“We must make them believe we have money if we are going to be successful at the tables.”
He didn’t want to know how she knew that. Alex grabbed the sash of her dress and hauled her backward, close enough so he could whisper, “That dress isn’t for a wealthy lady.” Anne smelled of roses, even in that dress. Grace personified. He hated her for it.
“It’s a very fine dress.” Her shoulders dropped as she spoke and he knew she agreed. It was remarkable that Anne might not put up a fight for once.
“We can go back upstairs since you agree—”
“Anne,” one of the women from upstairs cried. “You’ve forgotten the most important part.”
Anne’s eyes squinted, twinkling with mischief as she sidestepped Alex’s hand once more. “What’s that, Tabitha?”
“A lady must always wear a mask.” She tied a black lacy mask over Anne’s face and spun her toward the door. “Now, off with you.”
He didn’t like not being able to see her face. He didn’t like that the mask only added to the blue dress’s luring affect. Anne was a lush invitation waiting to be taken. His stomach tumbled as she licked her lips. He didn’t like that either.
“Well,” Anne said, pushing him forward, “this is a bit better.” She brushed off his shoulders and tugged at the sleeves of his jacket. “Lady Luck awaits. Let’s go.”
Lady Luck waited for no one, spoiled runaways included, but Anne had started off before he could say so.
*
The inner sanctum of men the world over, their precious casinos, were as to be expected. Men were nothing if not predictable creatures.
“Have you thought this through?” Alex asked, leaning close to Minnie.
She smiled at the portly man seated on a burgundy chair, a snifter of brandy in his hand and a cigar in his mouth. Typical.
The scratchy lace cloaking her face made it difficult to see as she twisted around to gaze up at Alex. She was still surprised he was so tall. “I’m here to cover our rent. That should suffice for a plan as well as any.”
He shook his head and crooked his finger, beckoning her closer. She reached up onto her tiptoes, inhaling his soap—oranges and cedar. A small detail she had not noticed until then. One that certainly shouldn’t matter, either.
“Who’ll let me at a table when my hands look like this?”
Minnie dropped to her feet and noticed that she had caught the attention of a few gentlemen. She smiled, then ran her gloved finger down the profile of Alex’s face. “Don’t shy away. You make me look like a terrible paramour.” She bumped his strong chin with her finger.
“Paramour?” He stepped around to face her. “What sort of finishing school did you attend?”
She couldn’t help but smile at that.
“These hands,” he said, lifting them up as if she needed another reminder, “mean I’m a marked thug.”
“You’re forgetting the current state of your face. You don’t appear like much of a threat.”
“Christ, Anne.” He bit down on his split lip until it started to bleed again. He swiped away the crimson bead with the back of his hand. His eyes softened toward her as she waited for him to finish whatever he was going to say. That was apology enough, the way he gazed down at her. She didn’t want to think about last night, or the three lonely days of his absence. She didn’t want to buckle under such a look and kiss him either. Though kissing him wouldn’t be wholly awful.
“Pick your game, Mr. Marwick. If we keep you out too late, you may turn into a pumpkin.”
His lips brushed her hair as he led them further back into the casino. “If I’m the pumpkin,” he said in a distracting whisper, “then who’s your fairy godmother?” He didn’t allow her to answer. “Anyhow, it’s best if we stay late. We’ll have better odds.”
She pulled at his coat to halt his forward march. It was a much finer wool than she was used to him wearing. His laughter pulled her from her thoughts and she realized, quite embarrassingly, that she had been petting his chest.
Minnie shook her head. “Odds? You’re saying you know something of—” She waved her hand around the casino, “—this?”
“Yes,” he said, mimicking her high pitch and flailing, “I know of this.”
She pushed him behind a marble column to avoid further attention. The less she had to pretend being Alex’s paramour, the better. It was hard enough pretending to be his wife. “There’s no need to be so prickly when I was perfectly willing to come here on my own.”
“That would have been a terrible idea, and you know it.” He stared at her as if he expected her to nod and agree.
Over her dead body. “I wasn’t always at finishing school. I grew up among a lot of uninhibited men, traveled through a lot of dangerous places.”
He bent forward, his nose brushing her forehead as she played at straightening his collar. “Are you planning to tell me your life story now, Anne?”
She stared at the hollow of his throat, wondering what it would feel like to settle her lips there. It looked like the perfect fit. Her fingers curled tight, cinching the fabric as she drew herself away from such a wicked thought. This was Alex, after all. He was like a rat—give him one crumb and he would beg for more until she found herself back on the doorstop of that awful school. “No,” she finally replied.
“That’s too bad. I was looking forward to being rid of you.”
His words were too soft, spoken too warmly for her to be upset. But they bothered her still for the lie they were.
Her head snapped up to that soft look in his eyes again. Her foot inched forward, ready to stomp on his and break the moment between them, but she thought better of it and sighed instead. “It’s time to show me what you know, Alex.”
*
Alex’s body ached, his mind was fuzzy, and that terrible darkness had wrapped itself around his soul. Alex didn’t want to be chasing after Anne again, but he owed it to her.
When he reported to the dock for work, he had been reminded that he no longer held his position as coal backer. Anne was smart enough to know before he even had to admit it. He knew she thought ill of him. The way she danced around him now, taking jabs in their verbal match, was proof enough. He deserved it. Every last insult. The fact that Anne and her belongings remained when he returned that afternoon was surprise enough. He would have understood if she had left. But she hadn’t. And that was the confusing bit.
Why should Alex search for his identity when it was clear he was broken? It seemed that whoever his father was, the measures taken to keep him a secret were more than justified.
Anne was jovial, pulling him along through the illegal casino as though he were no better than a leashed pet. He felt about as jolly as a rabid dog, so that was appropriate enough. He obtained his playing chips and followed her to the tables, steering her away from dice and billiards. It had been a few months, but they would have more luck if he could sit at a poker table.
“Wouldn’t you prefer vingt-et-un?”
“Have some faith,” he said out of the side of his mouth, nodding at the nearly full table of gentlemen before taking a seat.
He threw in a chip, noting the appraising eyes of the other players. Anne tapped her fingers on her teeth as she waited and peered down at the cards being dealt. Her tell would be no help to them if she expected this to be a profitable night. He curled his hand around her arm, sucking in a breath as they touched, and tugged. “Have a seat,” he whispered into her ear. He sucked in another pained breath as she fell into his lap.
Anne played the part of paramour too well. It left a sour taste in his mouth, watching the others eye her, judging her for how she dressed and acted. She thought nothing of her farce. But Alex did. She deserved more.
He needed to confront her soon about her society connections. He had waited too long as it was. She belonged with her family, somewhere safe, gentler. Not sitting in the lap of a thug, playing at a table where the man opposite held a pistol out of view.
The others
called, so Alex threw in another chip. Anne wiggled in his lap.
“Stay still,” he snapped into her ear. Alex didn’t appreciate the weight of her against him, the touch of her body against his, the way she still smelled of roses when the rest of the city was rotting around her.
Over the next two hours, Alex studied the table of players and learned their tics. He also eyed the deck, counting in his head, something he had always been able to do, and though he lost a few times, he had won more than their rent for the week. The more time they spent there, the more crowded the casino became. The noise doubled and all Alex wanted to do was return back to his quiet room, crawl onto the floor, and stay there.
The man opposite was growing aggravated by their lucky streak. Anne was charming, annoyingly so, with the rest of the gentlemen, and that only added to the tension rippling through Alex. Her fingers had been playing behind his ear for some time, soothing circles that he resented. There was no place for Anne in his life. He could hurt her. More than anything, he didn’t deserve her. She was a spoiled rich girl playing pretend. She was gambling her young life away. And for what? For a foolish dream? She was a terrible ballerina. A terrible liar as well.
A beautiful liar.
“Stop,” he grumbled. Her nails dug into his neck, tightening. “Stop,” he said again. He tried to focus on the cards but it was impossible with her so near.
She cupped his face and dragged it down to hers. Her hands circled his mouth. “My dress,” she whispered against his lips.
The world bowed, then imploded. It was the closest he had ever been to a woman’s mouth. There had been the girl the brotherhood forced onto him when he was sixteen back in Liverpool, but he was a boy then and they hadn’t exactly kissed. He hated being touched. Even then.
The metallic click of a pistol hammer focused her words. She had no intention of kissing Alex. Not when they were about to be shot.
“Now,” she hissed urgently.
His mind stumbled, sputtering, until he caught up and matched Anne’s quick movements. She kicked her legs out and leaned back into his arms. His fingers dipped below the ridiculously low neckline of her dress and secured the pistol she had hidden there. The metal was searing from her body heat.
Alex didn’t hesitate. He fired a shot to the right of the man’s head into the wall as a warning before all hell broke loose. The other men at the table wrestled the gun out of the surly looking man’s hand before he could fire back. Anne attempted to untangle herself from Alex to gather up their chips.
Alex glared at her. “I think your fun is done for the evening, darling.”
Chips were mounded high in her cupped hands as she smiled at him, her eyes wide and bright as if they had just robbed the Tower of London. “Darling? You’re going to be civil now, Alex?”
For just a moment, his lips curled into the perfect imitation of a smile.
*
Summer breezed by in a flurry of hot days at the iron factory and hotter nights stuck in the attic on the floor, sleeping beside Anne. But the wind change was coming. The weather cooled and the damp London showers returned, and soon summer was autumn, and Anne was still somehow in his life.
What a strange, sad girl she was. He caught her dancing when she didn’t think he was watching. He loved watching the grace in her arms as she bent and twisted and softly leapt through the air. And just as suddenly, upon landing, she’d be a girl of fire again—heroically burning down the world around her in pursuit of her dream.
But he had heard her crying herself to sleep last night, a letter clutched in her hand. And that horrible pain in his chest had returned, and he wanted to wrap his arms around her and kiss her forehead. He wanted to say they right words to make the hurt go away. Instead he was silent, too unsettled say or do anything.
Alex squinted, his finger pointed beneath the string of inky letters. “L-A-D-Y.” Lady.
The door opened and Anne entered, her hair windblown, her face drawn. He held his breath as she walked right by the barre he fashioned her from a piece of scrap he found in an alley by the factory. Anne stopped by the foot of the bed instead. “Hello.” She didn’t wait for his reply, only dumped her things onto the floor and escaped behind the curtain in the corner.
Alex drummed his fingers over the tabletop, looking out onto the street below. It was close to dark, so there wasn’t much to see. That was the problem with autumn. It grew darker quickly and soon half the day was night.
He heard her open the curtain from behind, then the soft intake of breath. “What’s that?” she asked, her voice shaking.
Alex spun in his chair to observe her. Sometime between last evening and the present, she had misplaced her annoying personality for that of a meek mouse. He ducked back behind the paper to avoid the way she looked at him, the way her eyes were rimmed with red.
“I thought it could be useful,” he said at last.
She gathered her dropped belongings, then hung them over the rail he had built for her to practice ballet. Anne didn’t say a word more as she flopped backward onto the bed and stared at the ceiling.
A sudden coldness hit his stomach as he digested her reaction. He cleared his throat, then focused on the longest sentence yet. P-R-E…
“What are you doing, anyway?” she asked, sniffing back tears.
She leaned against the table and wiped her face clean with the back of her arm. It was beginning to show that they weren’t eating enough. The few windfalls from the casino had been spent, but foolishly. He didn’t like seeing her so thin.
His hand kneaded over the tense cords of his neck as he thought of the best approach.
“You’re reading the scandal sheets.” She pulled the other bit of newsprint from the table. “And the social column. Is anyone missing someone?”
He knew that she asked if he had found someone searching for their missing daughter, sister, or niece. He hadn’t thought of discovering more about her background. He was focused on another’s altogether at the moment.
“You don’t give up easily, do you, Alex?” Her voice was high and cracked as she slammed her closed fist over the tabletop. “I’m not going back,” she insisted. “I won’t.”
If he had learned anything from living in the same room as his pretend wife, it wasn’t to underestimate her temper.
“I’m searching for someone.”
“I see,” she sniffed again. Anne pushed off from the table and approached the wooden railing as if it were a trap.
P-R-E-A-M…-B…
“Can you read?”
His hand clenched into a fist. He could bloody well read if she would…
His thoughts quieted as her hand ran over the sanded grain, a sad smile spreading over her lips.
“You were saying the letters out loud,” she said, her eyes still focused on his surprise.
“I can read fine.” His answer was husky, so he swallowed and knitted his brows at the impossible girl. He grabbed the paper and spread it out in front of him like he had seen the gentlemen do as they waited for their shoes to be polished. “Fine,” he repeated.
“F-I-N-E,” she said.
He peered around the paper, his chest tightening.
“Oh, you’re so stubborn!” She marched over and grabbed the newsprint. “I spelled the word fine.” Her tone softened. “Not being able to read is nothing to be ashamed of. I can help.”
Anne had a proper education. She knew nothing of his struggle. Danny had taught Alex what he could once they escaped, but reading was never a skill Alex picked up quickly. Numbers, language even, but never reading. He could speak well when he must. He had manners certainly better than hers most of the time. But he was still marked by chains that had been around his wrists, still had those damn tattoos etched into his skin, the brands of the immoral. People like Alex were never meant to receive an education. There was no need for them to have one when they were destined to waste away in a room. An asylum, a prison; it made no difference.
Anne bent over the table
and in a hushed whisper said, “Today is my birthday.” And just as quickly she laughed. “Anyhow, tell me who you’re looking for.”
His shoulders relaxed as he gazed up at her. His throat was dry and he desperately needed a drink. “I need to find someone for a friend,” he said instead. “My friend wishes to thank her for aiding him.” Alex stopped there. No point in confessing the rest.
“And does this friend have a name?”
“Of course, but you don’t need to know it.”
“Very well, so what is this lady’s name?” Anne sank into the seat beside him. “What makes you think she’ll be in the social column?”
“I don’t have a name for her.”
Her eyes widened with glee. “So, she’s a mystery?”
“I remember him mentioning that she possessed a terrible stutter.”
Anne slipped off her seat, sliding off onto the floor with a thud.
“She’s a member of good society,” he continued. “There must be mention of her.” He looked down at Anne. “What are you doing on the floor?”
She refused his outstretched hand and stood. “Not everyone is written up in the social column.” She brushed off her backside, trying her best to appear dignified. Alex held back a snicker. “And this mystery woman may prefer to keep to herself.”
There was no holding back the exhaustion. He only wanted what every other person possessed—an identity. He was so very tired of having to live with a name that wasn’t true. “It’s very important that I find her.”
Anne bit her lip then nodded. “Then you must.” She shoved the paper back into his hands. “Read this to me.”
She paced between the door and the table as he read, letter by letter, word by word, searching for the one person who knew who he truly was.
CHAPTER SIX
Minnie didn’t meet anyone in the eye as she entered Mrs. Bowen’s. She swallowed back the bile that had been rising in her throat and trudged up the stairs.
Dearest Minnie, the letter had started. My dearest sister…
A Proper Scandal (Ravensdale Family Book 2) Page 8
