Chapter Forty-Four
Icarus had blood on his gloves. Cuthbertson’s blood. He stripped them off and balled them up and climbed into the carriage. He didn’t speak. Neither did Miss Trentham. He sat, his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands, his eyes squeezed shut. Thoughts lurched in his head, disjointed and fragmented. He felt almost drunk, felt almost like vomiting. Cuthbertson had betrayed them for the sake of a five-minute f**k?
The trembling stopped after the first mile. His thoughts became less fragmented. Icarus lifted his head and looked at Letty Trentham, seated in the opposite corner.
“I apologize. My behavior was unpardonable. My language—”
“Under the circumstances, I think that your behavior and language were perfectly pardonable.” She looked at him for a long moment, her
