Hate burning in his gaze, Edward managed a slow, painful nod.
“Good.” She stood up and brushed off her hands. “You have until tomorrow morning. Now get the fuck out of here.” Even though it was small and petty of her, she couldn’t resist kicking him in the ribs before she turned and faced the wall, unable to watch as he pulled himself to his feet and staggered out of the room, leaving a trail of blood in his wake.
Bran followed him down the stairs. She managed to keep her tears at bay until she heard the front door slam, and then they poured out of her like a faucet. She continued to cry even when Bran returned and drew her into his arms, gently pressing her head against his chest and rubbing her back in large circles designed to soothe and comfort.
“There now,” he murmured as she trembled and shook and sobbed. “There now. It’s all over, Jules. It’s done. Ye banished the bastard, and he’s never stepping foot in London again. Do ye hear me?”
“I – I never want to hear his name.”
“Ye won’t. Far as I’m concerned, ‘e’s dead to us.”
And for four long years he was…
Until suddenly he wasn’t.
Chapter Twenty-Four
“You’re certain it’s him?” she said quietly.
“Aye.” Too agitated to remain in one place, Bran began to pace the length of the room. “Do ye know the gang that’s moved in to the docks? The one that’s been robbin’ the merchant ships blind.”
Juliet nodded. She’d heard rumors here and there, but having been a little bit preoccupied she hadn’t given them much attention. Aside from her ill-fated visit to The Lusty Mermaid, she avoided the docks like the plague. There was nothing there for her except drunken sailors and diseased doxies.
“The runners ‘ave been after them for months, but they ‘aven’t been able to catch their kingpin. Calls himself Mallack now. Word ‘as it he’s a right nasty bloke.”
“What does he have to do with Edward?”
Bran met her confused gaze. “Mallack is Edward,” he said grimly.
Juliet’s mouth opened. Closed. She wanted to refute Bran’s statement. To tell him he was mistaken. Confused. But she knew he wasn’t. After all these years, Edward had finally returned to London. Which meant neither she nor Bran would be safe until he was dead.
And here she’d thought Grant Hargrave was her biggest threat. Compared to the man who had tried to rape her and sell her into prostitution, The Wolf was an angel.
“Have you seen him?” She glanced at the pocket watch she kept on her vanity, gauging how much time she had until the carriage she’d hired to take her to the ball. Despite the startling news of Edward’s return, she still had every intention of going through with her plan. She’d worked too hard and risked too much to abandon it at the twelfth hour.
“Last night, at the Mermaid. He looked older. Meaner. But he still has the scar you gave him.”
“Good.” Her only regret was that she hadn’t cut him deeper. Turning back to the mirror, she opened a small jar of beeswax tinted with beetroot powder and dabbed it on her lips. “What do you think would be easier? A knife or a pistol? A pistol,” she decided matter-of-factly before Bran could reply. “I don’t want to have to get close enough to him to smell his stench. What?” Noting Bran’s expression in the mirror’s reflection, she tilted her head to the side. “You think a knife would be better?”
“Crikey, Jules.” He raked a hand through his hair. “We’re thieves, not murderers.”
“You know what he tried to do to me.” Even though her voice was calm and her words precisely spoken, Juliet could feel her heart galloping away inside of her chest as though she was a thoroughbred racing for the finish line. “What he would have done, had you not intervened.”
“Which is why we had him exiled.”
“And now he’s back.” Finished with her face, she crossed to the window and drew back the curtain. A glossy black carriage pulled by a gray horse waited below, signaling it was time to leave. “We told him what would happen if he returned. I only wonder why he hasn’t struck at us first.”
“He’s plannin’ something,” Bran warned. “Ye can be sure of that.”
Yes, she was certain he was. Edward – Mallack – had always held a grudge, even as a young child. She remembered when they’d been sailing paper boats on the Serpentine and she’d lost his. It had been an accident, her hand had slipped off the string, but that hadn’t stopped him from yanking her beloved porcelain doll out of her hands and smashing its head open on a tree. At the time she’d thought his behavior was nothing more than the antics of an unruly boy, but now she realized it had been an indication of something darker yet to come.
“My carriage is here.” She swept a hand down her dress and patted her hair, making sure everything was in its proper place before. “I have to go.”
“Go?” Bran said incredulously, his boots echoing on the steps as he followed her down the stairs. “Ye can’t mean to leave the house after what I jest told ye. It wouldn’t be safe.”
“If Edward has been in London for months and hasn’t done anything yet, what makes you think he’s going to come after me tonight?” Opening the closet, she pulled out an ivory shawl and wrapped it around her shoulders. There were matching satin gloves in her reticule, but as she detested the bloody things she’d wait until the last possible moment to put them on.
“There’s no telling what that bastard is planning.”
“I’ll be fine.” Stepping up on her toes, she pressed a chaste kiss to his rough cheek. “You don’t have to worry about anything other than how we’re going to spend all my money.” Her eyebrows darted up and down. “Fancy a trip to India? I hear the women are very beautiful. There might even be a few you haven’t bedded yet. Unless you’re saving yourself for Lilly.”
She’d been pleased – but not surprised – when Bran had returned to the house with the blonde-haired barmaid in tow. Despite his roguish nature he had a soft heart, and Lilly wasn’t the first stray he’d brought home. She had stayed with them for nearly a month before he found her a job as a seamstress and a flat to rent. Only Juliet knew that he continued to pay for most of it out of his own pocket every month.
“Sod off,” he muttered. “Lilly is a friend. Nothin’ more.”
“Do you sleep with all of your friends?” she asked innocently.
His eyes narrowed. “How do ye know we slept together?”
“The walls aren’t nearly as thick as you think they are. It’s a shame you let her go. She was much better than that opera singer you carried on with for months. What was her name?”
“Natalia.” He crossed his arms. “And she wasn’t that bad.”
“She threatened to burn our house down.”
“I like a wench with spirit.”
“Any more spirit and we would have been roasted alive in our sleep.”
“Don’t ye have somewhere to be?” he scowled.
“Indeed I do.” Before he could realize how neatly she’d distracted him, Juliet hurried out to the waiting carriage. The driver, a friend of Yeti’s, tipped his hat and grinned toothlessly at her as he held open the door.
“Evenin’, Jules. Or should I say Lady Jules? What are ye tonight, a duchess or one of them countess types?”
“Neither. Tonight I’m just Miss Williams, the lowly daughter of a viscount.”
“Well ye look like royalty to me.” He snapped the door shut behind her and leaned in through the open window. The weather was unseasonably warm and the clouds that had been hanging over the city for most of the day had finally receded, revealing a dark sky brilliantly lit with shining stars. “That’s a right smart dress, that is.”
“Thank you, Lenny. Is that a new coat?”
His grin widened. “Got it off a dead jest bloke this mornin’.”
Well that explained the slight smell. “Do you know where you’re going?”
“Aye. Drew meself a map and everything. Never been to Grosvenor Square before.” He sc
ratched his neck. “But I ‘ear it’s real fancy like.”
“The fanciest.” Her fingers drummed across her lap. “And you know where to wait for me?”
“Behind the back gate,” he said confidently. “Jest like ye told me.”
“Good. Good,” she repeated for herself as a knot of tension coiled in her belly. If all went according to plan, she was about to pull off the largest jewel heist London had ever seen. But if something went wrong…
If something goes wrong you’re going to spend the rest of your years rotting away in a prison cell, so best see to it that everything goes right, she told herself sternly.
“Are ye ready, Jul – I mean, Miss Williams?”
She drew a deep breath. “Aye, Lenny. Let’s go.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
“You look splendid dear, positively splendid. Black really does become you.” Beaming at her youngest son, Caroline slipped her arm through the crook of his elbow as they descended the master staircase into the glittering ballroom below. Her husband walked on her other side, his formidable expression softening only when he happened to glance down at his little wife. Resplendent in a gown of ice blue silk draped with a wispy muslin overlay, she put women half her age to shame.
“I feel like a stuffed goose at a dinner party,” Grant muttered, tugging at his white cravat. In addition to his black tailcoat and neck piece, he wore a double breasted satin waistcoat, fawn colored breeches, and gleaming black Hessians. His dark hair was swept back from his temple and set in place with a thin layer of pomade. The severe style accentuated the noble lines of his face and drew the attention of more than one fawning debutante as the Hargraves made their way towards the far corner of the room where an open terrace overlooked Glastonbury’s sprawling gardens.
“Well you make a very handsome stuffed goose,” Caroline said. “Albeit a distracted one. Why do you keep looking all around, dear? Are you expecting someone?” She exchanged a quick, meaningful glance with her husband. “Someone special, perhaps?”
“You could say that,” he said evasively. There was no way to tell if Juliet would dare show her face tonight, but instinct – and intuition – told him there was a reason she’d suddenly reappeared after months of hiding. And he suspected the dowager’s extensive jewelry collection, all of which was on full display tonight, had something to do with it.
The old dame certainly knew how to put on a show, he mused as he surveyed the room, searching in vain for a flash of brilliant auburn amidst the blondes and the brunettes. There had to be at least two hundred people in the ball room, with more arriving every minute. All of the ton’s most notable had been invited, from the Duke and Duchess of Ellsworth to Miss Violet Hanover, the most famous actress in all of London. If Juliet really was here, finding her was going to be like looking for a needle in a bloody haystack. But despite the obvious difficulties, it was a challenge he was looking forward to. Even though he didn’t know what the hell he was going to do when he finally caught her and their little game of cat and mouse came to an end.
His head demanded he turn her over the magistrate. She was a criminal and she’d committed a crime. Multiple crimes, actually. Of that there was no question, nor even a lingering trace of doubt. Not after he’d caught her in the damn act. It should have been a simple matter of two plus two…but no matter how many different times or how many different ways he added it up, he could never reach four.
If only Owen had assigned another runner to the case all those months ago. Except then he never would have met her. Never would have kissed her. Never would have learned how soft her skin was or felt the fiery texture of her hair or heard the soft, breathless cry she made when she came…
“I met a young lady just the other day I thought you might be interested in,” Caroline said brightly. “A lovely girl. Just lovely. She was at the Countess of Swarthmore’s garden soiree and I was so impressed with her that I extended an invitation to our house party.”
“You failed to mention that part.” The duke frowned at his wife. “Caro, we’ve talked about this–”
“Yes, yes.” She waved away her husband’s concerns with a flick of her gloved wrist. “But I know if you met her you would have been just as impressed as I was. Why, you should have seen how she charmed the dowager! I’ve never heard Dorothea laugh like that in all my years. She gave her an invitation right on the spot. Lady Wilmington’s face positively turned green with envy. Lovely girl,” she repeated. “Witty and graceful and very beautiful. She had the most brilliant red hair I’ve ever seen.”
Grant’s head whipped around. “Did you say red?” he said sharply.
“Indeed. I know you’ve been more partial to brunettes in the past, but–”
“What was her name?” he interrupted.
“Oh.” A bit taken aback by her son’s sudden interest, Caroline blinked. “Miss Williams. Miss Juliet Williams.”
The tiara wasn’t here.
Juliet glided past the elegant jewelry display in the middle of the ballroom no less than four separate times before she believed it with her own eyes. There were necklaces dripping with sapphires and bracelets weighed down by rubies and pearl chokers that could have belonged to a queen, but the tiara that had actually belonged to a queen was conspicuously absent.
“Excuse me,” she said politely, tapping the arm of the burly viscount who had been whirling her around the floor with more enthusiasm than style. “I fear I need to rest.”
He frowned down at her, flesh puckering between his eyebrows. “But the dance is only halfway over.”
“Yes, well, I am afraid it’s all the way over for you.” Slipping free of his sweaty embrace, she beat a hasty retreat before he could request another turn. Fighting her way through the pulsing sea of bodies, she gasped in a lungful of cool evening air as she staggered towards an open window.
After having her feet repeatedly trod on and her arms nearly wrenched from their sockets, she had a new appreciation for the physical demands put upon women at balls. How they danced for hours upon hours – with a smile on their face, no less! – was beyond her. At least the men were able to wear trousers and practical footwear. In her heavy gown and thin slippers she was at the mercy of her partner’s clumsy feet.
Fanning a hand in front of her face, she leaned out the window and gazed down at the gardens below. They were empty now, but she suspected more than one couple would sneak out for a secret tryst between the shrubbery before the night was through. Behind her the dancing continued as couples joined together in circles of eight for the first Cotillion of the evening. A moment of silent anticipation and then the music began, flowing down in perfect harmony from two separate balconies on either side of the ballroom.
When Juliet finally turned back around the room was a blur of dizzying movement. Taking advantage of everyone’s preoccupation with the dance, she began to slowly edge her way along the wall towards a double set of doors that led to the master staircase. The tiara may not have been in the main ballroom, but surely it was somewhere in the palatial mansion. All she needed to do was find it.
When the Cotillion came to an end everyone broke apart and clapped politely, their perspiring faces wreathed in smiles. In a surging wave of pastel colors the debutantes began to hunt down their next partner with eagle-eyed determination.
“A glass of champagne, my lady?” A footman neatly intercepted Juliet just as she reached the doors.
“No thank you. I – Bran?” Shocked to see Bran’s twinkling blue eyes staring down at her, she gaped at him for a full three seconds before she came to her senses. Her gaze darting left and then right, she grabbed his arm and dragged him behind a potted fern that was nearly as tall as she was. “What are you doing here?” she hissed. “And why are you dressed like that?”
In a black coat with brass buttons, knee breeches, and white stockings, Bran looked exactly like all of the other footmen milling about the ballroom. He’d even powered his hair white, but the smirking grin he wore was all his.
“I thought ye might be able to use a little ‘elp,” he said with an innocent shrug.
“Help?” The word came out strangled. “Since when do I need help?”
“Since ye made up yer mind to steal from bleedin’ royalty.”
“Lower your voice!” she hissed as she glared out through the fern’s spiky leaves. Thankfully another dance had begun and it didn’t appear as if anyone was paying them any mind. Beside her Bran drained a flute of champagne and tossed the empty glass into the fern pot. She looked back at him in exasperation. “You need to leave. You’re going to get us both caught.”
“Me? I’m jest a footman doing ‘is job.” He shifted his tray from one hand to the other. “Do ye know how much these poor blokes make in a week? Why, it’s no better than slave labor. And the shite they’ve got to do! One woman asked me to polish ‘er shoe. ‘Er shoe, Jules. Can ye believe it?”
“Shut up, Bran. Let me think.” Pinching the bridge of her nose, she drew a deep breath. If she’d wanted Bran’s help she would have asked for it, but she knew there was no getting rid of him now. He was far too stubborn and – loathe as she was to admit it – he did have a point. Maybe this was a job for two people. “I suppose your being here isn’t the worst thing in the world.”
“No,” he said agreeably. “That would be The Wolf headin’ this direction.”
“Don’t joke, Bran. I’m not the mood.”
But he wasn’t joking, something she realized when he set down the champagne tray and pulled out a pistol from beneath his jacket.
“Bran!” she gasped, her eyes widening. “Put that away! We’re in the middle of a ballroom, for God’s sake! You’re going to kill someone.”
A Dangerous Affair (Bow Street Brides Book 3) Page 20
