What the Rake Remembers by Amy Quinton

Author:Amy Quinton [Quinton, Amy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-9989242-4-3
Publisher: Amy Quinton

Chapter Twenty-Three

Freddie ran recklessly through the woods without a care as to where she was going. Or how far. Eventually, she slammed against a medium-sized tree, figured it was as good a time as any to stop, then she bent at the waist and cast up her accounts. Violently.

When she finished and was merely dry heaving air, she stepped back, and suddenly, George was there, handing her a cloth and a flask of water. He stood back, giving her space, as she rinsed her mouth and wiped her face.

Father had had Kelly tortured?

She knew her father was a bad man, hell hadn’t he abandoned her in St. Giles with nothing but the clothes on her back and proclaimed her dead to the world? All for the unforgivable crime of being in love with an Irishman? That was pure evil in and of itself. He’d even had a grave made in her honor, the perfect touch when pretending to be the grieving father.

But this…torturing an innocent man in such a vile way?

Was her own Father working for the Society? Did Owain know?

Freddie shook her head at her own idiocy. Of course, he knew. That man knew everything. They were all just puppets in his games of power play. Which begged the question—what else did Owain know? And just whose side was he on, besides his own?

Freddie felt a moment of guilt for doubting Owain; who’d been there in her darkest hour. When he kept secrets, he always had reasons.

She glanced to George. “Did you know who we were going to rescue from the beginning?”

George relaxed against a tree and crossed his arms. He dipped his head. “I did.”

Freddie lifted her chin. “And while he was being so talksy, did Owain tell you about my past with Kelly?”

George smiled. “Only in so much as that once you found out who we were rescuing, it was probably best we avoid provoking you for a few days, even in jest.”

She thought back to George and Griffin’s behavior the day they rescued Kelly and narrowed her eyes. “You lie.”

George shrugged. “Does it really matter what I know? I judge a person by their actions, those I witness firsthand. I have enough worries of my own to deal with to care about someone else’s past, mistakes or no.”

Something in his expression made Freddie stop. He was right. George was a black man in a world that saw him as other. He had bigger concerns to care about than her checkered past.

She rested a hand on his arm. “I’m sorry. For questioning you, George.”

“It’s alright. Given the circumstances, I understand. And you have every right to know the truth.”

Freddie held up the flask and square of cloth. “Thanks for these. If you don’t mind, I just need a few minutes more.”

George stood away from the tree. “Of course.” And left.

Frederica found a log to perch on and sat, feeling emotionally raw, her throat tight, and wasn’t that something? A fortnight ago, she was wishing boils upon Kelly’s head, and now…

And now tears threatened, and she felt a sob building.

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