“I hate to sound churlish, but I was not seeking your permission.” Victoria wrung her hands nervously. “I am asking for your support. Both of you. Because, and I hate to say this more, I cannot do it without you.”
“No,” Benedict repeated.
Victoria stared at him with pleading eyes. “Allow me to put it simply, so that I may change your minds. The reality is, we don’t have another choice. The longer we wait, the more opportunity we give to the kidnappers, to take more ladies. Might we find evidence to lead us to them, one of these days? Maybe. But maybe is not good enough for me, when women’s safety is at stake. Women who don’t know how to take care of themselves, the way I do. Women who don’t know how to fight as I do. That is why I have to be the one to fight for them, and this is our only chance now, unless we want more kidnaps on our collective conscience?”
“And what of your safety?” Christian replied. “You may be able to fight, and you may be fearless, but your safety matters, too.”
She shook her head solemnly. “My life and my safety are not as important as the lives and safety of those ladies. On a costing basis alone, they are, pound for pound, of more value than me.”
“There is more to a person’s value than their wealth,” Christian protested. And you have become dearer to me than anyone. He felt irrationally cross that she could put herself beneath the captured ladies, after all of her rants regarding the fickle foundations of high society. And that she could devalue herself so matter-of-factly which, by proxy, marred the value that he saw in Victoria.
“In whose eyes?” Victoria retorted.
“In… many people’s eyes.” He stumbled over his response.
“Listen to me,” she sighed softly. “If the elite start leaving London out of fear, everyone suffers. The temporary staff who are hired to serve, the dock workers who bring in shipments of silks and satins to please the fine ladies, the dairy farmers and errand boys who see their yield increase with demand. It is an empire, Christian. Your world, and what it brings to the poorer folk of this city, is a veritable empire. These kidnappers are making it crumble. A warrior is required to cease their destruction. I am she.”
“But—” he made to argue, but she cut him off.
“I am not asking you to be happy about it, but this is our only means of rescuing these ladies, before there are no daughters left in London.” Victoria folded her arms across her chest in defiance. “Moreover, we do not yet know why these kidnappers have taken these ladies, but I am almost certain that they will make their reasoning known soon enough. And I would like to nip this in the bud before demands and blackmails and cut-off body parts start arriving in the mail.”
Christian’s stomach lurched. “You have lingered too long in the underworld, Victoria. Why would you say such a thing?”
“Because I have seen it happen before,” Victoria replied. “I’ve had to pinch my nose and pluck out a rotten finger, accompanied by a blackmail note, explaining that a Member of Parliament’s son would be delivered, piece by piece, until said honorable gentleman stood down from his position in the House of Commons.”
“What? I didn’t know of this.” Christian wrinkled up his nose, as though he could somehow smell the decaying flesh.
“No, you wouldn’t have. I was urged to keep it secret.” Victoria stood firm. “In the end, the cretin was apprehended by Benedict and me, and the boy was rescued with seven of his ten fingers intact. Another radical plan that involved me pretending to be an errand boy. That could have gone badly, but it did not, and everyone got to return home. Aside from the villain who did it, of course.”
“I had forgotten that one,” Benedict said gruffly.
Victoria fixed Christian with a stare. “This is far less dangerous, and it will work without a hitch, as long as you help me. I need your connections, and I will need you to convince the Duchess to help me, also. Miss Longacre and I are fast becoming friends, so she will likely aid me of her own accord, but her reach is not as extensive as yours.”
“I daresay you do not need me to help convince the Duchess, either. She was rather taken with you, by the end of your investigation of Lady Jane’s chambers.” Christian huffed out an exasperated breath.
“Be that as it may, it always helps to have some proverbial weight when it comes to dealing with the upper echelons. And I cannot very well go on pretending to be your cousin, if you are not involved,” Victoria pointed out.
Christian shot an imploring look at Benedict, in the hopes they might still be able to dissuade Victoria, but the older man simply shrugged in resignation.
“We have run out of options, Lord Galbury.”
Christian stared into his lap, feeling utterly helpless. “And you will not be persuaded against this, Victoria?”
“Assuredly not,” she said, with a small smile.
“Well then, I cannot abandon you to do this alone, can I?” He lifted his gaze. “But, know this, I will aid you only if you make me a promise.”
She squinted at him. “What promise?”
“You are not to do anything that will intentionally put you in unnecessary danger. You act with caution at all times, and you do not go anywhere, or make decisions, without informing the Admiral and I first, so that we may know where you are, always. Even if it is inconvenient, or you think you can do something alone, you tell us. Every time.” He paused. “I understand how capable you are. Goodness, you are better equipped for this than I, and I have served as a soldier. But, for the sake of all of our nerves, and our sanity, please do as I ask.”
To his surprise, Victoria’s lips curved into a satisfied smile. “I accept those terms.”
Instant regret struck him in the breast, and he knew he had relented too easily. Victoria would take any and every measure, in order to bring those ladies back safely. And he had just given his consent, passing free rein into her hands.
Oh dear… what in heaven’s name have I done?
Chapter 17
“I could fit four of my chambers in here.” Victoria flung her arms open like a giddy child, as she whirled across the floor of her new, albeit temporary, residence on the first floor of Christian’s townhouse. She had selected the bedchamber that most closely resembled that of the missing ladies’ chambers, in relation to location. Sure enough, she had a grand view of the gardens below, which were impeccably manicured.
“That’s because you appear to desire to live in what can only be described as an attic,” Christian retorted from the doorway.
She grinned at him and he turned his face away. Although, she noted him struggling not to grin in response, for he was still somewhat incensed by the nature of her plan to use herself as bait.
“I go where my independence is permitted.” She twirled across the open floor again, enjoying the moment. Even in her bedchamber at her mother’s terrace, she couldn’t do this.
“Do you never feel lonely?” He turned back; his brow furrowed.
She shrugged. “I am too busy to feel loneliness.”
“That is fortunate for you,” he mumbled, his words catching her attention.
“Do you feel lonely, Christian?”
“Sometimes.” He hung his head, worrying Victoria.
Did I speak out of turn? “Did you feel lonely in Cornwall?”
He gave a dry laugh. “Never.”
“Well, you have me here now. I will not allow you a moment’s peace, and then you will pray for solitude once more.” She walked over to him and put her hand on his arm, eager to touch him again. She had longed to do so, ever since he had put his palm upon her shoulder. Indeed, though she knew she should be doing everything within her power to suppress the gathering emotions inside her, she couldn’t. Her every fiber wanted to be near him, and though this plan presented a multitude of risks, it meant she had a viable excuse to be exceedingly close to him.
He laughed again, more genuine this time. “I do not think that would be possible.” His expression shifted to one of intensity. “You have brought joy
into my life, Victoria. That sounds outlandish, given the circumstances of our meeting, but it is the truth. I would be lost without you.”
The breath left Victoria’s lungs.
“I fear we must find your bride quickly,” she managed to say, after a moment’s pause, “before we all take leave of our senses.”
He doesn’t mean what you think he means, she told herself firmly. He could not love you, even if he wanted to. He could not marry you, even if he wanted to. To begin, you are not capable of love nor marriage. And, even if you were, he is an Earl and you are… a grubby urchin from the streets, who would rather chase criminals through the slurry of a riverbank than attend a ball.
“What do you mean?” he breathed.
“We come from different worlds, Christian. I cannot allow myself to be tricked into thinking that I belong here, by sinking too deeply into this character we have created,” she explained awkwardly. “When all is said and done, I will not be a lady anymore. I will be Victoria McCarthy, the Vixen of Bow Street.”
He smiled sadly, and lifted his hand to her face, tucking that perpetually unruly strand of hair behind her ear. “The finest woman I have ever met.”
“Christian, I…” she trailed off, wanting to say a thousand things, but not knowing where to begin. This was entirely new territory for her. In all her life, her heart had never stirred for any man, poor or wealthy, handsome or unfortunate, young or old. And she didn’t know how far she could trust what she felt, in case it crushed her into the dirt with future disappointment.
“Yes?” he prompted.
“I… must have new gowns, if we are to attend many social gatherings.” She hated herself for being cowardly, but self-preservation took over. “I have but three.”
His face crumpled. “I see. Well, we shall have to remedy that.” She heard the dismay in his voice, as though he had hoped she might say something else.
He is betrothed. I cannot change that. I cannot bare my soul to him, knowing he belongs to someone else… even if I do not agree that any person ought to be a possession, or that a child ought to be bound by the duties and promises made by their parents. Before she could wallow in their misfortune, Christian suddenly took her hand and drew her into the open expanse of the room. She shrieked in surprise—a girlish noise that she had never made in all her days.
“What are you doing?” she cried.
“Joining you in a dance, Miss McCarthy.” He flashed her a smile and twirled her around, keeping hold of her hand. She ducked under his arm and spun away from him, only to be pulled back in with a firm tug. Losing her balance slightly, she stumbled into his chest. His arms encircled her for a fleeting moment, until she could regain herself, but she didn’t move away immediately. Instead, she gazed up into his eyes and inhaled the spiced scent of his cologne—like woodsmoke from a bonfire, mixed with burnt sugar and the cinnamon that sometimes wafted from the crates that arrived at the docks, brought from faraway lands.
“We should not dance like this at any gatherings.” She gulped; her cheeks hot. “People would begin to gossip.”
He smiled. “Nonsense. Remember, you are to be Lady Laura. She has been on the continent for so long, they would merely think you had picked up terrible habits from the French and the Spanish.”
“You ought to attend a soiree in my side of London. Then you would understand what true revels were,” she teased. “Why, I suspect even the French and Spanish would blush.”
“Could I do this at one of your soirees?” He put his arms around her again and moved slowly, stepping left and then right with her in his embrace. She lay her palms flat against his chest and moved with him, so close she could hardly breathe.
“May I make a confession?” her voice hitched.
He nodded. “Please do.”
“I have never been to one of those soirees, so I do not know.”
He chuckled, his eyes twinkling. “Then, I suppose we must make our own rules.”
“That is dangerous talk, Lord Galbury.”
“Are we back to formalities, Miss McCarthy?” His voice was thick with emotion.
“I think we may be past that,” she replied, her body trembling.
“I’m glad. I don’t know that I could call you anything but Victoria, not now.” He held her closer as they danced to their silent song. “Well… there is something else I would dearly like to call you… but I cannot speak of that, as yet.”
Her eyes widened. “What do you mean?”
“Once this case is done, and you are safe, and the missing ladies have come home… ask me again.” He lifted a hand and brushed his thumb across her cheek, where a tear had fallen without her realizing. “Promise that you will ask me again?”
She nodded. “I promise.”
Does he mean what I think he means? Does he want to call me… wife? She gulped and lay her head against his shoulder as they continued to sway together, lit by the soft evening glow that glanced in through the window. There would be dark days to come on this mission, but she was determined to cling onto this one speck of true joy, before everything spiraled into mayhem.
The next evening, Christian couldn’t take his eyes off Victoria as they mingled with the other attendees in the foyer of the Drury Lane Theatre. Miss Longacre had been brought into the plot, and had suggested that visiting the theater might be the best way to be introduced as the latest bright young thing to enter society.
Christian couldn’t remember any of the performance, for he had been focused entirely on Victoria. Indeed, he had been more entranced by the ever-changing expressions upon her face, as she laughed, and wept, and cheered at the story playing out on stage. He had also found intrigue in the slender curve of her neck as she tilted it this way and that, to better watch the actors.
You have never looked more radiant. He’d tried to say so countless times, but something had always got in the way. Now was no exception, for she looked so wholly beautiful in her new, scarlet gown, with her raven hair piled atop her head in a romantic fashion, that she had drawn the attention of every eligible bachelor in the proximity of the building.
Miss Longacre had orchestrated the transformation that afternoon, offering Victoria the full usage of her skilled lady’s maid to fashion her hair and polish the raw materials of her exquisite face, before giving Victoria the choice of any gown she desired. This ravishing socialite, who appeared to be charming her way through the London elite, had been the result.
“She is glorious, is she not?” Miss Longacre whispered, from her position beside Christian.
“Truly,” he replied.
“It is curious, is it not, that all of these gentlemen should be so in awe of her now, when they would likely spurn her if they knew her without the grandeur?” Miss Longacre cast him a sideways glance. “Aside from you, that is. In fact, I imagine you prefer her in her natural state, rather than this glittering butterfly?”
Christian hesitated. “I admire her in any state, Miss Longacre.”
“I thought as much.” She smiled knowingly, piquing Christian’s curiosity. “Tell me, do you love her?”
Christian’s stomach plummeted. “Pardon?”
“McCarthy. Do you love her?” Miss Longacre repeated.
“I do not think this is a proper topic of conversation, Miss Longacre.” His throat tightened. Could she see how much he cared for Victoria? Was it written all over his face? He supposed he had been distracted by her throughout the performance, his mind flitting back to the memory of their dance yesterday, when he had finally held her in his arms as he had wanted to do.
Miss Longacre chuckled softly. “Your secret is safe with me, My Lord. All of your secrets, in fact,” she paused. “Although, I should tell you, if you do love her, then you must hold onto her. You may believe you owe a debt to Lady Helena, but no one should be made to marry someone they do not love.”
He frowned. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because Helena and I have been friends for many a year, as you know
, and she would not want you to be unhappy. Any more than she wants to be unhappy,” Miss Longacre replied quietly.
“Unhappy?” Christian’s peered at the young woman. “Did Helena speak to you of me before her disappearance?”
“I have already said too much, My Lord.” She bowed her head. “I only hope that it may help, one day. Now, if you will excuse me, I must extricate our mutual friend before she is thoroughly swamped by gentlemen.”
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