He would do it, too. She knew it. Aidan would do anything for her. But as much as she wanted her father dead, she would also do anything for Aidan. And she wasn’t about to let him live with a murder on his soul.
“No,” she said, moving gingerly toward her father who was groaning and trying to sit up. “But we can’t ‘ave ‘im coming for us again.”
She placed her own boot on her father’s chest, holding him down. He looked up at her with eyes the same blue gray as her own. “Kill me, why don’t ye? Always were a coward.”
Jenny lifted her foot and brought it down as hard as she could on his right hand. He screamed as the sound of crunching bones echoed in the dark alley. Aidan stepped back, and Jenny wasn’t sure if he was repulsed or just giving her the space to do as she wanted. She ground the heel of her foot into his hand then bent over him until she was close enough for him to hear her whisper. “That’s for all the times I felt the back of that ‘and,” she said. “That’s for all the times I couldn’t talk because ye split my lip or sleep because my ‘ead ‘urt so bad from yer blows. The next time ye try and take a piss or ‘old a cup, ye think of me. And if ye come for me or ‘im ever again, next time, we won’t be so forgiving.”
She gave him a hard kick in the ribs and walked away. Aidan was already at the wall. At sixteen, he was tall enough that he could just reach up and pull himself over. Jenny had to jump and grab onto the top. Her shoulder screamed in pain, but she pulled herself up and jumped down on the other side.
“You’re hurt,” Aidan said as soon as she landed. “I can see it in your face.”
“Just a bruise on my shoulder,” she said. “Let’s go.”
He took her hand and they walked quickly away. The commotion might attract the Watch, and they didn’t want to look suspicious. Instead of going to the Brown Bear as planned, they climbed to the roof of a building where they stayed some nights when the weather was mild. They’d hidden a blanket and a bit of food up there, and Aidan laid out the blanket and handed her a half-empty bottle of wine. She took a long swig.
“How bad is it?” he asked.
“ ‘Urts like the devil,” she said. “But it would ‘ave been a lot worse if ye ‘adn’t come. ‘Ow’d ye know I was in trouble?”
“One of the boys you give scraps to spotted you and came running to tell me.”
“I don’t give scraps to anyone!” she protested.
“Sure you don’t. Anyway, he told me the direction he’d seen you go, and I figured you’d head for the alley. I went around the long way or I’d have been there sooner.”
“I told ye ‘e’d kill me some day.”
“Not today,” Aidan said. “Not any day I’m here. Let me see your shoulder.”
She unfastened the buttons at the neck and drew the shirt up and over one side of her body, leaving the other side in place. Her breasts were bound so there was nothing to see. Aidan wouldn’t have looked anyway. He never looked at her, and she was ashamed to admit she sometimes wished he would. There was a feeling she sometimes got between her legs, and it had only grown since she’d turned seventeen. Sometimes it was hard to lay beside Aidan and not want to touch him or kiss him. She found small ways to do it—an arm on his shoulder, moving closer to him when it was cold, or brushing against him in a narrow passage. But he was always respectful. Even when she was careless about changing in front of him, he turned his back to give her privacy. He obviously wouldn’t ever think of her as anything more than a friend.
And she was his friend. She just wanted to be his friend and then some.
Aidan moved so he could see her shoulder, keeping his gaze above the area of her chest. “You’ll have a bruise there,” he said. “It’s already turning purple.”
She looked down and swore at the mottled skin. “I’m lucky ‘e didn’t ‘it me in the face, or I’d be in a lot worse shape,” she said.
“It wasn’t luck.” He put two fingers on her shoulder, right near the bruise, and slid them over her skin. “You don’t need luck.”
Jenny couldn’t stop a shiver as his fingers trailed down her bare arm, pausing at her elbow. She looked up and away from his hand and saw his gaze was on her face. His eyes were so dark, and he hadn’t been able to shave in a week or so and there was a shadow on his jaw.
“I was scared,” he said, sounding a bit like the boy he’d been when they’d met four years ago.
“I’m not that easy to be rid of,” she said.
“Good.” His tongue darted out, wetting his lips, and her breath hitched. He wanted to kiss her. She knew him, and though she’d never done that with him, she knew what he wanted. She wanted the same thing.
“Jenny, may I—”
“Yes,” she said, her voice little more than a whisper. “I’ve been wanting ye to do it for ages now.”
He cocked his head to the side, his fingers lightly grasping her bare forearm. “Why didn’t you say so?”
“Why didn’t ye?”
“I didn’t think you wanted me like that.” His free hand went to her face and cupped her jaw. His touch was so gentle, so sweet. She was shivering all over now, trembling like a newborn kitten.
“I thought ye didn’t want me. Like that.”
He let out a small laugh. “Jenny, I’ve never wanted anyone but you.” He leaned forward, his lips brushing over hers in the sweetest kiss she’d ever had. Warmth shot through her, and she kissed him back, wrapping her hand around his neck and moving closer until they were pressed against each other and breathing hard. Aidan pulled back first. “You’d better put your shirt back on,” he said. “You’ll get cold.”
“I’m plenty warm,” she said, but she moved back and tugged her sleeve back, wincing only slightly at the discomfort.
“I’ll keep you warm,” he said, taking the bottle from her hand and lowering her to the blanket.
HE LOVED HER. AIDAN loved Jenny, despite the fact that he’d never wanted to love anyone again after losing his mother. He did love Jenny.
But he didn’t dare tell her. He didn’t know how she’d react. Her own parents hadn’t loved her. That much was clear. He didn’t know how she’d react to such a confession. Over the years he’d noticed she always argued when he gave her any kind of compliment. She never thought she deserved praise or kindness. Aidan didn’t think she thought she deserved love.
He considered how to tell her for months until one night they were laying together under London Bridge. For some reason that day he had been thinking about his own mother, and how she always told him how much she loved him, and how much that had meant to him. And so that night, as they lay on their sides, looking into the other’s eyes, arms around the other, he said, “I love you, Jenny.”
She’d stiffened. “Wot’d ye say?”
“I said, I love you. You know that, don’t you?” He’d lifted himself onto his elbow and looked down at her face. “Why are you crying?”
“No reason,” she said with a sniff. “Course I knew ye loved me.”