Chapter 48

Cass ran her tongue over her upper lip. Dry as bone. Her lower one too. As for her mouth itself? A desert probably had more moisture. Of course she knew about deserts because she'd read about them in that book. The one she'd also read about Mysore in that had seemed so helpful at the time. She blinked an eye open. She knew about bottles too. What she didn't know was what so many of them were doing on her bedside cabinet right now.
She jerked upright. She was seeing this. It wasn't a dream. These things were real. What they contained too. She gasped a breath. Before she could spring from the bed, spring from this house, Devorlane Hawley caught her wrist.
"No. Wait."
She dug her nails in to the back of his hand. Perhaps she'd been a fool in lots of ways, but on her mother's grave this would not be one of them. On her own grave neither. She hadn't survived all she'd survived for this.
"I don't think so, Lord Hawley. Now, get your soddin' hands-"
"No. It's not a repeat of yesterday."
"Don't have me scream and bring Belle in here."
His brows knitted. "We all know how good you are at doing that. But that's not--. Listen to me, will you? Listen. I want you to have them."
"What?"
"Yes."
"No."
He'd more than lived up to what she'd seen of him so far. Surpassed it. His arrogance. His impertinence. His bossiness. His eyes, his mouth, his body-oh God, his body-too. But this, this she wouldn't do. He regarded the marks made by her teeth on his knuckles with nothing like she expected him to regard them. In fact he regarded them as if it was to be expected of a tinker's brat.Expected she'd do it again too.
"I don't want you to join me, if that's what you're thinking. No. Listen. Don't you see? I want you to take them away. That way I won't use them."
He wouldn't? She lowered her gaze from his impassioned stare, her attention fixing on the rumpled bedspread quickly enough to mask the surprise slithering about her throat like an adder. Losing control like this? Was she mad? She cleared her throat, set her jaw.
"And why should I do that, Lord Hawley? Hmm? I'm not here for this. May I remind you what I'm here for?"
"You're right, you're not." He spoke as if it killed him. "I do have a problem. Not, not a bad one. But bad enough. These ... these fevers are-"
"You told me not to worry. You said that in the morning you would return to insulting me. This is morning, unless you're so damned, soddin'addled you-"
"And so I will, if that's what you want. I'll do anything you want. Believe it or not. I'm better when I'm with you. And there's no-one else will help me."
She darted her gaze sideways. Was he joking? Even if he wasn't. Helping him would make her his friend. She couldn't afford to be his friend any more than she could afford to be his mistress. It would mean believing he really had been ill last night, not just counterfeiting. More than that, putting everything else aside, an addict would always find a way to feed that addiction. Already he had enough broken bits of her. Give him that bit more, what would be left?
Do anything she wanted? There was only one thing.
"Then please take these bottles away again."
"Why?"
She lowered her eyelashes. Anything rather than look at his stark, troubled face. "The lot if you don't mind."
"What?" As if he knew he did himself no favors still gripping her wrist, he released it, although he was still too close for comfort, so she could breathe him, inhale him.
"I thought you knew something about this? At least the other night, and what you said-"
She set her jaw. In no way could she afford to muddle this. "You think because I'm a thief and a tinker's daughter I should also know about addiction? Is that it?"
"Don't be stupid."
"What exactly is it you think I stole?"
"Do you really want me to damn well tell you?"
Not if it meant her agreeing to this. Not when there was nothing beyond what she already knew. She held her chin higher. "Not unless it's something I don't know."
"Can't? Or won't do this?"
"I suppose that depends on whether or not you bring out the coach and drive me around and around the lawn. Otherwise I think I have made my position quite clear regarding these bottles. Anyway, I do have some papers to examine." Provided he let her. Provided he didn't clear them away again. "If you want to ruin your life with drink and narcotics, that's up to you. I'm not your nursemaid. We agreed mistress, if you remember?So, if you don't mind letting me go?"
Their adjoining door slammed. Then it opened. The bottles clinked as he removed some of them. The to-ing and fro-ing, while he removed the rest went on for the next five minutes. Maybe staring at the wall opposite, her arms wrapped round her knees, her gaze frozen, was almost impossible with the racket he made, she'd still die before she helped him.
Unless of course, she could somehow turn this to her advantage? Find the way to stop this? All these little broken bits of herself that kept flaking off? Accumulating in little broken mounds that once were her? Would be anyway, if she didn't stop this.
A way that-- big baby that he was stomping back and forward, collecting his stash, would welcome with open arms.
A way that-while she'd die before she helped him, could conceivably, let her live, him too, the way he was going.
A way that when it came to choice finally gave her one.