Mary spoke, “Isn’t he the guy who tried to blow up the Houses of Parliament and screwed it up?”
He snapped the fingers of one hand and pointed at Mary, “Bingo. But I am much better than him. The gambling den shares a basement with the building next door. I stockpiled it with gunpowder this morning. We go, we make sure they’re inside, we blow it up, and if anybody gets out we kill them. Then we come back home, pack our stuff and get the first boat to Calais.”
Helen had a lot of questions and wasn’t sure if it was because she had been punched, or if it was confusing. “How do we know for sure that there are that many Germans? How do we know they’ll meet there?”
The look he gave Helen was almost poisonous. “I just do.”
Helen looked at the layout of the building and then went over to the table, choosing two knives and two revolvers. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Jonathon had a knife in his hand. He was flipping it up in the air and catching it again. He hadn’t said a word to her, and the whole situation seemed wrong. “Is knife throwing something they taught you in history class?”
“You have no idea the skills I have,” he said, not looking at her. But it felt like a threat all the same. And then he led them out into the night.
Chapter 17
Jonathon led them to the gambling den, the street noticeably quiet. A boy stood out front, telling anyone who came by that they were closed for the night. Jonathon said softly, “Mary, you are going to go around back. I’m going to take the front. Helen, you’re going to light the fuse.”
“Isn’t that really dangerous?” Mary asked.
Jonathon shook his head. “It shouldn’t be. The fuse is long enough to make sure you get out in time. And if it’s damp, which, let’s face it, everything in England is damp, you can use your abilities to dry it out.”
“Great. Gunpowder. It’s like déjà vu all over again,” she said, remembering being on the boat that exploded and almost killed her.
“Mary, go on ahead. Helen, I’ll take you to where you need to be and then resume my post. Once you’re out, go be back-up for Mary. Like I said, the chance of survivors is low. And anyone who comes out will be so busy running for their lives – they won’t think to defend themselves. Like fish in a barrel.”
He made eye contact with Mary, jerking his head, telling her to get a move on. “Expect detonation in ten,” he said and started walking, knowing Helen would follow him. They crossed the street quickly, keeping their heads down and trying to look like two dockworkers on their way to the pub. They stepped into the shadows, and Jonathon pointed to a basement window.
“It isn’t latched. That’s the entrance and exit point. Let’s go.” And he went to the window, pulling it open on silent hinges. Helen went forward, shimmying through the window and dropping down a few feet. The basement smelled dank, and like beer and gunpowder. An odd smell, and somehow not as unpleasant as it should have been.
Her nerves were on high alert; she couldn’t escape the feeling that this was a trap. That Jonathon had had enough of her and her interfering ways and had taken her down here to kill her. He went over to the barrels of gunpowder, showing her the fuse which was, thankfully, very long. He gave her a grim smile. “I want to apologize about today. I shouldn’t have hit you. I just...reacted. I know it’s difficult, and that doing the right thing seems like doing the wrong thing. But it’s almost over, Helen.” He reached out, squeezing her on the shoulder and she tried not to flinch.
“Tomorrow, we can all leave. I think it’s best if you don’t see Edward again. Wouldn’t you agree?” He was watching her intently, and she knew this was a test. Knew that if she screwed this up she might die down here.
“I agree,” she said.
He smiled at her, and it looked genuine. “Good. I’ll see you up top,” he said and headed out. “Give me two minutes to get in position,” he said as he walked away. The moment he was gone, she went to check the exits. The gambling den staircase was blocked with gunpowder barrels. The only way out was the window. She went over to it, standing on the empty crate and pushing, wanting to know if he’d trapped her in here to kill her. It opened easily, and the relief was so profound she felt dizzy. She jumped down and ran over to the fuse, pulling out her matches. She lit one, set it to the fuse and headed for the window, heart thundering.
She pulled herself up, shoving her way out and took off running the moment she stood. She had to circle around the block to get back to Mary, feet pounding on the sidewalk as she ran as fast as she could. If her friend needed help, she wanted to be there. She was halfway around the block when the building blew, the sound deafening. She found Mary, crouched low, watching the back door as a fire raged inside. The door and windows were blown out.
There was movement on the third floor, a rope dropping down and three men lowered themselves with ease. “Crap. How long do we wait? These revolvers won’t hit them from this distance,” Mary said.
“I guess it depends on whether they split up or not.” The men moved away from the building quickly, and it was clear they were military. Civilians just didn’t move like that. Mary had her gun sighted and Helen did too. They both fired, the recoil a bastard. Mary hit her target in the chest and he fell to the ground. Helen’s guy was hit in the leg and he stumbled, fell to the ground but quickly started to get back up. The third man sprinted, taking off away from them. “Shit!” Helen said, jumping up and dashing across the lawn, to incercept him. At five yards away she crouched, sighted, drew a deep breath in, exhaled out and pulled the trigger. The gun discharged with an enormous bang and nasty recoil. He fell to the ground and she ran to him.
Helen went up to the body, relieved to see that he was dead before she got there, and started going through his pockets as blood poured out of his neck. Her ears were ringing from the explosion and the gunshots, her hands sliding in his hot blood, and she tried to stay focused as she searched. Nothing. He had nothing.
She stood and saw Mary approaching, her face lit up from the roaring fire of the building. They looked each other over in a glance, making sure neither had been hurt, and walked away.
Chapter 18
A carriage was parked outside their apartment, too fine for their neighborhood. Mary whistled at the sight of it. “Look at that honey. I bet that monster gets four horsepower. Get it out on the open road or the freeway, really open up the throttle, just like a mustang,” she said it with a peculiar Southern drawl. At least, Helen thought that was what she was going for. There was a pause. “Huh. I guess that’s where the name came from for the car.”
“It never occurred to you?” she asked, but the you’re-a-moron inflection just wasn’t there. They got a little closer, close enough to see the crest. “Oh crap,” Helen breathed.
“What?” Mary asked, looking around like someone might leap out of the shadows. If only. The carriage door opened. Please don’t be him. Please be anyone else. She watched in a sick mixture of fascination and dread as he emerged from the carriage, one graceful muscular leg at a time. The duke. Her lover. A man who had, only 24 hours ago, been doing unspeakably good things to her. But this was bad. He shouldn’t be here.
“How did you find me?” she asked as they got closer. Her voice carried across the distance.
“I had the coachman follow you,” he said. “I’d hate to think I never learn from my mistakes.” There was a small amount of smugness mixed in with a lot of reproach. She’d escaped him before, the first time she’d blackmailed him…and the second too, she supposed. But now he’d found her, followed her properly. That was what he meant.
Shhhiiittt.
“Oooohhhh,” Mary said, in a slightly high-pitched tone. “This can’t be good.”
Helen knew she had to end it. Beyond any finality; make sure he realized just how unsuitable she was. He looked her up and down, scrutinizing her outfit, one brow raised in question and undoubtedly, a bit of horror. A woman wandering the street in trousers was a good start in terms of alienation.
“Will you not introduce me to your friend?” he asked and looked at Mary. Mary blinked. Her mouth hung open like a fish. Edward had that effect on people.
“Uhm, okay. Mary this is…Edward…Duke of Somervale…but you should just call him Your Grace, or he will get all pissy.” He cleared his throat, an expression of extreme disapproval, then gave Mary his most charming smile.
“I think my panties just fell off,” Mary said in a quiet whisper.
“Please, call me Edward,” he said and came within a few feet of them.
“Now you’re just trying to make me mad,” Helen said, hand on her hip as she scowled at Edward. “Never in my life have you greeted me with a smile like that.”
His gaze flicked to hers, then went down her body, gliding down her like a touch. Her breath caught in her throat. “That’s because every time we meet you are either trying to blackmail me, be rid of me or attack me. And occasionally, it’s all of the above. Be nice to me, see what happens.”
Before Helen could think of something to say, because he was unfortunately right, Mary interjected, “I have to…go. I have to…clean up.”
She seized upon the excuse like a lifeline. “I do too!”
There was a moment of silence, palpable, and he had that look on his face; the one where his eyes were slightly lowered, his jaw was clenched, and she just knew he was thinking too hard. She didn’t want him doing that, he was a good thinker. One of those people who managed to figure things out, even when they really didn’t have enough information to do so. Or at least that’s how it always seemed to Helen, as though he had some kind of Machiavellian intuition.
His words were slow, as if he were still trying to decide exactly what to do. “Alright then. It won’t take long; I’ll go in with you,” he said.
“Oh… It’s late… Isn’t that the sort of thing that’s frowned upon?” Helen said lamely.
His smile was tight-lipped and false as hell. “Please don’t be offended, but the fact that you are using etiquette to dissuade me, only convinces me that I’m onto something. Why don’t I come up?” But it wasn’t a question.
And then there was another voice from the darkness, Jonathon’s, and Helen knew that things were going from bad, to really, really bad. “Who’s this?”
Helen was momentarily speechless. Should she lie? Didn’t he already know?
“Edward Clifton, Duke of Somervale,” Edward said, and Helen wanted to scream at him.
“Of course. Why don’t you come up?” Jonathon said, as if it were not a big deal that Edward was here.
Jonathon jogged up the steps, unlocking the door, and Helen itched to put her hand on her gun as they all went inside. That was stupid. Edward was important. Her life might not be, but Edward’s was. She was the last one in, and it was unnerving to see Edward standing there, hands clasped behind his back, posture rigid, his clothing more expensive than the rent of her apartment for a year. He was every inch the bored and condescending aristocrat.
“And who are you?” Edward asked, gaze fixed on Jonathon.
Jonathon gave a lazy smile. “I’m glad to see you’ve not betrayed everything, Helen. I’ve been sent back to fix things. I’m the man in charge.”
“She smells of gunpowder,” Edward said flatly. A fine ribbon of anger making his words low and precise.
Jonathon crossed his arms, stance wide, looking at Edward as if Edward were a moron. “I don’t understand why you’re surprised.”
Edward glanced at Helen and then away. Very slowly he looked back at her. She didn’t understand the expression she saw there, and she reached up to her hair self-consciously.
“And she is covered in blood,” Jonathon said, tone silky. “I don’t know what you think she is, but this is the reality. How many men did you kill tonight, Helen?”
She wanted to back up and leave the room. Avoid having this conversation.
“And that’s an order. Tell the fancy duke about what you did tonight.”
“I killed a German from the future. He was escaping.”
“Escaping a building you blew up,” Jonathon said. “Right? You lit the fuse; there were several men who died inside, and looking at all that blood on her, Helen got up close and killed someone too.”
Edward was staring at her, his face totally blank and austere. He could’ve been a statue he was so still. “What happened to your face?” he asked.
“You don’t know her, Edward. And it’s best for you to walk away. You will get her killed.”
Edward turned back to Jonathon and his words were crisp and hard. “Did you just threaten her?”
Helen moved forward, close to Edward. “Edward, you don’t understand. You have to go. This is over, this is done, I—”
“Helen, take Mary and go get in the carriage,” Edward said, ignoring her completely.
“What?” she asked, totally confused.
“I’ll give you twenty-four hours to leave the country, or else I will have you arrested for tonight’s explosion. I can have you tried and executed for this.”
Jonathon snorted like it was a joke. “Helen was involved. You going to turn her in too?”
“They are leaving with me. You accomplish your mission on your own. If you come within fifty feet of her, I’ll see you dead.”
Jonathon studied Edward for a long moment. “What do you hope to accomplish here? What’s your end game? You want your wife and your mistress too? You’re not thinking rationally.” Jonathon shook his head, a smile playing on his lips. “There is no need for threats. It’s been a long day. Go ahead, Helen, Mary.” Jonathon waved them away, letting them all leave.
“Wait, no,” Helen said, really confused. “You don’t mean for us to go with Edward. That’s not what you’re saying, is it?”
Jonathon smiled at her. If this were poker she’d think he was bluffing and had four aces. The smile was false as hell. “Just go with him. I need to think and one night doesn’t matter,” he said. She felt Edward’s hand on her lower back, urging her onwards. And Jonathon let them go.
As if it were nothing.
As if it were over.
And Helen knew the end was just beginning.
Chapter 19
“Who is he?” Edward asked, the moment they were in the carriage. Mary scooted closer to the wall, as if she might sink out the other side of it and not have to be here for this conversation. Helen wanted to go with her.
“This is a very bad idea,” Helen said. “We can’t leave with you.”
“You just did. Easy. Now who is he?” Edward asked again, the slow crispness of his words raising the hair on the back of her neck. This wasn’t the man who’d made love to her and laughed with her; this wasn’t even the icy duke she knew so well…this was heat and fire. It was the fuse of a bomb, burning and ready to explode.
“He’s Jonathon. He’s from the future.”
There was no change in expression. “You didn’t tell me about him.”
“He…just got here.”
“Within the last few hours?” Edward asked, deadly soft.
“Well…no.” She shrugged, feeling lame. “But it didn’t come up. We didn’t talk about…that.”
“It seems to me,” he was looking down at his crossed leg, at some invisible lint that appeared to be on his trousers, “that you might have worked it into conversation.” She could feel the anger rolling off of him; every word exuded judgment, disappointment and anger. Her own anger caught, growing out of control; how were they still having this conversation? How could they be together when it always came back to this? He couldn’t save her. She couldn’t let him.
“What would I have said, ‘That feels really good. By the way, some jerk from the future showed up, and we are going to take out the Nazis as soon as I get my clothes back on!” Helen said, almost yelling.
Mary made a noise beside her. It was half warning, half grunt. But Helen was pissed and scared, and knew that the calm way Jonathon had sent her away was going to have terrible repercussions
for her—for all of them. “It’s none of your business, you know that.”
His hand slammed down on the bench beside him, and he was suddenly shouting back at her. “It is my business! You are mine! I don’t give a damn what he wants, and there is no way in hell I’m going to leave you with some fool who will undoubtedly get you killed!”
“You can just let me off here,” Mary said quietly.
The carriage rolled along for what felt like forever, no one saying a word. Finally, it came to a stop and Edward got out stiffly, his expression a severe scowl. He offered Helen his arm and she ignored him.
She looked around and shook her head. Great. He’d brought them back to the love nest. This was a fucking disaster of epic fucking proportions. It was worse than that. Were there really no words that were more appropriate than fuck? They needed a new word, even worse to describe just how epically not-good things were.
“Oh, thank you,” Mary said and had the nerve to giggle. Helen turned on her with a frown.
“What?!? It’s nice to have a gentleman offer me his arm. Is it so wrong to be happy about it? Laugh today for tomorrow it may be your last, you know? Usually it’s drink today for tomorrow it may be your last, but—”
“Shut. Up. You are so not helping me.”
Mary closed her mouth and made a motion of throwing away a key.
“Ladies,” Edward said, and gestured to the door.
“How nice!” Mary said. “How come we can’t live somewhere this nice?”
“Oh. My. God. Really? Shut up!”
“What did I do now?” Mary asked, planting her hands on her hips.
“This is where he wants to keep me. Like his own personal whorehouse.”
He whirled around and said angrily, “Do not, Helen.”
“What are you going to do? Carry me in again, throw me over your shoulder like a barbarian?”
A Lady Most Dangerous (Helen Foster) Page 10
