It took Richard a moment to clear the dazedness from his mind. He looked down at his friend… There was a bullet hole in his forehead.
Ethan was dead.
Roaring, Richard shot to his feet, his gaze taking in everything in the room. Benjamin was gone, having run as soon as Ethan was down.
In the corner by the door where Benjamin had entered, a figure rushed from the room. The shooter was making his escape.
Leaving Ethan’s lifeless body where it lay, Richard sprinted after the murderer, his blood pumping into his limbs, his mind screaming for that man’s neck in his hand. Bursting through the door, he entered a dark corridor; it seemed to move toward the back of the warehouse—the dockside. The side they hadn’t been watching.
Unseeing, he moved as fast as he could in the pitch black, finally emerging in an alleyway between the warehouse and a dock shack. Panting, he peered first one way, then the other. The man who’d shot Ethan was gone, disappeared into the night like a phantom of death and chaos.
Spitting, Richard cursed. A hand on his arm had him spinning, his fist raised, but Victoria’s wide eyes and beautiful face made him halt his attack.
“Victoria,” he murmured harshly. “Ethan is dead. Someone shot him— They escaped this way.”
She nodded slowly, her eyes filled with sadness and concern. “I found this as I was rounding the corner.” She lifted what looked like a piece of paper, flipping it over to reveal a one-sided playing card.
It was a King of Diamonds.
Chapter Thirty-Two
The only sounds within the confines of the carriage were those of sobbing as Elizabeth pressed her face against Verity’s chest and soaked her black cotton tunic in tears of terror and relief.
God, how she hated that the girl had experienced such ugliness. It never should have happened; Elizabeth never should have been targeted, Richard shouldn’t have been targeted— She was the reason they were both victims of Ethan Crossley.
If she hadn’t allowed Richard to persuade her, if she hadn’t allowed her feelings for Richard to supersede her need for focus, this never would have happened.
Now it was far clearer than ever that they two must make a clean break.
She would return to her family, their work, and go back to training as she should—forgetting her foolishness about getting married and living a life of her own.
And Richard…he could go back to being safe. His family would be safe.
It was better that way.
As the carriage pulled up in front of the duchess’s home, Verity murmured something to Elizabeth, who nodded, hiccupping on another sob. The carriage drew to a stop and the door opened.
Verity spoke then. “I will take her inside—”
“No,” Richard interjected. “I should be the one to bring her to my aunt.”
Verity shook her head. “I know you want to see that she is safe and sound, but I think it would be better if you remained here…”
Her gaze flicked to Victoria, and Victoria knew exactly what her sister was doing: giving her the opportunity she needed to say what needed to be said.
“Richard,” Victoria rasped. “There is something that must be said. It’ll only take a moment,” she rushed to add at the weariness in his expression.
He nodded.
Verity helped Elizabeth from the carriage, closing the door behind them and leaving Victoria alone in the dark carriage with Richard.
It is better this way…
“I think it best to end our association,” she said, her voice sharper than she’d intended.
Richard opened his mouth, but she raised a hand to silence him.
“I told you from the very beginning that this work carried danger with it. And you were nearly killed behind Bennington’s house. Yet, you continued to remain close despite my warnings. I took it upon myself to protect you after that, to ensure that you were safe. But…it wasn’t just you in danger, was it? I didn’t think about how the enemy would attempt to hurt you through your family. I should have—” Her voice caught on a cry.
Richard reached out as if to touch her, but she pulled back.
“No,” he agreed, “neither of us considered the danger to others, but that danger is gone. Ethan is dead, and with him, the threat against my family.”
Victoria wished with all her might that that was true.
“You cannot understand the depths of what is happening. Ethan was only a small part of something so large, it encompasses the whole of the Kingdom. The danger has not gone, it has merely been postponed—and we don’t know for how long.” She fought the urge to pinch her eyes shut against the pain building in her head.
Richard slid off his seat, falling to his knees before her. She couldn’t move, didn’t want to when he took her frozen fingers into his warm hands. He squeezed them, pulling them toward his chest.
“If there is still danger, we will face it together. I cannot let you do this alone, Victoria. I refuse to walk away knowing that you’re still fighting an enemy that would kill you.”
She sniffed. “They can certainly try.”
He growled, his brows furrowed. “And what if they succeed? What then? How can you expect me to go about my day, sleep through the night, knowing you are purposefully placing yourself in danger?” He squeezed her hands tighter. “I cannot do that. You cannot expect that of me, Victoria.”
Her hands now trembling, she pulled them from his grasp.
He had to let her go; there was no other way to keep him safe.
Do what needs to be done.
Stiffening, she leaned back, feigning disgust.
“You think to order me, Lord Richard? A man incapable of keeping his own family safe? How do you plan to keep the enemy from killing me when you couldn’t even anticipate the bullet that tore through Ethan’s head?”
Richard’s face crumpled in disbelief, his bright eyes dimming as he took in her practiced countenance.
“How can anyone anticipate that?” he blurted, moving to return to his seat, his large body tight, his movements tense.
She shrugged, the movement as difficult as lifting a boulder. “Does it matter? The issue is that you cannot protect those closest to you, so how can I count on you? The truth is, Lord Richard…” The words stuck in her throat, but she forced them out. “Is that you are a…a hindrance, something to drag behind me when I should be allowed to move freely. You are no good to me—”
“You cannot mean that,” Richard interjected. “What this is between us, it is more than just the operation; there is a connection. One I refuse to let you ignore or push aside.” He reached for her hands again, and she raised them before her chest, as if to defend her heart.
She forced the next words across her tongue, and they sliced at the roof of her mouth, soul-crushing untruths that threatened to shred her to pieces. “There is no connection. I did what I was ordered to do, nothing more.” The lie scorched her throat, and the need to scream beat at her. “This ends now.” The burn of tears behind her eyes wasn’t warning enough, and the trickle of her remorse slid down her cheek.
He swallowed, his gaze catching on the tear as it slid onto her jaw. The silence was heavy yet hollow, as if it desperately needed to be filled with words of meaning. Of truth and feeling.
But she remained silent.
“It ends, then,” Richard murmured, his gaze capturing hers. “For now.”
Stunned by the conviction in his voice, the bold certainty in his eyes, she said nothing as he opened the carriage door, stepping down into the night, leaving her alone. Once again.
…
“You have overstepped for the last time, Benford.” The King of Diamonds pulled his blood-slicked blade from the Golden Man’s chest, wiping it on Golden’s handkerchief. He tossed the soiled silk onto the man’s prone, lifeless body and blew out a breath.
“Damn,” he spat. Tremors of rage filtered through him, dousing his blood in oil and setting it aflame.
Benford and Crosswaite had p
layed with the carefully placed pieces on the game board—one he’d created himself. Painstakingly drawing up the rules, the players, and the pieces over the course of thirty years.
Damn Benford’s arrogance. And damn Crosswaite’s weaknesses. Neither of them had been as strong or useful as Diamond had hoped, but then again, he should never have hoped in the first place. Hope was misplaced in a world of deceit and politics, a world he’d been born to upend into chaos.
And he would. He just needed to tread more carefully.
Especially now that the blasted Darings had been successful in ridding themselves of their momentary obstacle. Too bad they had only cut off one head from the voracious serpent of the House of Cards. The Silver Harlequin, the Man in White, the Scarlet Queen, and the Crimson King were still in play, if a little wary after all the recent mishaps—which wouldn’t have been mishaps if he hadn’t trusted Benford to move the Cards in the right direction. The fool.
Growling, he sheathed his dagger and slipped it into the inside pocket of his greatcoat. The heavy woolen garment did little to shield him from the chills that filled him now that his rage had abated enough for the heat to dissipate.
Moving toward the table covered in loose papers and maps, Diamond riffled through what was left of Benford’s grand plans. He’d wanted to use Crosswaite’s connections in the underbelly of the city to gain information on the heads of noble households, and he’d succeeded, to a point. They had earned quite a large sum of money from those blackmailing endeavors.
Unfortunately for them all, Crosswaite’s weakness for opium had driven him into ever more careless acts—like abducting the daughter and cousin of a duke. Not to mention the attempt on the life of Benford’s own son. Shooting Crosswaite had been an act of mercy, one he should have done sooner—before the rat had spilled the information about the Cards.
Now the Darings would be actively seeking him and his followers.
He would withdraw the Cards and move them into other places on the board, keeping them from any danger of falling to the Darings’ hands. And he, the King of Diamonds, would remain behind, slowly and carefully orchestrating in plain sight. He’d already left a tidbit of bait to keep the Darings sniffing helplessly after his false trails. The playing card was a brilliant touch— Crosswaite wasn’t a complete waste.
Kicking the body bleeding out at his feet, Diamond hummed to himself as he made his way from the row house, but not before throwing a lit lantern onto the pile of oil and rags he’d placed atop an assortment of old clothes.
He’d just made it to the bottom of the steps when a bright orange light began to glow through the windows.
…
Curled up in a comfortable chair in the oft-occupied library, Victoria mused on the point of so much knowledge in a world drowning in hatred and ignorance. The bookshelves bulged with the weight and number of books, many of which she’d already read. Yes, she was intelligent, and knowledgeable in most things pertaining to history and the arts—but none of that knowledge mattered when staring into the face of death.
It had been four days since their rescue of Lady Elizabeth, four days of remembering the look on Ethan Crossley’s face as the blood from the bullet hole in his forehead slipped down his cheeks like crimson tears. She shouldn’t have gone back to look, but she couldn’t not see the face of the man who’d been their nemesis since the beginning of their operations in London.
It had been four days of wondering what if— What if she’d been quicker? What if she’d noticed the intruder? What if it had been Richard who’d cried tears of blood?
Four days of crying herself to sleep. Four days of aching for him.
She let out a slow breath, the pain in her chest ebbing and flowing with the tides of her thoughts. When she didn’t think about him, she could function normally. But when he was on her mind, she was a mess of emotions and regrets.
“You sigh like a moppet who’s just discovered she’s already eaten the last of her candies,” Love remarked as he plopped down in the chair beside hers, his darker blue eyes shining.
She huffed. “What do you mean?”
Love grinned. “I mean you sound as though you’ve lost something you thought you had.”
Heavens, but when did the bratling get so perceptive?
“I do not know what you mean. I haven’t lost anything, and if I did sigh, it was because you’ve invaded my peace.”
“Balderdash, sister.” Love waved off her snort and continued. “What, have I interrupted something?”
She lifted her chin indignantly. “You have.”
“What?”
“I was reading.”
Love’s gaze twinkled with mirth and mischievousness. “Vic…”
“What?” she snapped.
“You aren’t even holding a book,” Love replied.
Vic gasped and peered down into her lap. Sure enough, her hands were empty. She looked at the table beside her—and there it was: the book on the Americas she’d planned to read but had set aside when the ache in her chest had become too strong.
Gulping air, she shuddered, casting her gaze down to hide the truth from her brother. The truth that she’d fallen in love with Lord Richard Downing.
She could still remember with striking terror the moment she’d heard the gunshot ring out. She’d hurried back toward the warehouse, her heart in her throat, her only thought that the man she loved could very well be dead.
That admission was as startling as seeing Richard rush from the building, alive and well.
But he very well could have died. Because of her. And that was the terrible truth of it. The truth that she could never be the woman he needed, and it hurt more than any weapon could.
“What has you so morose, Victoria?” Love asked, sliding to the edge of his seat to lean into her. “You’re always the strong one, the one everyone goes to for support…and now I want you to know you can come to me, too.”
Vic’s gaze flicked up to her brother’s, where concern was written into his handsome young features. Though he had grown up before her eyes, there was still her caring, thoughtful brother under all the sharp, masculine features. Vic knew that whichever debutante stole her brother’s heart, she would be the luckiest of women.
“I know I can come to you, Love, I just…” She stopped, halting the sob before it could escape. Her strength faltering beneath the presence of her worried brother, she felt herself begin to crumble.
I cannot fall to pieces now. There is still work to be done.
Though she’d been so wrapped up in her own problems, she hadn’t asked how her siblings were doing.
“Let’s not talk about me,” she blurted. “Let’s talk about you. I haven’t spoken with you at length about anything since we’ve arrived in London. What have you been up to…besides agency business? I want to hear about your escapades—the naughtier the better.”
Love laughed, leaning forward to give Victoria a slight punch on her arm.
“You would want to know about my escapades, only because you’re jealous.”
She smiled. “Of course I am. There are so many more things a person can do simply because they were born with berries and not bosoms.”
Love’s eyes grew wide, then he burst into a fit of laughter that nearly had him toppling from his chair.
“My God, Victoria.” He gulped in a breath. “Where did you hear such a bawdy turn of phrase?”
Shrugging, she replied, “I don’t know. Probably from Ping-Na. When that woman is in a snit, she doesn’t care what comes pouring from her mouth.”
Love snorted. “Much to our mother’s dismay.”
“Quite right,” Victoria agreed, pulling up her feet to tuck them beneath her gown on the chair.
“I thought you would be in the dàochǎng,” Love said, his tone somewhat incredulous. “There’s nary a day that goes by that you aren’t in there fine-tuning your body with sword form or kung fu.”
“I haven’t felt up to training,” she answered honestly.
“Besides, it gives you time to get stronger and faster so that when next we spar, you have a better chance of winning.”
Love pressed a hand to his chest dramatically, gasping prettily. “I am the better fighter, as you well know.”
His teasing was just what she needed to ease the ache within her.
“I know no such thing. If you were better than me, why have you never won a single match?”
He arched a black eyebrow and tossed his head back as a proud horse would do when prancing. “I am the soul of generosity; I let you win.”
She couldn’t help it: she laughed, giggling at her brother’s ridiculousness—all in an attempt to make her smile. She knew her brother hadn’t needed to help her, but he had. And she loved him for it.
She chuckled, her heartache lessening. “You are as preposterous as you are droll. Now, are you going to tell me about your escapades or not?”
Love smiled, leaning back in his chair as if settling in for a merry tale.
…
Two hours later, that’s where their father found them, gasping for air as their laughter roared through them. But their mirth stopped at the look on their father’s face.
“What is it, Papa?” Vic asked, standing to walk to him, her legs suddenly shaky.
When her father didn’t immediately answer, Love rose to come and stand beside Vic. “Father? What has happened?”
Their father’s face was pale, drawn, his usually lively eyes snapping with frenetic thoughts.
“Benford’s dead,” he announced, his voice harsh with disbelief.
“Benjamin Bennington’s father?” Victoria asked, her mind spinning. After Benjamin’s near-death at Ethan’s hands and Benford’s supposed activities in the powerful House of Cards Society, Vic had known there would be upheaval. She’d just never thought there would be more death so soon.
“What happened?” Love asked.
“Before we could regroup and gather the proper proof to detain him, there was a fire, and the whole of his row house was destroyed.” Her father rubbed the bridge of his nose, looking as tired and weary as she felt. “They rummaged through the wreckage to find what might have caused the fire, but they found his body instead.”
A Lady Never Tells (Women of Daring) Page 26
