The thing about being a woman in these times was that men well underestimated you and when you were in the business of keeping secrets and pulling off tricks, it was an indirect but worthy advantage.

Still, one had to be careful because while some men might be too self-absorbed to notice, there were a few who paid keen attention. Men like Eddie, for example, who saw me as nothing more but a slow-growing but potentially high-yielding investment.

"Thank you, loves. No need to clap so hard. We already know you adore us," I purred on the microphone, winking and flashing a sultry smile at the audience as I fell back in line with Rita and Cindy, the two women I just performed a lively jazz number with. With flair and flourish, we made our bow. Rita was really the only one who could carry a tune but Cindy and I made good back-ups, contributing mostly with our flippant and flirty dancing and flashy costumes. I made all the quirky quips, teasing and amusing the audience until they were so heartily entertained they just couldn't help but spend more cash.

I liked the money but it had become more than that.

On stage, I could usually forget my life and bask in the warm and blinding light instead, unobscured by the shadows for once and unafraid, even just for a moment, of my own dangerous secrets.

The music would carry my feet, animate my bones and fill my being with lightness—except tonight.

Beyond the edges of the spotlight and the applauding crowd, I spied Brandon in the shadows and my heart catapulted against my chest with breathtaking force.

Every night I pleaded for him to stay away, to distance himself from the danger of being discovered.

But in the short time I'd known him, I knew that once Brandon had his mind set on something, he would not be deterred.

It would be the death of us.

Stepping off to the side to exit the stage, halos of the spotlight still in my vision, I found my hand clasped hard in a tight grip. I looked up, thinking it was Terry, our sound man who often worked around the stage, and stared into Eddie's beady eyes. I blinked several times to clear my vision but the man I faced remained the same. Unable to suppress a wince, I pulled away from Eddie's sweaty grasp but his fingers wouldn't budge.

"Rousing performance as always, my dear," he said with exaggerated flair, bringing my hand up to his lips to plant a moist kiss on it that made my skin crawl. Then he leaned in to murmur in a low voice that sent shivers down my spine. "The things you make me dream of when you move your body..."

This time, even as it wrenched at my shoulder painfully, I yanked my hand away and wiped it down my feather-covered skirt. "Yes, dream of my arm moving up and down—that's me stabbing you to death. Dream of my foot swinging back and forth—that's me kicking your cold corpse. Enjoying it yet?"

I thought Eddie would explode but he just gave me a cold smile. "There's something different about you, Charlotte. Something that's made you bolder and more stupid. Something that distracts you as you do about the only thing you enjoy around here. I'm curious."

I tipped my chin up at veiled threat, determined to show him nothing that he could and would use against me. "They say, curiosity killed the cat. I sure as hell hope that's true with you."

I flashed him my most brilliant smile, sketched a bow and turned to leave, my eyes quickly scanning the crowd for a sign of Brandon. He was nowhere in sight.

The end of my shift could not have come soon enough.

As I went about my usual walk home, my guard already up after tonight's confrontation with Eddie, I noticed someone trailing me, blending back into the shadows whenever I moved my head around to observe. Brandon would be waiting for me at his usual spot but if this was one of Eddie's minions spying on me, I couldn't lead him to the man I'd been trying to protect. I slowed my pace.

The cold steel of the gun against of my thigh had never felt more welcome than when a short but bulky figure lunged for me. I was able to dodge away after driving the back of my fist to his face, stumbling to the cold ground and crawling away.

Another figure jumped out, tackling the other man down and ramming a fist to the side of his head.

Brandon—much like the hero I didn't want him to be—punishing the man with vicious punches.

"No!"

I saw a flash of steel, my heart jumping to my throat as Brandon reared back to avoid the deadly swipe of a knife. The man caught him with a foot behind his leg and he toppled back, vulnerable to the coming attack.

I had no conscious thought process as my hand raised the gun and fired, clocking the man right on the shoulder, the knife he held clattering to the ground. He howled in pain, clutching his wound just as Brandon pulled his leg back and rammed a foot against his throat. The man croaked, gasping loudly as he crumpled to the ground.

Brandon got up on his feet and approached our attacker again.

"Let's go! Now!" With an unsteady hand and blood roaring in my ears, I stashed my gun and scrambled to my feet, grabbing for Brandon's hand to drag him away.

I could barely see where I was going but out of nowhere a shiny black sedan whipped to a stop in front of us.

"Get in," Brandon ordered, yanking the door open and climbing in after me.

"Get us home, Weiss," he said to the driver who gave no reaction to our rescue as if he did this every night. Considering Brandon's inclination to sweep the streets at night, he probably did.

I was quiet and trembling in the back of the car, cold and shaken by the violence and my own contribution to it.

It wasn't new to me having existed in the fringes of society for so long but tonight was the first time I feared for someone else other than myself.

It lasted no more than a few minutes but they were forever seared into my brain.

I would never forget the sheer terror watching the knife swing down toward Brandon, knowing that if fate led the blade straight to his heart, it would be all over and I would've lost, once again, not just someone I deeply cared about but a good soul the world definitely needed more of.

Brandon drew me into his arms, his solid strength steadying the tremors racking through my body. "You were very brave, Charlotte, but if I see you in danger like that again, I might go insane."

I bit my lip and peered-up at him, dry-eyed in spite of myself. "He's probably still alive. And he's going to talk. Eddie will know about you and me... He will know who you are."

Brandon's eyes narrowed. "He might have seen my face but that's all he's got. And since I destroyed his windpipe and you injured his preferred arm, he won't be talking or writing about us anytime soon."

I shook my head, wishing I could believe him.

The devil could always scent his victims.

"Don't worry about it now, love," he said softly, resting his chin on the top of my head. "You're safe with me."

In the fortress of a house that Brandon brought me to just a short distance outside of town, I could almost believe him.

The mansion was surrounded by a tall concrete fence, its gates guarded and forbidding. It was luxurious and dreamy inside—a beautiful prison tower for the princess the white knight will lock away to protect.

"A bath's been readied for you," he said, leading me to the bathroom adjoining the vast master suite. "I hope it helps. When you're done, we can eat or just rest. Up to you."

I touched the light bruise on his jaw. "Where will you be?"

"In my study making a late night phone call to my lawyer to protect us from tonight's repercussions, should there be any," he explained, holding me close and pressing his forehead against mine. "Don't fret, Charlotte. I'll take care of it."

I said nothing when a faint knock sounded from the door and Brandon admitted entry to an elderly woman with a kind face, still looking sleep-mussed but smiling. "Are you ready, milady?"

Brandon placed a hand on the woman's shoulder and smiled down fondly at her. "Agnes, this lady right here is Charlotte. Charlotte, this is Agnes, my housekeeper and pretty much my mother in the past several years."

"Now, don't you be giving me airs, young man," Agnes chided gently although her smile deepened.

"It's very nice to meet you, Agnes," I said, grinning when I shook the older woman's hands. "I've heard so much about you."

She looked surprised for a second before affection softened the creases on her face. "It's very nice to meet you at last, Miss Charlotte. I'm not the only one Master Brandon's been talking about lately."

Brandon smiled and shook his head, dropping a kiss on Agnes's cheek and one on my forehead. "I'll leave you ladies to your businesses while I go attend to mine. I'll see you shortly, Charlotte."

It relieved me greatly that while Agnes seemed familiar enough about me, she didn't fuss or probe. She left me with all the essentials and gave me time to enjoy my bath in the large clawfoot tub. I soaked until the water cooled, watching the glittering night sky through a high window and marshalling what I could of my defenses.

It was so easy to feel safe, not just in this palace but in Brandon's arms, but despite how desperately I wanted to believe it, I knew it wouldn't last—not when my secrets could come out anytime.

I was wrapped in a robe and drying my hair with a towel when Agnes knocked on the door.

"Miss Charlotte, I've brought you an old but clean night gown that Master Brandon's mother never used." The woman wouldn't be persuaded to simply call me Charlotte. "Would you like me to assist you at all? Perhaps dry your hair and brush it down for you?"

I had never in my life had a lady's maid but when my mother was still alive, she would brush my hair down every night no matter how tired she was. It was a tradition I haven't experienced in a while that I couldn't resist Agnes's offer.

She sat me in a chair and and went to wrap a towel around sections of my hair until they were mostly dry.

"I can find more of madam's clothes for you tomorrow," the woman was saying as I closed my eyes and surrendered myself to her maternal care. "She was a very fashionable woman and her husband could not refuse her anything. We'd given away some of her things but Master Brandon kept several trunks of them in the attic. She's a bit taller than you but very similar measurements so with some tweaks, we can probably make some of her dresses work for you until Master Brandon gets you your own marvelous wardrobe."

"I only need one dress. Just something to wear going home tomorrow, Agnes. Thank you so much."

"You're not staying then, Miss Charlotte?" The old woman sounded confused.

"Brandon is just offering me shelter for the night," I answered, opening my eyes. The older woman was watching me on the mirror we faced with a small frown. "Why? Did you think I was staying?"

"The arrangements that Master Brandon has been making the past few days seemed to imply that," she said. "The lad's smitten with you, you know? It's been a long time since I've seen his smile reach his eyes again and I know it's because of you. I figured we'll be putting together a wedding soon enough."

It shouldn't have warmed me inside.

In fact, it should've felt like cold, dead weight in my gut, knowing how deep Brandon and I were into it now, and I should've bolted the next second.

I blinked back my tears and smiled at Agnes instead. "Brandon deserves to be happy. Who he'll share that life with, I don't know, but I wish him no less than all the best things."

The woman's expression was kind and understanding as she put a hand on my shoulder. "If that's your wish, then maybe you should stay, Miss. I think what Master Brandon needs is someone to love him and for him to love. He's lost everyone in his family. His mother when he was young, his younger brother a few years after that from a riding accident, then finally his father, ruthlessly murdered five years ago. He's become a hard man which is a shame because he's got a good, loving heart."

Yes, a real shame, because I can't have it. I can't stay. I have to keep running.

When Agnes left, I returned to the bedroom to wait for Brandon but I became restless. I couldn't be alone with my rioting thoughts so I went exploring, down the endless hall until I spied light from underneath the door of a room at the end of the wing.

I lightly knocked and at Brandon's muffled reply, I pushed the door open.

The study was just like every room in the house—enormous, ornate and as intimidating as the man who sat behind the massive oak desk framed by a large glass window behind him.

Brandon looked up from a note he was scribbling, his angular face almost harsh in the dim light in those few seconds before a boyish grin cleared his expression. Suddenly there was nothing harsh about him anymore.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, sitting back as I sauntered toward his desk, pausing here and there at every fascinating thing I found along the way, from art pieces to antiques.

"Oh, you know," I answered flippantly. "Shooting a man is just among my usual nocturnal activities. I won't lose sleep over it."

Brandon arched a brow. "You have no talent for lying, Charlotte."

A shrill, bitter laugh escaped me that for a second I didn't even realize I was its source. "I wish I can agree with you, Brand. Or maybe I've lived a lie for so long that by now I don't know it to be anything else but my truth. Eventually, you stop being able to tell the difference."

"And what's this lie?" he asked calmly and I quirked a brow back at him.

"If I tell you, it won't be much of a lie anymore, would it?"

"Whatever it is, I can help you, Charlotte," he insisted because he was too noble like that. "What I want you to take away from tonight, apart from the nasty memories, is the fact that I will do everything to keep you from falling victim into that hellhole. You don't belong there."

"I'll be gone from there before that happens. That's not the life I want."

"Could you want a life with me?" he asked.

I gazed back at him, my mouth curving into what felt like a sad smile. "Then I won't really be leaving that hellhole, would I, Brand? Not when your life is devoted to destroying one hellhole after another. I'll just simply move on to the next one along with you, fingers crossed and praying fervently that the hellhole you target next isn't the one you die in."

That took him aback, as if the idea had never occurred to him.

"I can protect you," he said firmly.

"Oh, yes. You'll lock me up in your tower, safe from the big, bad world," I said airily. "And when the big, bad world proves itself to you, I'll still be in that tower, waiting for the white knight that will never come."

His brows pulled in together, the stubborn struggle he was having with himself evident. "I will not be defeated."

Such arrogance.

Such determination.

Such utter foolishness.

My heart broke a little. "Don't you understand, Brandon? I don't want to be a hero, not like you, and certainly not for this world that's determined to carve its own path to ruin."

"Is the world not worth saving even for the few people in it that you deeply care about?" he asked, his jaw clenching and his eyes flashing with a kaleidoscope of emotions. "People that you love?"

I lowered my eyes. "I don't have anyone left to love."

"That's not true."

I felt a surge of anger, the walls to my secrets crumbling with it. "I can't save anyone, Brand, even if I had the heart to do it. I can save you now but I will still lose you. I will still have to stay behind, long after you're gone, and feel that empty space you left for the next hundred years. I can't afford to be a hero, Brand. More importantly, I can't afford to love."

It wasn't until hot tears spilled down my cheeks that I realized I was crying.

And it was only then that I realized the extent of my admission, of the truth I told.

Brandon, eyes wide and turbulent, rose from his seat but I held a hand up to stop him.

"Don't say you understand," I warned him, my voice trembling. "Because you really don't."

"Then make me understand."

I turned around slowly, lifting my head to finally gaze at the infamous painting as it hung above the mantel of the unlit fireplace.

The same dark blond hair, wild and unbound, swept carelessly over one shoulder as the woman sat on a daybed in a room softly illuminated with sunlight. She faced away, only wrapped in a pale blue silken robe which slipped down her shoulder, dipping low enough to expose a generous portion of her back. Her blue-green eyes were vivid, her cheeks flushed and her lips faintly curved into a smile that was both beguiling and heartbreaking at the same time. She was the picture of gentle beauty and innocent allure—except that on the creamy canvas of her exposed skin laid out the disfiguring, still angry marks of a lashing.

What a shame, what a shame! Emile, the artist, had exclaimed when he saw my robe slip. I was supposed to pose for him for this exact picture of young, exuberant, sensual beauty but when I was turning, the robe, which had been too large for me, had slipped down my shoulder and revealed the scars. The man broke down and sobbed right then and there, grieving not so much my pain but the corruption of such beauty. He said then that he understood why I smiled the way I did—not quite exuberant but still faintly tinged with cautious hope, as ironic as that sounded.

Loosening the belt of my robe, I looked over my shoulder at Brandon, mimicking the pose in the portrait. With a gentle shrug of my left shoulder, the robe eased down, gaping open enough to reveal the exact pattern of scars that decorated my back.

Brandon sucked in a loud, harsh breath, his face draining of any color.

"It was only two weeks after I received my lashing when my mother packed us away from Belle Terre in Louisiana to escape a life of slavery and cruelty," I said, the tremors still in my voice. "It was a slow and dangerous trek to the free states, just before the civil war broke out."

Brandon's eyes narrowed. "The civil war started sixty-five years ago."

I smiled. "You're good with numbers."

Brandon exhaled sharply. "How is this possible?"

In no hurry—I had all the time in the world, after all—I continued, "We were robbed on the roadside and one of our attackers aimed at my mother. I was supposed to die but I didn't. I was in a fever for days that if the bullet hadn't done me in, the infection should've. But heroes occasionally get their eternal reward. I survived. But from that day on, I was never the same. Nor was I ever again different."

I kept going before he could ask any more questions. "It was hard to notice much else at first in the years that followed but eventually, it caught up with me. Time didn't though. It's never caught up with me again. I've been eighteen since 1861, not a day older. The moment I realized the kind of anomaly I've become, I've been running and I haven't stopped."

I finally turned around to face him, pulling the robe back into its place and tightening it around my body as if it could protect me from the fallout that was sure to come.

"I watched my mother die, Brand," I said. "I watched many other good people die. I watched the world try to destroy itself war after war. And there isn't much that I can do but keep watching because it would seem that I'm destined to be an eternal spectator of the cycle of life. But I'm not made of stone yet, Brand. With each life that slips through my hands, I lose something of myself. If I have to watch you die, too, I'll have nothing left."

It was quiet after my last word echoed and faded, the room as empty as I felt.

"Now, you understand," I said with a deep sigh before I turned to leave. "I'll get dressed and see myself out."

I made it no more than two steps toward the door when I was yanked up against a body that trembled with emotions so visceral they reverberated through my own bones. Brandon's arms could be crushing me but I didn't dare move as he held me tight, his face buried on the curve of my neck.

"You're done running, Charlotte," he murmured, his breath hot on my skin. "If there's anything I realized from what you told me, it's that maybe you'd waited all this time for me to find you. Because now you can come home and that home is with me."

There was a multitude of counterarguments I could come up with but when you win for once, you just didn't taunt fate right away.

There were no more questions and answers said after that.

I melted in his arms, needing that warmth, craving that acceptance, aching for that permanence after all these years.

When his lips brushed mine, I tasted that kiss—sunshine and sin and salvation—and felt the heat flare from him as my body molded against his hard frame.

His hands descended to my sides, clutching my hips to press me closer to him. I tilted my head up to match the demands of his mouth, my blood singing when I felt Brandon's fingers trail past the slit of my robe to my bare thigh, his skin imprinting me with the designs of my impending destruction—one I would willingly walk into for once.

That night, when he carried me down the hall and laid me down his bed, patiently coaxing my body into a dizzying spiral and letting me take him right along with me, I couldn't be sure if I'd been lost or found.

Perhaps, both.

We spent the next hours talking softly, about my life and its many colorful years as if it were a faraway dream.

In the morning light, reality could not be as easily ignored.

There was still my secret and there was still Brandon's crusade.

"Stay, Charlotte," he said quietly when I rose from the bed to get dressed. "Stay with me where you're safe."

"I'm not exactly safe with a man who will break my heart when he doesn't come home one night. I'm not strong enough for that kind of pain."

"You're stronger than you think you are. You've lived through so much."

"Even I have my limits, Brand," I said as I put my shoes on. "I'm not going to test them with you."

I gasped when I felt his arms latch around my waist from behind and pull me back. Trying to breathe through the sudden thrashing of my heart, I slowly turned to find Brandon sitting on the edge of the bed, bare-chested, his arms wrapped around my midsection, his dark head bent, his forehead touching my stomach.

"Don't go, Charlotte, please," he whispered weakly, his shoulders shaking from the effort of his restraint. "I can't rest easy knowing you're out there, unsafe in the very world I'm trying to fix."

Taking a deep, shaky breath, I pressed my lips together to stifle the sob that rose from this tender yet broken moment between us. Lightly, I slipped my fingers through the thick waves of his hair, fighting the urge to sink into his arms and never leave.

"If you feel this way, then you understand why I'm asking this of you," I said, closing my eyes and lowering my head to press a soft kiss on his hair, inhaling the scent of him until it filled the hollow space that ached inside of me. "You want the whole world, Brand. So do I. But that whole world for me is you. I'll stay with you if you'll stay with me, too."

He said nothing but his shoulders trembled as he clutched me more tightly against him.

It took all the strength I didn't realize I possessed to tear myself away from his arms.

I allowed myself one last touch of his face, lifting his head up so I could look into those beautiful golden eyes again and brand them into my memory.

"Good luck, my hero," I said in a whisper. "Goodbye, my love."