Court of Flowers (Sutherland Book 1)

XXXV | For the Record

"What are you doing?" West groggily asked. He was lying face down on the bed, watching Sasha hand-sewing her tattered dress across her side of the bed, curled up in a chair by the lamp with naught but a blanket draped around her. "You are bloody crazy, Sasha, do you know that?"

"I can be, yes," she murmured in concentration, pulling at the thread with one arm. The blanket slipped off her shoulder.

"You are naked," he pointed out with a dry chuckle. "Wrapped in a bloody blanket."

She chuckled along. "I cannot sleep."

West buried his face in the pillow. "Oh, Lord... she is bloody sewing."

"Go back to sleep."

He rolled his head to the side. "I can't. I am enjoying your show."

She paused to look at him. "Are you afraid I am going to venture out for another journal hunt? Are there more?" she asked with feigned interest.

Grunting, West climbed out of bed and walked toward her.

"You are naked," she pointed out. "With no blanket."

"Yes, and I intend to return you to bed, so if you could please not point that needle at me..." he bent down and scooped her in his arms—the entire blanket bundle of her. Sasha shrieked but did not struggle, afraid that he would lose his balance. He deposited her to her side of the bed and proceeded to take the lamp near her. "You do your bloody sewing here. Where did you even find that bloody needle?"

"It is inside your closet. You must know that they are almost always accessible." She sighed. "But then, of course, you are not aware of that, duke that you are."

Making no comment, he climbed into bed and crawled back to his side. He slipped under the covers and reached for her, his arm circling her waist while he buried his face in the pillows behind her.

For some time, she worked quietly until West gave up sleep. Rolling his head, he watched her face.

"When this is all over, we have to talk about us."

Her hand stilled. She did not look at him.

"I see that you have been doing a lot of thinking." Her tone was calm, but her eyes said otherwise. When he did not answer, she looked down at him. "Does this mean you trust me? Perhaps you should not."

"You are trying to find a way to change the subject, are you not?"

"Because there is no point in engaging in a conversation that discusses an issue we know the resolution to."

West frowned. "What makes you think we cannot be?"

"Because you are the West Blackwood, Duke of Eaton." His jaw hardened. "Sasha Merson, daughter of a peasant. That's me. That is my real name." She looked away and continued her task. "I am the daughter of a peasant. We watched over the livestock we did not even own. My father killed my mother because he found our plight hopeless and he could find no reason to live. He did not find that reason in my mother." Her hand stilled once again as she added, "And he did not find it in me." She stole him a look. "To this day, I do not understand what took over him, or how his mind convinced him to do what he did. I cannot understand still why he had to make me choose, or why he told me to be a good girl when I chose me."

West shuddered. Be a good girl...

He remembered her murmuring the words the night she was attacked by Willoghby, how it had left her shaken.

Her father's last words.

She looked down at him, expressionless. "I do not want you to pity me. My story is not one for charity."