‘I have a useful friend who can look into Daventry’s departure if it would calm the family.’ He spoke quietly, his tone serious.
Clearly he hadn’t considered the same fanciful romantic thoughts as she.
‘That would be wonderful. Sophie is beside herself with upset and I imagine her parents are equally worried.’ She twisted so her chin rested atop his chest. His expression was so serious it gave her pause. ‘Thank you.’ It seemed the right thing to say. ‘I know we became acquainted under odd circumstances and I appreciate your help with this matter.’
Ransom growled near his place at the hearth as if he understood the reference.
Max made a sound of abbreviated laughter, but he didn’t interrupt.
‘I’ve spent too much time in graveyards of late. With my mother gone and the mourning period over, I’ve just re-entered society.’ She raised her chin and eyed him warily. ‘I’m glad I met you, Maxwell, no matter the situation. How did you come to be at All Hallows church that morning?’
He tensed beneath her touch, every muscle tightening until, aware of her speculative wait, he must have forced himself to relax. It all took a beat too long.
‘Is that another secret too?’ Her whisper was sincere.
‘I won’t lie to you.’ He exhaled a deep breath.
‘But you also won’t share?’ She choked back emotion and achieved a level tone.
He passed a hand over her bare shoulder, locking her closer before his fingers traced the line of her jaw and secured her attention.
‘Some things are better left alone. Don’t ask me to share my soul when I’ve only just opened my heart.’
He cupped her cheek, the stroke of his thumb across her skin evoking twice as much gooseflesh as his words. She knew his soft rebuke wasn’t meant to harm, but to warn her not to have expectations. Nevertheless, she wondered if he’d admitted more than he’d intended. She should tell him she loved him. Or dare she ask another question? What of his family or ties here in the city? How did he come to own the Underworld and what was it like to be reputed by better London as the most shrewd and powerful businessmen?
These thoughts provided distraction, safer and more intriguing than her stepfather’s unnatural advance or Crispin’s sudden disappearance, yet she remained silent, pressed against Max’s side in measure to each inhalation and exhalation.
Max startled, sitting upright as a violent pounding sounded on the door downstairs. He slid from the bed and recovered his clothing while Vivienne watched, eyes wide and curious.
‘Stay here.’ He glanced over his shoulder as he headed towards the stairwell. ‘I’ll be but a moment.’ He took the stairs and peered out the front window. Wilson waited, his collar drawn high, hat pulled low. A flick of the eyes and in silent communication Sin cracked the door, allowing the informant inside.
‘You look well.’ And he did, nearly healed from when last they’d met. ‘What has brought you here when your connection and identity are better protected otherwise?’ He nodded towards the brandy service atop the sideboard, but Wilson shook his head in the negative.
‘I’ve discovered your man again.’ Wilson pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and offered it forward. ‘But you’ve little time. He’s aware of your pursuit and may have watched your actions with planned retaliation. Mayhap someone else did it for him. Either way you need to act now if you have any hope of catching him. I wouldn’t consider this place safe either. No telling what he’s planned before he boards a packet. So far, he’s managed successful elusion so I’d not wait but get to the address with due haste.’ He indicated the paper. ‘That’s all I know.’
‘What happened?’
Vivienne appeared, reassembled for the most part though her hair was tragically mussed, giving her the appearance of a well-tumbled mistress. He caught his smile before it emerged.
‘Wait for me in the parlour.’ He spoke in a low tone, though his words became sharp as he watched Wilson assess Vivienne with an appreciative leer.
‘Is this the man who will assist in finding Crispin?’ She tilted her head, her brows high in question as if she knew she pushed his limits.
‘I’ll handle the matter.’ Max stepped directly in Wilson’s line of sight, tossing a quick glance over his shoulder. ‘I’ll be in shortly.’ He couldn’t say more, pleased when with a subtle flare of her eyes she stepped into the hall.
‘Pretty piece of muslin, that one.’
‘Never mind that.’ He didn’t allow further conversation. ‘Is there anything else I need to know concerning Pimms?’
‘He plans to leave and never look back, bound for America or some other unfortunate recipient of his arrival. He’s not travelling alone. Someone had the funds, and now he has the means, so if you’ve any intent at setting your grudge to rights, this is your last chance.’
‘I understand.’ He stood motionless, considering his choices before briefing Wilson on the matter involving Crispin Daventry. With nothing left to say, he showed the man out and found Vivienne in the parlour.
‘I need to leave.’ He shook his head, reorganizing his thoughts and shaking off the guilt that he’d once again disappoint her. ‘You should leave too.’
‘Again? What? I can’t. Wait, I have nowhere to go. I can’t intrude on Daventry House considering the circumstances and to go home—I haven’t told you half my troubles.’ She shook her head, her expression one of mortification. ‘I don’t understand why you’re leaving again.’
He watched her knit her fingers together and then apart, so much left untold, yet he hadn’t the time to listen. If he ever hoped to shed the blanket of regret that smothered his every action since his mother’s untimely death, he needed to find Pimms and end the scourge’s life.
‘You can’t stay here. It may not be safe.’
‘Not safe? Please, won’t you explain?’
He held tight to his patience though every word shrank his opportunity for success. ‘I don’t have time for that, Vivi. You need to trust me.’
‘But you haven’t explained anything.’ Her voice rose, trembled with emotion and fast anger. ‘And now you’re pushing me aside as if I’m a bother and inconvenience just like last time. What’s wrong with me? Don’t you want to stay?’
Dammit to hell.
‘It’s not that simple. I’ll have my carriage brought up when I fetch my horse. Make use of it. No one will know you’re inside. Go to Bond Street. Buy yourself something pretty and put it on my account. It doesn’t matter but you can’t stay here.’ He attempted to keep an even tone, but a hard edge had risen in parallel to his temper.
‘Wait, Max. Please.’
‘There isn’t time.’ He stepped across the room already half out the door. ‘I will find you when I return. Go home. Go to the Underworld. Cole will be there. Find somewhere to go and inform the driver—that way I’ll know where you are.’ She appeared on the verge of fresh tears and he looked away. ‘This isn’t like before. Believe me when I tell you I will find you, Vivi.’
Chapter Twenty-Two
Crispin settled against the leather squabs within one of his father’s better carriages. He despaired at having to leave London, but what choice was there? Much to his embarrassment he’d squandered a shameless amount of money on a game he never meant to play. For convenience sake it could be blamed on misplaced jealousy of Vivienne’s fascination with the Underworld gaming hell, but he knew on a deeper level he fought demons that had nothing to do with the green-eyed beauty.
To kiss her lips and hold her within his arms consumed his thoughts, waking or otherwise, and even now as the carriage rolled towards the city’s limit, he struggled with the desire to order the driver to reverse direction. If he waited much longer the choice would be taken from him, the loss of daylight forcing him to a roadside inn despite him having no idea where he would stop eventually. He’d never imposed self-exile before and surely his father would discover him were he to take shelter in one of the fami
ly properties.
Would he need to leave England? The possibility hit him at the same time the rear wheels struck a rut and it jarred with equal sobriety.
Mayhap, he could return home. The tempting proposition slithered to the forefront in light of the distasteful alternative. Surely his father would pay the debt owed and hush the embarrassing matter into oblivion, but what of Sinclair or Hewitt, shameless bastards of the Underworld? And what of Vivienne? When she learned of his disgraceful behaviour, would she look at him with censurable disapproval in her emerald gaze instead of companionable admiration? How he yearned to see adoration there.
Tugging at the curtain, he slid the cloth aside to offer a clear view of his progress on Millbank Road. Little time remained. Either he returned to Daventry House and faced the poor decisions of late with hope Vivienne would understand and not judge his failure or he continued into the unknown and determined what to do come morning shortly thereafter. He poised his fist to rap the roof and signal the driver, his teeth clenched, a clear vision of the lady’s smile clouding his mind. Now was the time to act.
Ellis Downing, Earl of Huntley, climbed inside his coach and struck the roof with an insistent knock. The conveyance jerked forward as the team took to motion, but he hardly moved, his posture rigid with unreleased rage. Where had Vivienne fled when she rushed from the room this morning and why had she suddenly changed her decision to welcome their future together? He’d readied the house, taking particular care to include the fripperies young women favoured in bright colours and cheerful patterns.
Vivienne offered a new beginning, fertile with careful opportunity, happiness within reach. She resembled her late mother in appearance yet possessed an appealing vigour that pleased. He had envisioned many interesting years ahead when she’d acquiesced to his plans. Why did she show such sudden objection? Had she fallen under someone’s influence? What ideas had been planted in her head?
The carriage rattled on much like his rambling thoughts, filled with expectation and an equal portion of concern. Perhaps she’d sought refuge at the Daventrys’ town house. She often visited, sometimes as an overnight guest, so the prolonged hour shouldn’t cause alarm, though something intuitive told him to act with haste. Could the young man of the household be responsible for Vivienne’s abrupt change of heart? A conversation with Crispin Daventry was in order. One way or the other, he’d free Vivienne to live the life he’d planned for her. After all, it would be what his late wife had desired.
Max mounted his horse and set off towards Seven Dials, his hair whipping in the wind. He’d arranged for his carriage to be brought up to the town house and with hope, Vivienne would use it to take refuge and wait. In a series of concurrent decisions, he’d mapped out a plan for his life where previously he’d had none, too absorbed with revenge and the wicked task of ending the lives of the men who’d abused his mother. All priorities had shifted of late and Vivienne served as the impetus.
He couldn’t predict the future or know with any amount of certainty whether or not she would love him and accept the harsh truth of his past, but she was the first woman to touch him in a way that brought peace. She encouraged him to share the burden he’d carried for over a decade and for once he sought happiness instead of pursuing destruction. He’d finish Pimms and return to claim Vivienne, daring to believe she would accept him despite his ugly history, and then together they could look towards the future. The single bright conclusion spurred him to kick the horse to a faster gallop.
The pounding ride did much to clear his conscience and solidify his intent. By the time he arrived at Drury Lane, instead of concentrating on the lodging house where Pimms held a room, he recalled Vivienne in formal wear when she’d attended the play. She’d appeared in perfect accompaniment to Daventry, a lady, stepdaughter to an earl. Malicious insecurity taunted him to reach too high, want too much, but he shook off the contemplation and with a pull at the reins steered his horse towards Covent Garden.
He’d approach from the south and move through the filth-infested alleyways of Seven Dials until he intersected with St Andrew Street. He cast a glance at the beggar-lined cobbles where misery begot misery and no one—thief, whore, orphan or leper—was safe from the shabby conditions. A number of ragged boys skulked near the entry of a dwelling house not unlike his destination. Max kept his expression neutral, his horse at a quiet walk. Images from his past flooded back in vivid detail, wanting to punish and provoke, and he struggled to hold them at bay.
Once he too had been a boy of the streets, cut off by his father’s abandonment and his mother’s death. He’d learned his worth through the lessons gained during an abbreviated education but there were years when he was the thin dirty lad on the stoop desperate for opportunity, twopence and a stale piece of bread in his pocket.
He was never detached from that memory, no matter that he now wore the finest kersey and had amassed a large fortune. Unbeknownst to his partners, Sin’s wealth was not solely invested in the Underworld. He’d learned well from those difficult years, a shadow to the wealthy and an opportunist in every way. His future secure, he accumulated money by skill and acuity of circumstance. He didn’t believe in luck or coincidence, all emotionality consumed by revenge.
Arriving at the rear entrance to the dwelling house, he dismounted soundlessly, not wasting time to tie off his horse, aware the animal would be stolen before he walked two steps within the building. There was no other way of it and being on foot served his purpose. Besides, he knew these back alleys like he knew his name and if someone bettered their situation through sale of his horse he couldn’t complain about that.
The sour stench of poverty assailed his senses as he eased through the back door. He kept his focus keen, his eyes intent on the third door on the left where Wilson claimed Pimms took a room. He approached, the thrum of unfulfilled vengeance echoed by the resounding hope he could soon put his mission to rest. Pimms was the instigator behind his mother’s rape. He deserved the most painful death possible and Sin looked forward to completing the task.
Vivienne wiped away the last of her tears and stepped into the elegant carriage that pulled to the kerb in front of Max’s town house. Unlike previous afternoons, the streets were busy, daylight waning as dusk descended. Near the corner three women gathered, caught up in pleasant conversation, a small dog on a leash at their feet. Across the road, a man stood, his shadowed form striking a familiar note, though Vivienne couldn’t see his face, his features obscured by the gloom. Could it be the scarred stranger she’d noticed under the tree the first day she’d visited the Underworld?
Ignoring the premonition of ill ease, she scurried inside the coach to escape his watchful eye. Max said she might not be safe but hadn’t elaborated and her pulse jumped now. She was unsure of what to do. She’d sent Sophie a note explaining Max would do his best to gain information about Crispin, but she wouldn’t return to the Daventrys during this stressful time. Going home seemed her only choice, despite the thought of confronting her stepfather and his odd assumption that somehow she’d take her mother’s place. The idea made her breathing seize. Not one to run from difficulties, the proposition left her confused and scared.
Max had suggested she wait at the Underworld. Only a few blocks away, it could provide her safety, but then what would she do? Hide in his office and await his return? How long would he be gone? No matter his insistence when they’d parted, he’d made it clear numerous times he wanted nothing more from her than a tumble in bed. The realization she thoroughly loved a man who cared little in return drenched her in despair as bleak and sorrowful as her past mourning. How she wished she could believe his resolute vow, but having risked emotion twice only to have him leap from bed and run from her a third time without explanation demanded she salvage a scrap of pride.
Indecision held her hostage. She knew not how long she sat inside the carriage, the driver in wait of directions. There in front of Max’s lavish town house, the busy pedestrian traffic passed b
y unaware she ached with hopeless misery, her heart turned inside out for a man who wouldn’t allow her to love him. Where should she go? Perhaps Crispin had the smartest idea when he’d decided to flee, but then she’d never see Maxwell again. What a foolish blight. No matter that he shut her out, her hope survived. With that slight balm to her conscience, she leaned out the window and instructed the driver.
Max stood before the door, fists balled tight, focus clear. At last he would conquer the tormenting memory of his mother’s savage death and resolve the darkness that haunted him. He paused, assessing the situation and righting his thoughts.
Indignant misplaced anger and the reminder of his mother’s brutal assault prompted him to consider Vivienne and what she might have chosen to do once he left. He didn’t approve of any woman travelling alone by carriage. He’d left her during daylight hours with instructions to find safety nearby whether at the hell or Nettlecombe. Were she to forgive his abrupt departure again, he’d need to amend his insults to her honour. The list was great. Against better sense, he recalled her parting expression. She’d nearly sliced his heart in two with her solemn plea for him to stay.
Yet nothing could come of it until the immediate situation resolved.
He placed his hand on the knob and turned, surprised it remained unlocked. The odds seemed unlikely Pimms waited inside.
He flung the door wide, dependent on the element of surprise to overtake the man who carried a weapon, ready to inflict harm with no provocation.
‘You?’
Ludlow sat atop a cot near the wall, his startled expression a mirror of reaction as he shot to a standing position.
The Den of Iniquity Page 21
