“I wish you would tell me something of your life. Something true, even if it is unpleasant. I want to know you for who you really are.”

The prospect should have alarmed him. And perhaps it did a little. But he didn’t object. In truth, it seemed a small price to pay for the intimacy he was going to share with her. “What exactly would you like to hear?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Anything.” She hesitated. “Perhaps you could tell me about your childhood.”

“In the orphanage?”

Her brows knit with concern. “Is it too upsetting?”

“No. It’s…” Good God, it was upsetting. But it shouldn’t be. Not after so many years had passed. He forced a smile, certain it must look more like a rictus of pain. “It was a long time ago.”

“Had you lived somewhere else before you came there?”

He shook his head. “I was brought there as an infant. A newborn. The orphanage is all I can remember.”

“Was it in London?” she asked.

“North Devon. By the sea.”

Understanding softened her gaze. “That’s where you rescued your friend.”

Alex gave a tense nod. “We used to climb down the face of the cliffs. There was a rowboat on the beach. We’d row it to an old abbey down the coast. There were rumors of buried treasure there. Just the thing to appeal to young lads.” He swallowed hard. “One day, some of the rocks on the cliff gave way. One of the boys I was with slipped and hit his head. He fell into the sea. Another of the boys dived in after him, but he couldn’t find him in the water. That’s when I went in.”

“You saved his life.”

“Barely. He was badly injured. I don’t know if he survived.” He moved his thumb over the curve of her palm. “I left not long after.”

“For France?”

“I stayed in London for a time, but yes. In the end, I caught a steamer across the channel. I’d run away from the orphanage. I had the urge to keep running.” He managed a faint smile. “I daresay I still do.”

“How was it you came to live here? The truth of it—not the fiction about Monsieur Giraud.”

“It’s not much different from the story I told your family at dinner, though perhaps a bit less humorous.” He paused before explaining, “I did meet a gambler on a steamer. But it wasn’t while coming home from a holiday in Alexandria with my godfather. It was during the channel crossing. He was an Englishman named Henry Garrick. He’d become so recognizable in London gaming clubs that he was obliged to leave the country for a time.”

“Were you really only thirteen?”