In the front pew, Cousin Sally was already seated, her little boy, Daniel, by her side. No sign of Sally’s husband, Thomas, who no doubt was lying drunk in a gutter somewhere. But Sally herself looked hale, even plump, and her dark hair was glossy, prettily done up in rolls atop her head.
“Here’s a surprise,” said Sally, and drew Daniel onto her lap to make room for Lilah.
“Hello there, Danny!” As Lilah sat, she held out her arms. But Danny turned his face into his mother’s bosom.
That small rejection felt like a poisoned dart through Lilah’s throat. She tucked her hands under her skirts. “How are you?” she asked Sally. Then, because it was polite, she added, “And how’s Tom?”
Bouncing her knee to boost Daniel upright, Sally gathered him closer. “Can’t blame Danny,” she said briefly. “You haven’t been by in months; you’re all but a stranger to him. As for Tom, I’ve no idea where he is. Hasn’t been home in days.”
“I’m sorry,” Lilah said softly.
“Don’t be. It’s Nick’s doing. Told Tom he’s not to appear drunk around me or Danny again. Scared the living wits from him, I tell you.” Sally flashed a small, hard, satisfied smile.
Lilah hesitated. “Is Nick coming today?”
“I’ve no notion.” Sally’s blue eyes narrowed. “Have need of him, do you? I should have known. We’ll not see you, otherwise.”
Lilah sighed. They had never been close, she and Sally—the twelve years that separated them made too large a gap for friendship.
But blood guaranteed Sally’s loyalty, if not her affection. “Is something awry?” she asked Lilah grudgingly. “Toffs giving you trouble at work?”
Here was another reason they’d never been close: Sally thought Nick could do no wrong, never mind that he was younger than Sally, too. As long as his power kept people bowing and scraping to her, she’d sing his praises and nothing else. If Lilah was troubled, it must be somebody else’s fault.
“Nothing’s wrong,” Lilah said. “Just felt in need of a blessing.” She paused, sensing a fierce scrutiny from behind her. A quick glance found Deirdre Mahoney glaring at her. She and Lilah had been bosom friends as children.
Lilah made herself smile. In reply, Deirdre flashed a quick, false smile of her own. Then she bent her head to the girl beside her. Above the din of a dozen conversations came the verdict, in Deirdre’s high voice: “Thinks herself too good for us now.”
Lilah faced front again, face burning. Would the service never start? Through the cracked door that opened into the alley, she spied the priest loitering over his pipe.
“Don’t pay them no mind,” Sally said. “Silly tarts.”
“I don’t.” For they were right. Bettering herself was the whole point of her efforts. It was Fee who had first put it into words: dodging the coppers for our uncle, risking our necks—this is no life for us. She’d known her looks would win her a place at Everleigh’s, if only she could talk and move like a lady. You’ll see, she’d told Lilah. I’ll make enough money for us both. We’ll have a nice little flat, and gentleman callers who prefer tea to gin.
But Fee had been undone by an enemy she couldn’t fight, and Lilah hadn’t been able to save her. All she could do was take Fee’s dream and make it her own. Yes, she aimed to better herself. It was the last loving thing she could do for her sister.
Only one thing she’d never anticipated when she’d set out on this course: her old friends felt slighted by her desire to change. They no longer spoke to her. They sneered at her in church.
When she’d lost Fee, she’d lost everything. But she’d found new friends and a new life. And then she’d let a toff kiss her. All her hard work, undone by a handsome mouth. She laid her head on the pew and stifled a groan.
“Megrims?” asked Sally.
“Or she wants to show off her pretty hairpins,” said a familiar voice from above. “Move aside, Lady Drama.” Nick nudged her roughly on the shoulder.
Peculiar how relief and anxiety could well up together. She scooted over, catching sight as she did of Deirdre pinching her cheeks and smoothing down her hair.
God above. Lilah looked narrowly at her uncle. He’d always been a pretty one. Indeed, placed side by side with Viscount Palmer, Nick would draw a woman’s eye faster. He had the dramatic coloring of a Celt—hair as glossy and black as a crow’s wing, and eyes like gray ice.
But she knew what lay behind that perfectly chiseled face. His beauty must be the devil’s particular gift to him, to keep people fooled.
“You look very well today,” Sally said to him.
It was true—his jacket was buttoned properly, his jaw stripped of stubble. Shaved clean, he looked younger. Barely thirty, he’d ruled the East End for twelve years now. One oft forgot his tender age.
She caught his glance toward the pew behind them, where Deirdre sat. Pray God he hadn’t taken up with her—Deirdre would be unbearable, given a share of his power.
Sally’s thoughts strayed down the same path. She leaned across Lilah to whisper to him. “Say you’re not sweet on the Mahoney girl.”
“I’d reckon it’s none of your business who I’m sweet on.” Nick slouched into the pew, his attention trained on the priest, who had finally finished his pipe and come inside to start the Mass.
“You can do better than her, surely!”
“I can do just about anyone I please, Sally darling.”
Sally made a choked noise. “We are in the Lord’s house.”
“It’s my house,” he said calmly. “The Lord only has it on lease.”
Sally paled. Casting Lilah a wide-eyed look, she gathered up Danny and inched toward the far side of the pew, no doubt fearing a lightning strike.
Lilah restrained the urge to follow her. “Nick,” she said in a low tone, “I’ve got to speak with you.”
He ignored that remark. “Have a look at your cousin, why don’t you. I might as well be wearing horns and a tail.”
She was immune to his charm. “It’s about the job,” she said. “Something went—”
He gave her a quick, hard look. “Later.” He hooked his kneeling cushion with the toe of his boot, kicking it up into his grip. “It’s the Lord’s day.” He winked at her as he knelt. “And it appears I’m in sore need of his favor.”
It took two hours after the service to get her uncle alone. First, Lilah had to stand by as parishioners lined up to pay their respects, while a brawny stranger kept a lookout in the doorway, barring newcomers from entry.
Nick had never kept guards before. For that matter, this pomp and circumstance was new as well. Nick looked less like a criminal than a politician campaigning for office, kissing babies and bowing over old ladies’ hands.
As the last petitioners dispersed, the sun clouded over, dulling the stained-glass windows and sinking the church into darkness. Lilah walked out to the road with Nick, conscious of the burly man trailing them.
“So,” Nick said. “Trouble in paradise, is it?”
The guard was all but stepping on her heels. “You tell me,” she said. “Why the hired lad? Don’t you trust our own boys? Or did the Shaughnessys and McCoys fail to lick your boots to your liking?”
A moment of stone-cold silence. Then Nick’s lips twitched. “Fierce little Lily.” Placing a broad palm on her back, he urged her on down the lane. “Just like your ma. I forget, sometimes.”
And she forgot how hard he was to anger. It took a great deal to make him drop that easy, smiling mask and show the truth of his temper. But wise men knew not to cross him. After the McGowan gang had slain her father, Nick had stepped into Da’s shoes so quickly it was as though he’d already sized up the fit. A month later, the McGowans were finished—dead or fled, to a man.
The night he’d killed the last of them, Nick had collected Lily and Fee from Sally’s. Your da is avenged. You’ll stay with me now.
Da had run a ring of thieves that stretched from East End to West. But he’d never involved his daughters in the business. N
ick had felt differently. Nothing you don’t do for family, he’d told them, time and again. We stick together, in work as well as play.
Nick guided her around a puddle. “I’m bound for the pub,” he said. “Come, if you like. Been too long since you’ve tried Neddie’s oysters.”
“I’ve got to get back to the auction rooms,” she lied.
He came to a stop, a look of amusement stamped on his handsome features. After Fee’s death, he’d finally released her to do as she pleased. But he still thought her a fool for aiming higher. “Very well,” he said. “Then tell me here in the road—bearing in mind our audience, of course. Johnson has got sharp ears.”
His new guard wasn’t Irish? She found that very strange. Nick liked blood ties, the better to bind a man into his sticky web of loyalties.
But the reasons for his new arrangement were not her business. She laced her hands together, staring hard at her knuckles. “I had a problem last night,” she said. “Somebody caught me.”
“Is that so? Yet here you stand, free as a bird.”
“He wasn’t in the mood to call the police.”
A pause. “Look at me,” said Nick.
Resentfully she glanced up. His cool gray eyes rested on her face, skeptical, assessing. He had the devil’s talent for reading minds. She focused on the bridge of his nose, forbidding her thoughts to wander from that spot.
But somehow, a memory seeped out anyway, spreading through her like heat, making her flush. Palmer kissed very well, damn him.
“I see,” Nick said softly. “Persuaded him, did you?”
She gave a jerky shrug. Gentlemen had kissed her before. They mistook the hostesses for loose women. One grew skilled in permitting a small liberty, to avoid giving a larger one. Men were easy to manipulate when lustful.
Usually their kisses were inoffensive. Rarely, Lilah found them pleasant. But never, ever had she allowed a man to distract her from her duty.
Never before had a kiss made her hair stand on end.
“More to the point,” she said tersely, “he took the letters.”
Nick’s expression was unreadable. “Who was this?”
“Lord Palmer.”
“Don’t know the name.”
“Christian Stratton.” When Nick still looked blank, she said, “Kit Stratton, of—”
Nick interrupted her with a startled sputter—something between a laugh and a snort. “The bloke from the war? The one who made all the headlines. Kit’s Charge?”
“Yes, that’s him.”
He laid a hand over his mouth to cover his grin. Cloudy light glittered on the rings he wore—trophies from the McGowans, little children liked to say.
For all Lilah knew, that stupid tale might be true. But Nick had not worn all those rings when she’d known him best. He’d been a different man then. Less certain of his power. Blunter in wielding it.
“You got caught.” He sounded as though this was the best joke he’d heard all week. “You. By a toff!”
She felt stung. “You’ve no idea. He isn’t what you think. He’s . . .” Different, she wanted to say. But how? In appearance, Palmer was as sleek and idle as the rest of his lot.
It was in the full force of his physical presence that she sensed the difference. Finding herself the focus of his attention, she had suddenly believed the wild tales about his heroism, the bloody charge that had decimated a stronghold of enemies. A simmering energy crackled around him.
And for some dreadful reason, it took her breath away.
“Well, then.” Nick dropped his hand to show her a predatory smile. “I see he meets your approval. Miss Marshall.”
He never lost an opportunity to jibe at her for the name she’d adopted. As if an Irish girl named Monroe would have any chance of working at Everleigh’s! “He’s not stupid, is what he is.”
“That’s bad news for you.” With a shrug, Nick resumed his stroll.
“Wait! I . . .” He looked over his shoulder. “What will you do?”
“I do?” He lifted his brows as he turned back. “’Tisn’t me who has the problem, Lily.”
Fear kicked through her stomach. She crossed her arms, hugging herself. “I can’t get the letters for you. He took them.”
“Aye, it’s a proper conundrum. But I’m certain you’ll find a solution for it. You do have a knack for pleasing those toffs.”
“Nick.” She dug her fingers into her sides. “Please. Do you really mean to tell them about me?”
“Stupid question.” His voice snapped like a whip. “Try another one.”
It wasn’t right that he should sabotage her like this! “I’ll be done for if you tell them! Don’t you have any care for your own niece?”
“Care?” He stepped toward her, his gaze hard as a bludgeon. “That’s ripe, Lily. ’Twas you who turned your back on your kin. Shook off your family like dirt from your shoes, and rubbed out your true name like a stain from your skirts. And for what, I ask? To grovel for swells who wouldn’t spit on you to put out a fire. And now you come asking if I care?”
“I never turned my back.” Did he think she enjoyed bowing and scraping? It was only a means to an end—one that would take her a sight further than bowing in Whitechapel to him! “I only wanted to make a future for myself! Can’t you see—”
“Aye, I’ve heard that speech,” he said grimly. “You wanted better. And I let you make a choice. But now you’ll live with it, Lily. You won’t come calling me Uncle and begging for mercy, just because it serves to remember your family today. For tomorrow, we both know you’d forget me again, and look away if we passed in the street.”
“That isn’t fair.” The words came out in a whisper, for this was an old argument, and she stood no hope of winning it. But why did he always refuse to see it from her view? “All I wanted was a life where I’d never suffer from trouble. This kind of trouble.” Suddenly she was angry again. “Family, you say? Some family, that threatens and blackmails and harasses me—”
He made a contemptuous noise, a sharp puff of air. “Aye, yours is a sad story, no doubt. But if it weren’t for your rotting bastard of an uncle, ask yourself where you’d be now. Who gave you the fees for that typing course? Who paid for that fine gown with which you interviewed at the auction rooms?”
This was his trump card. She gritted her teeth and glared past him down the road. Onlookers who’d paused to eavesdrop made a quick retreat to avoid her notice. Always a spectacle, in these parts.
“No reply to that,” he said. “You know you’d be plucking cat fur in some garret, praying the week’s pay would cover your rent.”
“So I’m forever to be indebted to you,” she said bitterly. “Forever to answer to your call when you need me.”
He offered her a beautiful smile. “Take heart. It’s a rare occasion when I do. And bound to grow rarer, now you’ve lost your talent and been swindled by a nob.”
Despair leached through her. “What shall I do, then?”
“Find a way to get those notes back,” he said with a shrug. “I’ll be needing them by the last week of June. No later. Otherwise those toffs will have the truth from me.”
“You’ll enjoy that,” she said dully.
He snorted. “Won’t be my doing when they sack you. But no doubt it will make a fine lesson, to learn how your betters care for a girl named Lily Monroe.”
“Please lower your voice. And stop that pacing! For heaven’s sake, Kit. Melanie is right; you’re not yourself lately.”
Christian pivoted. Across the broad span of the foyer’s checked tiles, his mother stood, one hand perched dramatically at her brow, her face a mask of bewildered hurt.
“I was not yelling.” He was certain of it. But he had not arrived with the intent of charming and delighting her, either. There was the rub. It had always fallen to his brother—and their father before him—to be the serious ones. Christian’s purpose was to entertain and amuse.
But his mother’s telegram this morning had left him in no m
ood to entertain her. She had decided not to board the ship to New York. Instead, she and Melanie had turned back for Susseby, the seat of the viscountcy. The whole country knew where to find them now.
Astonishment washed over him anew. “I thought you understood. You cannot remain here.”
“Yes, yes.” She cast an impatient look toward the front door. “Quigley, at least take his hat and gloves. Let him lecture me in comfort.”
He held up a hand, halting the butler in his tracks. Taking her elbow, he led her out of the servant’s earshot, into the nearby morning room.
Inside, she drew away to yank the bell pull. “Watch the carpet,” she said. “You’ve mud on your boots.”
Indeed, God forbid. He took a long breath. This was not the first time he’d had cause to restrain his temper in this room. She worried far more for the carpets than herself. “I am rebooking your passage,” he said. “I will personally escort you onto the ship.”
The door opened. “Tea,” his mother instructed the footman. “And perhaps a heartier repast for Lord Palmer.”
The man bowed and shut the door again.
“Poor dear,” she continued, “you do look famished. Did you ride straight through the rain? How awful the roads are. It must have taken the whole morning!” She lowered herself to the settee, readjusting her fine jemadar shawl about her shoulders. “I am sorry,” she added with a bright smile. “I would have enjoyed New York, but your sister has a point. At Melanie’s age, one must be marriage-minded. Missing a season in town means risking her chance at—”
His patience snapped. “There will be no marriage if she’s killed.”
“Kit!” On a sharp breath, his mother reached for the jet cross at her throat.
She still wore half-mourning for Geoff. The dark wool did not suit her blond coloring, but he knew that part of her pallor, at least, was owed to him. No doubt his words were cruel. But if she did not wish to enter full mourning again, she had no choice but to listen.
He took the seat beside her. How would Geoff have conducted this conversation? Somberly, brooking no opposition. “I do not like to say it. But you must face facts. Geoff’s death was no accident.”
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