Bessie came in to remove the second course and deliver the third, a rich chocolate cake drizzled in raspberry sauce and topped with a generous dollop of sweet cream. Percy’s mouth watered when she saw it, and she scooted to the edge of her seat in anticipation.
Lucas took note of the small movement. “Do you’ve a sweet tooth, love?”
“A tiny one,” she admitted, her gaze on the sumptuous dessert.
Andrew had always limited her sugar. “It’s for our own goo” he’d told her on their wedding day when she’d requested a second piece of cake. “I don’t want a fat wife”. Newly married and not wanting to displease her husband, she’d obeyed the decree. It was only one request, she had reasoned. What as the harm? Little did she know it was but the first of many, and by the end of their first year together, Andrew’s rules would comprise her entire world.
Do this, not that.
Listen to me, not yourself.
Wear what I’ve selected, not what you want.
From sunup to sundown, he had been in charge of her every movement. Her every word. Her every idea. She’d lived in constant fear of disappointing him. Of making him have to discipline her. Which was how he’d always made it seem. Not that he was hurting her, but that she’d chosen to be hurt by not listening
As an old, familiar cramp twisted within her belly, Percy looked away from the dessert.
“I’m…I’m no longer hungry,” she said softly.
From the other end of the table, Lucas lowered the knife he’d been using to cut the cake into slices. “What’s wrong?”
“There isn’t anything wrong. I…I just lost my appetite. That’s all.” She could feel his gaze upon her as she stared at her lap, and she bit hard the inside of her cheek when she heard the legs of his chair scrape across the floor. He brought her a plate and then knelt beside her, his left arm going around her back while his right picked up her fork.
“Glastonbury isn’t here, love.” Lucas’s gentle understanding brought a flood of tears rushing to Percy’s eyes. She blinked them away as he scooped up a bite of cake. “The only power he has left over you resides in that beautiful, clever mind of yours.”
“I know that. I do,” she insisted, her emotional proclamation more for her own benefit than Lucas’s. “But I still hear him. I still…I still fear him. And I hate it. I hate that he still has control over me.” A single tear trickled down her cheek. She dashed it away. “I hate that I am crying over a dessert. A dessert that I am afraid to eat because if he was here, he wouldn’t let me.”
“Except he isn’t here.” Lucas put his hand on her shoulder. “I am. And I say you can eat all the damned cake you want. Or none at all. Because it’s your decision. It’s your decision, love, and he only has as much control over you as you allow.”
In her heart, she knew Lucas was right.
But it was her head that she still needed to convince.
“It does look like a very nice cake,” she whispered.
“Why not try it, and find out?”
Percy opened her mouth.
Carefully, Lucas slid the fork between her lips.
“How is it?” he murmured after she’d chewed and swallowed.
She smiled through her tears. “Better than I could have imagined.”
“Good. Then you should have another bite.” He fed her the chocolatey dessert with all the tender care of a parent spooning broth to a sick child. And when he was done, he scooped her up and carried her all the way to her bedchamber.
“This really isn’t necessary,” she protested, even as she nestled into his chest and closed her eyes. Lucas might not have been a knight or a hero, but he was warmth and safety and reassurance. Her source of serenity in the midst of a violent storm. She didn’t know what would come once the skies cleared and the winds stopped howling, but for now…for now, she would cling to what was, and do her best to let go of what had been.
When they reached her temporary quarters, Lucas released her, his rough hands trailing down her arms before he stepped away. “I have to go out for a bit, but Bessie will be here should you need anything.”
“You’re leaving?” As anxiety bubbled through her calm, she twisted her fingers together. “But–”
“No one knows where this house is,” he said, cutting her off. “No one knows you’re here. This is the safest place for you in all of London.”
She drew a breath. “You’ll return soon?”
“As soon as I can.” He turned to the door. Hesitated. Without meeting her gaze, he said, “I’m glad you enjoyed the cake, love.”
Then he was gone, leaving Percy to wait…and to yearn.
Bollocks. Bollocks. Bollocks.
As Lucas strode out of the house and into the night, he cursed steadily and silently.
He’d gone and done it this time. There would be no coming back from this. At least not without a great deal of trouble and heartache.
Two things he’d always tried to avoid at all costs.
Hailing a hackney as a misting rain began to fall, he directed the driver to the Fox and Bull, a hole in the wall tavern tucked away at the end of an alley in the middle of Seven Dials. Nodding a curt greeting to a few familiar faces, he proceeded to sit at the farthest end of the bar and ordered a pint and a glass of gin besides. Slugging back the second and taking a sip of the first, he glared into the amber ale as he wondered how he had allowed it to happen. And what the hell he was going to do about it.
When all this had started, his plan had been simple enough.
Kidnap the girl, bring her to the duke, collect the money.
How bloody difficult was that?
Three steps to follow.
An imbecile could do it.
But while step one had been as easy as taking a sugar stick from a baby, the other two had proven much more difficult. Especially now that he’d gone and fallen in love.
Swearing again, out loud this time, Lucas slid his empty glass across the bar and nodded to indicate he’d like another. He didn’t normally imbibe to excess. It dulled the wits and made him vulnerable to any young upstart looking to make a name for himself by toppling the Devil of Duncraven. But if there was ever a time to drink, surely it was the night he’d lost his heart.
He didn’t even know when Persephone had stolen it from him.
The second he’d laid eyes upon her?
When she’d threatened to stab him with a paintbrush?
After she’d sobbed in his arms?
During their first kiss?
While he’d knelt beside her at the table?
Maybe it was all of the above. A culmination of tiny moments that had softened something inside of him just enough for her to slip through the cracks and steal his heart.
And he was supposed to be the thief.
With a bitter chuckle, Lucas downed the second gin.
“Getting right foxed this evening, are we?” Without invitation, Artemis Bishop, an old acquaintance, occasional ally, and general pain in the arse, slid onto the stool next to his and shoved her elbow into his ribs. “What’s the occasion?”
Lucas grunted. “Why can’t you shake hands like a civilized person?”
“Are we civilized? I’d no idea. I’ll have what he’s having,” she told the grizzled faced man behind the bar before she focused on Lucas with a smirk. “A birdy told me you’ve been very naughty lately.”
“Hang your birdies, Artemis,” he said flatly. “And go away.”
Instead of going away, she crossed her legs and leaned onto the edge of the bar as her drinks were delivered. “You’re the only person who calls me that.”
“Because I’m the only person that knows who you really are.”
When Artemis had abruptly appeared in London’s underworld some three years ago, nobody had blinked an eye. Mostly because a blonde-haired wench with a penchant for knives, while out of place, was hardly an oddity in Seven Dials. And a little bit because she’d stabbed the first bloke who had been stupid enough to try
to question her.
Despite her gender and diminutive size, Artemis was as fierce and ruthless as they came. She was also the runaway daughter of an earl, a piece of information she’d managed to keep secret from everyone except for Lucas. He would never have learned the truth, if not for the fact that he’d seen her before, when he’d been hired by her father to recover a painting.
It had taken him a few days to put the pieces together. The woman he’d met in this very tavern, standing on a table and throwing a dagger at a circle on the wall for two shillings a bullseye, had hardly resembled the quiet, well-behaved young lady he had glimpsed as he left the Earl of Bromington’s study. Once he’d ascertained they were one and the same, he’d approached her. Not so much to blackmail (although he’d considered it), but out of genuine curiosity as to how a blueblood could end up this far from a swell mansion in Grosvenor Square.
After Artemis had tried–and failed–to slit his throat, they had shared a pint at the bar while she told him the whole, sorry tale.
Forced into an engagement to a man not of her choosing, she’d fled on the eve of her wedding. First to an aunt’s house, then to live with a friend, and finally into London’s most wretched rookery. It was a miracle she hadn’t been raped and killed outright, but with a little luck, she’d managed to find her way to Molly’s.
As a shrewd businesswoman, Molly had recognized Artemis’s worth extended beyond the price the earl’s daughter could fetch on her back. She’d trained Artemis up into one of the best thieves this side of the Thames, and then set her loose to do her bidding.
Artemis and Lucas had worked together on occasion. They’d even considered becoming romantically involved. But ultimately, they’d determined the complication wasn’t worth the reward, and ever since they had maintained a level of civility between them that occasionally bordered on friendship.
This, however, was not one of those times.
“Yes, you are the only person who knows who I really am.” Her blue eyes narrowing, Artemis adjusted a stay on the satin corset she wore over a white shirt tailored to fit her small frame. “Are you threatening to expose me, Black?”
“I’m not threatening anything.” Lucas drank his ale. “But that’s open to change if you don’t sod off in the next minute.”
“Why would I do that, when you have something that I want?”
“I’m not taking on any new jobs,” he said brusquely. “Try White, or Dresher.”
“White and Dresher don’t have what I’m after.”
“And what’s that?” Maybe if he played along, she’d leave, and he could drink himself into oblivion in peace.
Artemis leaned in close. “A certain missing duchess. I heard you’ve found her.”
Every single muscle in Lucas’s body tensed. But he was careful, oh so careful, not to let it show. A single drop of blood in the water, and the sharks would circle. Being on top of the heap of cutthroats and thieves was a hard-won privilege, but he was very aware he was only one mistake away from being toppled off his throne. It was why he focused so intently on what he did, and why he couldn’t allow any distractions.
Like falling in love.
If Artemis Bishop was already knocking on his door, how many others were soon to follow? He needed to purge himself of this newfound weakness. To erase whatever vulnerability Persephone had exposed within him. He hadn’t earned the title Devil of Duncraven by handing out flowers, damn it. And he wasn’t about to lose his wicked reputation all because of a sad-eyed fairy queen.
“Is that right?” he drawled, crossing his arms. “I think your birds are mistaken, sweetheart.”
“My birds are never wrong.” Artemis sat back on her stool and tasted her gin. Her nose wrinkled. “Shoddy stuff. I don’t know why anyone drinks it.” Then she tilted her head and drained the glass. Slapping it down on the table, she wiped her hands on her thighs and regarded Lucas with a knowing smile. “Let’s cut to the chase, shall we? You have the Duchess of Glastonbury. I want her. I am sure we can come to some sort of agreement that benefits both of us.”
“How the hell do you know I have her?” he snarled, his jaw clenching.
Artemis chuckled. “I didn’t, until you just told me.”
Bloody hell.
It was a trick as old as the Tower of London, and he’d just let himself fall for it. Because he wasn’t thinking clearly. How could he, when his only thought was of Persephone? And his first instinct was to protect her.
Not to complete the job he’d been given.
Not to collect his reward.
But to keep her safe, no matter the cost.
“Where is she, Black?” Artemis skimmed her tongue across her bottom lip as her eyes took on a greedy gleam. “I’ll walk away with fifty pounds in my pocket if I can return the dear duchess to her friends. Twenty of that can be yours if you cooperate.”
“You can’t have her.”
“Why not?”
Because she’s mine.
He almost said the words out loud.
Almost.
“I’d be a fool to settle for twenty when I can make ten times that by delivering her to the duke.” He sipped his ale. “And we both know I’m not a fool.”
“Do we?” Her head canting, Artemis studied him closely for a moment. Then she smiled, slow and sure. “You have no intention of handing the chit over, do you?”
His hand tightened on his tankard until his knuckles gleamed white in the dim light. “Walk away, Artemis. While you still can. We’ve got an alliance between us, but I’ll break if it I have to.” All devil now, his gaze burned into hers. “And then I’ll break you.”
Artemis was intelligent enough to realize when she’d pushed too far. Clinking her cup against his, she chugged her ale and jumped to the ground. “Fair enough, Black. Fair enough. But you know you can’t just keep a duchess forever. She’s not a houseplant, and I’m not the only one who’s going to come looking for her.”
“You worry about your affairs,” he growled. “Let me worry about mine.”
Lucas picked up his tankard, ready to resume drinking. Except even after Artemis had sauntered away, the dark cloud she’d brought with her remained. Because she was right. He couldn’t keep Persephone forever.
That was the difficulty with wild roses.
They could survive in captivity. But they wouldn’t thrive.
If Lucas wanted Persephone to bloom, there was only one thing he could do.
He had to let her go.
Chapter Nine
Percy saw little of Lucas over the next four days. He was in and out, leaving her to wander the house by herself and gaze wistfully out the window as she waited for him for to return. Rather like a war widow waiting for her soldier, or a wife waiting for her husband. Except Lucas wasn’t in the British army, and they definitely weren’t married. Just the idea was ludicrous. Laughable, even.
But then, why did her mind keep circling back to it?
Boredom, she decided late one morning as she took her tea in the parlor. With nothing to do but help Bessie bake in the kitchen, and pick out more furniture from the catalogue Lucas had given her, she was hopelessly bored.
It was, strangely enough, a nice feeling. To be so free from worry and concern for her own personal safety that she was actively searching for something to do instead of contriving the best way to make herself invisible. Even when she’d lived with Helena, there’d always been a nervousness she couldn’t quite shake. The uneasy expectation that at any moment she’d open the door and there would be Andrew, waiting for her with that awful look in his eye.
But she didn’t feel that here, with Lucas.
He’d promised the duke would never touch her again, and she believed him.
It was as simple–and as complicated–as that.
On a sigh, Percy added a dab of honey to her tea and swirled it in with a small silver spoon. No matter how hard she tried to keep them straight, the lines between her and Lucas continued to blur. He was her captor. S
he was his prisoner. It should have been easy. Easy to hate him. Easy to be afraid of him. Easy to count down the hours until she might see Helena and Calliope again. Except those weren’t the hours that she counted. Instead, she’d been keeping track of how many days it had been since she and Lucas had last kissed…and wondering when they might do it again.
Absurd. She knew it was absurd.
But once more, her head and her heart found themselves at odds, and this time it was her traitorous heart that wasn’t keen on listening to reason. Thus here she sat, daydreaming of Lucas charging through the door, yanking her into his arms, and ravishing her senseless. Just as he’d done in nearly every dream she’d had since their first kiss.
At the sound of the front door opening, she set her tea down, and stood up from her chair just as Lucas strolled into the room, looking every bit the dashing rogue with his dark hair tousled from the wind, his shirt sleeves rolled up past his elbows, and his waistcoat partially unbuttoned.
“You’re here,” she said, self-consciously tucking a loose tendril of hair behind her ear.
“You sound surprised.” Going to the serving cart tucked behind the sofa, he poured himself some tea.
The contrast between his large, rugged hands and the dainty tea cup was rather comical, and Percy smiled as she said, “No, I’ve just come not to expect you until dinner or later.”
He lifted a brow. “I can come back, if you’d like.”
“Of course not,” she said hastily. Too hastily, if Lucas’s grin was any indication.
“Good, because I’ve brought you a present.” He set his tea aside and reached into his pocket. From across the room she strained to see what he held in his hand, and when he beckoned her closer, she nearly tripped over her own feet in her haste to hurry across the parlor.
“What is it?” she breathed, glancing down at his closed fist before lifting her gaze to his face. When she and Andrew were courting, he had showered her daily with all sorts of gifts. Flowers, shawls, jewelry. It had all been a bit overwhelming, to be honest.
And impersonal.
The Secret Wallflower Society: (Books 1-3) Page 26
