it over the mare’s side in even strokes. “In fact, it might even be considered mundane. After all, what does it matter if a servant girl is not treated well? I wasn’t the first to find myself in such a situation, and I certainly won’t be the last. I suppose it just took me by surprise. One day everything seemed to be going well. My work wasn’t perfect. There was room for improvement certainly. But then...then things changed.” I drifted off, into the memories of that time. The pain and confusion.

“How did they change?” Falstone asked quietly.

“The butler. Brunson.”

“What about him?”

“He—“ I shook my head, still confused by the sudden turn my life had taken all those years ago. “He suddenly decided that all my work was unsatisfactory, and he thought it best to try to correct my behavior with brute force.” My brush strokes became more aggressive as my story progressed.

“Brute force?”

“It started small. Twisting my arm. Shoving me back to my knees when the floor wasn’t clean enough. It didn’t truly worry me in the beginning. I would simply be more thorough, improve my work, and he’d have no reason to reprimand me. But no matter what I did…it didn’t matter how hard I tried, it was never good enough.” I sniffed against the memories. “Of course, it was difficult to improve my work when my hand didn’t work right or when one eye was swollen shut.” The horses snorted and shifted away from me.

Falstone’s hand was suddenly on top of mine, tugging the brush away. “How long did this go on?” His voice was calm but held an undercurrent of tension.

I didn’t turn around, couldn’t face him, though I could almost feel his heat at my back. “A month. Then I was awoken by Annabelle and the housekeeper in the middle of the night. They told me to pack my things. I thought for certain I was going to be turned out of the house with nothing. Instead I found out that Annabelle had worked her magic. She’d convinced the housekeeper that I needed saving. You see, no one else was ever around when he hurt me. He claimed my injuries were accidents—the result of my own clumsiness. But the housekeeper believed me. She believed Annabelle. So they put me in a carriage and sent me to work for Lord Rockwell with a glowing recommendation.” A miracle. That’s what that night had been. Like I’d been sprinkled in fairy dust and magicked away. A miracle.

“What of Annabelle and the other maids? Did they need protection as well?”

I shook my head. “It was only ever me. I asked the housekeeper the same thing. I worried for Annabelle. I worried for all of them. But she told me that Brunson had never acted that way toward anyone before. She had no explanation as to why he singled me out, but she said she couldn’t stand for it anymore, and she wasn’t willing to see if the situation would resolve itself.”

He looked utterly confused. “But that doesn’t make any sense.”

I nodded, understanding his confusion all too well. “I know, but I have no explanation, and I can only be grateful that the housekeeper and Annabelle did what they did.”