Wren spent the rest of the night in his room, and Genevieve found herself lying awake in bed, her head reeling with empty thoughts as she resisted the urge to consider what she didn't want to be true. After hours of tossing and turning, she finally gave up and headed down to the kitchen to get an early start on the day. She occupied herself with anything she could find, desperate to keep herself from thinking about that fear in Wren's eyes.

"You rise before the sun, don't you?" Lyla said as she entered the room.

A wave of relief came over Genevieve at the girl's appearance, glad to have some conversation to drown out the niggling doubts tugging at her mind. "Well, when you have these many folks to care for, sleeping in is a luxury you can't afford."

"Shall I get tea started for us?"

"That would be lovely, thank you."

Lyla brought the kettle into the scullery while Genevieve busied herself with fetching ingredients for breakfast. "I must say, Ms. Barreau, you gave me quite a fright last night," Lyla said, setting the kettle on the stove Genevieve had scrubbed clean only an hour ago. "I didn't realize you knew how to wield a weapon like that."

"I wasn't exactly wielding anything. I brought it as a precaution."

"But you held it like someone who knows how to use it. I reckon if it came down to it, you'd be able to gut and castrate an intruder, wouldn't you?"

Genevieve made a face at the girl's choice of words but laughed, nonetheless. "Yes, I am familiar with how to defend myself. Growing up with just my mother in the slums, I had to learn. We lived in a nasty apartment building. Between the drunks and the lecherous landlord, I quickly learned how to handle a pistol and knife."

Lyla turned to her, eyes wide with both horror and fascination. "You can use a gun?"

"I had a beau when I was younger who thought I'd fare better with a firearm rather than a kitchen knife. So he gifted me an old one from his grandfather and taught me how to shoot it."

"That's . . . well, no, that's not very romantic, but I suppose it's sweet he was concerned?"

Chuckling to herself, Genevieve started slicing potatoes and tossing them into a frying pan. "Romance wasn't his strong suit, but I appreciated his confidence in my ability to take care of myself. He never tried to play the heroic knight with me."

"Sounds like the right sort of man for you. Did something happen to him? Why aren't you two together anymore?"

"Oh, it was nothing but a youthful fling, really. I did care for him, but we were too young to be thinking about getting serious. We eventually grew up and went our separate ways. But I'll always cherish the skills he taught me. As time went on, I got better with practice. I've fended off several burglars and even a few would-be rapists."

Lyla gasped, pressing her hands to her belly and leaning against the table. "Not here in the boarding house?"

"Not the rapists, but two of the burglars."

"My goodness, Ms. Barreau, your life is absolutely fascinating."

The kettle started to whistle, and Lyla went to fetch a rag. Genevieve watched her, wondering at the sincerity of the girl's apparent awe. While it was true that she was something of an actress, she did seem genuinely impressed with Genevieve's experiences. It made sense. The girl clearly longed for more freedom and excitement, and though Genevieve didn't approve of the methods she used to achieve that, she did feel for her. If Genevieve had been forced to live a dull, boring existence as a housewife, she would likely have rebelled, too.

Footsteps sounded down the stairs above, and Genevieve took a sharp breath as she looked up. Her eyes still on the ceiling, she handed the knife to Lyla and moved her over to the potatoes. "Chop these up for me, will you? I need to go see Wren."

Lyla didn't protest or ask any questions, and as Genevieve made her way upstairs, she could hear the metal blade thudding against the cutting board. The girl certainly had her flaws, but she was an excellent assistant.

Wren was reaching for the front door when Genevieve entered the hallway. As she called out to him, he jumped and turned. Once again, she saw a flash of panic in his eyes. But just as quickly as before, he replaced it with that charming flirtation and leaned against the door as though he hadn't a care in the world.

"Miss me last night?" he teased.

"How's your friend?" she asked as she approached, not even attempting to play along.

"Still sick as a dog. Idiot doesn't know how to hold his liquor. Serves him right."

"Maybe I should go check on him."

She moved towards the stairs, but Wren caught her arm and pulled her back. "Trust me, you don't wanna go in there. Place is a mess. So's he."

"Then I should see to it that he's tended to."

He held firm. "He ain't sick, just hungover."

"Wren, I've dealt with my fair share of inebriates. I know what I'm doing."

She tried to tug her arm away from him, but he twisted her back roughly and shouted, "I said 'no'!"

Wincing, she went still, afraid that if she made another move, he might snap her wrist. And for the first time since she'd met Wren, she realized how easily he could hurt her if he wanted to. Years of hard labor as a blacksmith had resulted in impressive strength that she'd always admired. But now, as he held her tight, it frightened her, as did the dark, panicked look in his eyes.

That awful prickling along her skin came back, and the doubts started nipping at the edges of her mind. He was lying to her. Something bad was in that room, and he was trying to keep her from finding out. She wanted to give him a tongue-lashing he'd never forget, but her common sense kept her silent as she stared at him, waiting to see what he'd do next.

It seemed to dawn on him how obviously suspicious his behavior was. He loosened his hold on her, though he didn't let go. "Ghenny, love, I'm sorry. I've got a splitting headache from listening to him last night. I got no sleep. I didn't mean to snap at you. Just, please, leave the fool be. I'm going to run out to let his wife know he ain't dead and then I'll be right back to clean up the mess. I promise."

He placed a tender kiss on her lips, gently stroking her cheek. Forcing a smile, she nodded. "Of course. Breakfast should be ready soon. I'll be sure to make some extra coffee for you."

A relieved smile spread over his face, and he kissed her forehead. "You're a godsend, Ghenny. I'll be back soon. I swear. Just leave him to wallow in his own muck."

She nodded again, and as he released her and slipped outside, she gave a little wave and headed back to the kitchen. However, as soon as the door shut, she spun on her heel and rushed up the stairs. Bursting into her room, she dug through the drawers and found the master key for the house. She hardly ever used it. Despite her boarders being petty criminals and troublemakers, most everyone showed her the respect she demanded.

Never would she have thought she'd have to use this key because of Wren.

As she was about to rush back to his room, she paused, her muscles going stiff. Wren's panicked eyes flashed in her mind, and her wrist began to ache anew at the memory of his tight grip. Turning back, she pulled open another drawer and fetched her pistol, stuffing it into the waistband of her skirt. She prayed she wouldn't need it, but her survival instinct was screaming at her to take every precaution.

Hurrying back into the hall, she peeked down the stairs to make sure Wren was still gone. When she was certain all was clear, she went straight to his door and slipped the key into the lock. It took some effort to get it to turn, and even after it had, she had to shoulder the door a bit for it to swing open, causing her to stumble inside with unexpected force.

Her eyes darted about the room, searching for something awful, something terrible and dangerous and very illegal.

Nothing. Not even a sick friend. There were, though, a number of shirts thrown about, which was rather odd. Wren was a meticulous sort of person, always keeping everything neat and orderly, even at his shop. What was he in such a hurry to do that caused him to leave the place a mess?

And then there was a whimper. Or that's what it sounded like. Going completely still, she strained her hearing, trying to figure out where it had come from.

There. Again. A muffled cry.

The cold dread settled inside of her as she turned to the old wardrobe in the corner. With slow, determined steps, she reached out to grab the handles, noticing that they were tied closed.

The icy prickling increased as she undid the knots and let the rope fall to the floor. Gripping the door handles, she tugged the wardrobe open.

She gasped and stepped back, praying that she was seeing things. This was so, so much worse than anything she could have imagined.

Taking a deep breath, she knelt before the bound and gagged girl inside the wardrobe, her heart aching as the poor thing flinched at Genevieve's outstretched hand.

"Oh dear Lord, what has he done?" Genevieve whispered as she removed the gag from the girl's mouth and pulled out the small knife she kept hidden in her boot.

"Please, don't," the girl sobbed, squeezing her eyes shut. "I'll do whatever you say. I promise, please, just don't kill me."

"Hush, hush, I'm not going to hurt you, child," Genevieve said softly as she sawed away at the ropes binding the girl's ankles. "Who are you? How did you get here?"

Opening her eyes slowly, the girl drew her brows together. "You're not with them?"

"With whom?"

"The men who took me."

Ice froze Genevieve's blood. "They took you? From where?"

"On my way home from the alehouse where I work. Someone grabbed me off the street and knocked me out. When I woke up, I was being dragged up a flight of stairs in some house by a bunch of men. They tossed me into this wardrobe and swore if I made a sound, they'd slit my throat."

The rope snapped, and Genevieve moved on to the girl's wrists. "Did they say what they wanted with you?"

The girl shook her head, her eyes glued to the knife in Genevieve's hand. "I heard them talking after they shut me away, though. Something about a cash carrier willing to pay a high price for an untouched flower."

Oh, so much worse than she'd thought. Genevieve's heart ached, and she had to bite back the tears that were forming. She wasn't sure what exactly brought them forth, whether the plight of this poor girl or Wren's betrayal. But tears would do nothing to help the situation. She had to act. And quickly.

The final thread gave, and the girl was free. Genevieve rose to her feet as the girl rubbed her wrists, red and raw from the rope. "Come on, dear," Genevieve said gently, offering the girl her hands. "We need to get you out of here before Wren comes back."

The girl accepted her help. As Genevieve pulled her up and steadied her, the girl stared at her in disbelief and asked, "You're letting me go?"

"Of course I am. Hurry now."

Checking first to be sure Wren hadn't returned, Genevieve ushered the girl down the stairs and into the kitchen where Lyla was still chopping potatoes. Lyla paused when she caught sight of the girl.

"Don't you work at the alehouse?" she asked, furrowing her brow as she looked her up and down.

"Lyla, the potatoes," Genevieve snapped.

"But—"

"Lyla."

She drew back at Genevieve's sharp tone and resumed chopping, keeping her eyes fixed on the cutting board. Genevieve turned back to the trembling girl and gently brought her to the back door that led to the alley outside. Guiding her up the stairs, she took her as far as the street and checked to make certain there were no familiar faces lurking about.

"Hurry home," she told the girl, nodding towards the road. "I suggest you not go out alone for a while."

"Will they come for me again?" the girl asked, her voice a terrified squeak as she clutched at her blouse.

Genevieve's heart squeezed tight, and she offered her a reassuring smile. "I'll do my best to make sure this doesn't happen to any other girl. I promise."

Tears welled up in the girl's eyes. She wiped them away with her sleeve and nodded. "Thank you, ma'am. Thank you so much."

"Go on, now. Hurry, before it gets light."

The girl obediently scurried out into the street, wisely keeping to the shadows as she made her way home. Genevieve watched her for a moment, almost wishing she could go with her rather than return to the boarding house where she'd have to face the truth.

The truth.

There was no getting around it, though. She couldn't just turn a blind eye to it now that she knew. But her ridiculous bleeding heart was torn in two as she imagined the repercussions that would result from doing the right thing. Still, the consequences of doing nothing would be even worse.

Lyla again paused her chopping as Genevieve returned to the kitchen, and before Genevieve could repeat her instructions to carry on with breakfast prep, the girl was at her side. Clutching her arm, she gazed up at her with wide, terrified eyes.

"Ms. Barreau, what's happened? Who was that? Why was she bleeding?"

Almost too tired to demand the girl mind her own business, Genevieve opened her mouth to give some sort of vague explanation when a door upstairs opened. Her muscles tensed as she heard heavy steps hurry up to the second floor, and she set her eyes on the stairs leading to the main part of the house.

She didn't want to do this. It would have been so much easier to feign ignorance, to act as though she hadn't seen a thing. But if she had been willing to take the easy route, she would have left that poor girl in the wardrobe.

No, Genevieve was not about to do things the easy way. Perhaps she didn't always do things the right way, at least not in the eyes of the law, but she did what was decent. What was kind. What was good.

And this time, that meant betraying the man she loved.

"Stay down here, Lyla," she said, making her way to the stairs. "No matter what you hear, do not come out."

"But Ms. Barreau—"

"Stay."

No footsteps followed after her as she ascended the stone stairs. She closed the door behind her, reaching out to be sure the pistol was still tucked into her waistband. Not that she was expecting to have to use it. Wren had never raised a hand to her. The incident in the hallway was the first time he'd ever used his strength against her, and she hoped his love for her would be enough motivation to keep him from hurting her. Still, her entire image of him had been shattered after finding that girl bound and gagged in his room.

There was really no telling what he might do now.