Still as stone, Victoria’s gaze never left his, and he read her conflict within the beautiful, afflicted sapphire gaze. It was her decision to make…he could only bite back the desire to take her into his arms and keep her there with him. To keep her safe. To guard her heart and her soul from all the ugliness she would encounter.
But who would guard his?
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Too soon after their time in the park, the weather had turned. From sunshine to oppressive clouds in a blink. Since the threat of rain had canceled their picnic along the river—and the time she could have spent with Richard—Victoria felt as though the weather had perfectly mirrored her internal thoughts.
Spending time with Richard had been wonderful: talking with him about nothing of importance, laughing with him about the absurdities in polite society, and just sitting beside him as his strong, capable hands directed their carriage around the large and terribly crowded park.
I had a wonderful time, she admitted to herself, though she had hoped for a repeat of the last time they were in a carriage—but that was about as recommended as a throwing star in her eye.
Sighing, she tossed her brush onto her dressing table and flopped down onto the edge of her bed. After returning home, she’d spent the remainder of the evening with her two youngest sisters. She’d asked them about their lessons, their training, and if they were making any friends on their trips out with Ping-Na.
Faith and Grace were two of the most precocious and bright little girls she’d ever known, and their enthusiasm had been catching. She wanted to feel that excited about their new city, their new life, their new existence…but there was something holding her back, keeping her from allowing the joy of her new circumstances to enliven her spirit.
She just couldn’t allow herself to pine after something she couldn’t have and never wanted before now—a regular Season, a slew of suitors vying for her hand, despite how calloused and cracked it was…
Victoria knew, in her heart of hearts, she didn’t want just any man, she wanted Richard.
But she couldn’t have him no matter what her heart and body demanded. Whenever he was with her, there was danger. As it was, Leavenson had agreed to place guards on Richard whenever he left his dwelling. But when he was with her, she was his only protection. Once their masquerade as a couple was over, she wouldn’t have to worry for his safety, and he would find himself a true lady to woo and marry and beget little Downings with.
An invisible mule planted his invisible hoof in her guts. She groaned, closing her eyes against the vision of Richard, grinning, happy, and laughing, surrounded by children…from another woman.
Victoria threw herself back on her bed, flinging her arms over her head. A strange energy pulsed through her, making her groan again as she rolled over to her side to curl into herself.
“Of all the things to do, falling for him wasn’t part of the plan,” she whispered into the dark, her own pain making her words like blades to her heart. “What am I supposed to do? He has no inkling of the danger, even after his near-knifing. And, besides that…he is so perfect.”
She hummed wistfully.
“And I am so…” She glanced at her cracked and calloused hands. “Imperfect.”
His words from that afternoon careened through her mind. “Darling Victoria…I wouldn’t have you any other way…”
His face had been set in an expression of deliberate intent. The intensity in that expression, his words, the way he made her feel every breath, his fingers biting into the skin of her arms, singeing her flesh with the feel of his hands… She knew that, if they hadn’t been in the public eye, she could have let him kiss her—begged him to kiss her. To make her feel beautiful and attractive, that he would truly want a woman like her, a woman with bruises on her torso and scars on her knuckles.
Sighing, she gazed up into the canopy overhead. “Why do I have to care for him?” Since the very beginning, when she’d collided with Richard in that ballroom, it seemed as though their paths were meant to intersect…no matter which direction she turned.
It was maddening. It was thrilling.
A loud commotion from below made her jerk upright. The sounds of voices, raised in urgency, sent her flying to the door to throw it open. Grabbing her dressing gown to cover her nightgown, she descended the stairs to the foyer, following the voices into her father’s study.
“Richard?” she exclaimed, gasping. He turned to see her, and the look on his face made her heart stop. “What is it?” She stepped forward, unthinking, just knowing she had to get to him, to touch him.
“Someone has abducted Elizabeth,” her father answered.
Shock froze the blood in her veins. “Who…who would dare?”
He didn’t speak; he only held out a single piece of paper. There was a playing card affixed to it.
A Jack of Spades.
“That blackguard!” Vic had no doubt whatsoever that the man who’d been one step ahead of them the whole while was the same one who’d tried to have Richard killed, and the same one who’d had the audacity to abduct Lady Elizabeth.
“Lord Richard, when did you receive the missive?” Verity asked from her seat where she, too, was in a dressing gown. Beside her was Honoria, who had just come from the dàochǎng, her training costume damp with sweat. Love was just striding through the door, sleep still blurring his eyes.
“I received it this evening. It was delivered by a bootblack who departed before I could read the note. By the time I knew what the note contained, it was too late to find him. Needless to say, informing my aunt why her daughter hadn’t arrived home yet was a painful and utterly wretched affair. She wants her daughter back, and I had a hell of a time keeping her from coming here with me. I’ve never seen her so…broken.”
The agony in his voice tore at her.
Victoria held her tongue, knowing she would need the sharpness of her rage later, and took the note from Richard’s hand. She read the shaky handwriting that spelled out the abductor’s demands.
I have Lady Elizabeth. Come alone to the warehouse on Montrose in St. Catherine’s. Leave your whore at home. I will kill them both if you defy me.
Vic could only assume the bastard meant her, the woman who’d been with him in the alley. But did the man know who she was? He hadn’t named her specifically.
They had the element of surprise on their side.
“Come alone?” Vic spat. “Does he think you’re a fool? Of course I will come with you—”
“No.” Richard’s commanding voice blasted through the room. “It is too dangerous. I cannot— I refuse…” His voice broke as he walked toward her, his shoulders sagging. He took her face in his large hands and held her in place as he stared down into her eyes. “I refuse to put you in danger, Victoria. Please…” he whispered, his voice harsh. “I cannot lose you.”
Her heart thundering, she pressed her hands against his hands, holding him in place as she offered him a gentle smile, one of confidence and appreciation.
“Richard…this is what I have been training for.”
“I will come as well,” Honoria intoned.
“As will I,” Verity added, rising to her feet, her hands in tight fists.
Love yawned, then made sure to include himself. “I will find a perch somewhere high and out of sight. If you need me to shoot, Vic knows the signal.”
And she did. A high-pitched whistle, the same one she’d used to summon Harry the night of Richard’s near-assassination.
Richard’s face was a mottled red, his jaw muscles bunching as if a live snake were writhing beneath his skin.
“I cannot ask this of any of you. This is my doing; she is my family. I will do as the note says—I will go. I will save her.”
He made to step around Vic, but she did as she’d done that first night they’d met: she reached out and grabbed his shoulder, twisting him to wrap her arm around his neck. She didn’t have a dagger to press at his chin, but she knew he wouldn’t fight her. He cou
ldn’t; he knew she was right. That what he was spouting was pure rubbish.
The room was tense with silence, all eyes on what she’d done. No doubt her father was spitting daggers, and her siblings were holding in their mirth; they always enjoyed a good grappling.
Her breathing heavy, she could feel the heat of her own breath as she huffed against his ear.
“Lord Richard, you are in this predicament because you chose to help us, to become one of us, even when you didn’t have to.”
“Yes, it was my decision, and in deciding to aid you—what little I did—I painted a target on my cousin’s back. She is in trouble because of me.”
He shuddered, the muscles in his back bunching, her chest pressed against him, and she could feel the pounding of his heart. He was terrified, and so was she…of losing him.
He refused to lose her, yet he couldn’t expect her to accept that of him, either.
Heaving a sigh, she loosed him, and he swung to face her, his eyes crackling—gold ringed in black. Before he could attempt to leave again, Vic took hold of his cravat, holding it tight in her grasp.
She forced him to look at her, to hear her. “You told me what a fool I was for thinking I was alone. You told me I was surrounded by people who loved me, that they were as involved in this as I was, and you were right. I am surrounded by people who love me. But so are you…”
She left the rest unsaid; Victoria wasn’t ready to say what was blossoming in the deepest parts of her being, because now, more than ever, it was clear that she and Richard could never be.
Her life was her family, and her family all accepted the inherent danger of their work. But Victoria refused to drag Richard into that life—no matter how much she wanted him.
And she did want him, more than she thought possible.
She could not allow her feelings to interfere with the operation. Too much depended on it.
A long silence followed her words, a silence broken only by the crackling of the fire in the hearth.
But then her father spoke.
“Bring her home, Darings.”
Chapter Thirty
Richard stared at Victoria, seated across from him in the inconspicuous hackney they’d borrowed for their rescue operation. She was dressed as she’d been in the alley behind Bennington’s, and Verity and Honoria were dressed similarly. Love, on the other hand, was dressed as a longshoreman, complete with smudges on his face and a long, frayed coat. Beneath his coat he’d hidden a specially designed rifle, meant for shooting a target at long distance. It had a sight, a long barrel, and a grip designed specifically for Love’s hands. He’d spent months under the watchful eye of a military gunsmith, drawing, crafting early designs using alloys he and Verity had created, making, and remaking, until he had a rifle that was as beautiful as it was deadly.
Each of the Darings had their roles in the night’s mission. Love was surveillance and distance assistance. If he saw anyone sneaking in behind them, he would shoot them. Verity was to scout the south side of the building, removing any obstacles she came across. Honoria was to do the same to the north side. Richard would enter the building from the west side, facing the river, and Vic would come in through the east.
None of the Darings in the building was to make a move until Richard signaled that he needed assistance. They were to observe and step in when necessary.
Oh, God. Elizabeth. This is all my fault; I should have listened when Victoria told me of the danger. He’d allowed his attraction to her, his feelings for her, to blind him to the truth. And now Elizabeth was paying the price.
Elizabeth was his only cousin, born when he was a ten-year-old rapscallion. She’d been a plump ball of smiles and shining eyes, and he’d fallen for her little face in an instant. Since then, she’d grown into a sweet, kind, somewhat naive young woman. She always saw the best in every situation.
He shuddered to think what she was seeing now.
He was both relieved he did not have to go it alone and terrified; what if something went wrong? What if the man who had Elizabeth followed through on his threat to kill her and Victoria? He’d cut out his own heart, for it would be dead already if he lost either of them.
Elizabeth was an innocent, his aunt explaining that she’d been taken while she was returning from an outing with her maid. Why his aunt had let his cousin go alone he couldn’t fathom, but he knew that if she’d been with her daughter, she would have met a similar fate. Or worse.
Certainly, the Darings were formidable in their skill and determination to retrieve his cousin, but there were so many things that could go wrong.
The warehouse where he’d been ordered to go was a large one-story building, taking up several blocks along the docks. At one time, it would have held goods departing the country. But now…it held one of the seediest seraglios in the city.
“Hedo’s House…” Richard muttered. Victoria turned away from the window to stare at him.
“You’ve been here before?” she asked, her eyes wide.
He grunted, disgusted by the mere thought of the hell house. “Not by choice.”
Her slack-jawed gasp made him rush to continue. “That night of my attempted murder, this is where I’d gone to retrieve Benjamin Bennington. He was deep in his cups, incapable of standing on his own feet.”
“What was he doing in this place? What is Hedo’s House?” The naiveté on her lovely face was endearing, but he knew that beneath the expression was a sharp and analytical mind.
Biting back a laugh, he explained, “Hedo’s House is a seraglio, a pleasure palace, and not one of the better ones, according to my friends.”
“Friends? Like Benjamin Bennington?”
“Yes. He was one of the group of friends I saw here that night, but I’d only been sent to get Ben. I had just brought him home, got him settled with the physician, and left out the back door when the attack happened.”
She hummed, rubbing her chin, which was one of the few parts of her face not smeared in black greasepaint. Once she donned her mask, no one would be able to see her face, even through the tightly knitted lace over the eye holes.
“So what is the significance of this place?” she asked, her voice sounding as confused as he had been, but now…after that second note, he was beginning to wonder if the one behind all the agency’s current problems was a man he had counted as a friend.
“I suppose I’ll find out—”
“We’ll find out, Richard. You aren’t here alone.” Victoria reached out and slipped her hand in his. The warmth of her spread through his limbs and sank into his chest, like the embers of a bonfire. She offered a slight smile, her eyes shining with a gentleness he’d never seen on her before.
She was spectacular.
The driver had been instructed to pass the warehouse once, then continue on to the end of Montrose. They alighted the hackney three streets away. In the dark, beneath a shuttered moon, Richard took a slow, deep breath, and willed his heart to retreat from his throat. A hand squeezed his arm—a comforting, strengthening reminder of Victoria’s presence—but then she was gone.
He knew where she was going, that she would be watching him, watching over him. That sense of relief returned, and on its heels was the knowledge that he truly wasn’t alone: he had four Darings there with him, in the shadows…in his heart.
Squaring his shoulders, he continued on to Hedo’s House, a den of iniquity that had shocked him with how utterly shabby and dark it had been. No, he hadn’t spent much time in the more exclusive and expensive whorehouses, but he could remember that they were bright, warm, draped in color, and dripping in gold.
The building before him was none of that. Dark, smelly, drab, and writhing with drunkards and poppy eaters seeking release from their worldly troubles in oblivion.
The fact that Benjamin had attended a place such as this made Richard all the more uncertain about his friendship with the man. But Ben wasn’t the only one who’d sung the praises of Hedo’s House…
As he a
pproached, the man at the door—a large man with a flat face and eyes too close together—stood from the stool he’d been sitting on and glared at Richard. Richard stopped before him, tipping his chin up and pinning the lout with a look that demanded his acquiescence.
“Allow me entrance. I am here to see someone,” Richard drawled, his voice tight and clipped.
The man furrowed his brow, which, because his brows were bushy and met in the middle of his forehead, made him look at though a caterpillar were crawling along his face.
“You the Lord Richard?” the man asked, and Richard felt a rush of anxiety. Obviously, whoever had Elizabeth had made sure to place a gatekeeper in his path.
“I am,” he replied, tense, waiting for the block of a man to strike at him.
But he didn’t. He only stood aside so that Richard could enter.
“He says to meet him in the Chapel.”
Richard didn’t miss the absurdity and blasphemy in that statement. That the word “chapel” was even spoken in a place like this made the whole of the Anglican Church seem seedier.
Entering the building, he was immediately struck by the darkness. It was nearly suffocating. But as his eyes began to adjust, he could make out the outline of the sparse furniture, the figures of people strewn about in the throes of whatever vice they were enjoying, and the haze of smoke that drifted overhead, rising into the high ceiling to dissipate—as Richard wished he could do right then.
The place smelled of sweat, sex, cheap liquor, and…there was a sickly-sweet scent he couldn’t recognize. He doubted it was dessert cakes or honeysuckle.
Searching the floor where he planted his feet, he made sure to sidestep the bodies haphazardly lying in his way. In the center of the space, he stopped.
Where would a chapel be?
From the corner of his eye, he caught movement and turned to see what it was. There was a woman standing there, her clothing hanging like rags from a decimated frame. Her eyes were hollow, her lips thin and chapped, and the whole of her seemed held together only by the strength of her will.
A Lady Never Tells (Women of Daring) Page 24
