Swallowed.
He was driving her mad.
She would plant a facer on that beautiful jaw of his if he took one more bite.
‘You’re not eating. Sandwich?’ Brandon picked up the platter and held it out to her.
She met his gaze levelly and took one. It might come in handy as an impromptu torture device.
‘So,’ he began casually, ‘tell me about this professed husband of yours.’
‘He’s not professed. He is quite real, I assure you,’ Nora said, taking a delicate, savouring bite of the sandwich in slow retribution before she delivered any more information. Two could play his game.
She took another bite. ‘Delicious.’
‘Fine, I’m sorry about the bit with the sandwich. Am I going to have to drag every detail out of you or could you just divulge the story without turning it into a parlour game of twenty questions?’
She supposed that was about as close to begging as he would allow himself to get. Nora put down her sandwich and showed mercy.
‘Fair enough, we have moved beyond the point of games,’ she said in all seriousness. ‘I fell in love when I was seventeen with a man named Reggie Portman. He was handsome and adoring. Back then I still believed in fairy tales.’
It was true. Reggie had not been anywhere near as accomplished as Brandon in bed, but his ardour had meant everything to her young heart and nothing to his. She had not understood at the time that sex was purely physical for men and usually devoid of any emotional connection.
‘I sold myself in marriage once. I did not enjoy it. I am not likely to pursue arrangements that would put me in similar circumstances again,’ Nora said baldly.
‘How do we get from young romantic to hardened cynic? It seems to me that you’ve left some pieces out of the story.’ Brandon was quick to note the gap.
Nora took a sip of tea to fortify herself. ‘I was alone and on the run, except for Hattie and Alfred.’
‘Are they your parents?’ Brandon looked perplexed.
‘No. They are not even relatives.’ Nora shook her head sadly, staring without seeing at the sandwich in her hand.
Brandon moved next to her, the tea tray forgotten. He took her hand and intertwined his fingers between hers. ‘What happened to your parents? How did you come to this?’ he asked softly. ‘It’s time for stories, I think. Nora, you can be yourself with me.’
It was amazingly easy to open up her memories after keeping them closed for so long. Nora found, once she started, that she couldn’t stop the flood of remembrances. ‘My father was a successful businessman here in Manchester. I was an only child and I had plenty of luxuries, a tutor and a good education. Then, one day, there was an explosion at the factory. My father died trying to save some workers trapped under fallen timbers.
‘My mother and I were left well provided for, but I saw what happened to the families of the workers who were killed. There was no help for them to repay them for what they had lost. We tried to help, but it didn’t matter. They were destitute and living in the slums before the year was out, through no fault of their own. Investigators later concluded the fire started because an improperly made machine became too hot. Carelessness cost those families everything and they were simply told they were expendable.’
‘My mother was ruined in an altogether different way. After my father died, she lost her will to go on. When I was fourteen, she passed away in the night. The doctors could not explain it. Nothing was wrong with her except for a broken heart. I was packed off to my only relatives, a strict aunt and uncle in Bradford.’
Nora shuddered at the recollection. They’d been puritanical in their beliefs and lifestyle. The home, while large, was austere and empty of frills. She was allowed only the most sombre, high-necked gowns, and the smallest modicum of freedom. Many days were spent serving out punishments in her room—punishments she had earned for sneaking out of the house with supplies for those in need. Her uncle believed the poor got what they deserved and her aunt feared the dirt and illness that came with poverty. In a way, she’d been playing The Cat long before it had become official.
‘How does Reggie Portman figure into all this?’ Brandon prompted quietly when she fell silent.
‘My uncle had a marriage planned for me to a man that was stricter than he. I couldn’t fathom a worse fate and I couldn’t imagine how I would manage living such a life. It wasn’t the life I wanted. I felt I was in prison. There was a fair in town, and Reggie Portman was there, a charming and handsome travelling merchant. He offered me a way out. I was desperate and I took it, four days before the official betrothal.’
‘And taught you everything you know?’ Brandon supplied wryly. ‘A good role model.’
Nora grimaced in censure. ‘Everything has its place. I use my skills for good, not evil.’
‘That’s debatable.’
‘Not today it isn’t. Do you want to hear my story or not?’ Nora scolded, back on familiar ground, the hardest part of the telling over.
Brandon acquiesced graciously. ‘My apologies, please continue.’
‘Travelling with Reggie was exciting at first. But as Reggie and I moved from place to place, I saw the same stories being played out in different towns. The poor got poorer and the rich got richer, not caring who they stepped on to make a guinea. I promised myself I’d do something about it, just as my mother and I had tried to do for the workers at my father’s factory and as I had tried to do at my uncle’s, especially for children and widows; people who had limited ways of improving their station in life.’
Nora made a face. ‘Reggie didn’t share my attitude, although I thought he cared enough for me to help anyway, out of affection. But what he loved was making money at any cost. He sold fine fabrics, jewellery, expensive trinkets. He lavished gifts on me and my head was turned. I assumed he would want to use his largesse to help others. But I was wrong.
‘Once we married, I discovered he was singularly interested in making a pound wherever he could. His finer goods were acquired through illegal means and the items he sold at discount were so flawed that they were of little use.’
‘You married him for his philanthropy and he let you down,’ Brandon summarised.
‘He was boyishly handsome. He could make me laugh when he made the effort, which was seldom after we courted. His charming was an act. He just wanted someone to trail around the countryside, cooking and cleaning for him.
‘The worst part was once I got over the realisation that he was a borderline criminal with his business dealings, I couldn’t leave him. The law doesn’t allow for a woman to cast off a husband and, even if I had been able to, I had no way to support myself.’ Nora paused, letting Brandon assimilate the pieces of her history.
‘Then you ran away and became The Cat?’ Brandon guessed.
Nora shook her head. ‘Not at first. I started small. In the beginning, I left baskets of goods I pilfered from Reggie’s stock. He was a terrible book-keeper and kept a shoddy inventory.
