The women were gone. Disappeared into the night. What if he’d been thirty seconds earlier? What if he took off running down the alley, would he catch them? He needed to know who she was. Didn’t he?
But whoever had done this wasn’t a ghost. It couldn’t have been Helen. Someone else with dark hair and strength who could fight and hold her own against a man with a gun. It had to be someone else who had just beaten up three policemen, potentially murdered an assassin, and freed her cohort all before Edward could get down the damned stairs. He couldn’t imagine that there could be another woman like Helen who was that fierce and competent. That ruthless.
And Helen was dead.
He’d searched and searched, spent a fortune trying to find her. He’d hired men and boats, even the Pinkerton’s to investigate the sunken ship and search nearby coves for witnesses…or her body. There was no way she could have survived, and yet he’d searched.
This was ridiculous, he was ridiculous, chasing after a fantasy. Go back where you belong. Check on your family, do your duty.
Edward knew it was probably too late. But he also knew, with every fiber of his being, that this was the closest he would be, possibly his one and only chance to find some connection to Helen.
Decision made, he took off into the night.
Chapter 5
Without hesitation, he broke into a run; his long legs eating up the distance of the alleyway. The main street was flooded with people, operagoers who had fled and were now standing in groups recounting the excitement of the night. Two figures caught his gaze, and at first he wasn’t sure what he was seeing. One woman supporting the other, almost carrying her along the street and away from the opera.
His heart pounded as he ran towards them. In a hundred yards, he’d know. They stopped altogether, and one of the women, the one he was positive wasn’t Helen, slumped down. People were looking at them but no one came close. One didn’t go close to a sick stranger.
Just then, the conscious woman raised her head and he saw her profile. Helen. It was. Edward almost stumbled in shock. He hadn’t really believed it was her. It was. She was alive. He was close enough to hear her speaking, her voice trembling and desperate. She was so focused on her companion she didn’t even look up as he came close. “We don’t have far to go. Just around the corner, but you have to help me. Mary…Mary, stay awake you have to help me. We have to go!”
The last word was vaguely hysterical. That wasn’t the woman he knew. Every question he had, every impulse and feeling that pulsed through his body would have to wait. All of that was suddenly irrelevant. The police were after them; they would know what Helen and this other woman, Mary, looked like.
“Here,” he said, and he lifted Mary’s limp arm, draping it around his neck, and putting his other hand on her waist to propel the unconscious woman along.
The way Helen reacted to the sight of him, eyes wide and mouth open in shock, it was as though he were the ghost coming back from the dead. “Edward,” she said, his name an almost reverent whisper. And that was when it was real; that was the moment that everything clicked together, and he really knew she was alive and before him. His Helen was alive.
He wanted to look at her and speak to her. He wanted to shove her up against the wall and kiss her, hold her still and keep her with him. He wouldn’t let her out of his sight again.
“Edward,” she said again, clearly shocked at the sight of him. They carried the woman down the street quickly, rounding the corner and emerging onto Regent Street. They would find transportation here; Regent Street was one of the busiest streets in London.
“Give her to me,” he said, and after a moment Helen moved towards him, close enough that he could’ve leaned forward and kissed her as she shifted the weight of Mary into his arms. He inhaled deeply, wanting to catch some trace of Helen while she stood close. All he smelled was gunpowder.
He scooped up the unconscious woman in his arms and moved towards a hackney that was stuck in traffic. The driver was wearing a blue hat pulled low over his ears, and he looked at Edward suspiciously. Edward realized he had absolutely no idea where to take them.
“Brompton Street,” Helen said to him quietly.
He repeated it to the driver. He wondered if that was the actual street where she lived or something close to where she lived. He didn’t know, didn’t have the time to ask. The man looked down at them with a frown, examining the duke. “I already have people.”
“I’ll pay you more,” he said, and he didn’t wait for a response but reached awkwardly for the handle of the hackney.
He opened the door and there was a scream from inside. A man’s voice came from the dark, “I say! What do you think you’re doing?”
“Get out,” Edward said in a tone that didn’t allow an argument.
“Well, hang on—” the man inside said, but Edward interrupted him.
“Five pounds if you get out now,” he said, and the woman inside made some tittering comment.
After a moment, the man came out of the vehicle, reaching inside to help the woman out.
“Here now, what about me?” the driver said, clearly wanting a bribe himself.
He placed Mary into the hackney and Helen started to move past him, following her into the vehicle. His hand snaked out and he grabbed her arm, keeping her on the sidewalk while he spoke to the driver. He wouldn’t let her get into the carriage and leave him standing on the sidewalk for even a moment. She wouldn’t escape him again.
“I assume the going rate is five pounds,” he called up, sarcasm thick. He could feel the weight of Helen’s gaze as she looked at his profile. What did she see when she looked at him? Someone cold and unfeeling? Someone she could dupe and then abandon? His heart thundered in his ears. Alive. Helen was alive.
He reached into his coat pocket with one hand and pulled out some money, handing it to the man they had just evicted from the carriage.
“Now go away,” he said to the couple, and with a grumble they began to move off. He handed more money up to the driver using only one hand, the other one clamped on Helen’s arm like a vise.
“Aye, that’ll do,” the driver grumbled.
“Let go of me,” Helen said, but she didn’t try to pull away from him. He felt her breath on his cheek and turned to see her, finally, straight on. He was taller than her of course, but in his mind, she was such a large presence that it came as somewhat of a shock to have his head tilted so far down towards her in order to maintain eye contact. A peculiar sense of unreality surrounded him. She licked her lips and then repeated herself, “Let go of me.” Her voice was huskier. Did he move her then? Did she feel even one-tenth of what he felt for her? If she had, she wouldn’t have let him believe she was dead, now would she?
“I don’t think so. If I have learned one thing from the moment you came into my life…” Words failed him. What was there to say? How did he say it? “I cannot let you go,” he said, the words rough to his own ears.
“I am not your responsibility—”
He was stunned. “I’m not sure I’ve gotten even a ‘hello’ or a ‘thank you’ before we’re back into this argument—”
“I did say thank you,” she interrupted. He didn’t know if he should yell at her or take her to bed. Maybe both. Repeatedly.
The shrill sound of the police whistle screamed through the night, startling people on the road. He saw them spill out of the alleyway and go in both directions, time running out as the police came towards them. The traffic ahead was jammed. What would the police do to Helen if they caught her? If the police even thought that they had anything to do with the assassination attempt on the prince she would be killed; even he wouldn’t have the power to get her free. Edward looked down at his hand still gripping her arm. It seemed impossible that he was about to let her go.
His voice was low and rough. “Come to me. Do you understand? I will tear this town apart until I find you, I…” He felt the hollowness of that threat. Knew that he was helpless to do anyt
hing but wait for her to show up and grace him with her presence. Yelling at her would get him nowhere. There was nothing he could say, nothing he could do. “Please, Helen.”
He didn’t understand the look she gave him. And then she said, almost desperately, “Not at night. And… public.”
For a moment he was confused, and he said the first thing that came to him. “Hyde Park 9:00 am.”
She nodded sharply and he let her go. His hand burned from the contact. From touching her; not because she used her extraordinary abilities on him but simply because it was her, and he thought he’d lost her and now his whole body felt alive and on fire with the knowledge that she was alive and well. She got into the carriage and his mind was a whirlwind of shouting: ‘don’t let her go’ and ‘you won’t see her again’ and ‘she left you once, she won’t come back.’
She sat down on the seat, and he hesitated briefly before closing the door. “Don’t go to your actual residence. The driver will give you up if they offer a reward for you.”
She nodded at him and he called up to the driver before stepping back. “Get them out of here and don’t stop for anyone. Do you understand?”
“For that much money? Oh aye, I understand,” the driver said and snapped the reins, the horses lurching forward. The driver began to shout, using all sorts of foul language until carriages shifted slightly out of the way. He forced his way forward, and by the time the police had reached Edward, the hackney was turning down the next street, forcing its way off Regent Street and into the twisted streets beyond.
One of the policemen was from the alleyway and he stopped, recognizing the duke. “Did you see them? Which way did they go?”
“They ran off that way,” he said, pointing in the opposite direction. “A black phaeton took them away.”
The couple that he’d kicked out of the carriage stood nearby, the man watching curiously. “Who are you looking for?” the man asked.
Edward threw him a malevolent glare.
“There was an attack on the Prince Regent. Two women, American. Did you see them?”
The hackney had disappeared, but Edward’s heart was pounding. The man looked away from Edward and he knew the man was about to speak, was about to say that they had gotten into a hackney driven by a man wearing a blue cap just moments ago. That if the police hurried and traffic was bad they would still be able to catch them.
He’d be damned if they would take her from him.
“Do you know,” Edward drawled, his body tensing, “I absolutely abhor violence, and yet lately it seems to be the only solution.” And frankly, he was spoiling for a fight. “He tried to steal my watch,” Edward said, pointing to the man who was about to tell the police which direction Helen had really gone.
The man barely had time to scowl before Edward took a step forward and punched the man in the stomach, just enough to steal his breath and shut the man up, hopefully long enough to force the policemen into action and distract them for a few key moments.
The policeman shouted and grabbed Edward, trying to pull him off of the man. Edward jerked back, surprising the officer and catching him off guard. He thrust his elbow into the man’s face, his head cracking back. The other officer blew his whistle and Edward dove for him, taking the man to the ground, the damn whistle bouncing out of his mouth.
“Pathetic,” Edward said, pushing quickly to his feet and readying his stance for an attack. And it felt bloody fantastic. Every fiber of his body was alive and pulsing; he felt like shouting for joy that Helen was alive; felt like finding her and burying himself in her body to prove she was real, that she was still here, but there were other emotions too, darker, harder and furious. Good god, a fight was exactly what he needed. He boxed, of course, one couldn’t be of a certain rank and not box or ride extensively, but this was different. This was barbaric and irresponsible. It would cause a scandal the likes of which he’d never been involved in. And he suspected it would be worth it.
His gaze went from one man to the other, watching warily as the man on the ground got slowly to his feet, chest heaving and blood on his lip. Edward could see murder in the officer’s eyes. Edward would pay for that, the man’s gaze said. “Do you know, my mother could have hit harder than that and the heaviest thing she lifts is a teacup. How the poor citizens of Britain are supposed to feel safe if this is the best they have to protect them, I do not know,” he said, filling the words with condescension.
The two officers rushed him at once, and Edward evaded the murderous officer, the other one catching him with a glancing blow off the temple. He was happy to see that the man and his wife were no longer anywhere in sight. Three policemen were charging towards him, and even though it went against every fiber of his being, when the officer swung again, aiming for his face, he didn’t move out of the way. Pain, sharp and bright exploded in his head as he was surrounded by police officers. He tasted blood, realized his lip was bleeding profusely and dripping onto his dark waistcoat. And just think, he thought randomly, if he’d worn the salmon-colored one it would have been ruined beyond repair.
The officer he’d punched wheezed at him, “You’re coming with us.”
“Wonderful. What’s your name?” Edward asked, and the man didn’t notice the threatening purr in Edward’s tone.
“You’re not the one who’s going to be asking the questions,” he said. They marched him back towards the opera house, and as they turned back into the alleyway he’d come down five minutes ago, Edward cast one last look behind him, relieved to see neither the carriage nor a policeman in sight.
They arrived back at the opera house all too quickly. An officer was shouting orders, and when he saw the duke he stopped and squinted. He came towards them, a scowl on his face. He was clearly the man in charge.
“What’s this, then?” he asked the officer nearest Edward, noting the mutual blood spatter with a certain amount of horror on his face.
“He’s connected to the women,” the officer said. “I don’t know how, but he is.”
The man in charge shot the police officer a disgusted look. “That’s the Duke of Somervale, you fool; let him go.”
“It’s so gratifying to be recognized,” Edward said, his jaw aching so much he winced. He’d regret that bit of folly in the morning. But it didn’t matter so long as Helen was safe. If getting punched in the face would save her life, he’d do it until all his teeth were knocked out and his eyes swollen shut. He blinked rapidly, unsure what emotion was currently gripping him, but his gaze had gone blurry and his breath was shaky. Alive. Was she really alive?
The officer next to him spluttered loudly, interrupting Edward’s morose thoughts. “He arrived on the scene suspiciously quickly and then took off after the women. When we closed in on him, he attacked a man on the street, and then he became violent.”
Edward reached into his jacket pocket, withdrawing a card and handing it to the man in charge. “Just so there are no misunderstandings. The prince is my friend, and I felt it incumbent upon me to pursue his attackers. I’d just given up searching when a man bumped me and attempted to steal my wallet. And then there was a misunderstanding, and here we are. Now, if you have any further questions—which I sincerely hope you don’t—you may find me in the morning.”
The man he’d hit spoke first, “You’re coming with us,” he said.
Edward gave the man his most ducal look, the one he used to strike fear into every man, woman and child who knew what was good for them. Of course, it didn’t work on his sister or Helen, but neither of them knew what was good for them. The man flinched, reassuring Edward of the look’s efficacy. “I’m Somervale. I’m going home.”
The policemen moved out of his way, stunned into silence as he left them behind. He checked his watch, ignoring the fine tremor in his hand. It was only 10:00 pm, hours and hours until he was supposed to meet Helen, presuming she showed. He didn’t want to think about what he would do if she didn’t show up.
It was going to be a very long night
.
Chapter 6
Helen reached into her pockets, pulling out a small glass bottle and staring at it intently. Her hands shook with adrenaline, the night replaying itself again in her mind. She’d shot the Nazi, a solid shot, but he’d gotten up and she’d had to chase him backstage.
She had caught up with the German behind the stage, finding him slumped on the ground and in a pool of his own blood. Helen wheeled a prop in front of them, knowing the ruse wouldn’t last for long.
“I have to tell you something,” he said in English, his German accent thick. “I missed the prince on purpose. I wouldn’t go through with it. This has gone too far. This is madness.”
“Why should I believe you?” Helen said, listening carefully for sounds of anyone approaching.
He winced, his pale skin ashen with blood loss. “We are not all murderers. At least, not happily. I believe in God. I believe in Hell. And what we are doing here, in this time period,” he shook his head in negation, wheezed sickly and blood appeared at the corner of his mouth. “You have to stop them. Take all your people and wipe them out.”
All of her people? Her people consisted of two and one of them was sick as a dog. “How many of you are there?” she asked, terrified and envious at once.
“Ten.”
“Why aren’t you sick from time travel?” she asked, shocked there could be so many of them. She got closer to him, gun trained on him in case he tried to do something stupid.
He coughed and blood hit her in the face. She wiped it away with her sleeve, clearing her vision. “We have a serum. To fix the cellular decay. Before that we were bleeding to death.”
“Where is it?” Helen asked, barely daring to believe it. Was he telling the truth? “My friend is sick.”
“My pocket…I have one dose,” A flash of pain swept over his features, and she felt her skirts getting damp with his blood as it seeped out of his side and into her clothes. “I won’t be needing it,” he said with morbid humor.
A Lady Most Dangerous (Helen Foster) Page 4
