by Merry Farmer
Malcolm glared at him. “Of course not.”
Peter didn’t look convinced. All the same, he thumped Malcolm on the back with a grin. “You love Katya, Katya loves you. Leave the past in the past and move forward. You’ve gained a daughter out of the whole mess, and you should probably spend some time making up for lost years with her.”
Malcolm agreed with his friend, but age-old doubts continued to nag at him as he left to make his way back to Buckingham Palace. He hadn’t made it more than halfway before shoots of anger poked up through emotions he could only describe as confusion. This was all Shayles’s fault. He wasn’t certain how, but every horrible thing in his miserable life could be traced back to Shayles. The day he’d met the man at university had been the darkest day of his life, worse than the war. Without Shayles, Tessa wouldn’t have needed rescuing, nor would dozens of other unfortunate girls. Without Shayles, Katya wouldn’t have been so determined to meddle in politics and put herself in danger by infiltrating his club with girls on her payroll. Without Shayles….
He let out a breath halfway through Green Park, letting his shoulders drop. It always came back to the same thing. Whenever anything didn’t go the way he wanted it to in his life, he laid it at Shayles’s feet. The man was guilty as sin and the devil combined, but that didn’t mean it was his fault whenever things failed to go the way Malcolm thought they should.
He changed direction, heading toward his club instead of back to the palace. The last thing he needed was to face Katya, her children, and his daughters when his thoughts were in such turmoil. He needed solitude and a place to stew in peace. A meal and another glass of scotch wouldn’t be amiss either.
By the time the sun began to set that evening, he’d successfully avoided anyone he knew and come close to swallowing his anger. Close. All that flew out the window when, of all people, Galston marched into the club with an anxious look on his face.
“What are you doing here?” Malcolm asked him, setting aside the newspaper he’d been pretending to read while lost in his thoughts.
Galston breathed a sigh of relief as soon as he saw his master. “We’ve been looking all over for you, my lord,” he said.
“We?” Malcolm frowned and crossed the room to deal with his butler off to the side, where half of the other men in the room weren’t watching them like old women looking for gossip.
“Your daughter has been concerned about your whereabouts all day,” Galston reported.
Malcolm came close to asking which daughter, but thought better of it. He sighed and headed for the hall that would lead to the club’s front door. “Where is she now?” he asked.
“If Lady Stanhope’s words were true, they should all be at Spencer House for the ball.”
Malcolm scowled. If Lady Stanhope’s words were true. The man had said a mouthful.
Malcolm didn’t bother returning home with Galston to change into more suitable clothes for a ball. He piled Galston into the carriage he’d come in to fetch him, against Galston’s protest that Malcolm should be the one to take the carriage while he found other means to return home. After that, he headed on foot to Spencer House, half hoping a footpad of some sort would attempt to accost him. He was in the mood for a fight.
No one impeded his progress, though, and long before he was ready, Malcolm arrived at Spencer House. And within minutes of entering the crowded, overheated ballroom, Cece spotted him.
“Papa,” she scolded, dodging a few gray-haired men who seemed to think ogling freshly-debuted young women was a spectator sport. “Where have you been?” Her words were as angry and clipped as…well, as his would have been, under the circumstances.
“What I do with my time is none of your concern,” he grumbled, kissing her cheek. “You look lovely. How did the presentation go?”
Cece wasn’t about to be side-tracked. She huffed in frustration and hooked her arm through his, dragging him deeper into the room. “Now that you’ve had your temper tantrum, it’s about time you apologize to Lady Stanhope for embarrassing us all this morning.”
Malcolm’s brow shot up. “What kind of insolence is this? Why, if we weren’t in public, I’d turn you over my knee and give you—” His threat died on his lips as the image of spanking Katya’s delicious, round backside sprang up in his mind instead of a father disciplining an unruly child. His face heated, and he writhed with discomfort.
Blessedly, Cece didn’t have a clue where his thoughts had gone. “Sometimes, Papa, I think you’re more of a child than the rest of us put together. And if I am insolent, I learned it from you.”
“I am not—”
His words were cut short as they slipped around a cluster of chattering women and Malcolm nearly ran headlong into Katya.
“—and I won’t be pushed around by a boy barely out of short pants,” she was in the middle of complaining to Rupert. She turned at that moment, her eyes going wide as she came close to falling into Malcolm’s arms.
“There,” Rupert said. “Right on time. The orchestra is playing a waltz.”
“Yes, a waltz,” Cece said, shoving Malcolm’s back and nudging him closer to Katya. “Go.”
Malcolm frowned at his daughter, then at Katya, his eyes narrowing.
Katya let out an impatient sigh. “Oh, very well. Since the two of you won’t leave us alone until we’ve danced.” She held out her hand to Malcolm. “Let’s get it over with.”
Jaw tight, Malcolm took her offered hand and practically yanked her toward the center of the room, where couples were forming to dance. The cheery strains of a popular waltz filled the air, and Malcolm tugged Katya into a stiff, close dance position. He swayed into the steps, leading with far more force than was strictly necessary, staring firmly over her shoulder.
“You’re still pouting, I see,” she said without her usual teasing charm.
“You say that as if I have nothing to be upset about,” he grumbled.
“You have plenty to be upset about,” she said. He glanced to her, surprised she would agree. “Knowing you,” she added with a sting.
He responded by jerking her through a particularly tight turn and deliberately knocking her off balance. She, in turn, stepped on his foot.
Their dance continued in combative silence, until Malcolm hissed, “Have you no pity at all in that cold heart of yours?”
“Oh, so you want to be pitied, do you?” She stared at him with implacable eyes.
“No,” he snapped. “You know what I mean.”
“Actually, Malcolm, I don’t,” she huffed. “All I know is that you’re more impossible than usual when you’re hurt.”
“I’m not hurt,” he insisted.
“Really?” Clearly, she didn’t believe him.
“I’m furious,” he said, barely able to speak to her. Her proximity and the heat of her body was having a sharp effect on him, but that only served to fan the flames of his anger. “All this time, I thought you loved me as I love you, when, in fact, you couldn’t care less about me.”
She missed a step in the dance. Thankfully, they were near the edge of the dancing mob and were able to stop to glare at each other without blocking other couples.
“I’ve never heard such a load of rubbish in my life,” she hissed. “It’s always the same with you, isn’t it? You don’t trust me—”
“No, I don’t,” he cut her off before she could continue her rant.
She straightened, looking wounded. A part of him instantly regretted his words, but the rest of him was too angry to care.
“What reason have you given me to trust you?” he went on. “You kept an entire child from me,” he whispered.
“For her sake, not yours.”
“All the same,” he argued. “How can I forgive that?”
“The same way I can forgive you for being a jealous pillock,” she growled.
“Do I have reason to be jealous?”
She huffed, and if he wasn’t mistaken, stomped her foot under her ball gown. The picture of righteous fury
she presented was so paradoxically appealing that he was ready to declare himself a madman and drag her into an unused room for a quick shag up against a wall. But before she could throw some new insult back at him, her expression changed to puzzlement as she stared past Malcolm’s shoulder.
Malcolm twisted to see what had distracted her. Cece and Rupert were pushing their way through the party guests toward them, worried looks on their faces. Behind them marched Inspector Craig, looking extremely out of place in plain clothes and a bowler hat. Dancers and debutantes stared at them in their wake.
“Mama,” Rupert spoke first when they reached Malcolm and Katya. “Inspector Craig needs to speak with you immediately.”
Malcolm and Katya both turned to Craig, who stepped forward as though the room were empty.
“Lord Campbell, Lady Stanhope.” He nodded to each of them. “I thought you would want to know that we’re moving on The Black Strap Club.”
“When?” Katya asked, blinking.
Craig answered, “Now.”
Chapter 10
Excitement swooped into Katya’s gut as Inspector Craig nodded to her and Malcolm, then turned to cut his way back through the ballroom, heading for the door.
“Wait.” She rushed after him, glad to shove aside the miserable emotional tangle that was her argument with Malcolm for the moment. “What do you mean now?”
Inspector Craig paused to study her, then gestured for her and Malcolm to follow him out of the ballroom and into Spencer House’s entryway. Rupert and Cece brought up the rear, looking as though they weren’t supposed to be there.
“My superiors have decided the time for a raid is now, before Lord Shayles or any of his associates suspect such a thing is coming. It’s thought he may still have protectors in high places, so we must act before they get wind of our action.”
“Then let’s be on our way,” Malcolm said, pushing past Inspector Craig and making for the door.
“Hold up there,” Inspector Craig darted into Malcolm’s path, holding up his hands. “This is a police operation. I only came here to inform you of our actions because it was on the way and because I felt I owed it to you to inform you what was going on.”
Malcolm glared at the man in spite of his implacable expression. “I’m going with you.”
“I am as well,” Katya added, head held high.
Inspector Craig looked as though he was second-guessing stopping by Spencer House at all. “I can’t allow civilians to interfere with police action,” he argued.
“Without us, you would have no action,” Malcolm told him, looking as though he wanted a fight.
Katya knew him well enough to see he would use his fists to break past Inspector Craig if he had to. “We can stand here arguing about it or we can get ourselves over to Kensington as quickly as possible,” she said.
Inspector Craig clenched his jaw and stared at Malcolm for several long, anxious moments. “Don’t get in the way,” he said at last, turning and marching out of the building.
Malcolm followed him, but Katya turned to Rupert. “Take care of Cece, and mind your sisters once you get home. I think it would be best not to tell them what’s going on until it’s over.”
“Agreed,” Rupert said with a sharp nod.
Cece looked worried enough to burst into tears and clung to Rupert’s arm. Katya felt sorry for her, but there was only so much she could do to shield the young people she cared about from the perils of the world. She sent Rupert a final, cautious smile before hurrying to join Malcolm and Inspector Craig.
They said little as they piled into the plain, unmarked carriage Inspector Craig had waiting. Katya sat on the opposite seat from the men, attempting to study their faces in passing flashes of lamplight as they sped through streets crowded with carriages taking revelers to and from parties and on to Kensington. The momentary semi-calm sent Katya’s thoughts spiraling back to her argument with Malcolm.
Their argument never seemed to end. It had been going on forever, or so it felt for her, and it was always the same thing. Only now, after all the time that had passed, Malcolm seemed to be on the edge of understanding everything that was truly at stake. He continued to be as stubborn as the day was long, though. Of course she hadn’t told him about Natalia’s paternity. Malcolm was a man of passion, and he would have destroyed her world and his if he’d known from the start. Natalia’s world too, and Katya wouldn’t have that. All the same, it was torture to see him in such pain, torture to know that his anger and frustration was born out of a desperation to be loved, and torture not to be able to explain as much to him and have him understand. Men were as distant from their hearts as England was from Bombay most of the time, but their lives would be so much easier if they’d simply admit their shortcomings once in a while.
The Black Strap Club sat one street back from the western end of Hyde Park, close enough to see Kensington Palace from its upper windows. Katya held her breath as they drew near, but let it out in a confused puff when Inspector Craig had his carriage turn onto a small street more than a block from the club.
“What are we doing here?” Malcolm asked in reflection of Katya’s confusion as Inspector Craig opened the door and hopped down.
Malcolm alighted after him, leaving Katya to help herself down, something she was more than happy to do. The scene that revealed itself through the dark around her sent a chill down her back. At least two dozen men dressed in the dark uniforms of the Metropolitan Police stood in the shadows, absolutely silent. The air crackled with readiness.
Inspector Craig marched straight toward a pair of uniformed officers that stood apart from the main group. “Everything ready?” he asked in a clipped Cockney accent, all attempts to sound posh falling.
“Yes, sir,” one of the men answered.
“As I’ll ever be,” a third man said in a fine accent with a hint of a Cornish lilt.
Katya blinked, then squinted through the darkness to be sure she was hearing and seeing correctly. Along with the policemen stood Sir Christopher, dressed as though he had been to one of the many balls taking place that night.
But before she could greet him, Malcolm marched toward the man. “You,” he said, a menacing note in his voice. “What are you doing here?”
A streetlight near the closest intersection flickered to life, allowing Katya to see Christopher’s startled look and Malcolm’s scowl more clearly.
“Inspector Craig asked me to help with tonight’s operation,” Christopher said, his surprise at Malcolm’s question making him look like the last person anyone would want taking part in a delicate raid.
“Nonsense,” Malcolm snapped. “You have nothing to do with this. Go home.”
“Sir Christopher is here on my insistence,” Inspector Craig told Malcolm, holding a hand at Malcolm’s chest level to stop him from charging Christopher, which it looked like he was about to do. “He’s gained Lord Shayles’s trust, is recognized by the guards at the club’s doors, and will make it much easier for the rest of us to gain entrance to the club.”
“I can do all that,” Malcolm insisted.
“No, you can’t,” Katya told him. “Shayles wouldn’t let you within a hundred feet of the club if he knew you were around.”
Malcolm turned to her, glaring. “I should be the one to lead this.”
“The police have the operation well in hand,” Inspector Craig said.
“I’ve been pursuing Shayles for nearly twenty years,” Malcolm nearly shouted at him. “I’ve given up my life to defeat that man and his disgusting ways. I refuse to stand on the sidelines and to let that idiot take my place at the front of the charge.”
A surprise burst of agreement squeezed Katya’s chest. “He’s right,” she said, inching closer to Malcolm’s side. “This is Malcolm’s fight as much as anyone’s.” And if he was denied the opportunity to be present when Shayles was apprehended, his pride would never recover.
Inspector Craig blew out a frustrated breath and rubbed the back of his neck. He
glanced to his men waiting in the shadows, then to Christopher, then back to Malcolm and Katya. “We don’t have time to stand around arguing about this. If you can stay out of trouble and do as you’re told, then you can be a part of things.”
“You’re damned right I can,” Malcolm said, standing straighter.
Inspector Craig gave him one last irritated look before turning to address his men in a quiet voice. “You know the plan. If everyone sticks to their jobs and goes where they’re supposed to go, this should be a quick and tidy operation. Hormel, take your unit around through the mews. Willoughby, off you go to the west side. The rest of you, with me. Let Sir Christopher walk ahead as though he’s a client.”
“I’ll walk with him,” Malcolm insisted.
“You’ll hang behind with the rest of us,” Inspector Craig told him, shaking his head.
“I can go with Sir Christopher,” Katya offered. “Shayles hasn’t banned me from the club. Quite the contrary. He’s been trying to get me to participate for years.”
Malcolm clearly wanted to make a comment on her statement, but Inspector Craig beat him to it.
“You’re staying here, Lady Stanhope,” he said. “In the carriage. Josephs, stay with her.”
“I’m doing no such thing,” Katya insisted as Inspector Craig turned to gesture to her would-be guard. When he looked as though he would argue with her, Katya went on with, “I have girls in that club who know me, who are under my supervision. I want to make sure they’re safe, as well as the rest of the unfortunate young women forced to work for Shayles.”
“That club is no place for a lady,” Inspector Craig said.
Katya laughed out loud. “I know that better than you do, son.” She rushed on before he could counter her with, “I either go in with you or I stand on the corner, screaming bloody murder and alerting everyone that they’re about to be raided.”
She had no intention to do anything of the sort, not after all the trouble they’d gone through, but Inspector Craig didn’t know that. Dirty tricks were never the best way to get what was wanted, but desperate times called for desperate action.
