“I thought you were dead.”
Crooning into her hair, he swore, “I’m not gonna die on you.”
He got her quiet, seeing she was too tired to talk. So he just sat there, holding her hand, stroking her, and smiling just enough to make her eyes shine as he buzzed for the doctor.
An assessment was made, Charlie poked at until she just about socked the physician. Once the doctor was finished, warm broth was brought in. Matthew snatched the tray from the nurse, cocking his head towards the door so the intruder might leave. He would tend his woman himself.
As he fed Charlie, he told her Beaumont was well, assured the girl his family was safe.
She slept quietly for the first time since arriving.
The next time she woke, Martha was there blubbering all over her.
Charlie hated to see a lady as proud as Martha reduced to tears. “I’m fine.” Her attention went to Beau. Sizing up the man who met her eye but looked like he’d aged ten years in ten days. “He dead?”
“You never need to worry about Tommy again.”
After the hours of humiliation and pain Tommy had favored her with, all Charlie could say was, “I hope it was gruesome.”
Beaumont’s men had found the room with blood splattered all over the walls. They’d found her torn bloomers on the floor. And they’d found the corpse she’d left behind. “You look like hell.”
Properly laughing with a broken rib wasn’t possible. “Hey, you would have been proud of me, Beau. I took that beating like a champ. I didn’t fold.”
But she had, even if it had only been one short moment, and it was there all over her face.
A man who could manage poise at the snap of a finger, blinked those baby blues. Fucking Beaumont Radcliffe teared up. “I’m always proud of you, son.”
She hadn’t heard him call her that since the old days. “I’m a girl.”
“I know.” Beau reached for his cigarette case, unsteady hands placing one between his lips. “Matthew, why don’t we step into the hall and let the women catch up?”
Matthew’s look at the mere suggestion he leave Charlotte’s side was nothing short of a death threat.
“Go on, Matthew,” Charlie urged. Someone had to comfort Beau, and she was in no condition to do it. “You’ve been cooped up in here for days. Take a walk. Martha can keep me company.”
Making it clear he was not pleased, Matthew did as he was told. Once the men were in the hall, the gangster lit his cigarette and let out a breath. “Leave her be tonight. I’ve been keepin’ Tommy on ice for you. He’s healed up enough to truly feel what he has coming.”
Watching Charlotte through the blinds, seeing her sniff as she talked to Martha, was killing him. Clenched fists, arms so tense they could have bent iron, Matthew nodded.
Radcliffe stared towards the same scene. “Martha will stay with her. After all that was done, it will be good for Lottie to have a woman around—if you get my meaning.”
Matthew’s voice was low. “She told me what happened. She told
me everything...”
Radcliffe took a drag, he watched his girls. “Maybe she did, maybe she didn’t. Don’t matter. It’s her story to tell anyway she likes.”
Pale eyes left the window, Matthew turned towards the man ultimately responsible. “You did this to her. This was your fault.”
And that’s where the younger man was wrong. Radcliff pulled the cigarette from his mouth. “But it isn’t that simple, is it? Deep down you know, I’m the reason she survived it.”
There was nothing Matthew could do, no real way he could strike at Radcliffe without hurting Charlotte. “The day you die, I am gonna dance on your grave.”
“No you won’t. You’ll be too busy seeing to your grieving wife. She’ll take it real hard. Lottie is my girl.”
“She’s my girl now.”
When Charlie was fast asleep, Matthew entrusted her to Nathaniel, Eli, and Martha, so he might keep that appointment with Tommy. Beaumont was waiting for him, his jacket removed, shirtsleeves rolled up.