“Good work, Blayne.” Hedgewick was doing as Carlton had expected him to. He was getting his wife out of town to better explain his daughter’s absence. “Tell the lad to stay at his post fer now.”
“Will do.”
Recalling his notebook, Carlton said, “We also need to get back to the matter regarding Mr. Reynolds.”
“The gentleman who—”
“I’d rather ye call ’im a blackguard, fer surely he’s nothin’ else.”
“We don’t know that yet. Not for certain.”
“No. But I can feel it. Somethin’s rotten about that man. I’m sure that Rembrandt he sold to the Duke of Coventry was—” A thud on the opposite side of the door made Carlton stop mid-sentence. He stared at the door that stood between him and Regina, then reached for the handle.
The door opened and he was immediately faced with Regina’s stunning blue eyes. Her rosy lips parted as if in surprise. “I…um…” She stopped herself when he frowned, and took a step back, moving to grant him entrance.
He dropped a look at MacNeil, who was watching him with a smirk.
“What?” Guthrie asked.
“Ah, nothing.” Blayne’s lips twitched. “But you should have seen your face just now when she opened the door. It looked like you were being granted a view of heaven.”
“Ye’re imaginin’ things that aren’t there.” But the need to enter the room now so he and Regina could be alone was impossible to ignore. So he took a deep breath and stepped into his parlor, and shut the door.
Having finished eating a moment before she’d heard voices in the hallway, Regina had risen and gone to the door. When she’d realized the voices belonged to Guthrie and MacNeil, she’d intended to open the door and ask for writing materials in order to pen her letters. But then she’d heard Guthrie mention Mr. Reynolds.
It wasn’t so much the name itself that had caused a chill to seep into her bones but rather the way he’d said it. And then, because she’d been stupid enough to knock her elbow against the door, she’d now been caught eavesdropping.
Briefly, she thought of coming up with an excuse for standing right on the opposite side of the door, but the sharp accusation in his eyes deterred her from making such a pointless attempt. So she crossed her arms instead and glared back. “Mr. Reynolds is a longtime friend of my family’s. Whatever you think he may have done, I can assure you you’re wrong.”
The sharpness of his gaze pinned her in place as the edge of his mouth curled upward. “Is that so?”
His voice, low and smooth and extremely intimidating, caused a shiver to scrape down her spine. It made her forget his interaction with the two boys he’d been teaching to fight and how ready he was to help find a missing prostitute and even the fact that he’d shown her nothing but kindness since her arrival. All she could think of now were the words MacNeil had spoken earlier, prompting her to carelessly ask, “How many men have you killed?”
His eyes darkened to black. “Five.”
She sucked in a breath. When he said nothing more, she backed away and lowered herself to the sofa. “You…” Stupidly, she’d not expected him to answer. And certainly not so precisely. In fact, she’d rather imagined – or hoped – that he would deny having taken another man’s life. But he didn’t, which meant he was just as dangerous as the papers had always suggested. Even if the authorities had never managed to prove it.
Slowly he crossed the room to where she sat, his gaze intense and unwavering as it held hers. “You don’t want to know why?”
She shook her head and clasped her hands together to keep them from trembling.
He stared at her like the devil himself come to haul her back down to hell. “The reasonin’ doesn’t matter to ye?”
“How can it?” Her voice was but a faint whisper. “You’ve taken a life, Guthrie. Several, if you’re being honest. There’s no forgiving that.”
Leaning forward, he lifted her legs and sat. A rush of warmth flooded her veins and she hated herself in that moment for responding to him as she did – to a man who had just admitted that he had blood on his hands.
Twisting toward her so he could trap her with his attention, he settled her legs in his lap and placed one hand firmly upon them. Regina’s heart pulsed with quickening beats as she felt his heat permeate her flesh. She hadn’t feared him before because she’d believed all the awful things she’d heard to be exaggerations. She’d thought him incapable of the actions he’d been accused of.
But she’d been wrong. And she was now here with him. Completely alone. If he chose to hurt her, then no one would come to her rescue. No one would even know what had happened since nobody knew where she was. Oh God, she’d been foolish and—
“Calm yerself, luv.” His voice was softer now, like velvet, and heaven help her if it didn’t soothe something deep inside her. She opened her mouth to speak, to protest or at least say something, but all her thoughts tangled together and jammed in her head. “Let me explain somethin’ to ye, me lady. The world is not a nice place. Most people are selfish an’ cruel.” He raised his hand and pressed it against her cheek, and even though her brain urged her to push him away, she could not make herself move and thus allowed the caress. “Ye’ve been protected yer entire life. Ye’ve not seen the things I’ve seen, an’ thank God fer that. But if ye think fer one second that I’ll let any ’arm come to a woman or child an’ not rid the world o’ the scourge who caused it, then ye’re mistaken.”
Regina blinked as if trying to awaken from a daze. Her heart was flapping around inside her, and yet his words also tugged at her soul. “Are you saying that the men you killed were causing deliberate harm to others?” The anguished fury that burned in his eyes informed her that this was the case. “Tell me,” she murmured. “Explain it to me.”
“Ye just said the reason fer killin’ someone doesn’t matter an’ that there can be no forgiveness, so what difference will anythin’ I say make?”
She drew a deep breath. “I think I may have spoken too quickly. Without considering all the possible factors.”
He stared at her and she knew what she saw in his eyes was respect. And something else as well, though she wasn’t entirely sure what. “The truth ain’t pretty, me lady, an’ if I describe it to ye, ye’ll know it ferever. Ye won’t be able to un-think it again.”
A shudder went through her, but rather than shy away, she gazed back into his stormy eyes. “I want to know.” She wanted to understand him, to figure out what it was about him that drew her – why, when he’d just confessed to committing the worst sort of crime, she wasn’t trying to escape him but rather encouraging him to tell her about it.
His thumb brushed her skin as he caught a loose strand of her hair. He tucked it behind her ear, and she shivered in response to the unexpected tenderness. The compulsion to reach out and touch his face in return was agonizingly strong. But she resisted the urge and waited for him to speak.
“I took a life fer the very first time while tryin’ to defend me own. The man in question, Will Maher, was a member of Bartholomew’s crew.”
His comment only presented her with more questions. Bartholomew had been another renowned criminal and, as it had turned out, the Duke of Redding’s father. Taken down by his own son, he’d been hanged for murder last year. “How did you end up with Bartholomew in the first place?”
Guthrie dropped his hand from her cheek, leaving a cold spot in its place. “Bartholomew recruited me when I was a lad. Both me parents were dead an’ he took me in – gave me a roof o’er me head and put food in me belly. He also taught me ’ow to pick pockets, cheat at cards in order to con people out o’ their money, an’ a bunch of other things.” He shrugged as if this was a minor detail. “Later, when I realized how ’e was makin’ most of his blunt, I ran away an’ he sent Maher to kill me.”
Regina gasped and Guthrie chuckled mildly. “No one leaves Bartholomew alive. That was the rule o’ thumb that was meant to ensure the loyalty of ’is men.”
“How old were you when you escaped?”
“Eighteen.” His expression had tightened in response to the memories rising up from the past. “Maher found me, came at me with a blade, an’ actually caught me close to me ribs. But I had youth an’ dexterity on me side, an’ so I managed to twist away an’ counter attack with a knife of me own. Got him right in the throat.”
An icy chill wrapped itself around her as she thought of what that would have been like for him. “You must have been terrified,” she murmured.
He shook his head. “There was no time fer that.” A pause followed and then, “That’s ‘ow I met MacNeil, by the way. He found me bleedin’ from the stab wound and made sure I got patched up.”
“I’m glad to know he was there to help you.” The gold in his eyes shimmered and she quietly asked, “What was Bartholomew doing that you disagreed with so vehemently?” Considering all the things he must have seen during his time with the man, it would have taken something truly awful to make him leave.
Guthrie inhaled through his nose and sank deeper into the sofa. Propping one elbow on the backrest, he leaned his head against his hand. “He was in the whorin’ business, an’ I’m not talkin’ about the sort o’ business that Philipa’s runnin’ next door. That, I can support, but Bartholomew…” His jaw clenched, causing his moustache to stretch at an odd angle. When he spoke again, there was a hollowness to his voice that rattled Regina’s bones. “There are sick people out there with very particular tastes when it comes to sex; men who like fer it to be violent, who want to know that their partner’s unwillin’. And then there are those so depraved that they want to do it with children.”
“And Bartholomew…” Dear God it was too abhorrent to think of.
“He made every twisted fantasy possible.”
“Good lord.” Not even in her worst nightmares would she have imagined that something so awful was possible. That there were people out there who would do such vile and despicable things – who would harm the innocent to fill their own pockets.
“The other four men that I killed were ’is clients.” He made the confession without any hint of remorse. “Bartholomew ’ated me fer it. And fer takin’ o’er part of ’is territory here in St. Giles. Came after me in all sorts of creative ways o’er the years, but never quite managed to catch me.”
“Did you ever go after him?”
“I tried, but he was always heavily guarded – especially after ’e learned I was out to get ’im.”
He fell silent, allowing Regina to process all of this new information. The life he had led had not been easy. She could not imagine what it must have been like for him, an orphaned child all alone on the streets of London. No wonder his life had turned out as it had. He’d been exposed to crime since a very young age, but even though the opportunity for him to become truly rotten had been there, he’d turned away from that path. Instead, he’d sought justice on behalf of those who were too weak to seek it for themselves. And this was something that she could admire and respect.
Although…
“I know Reynolds well. His sister is married to one of Mama’s good friends and—”
“He’s not as nice as ye think.”
“In what sense?”
Guthrie answered without hesitation. “He produces counterfeit art and sells it as the genuine work, and in doin’ so he’s taken advantage of a lot of good people.”
Regina considered that comment for a second. Earlier she would have insisted that he was wrong. But now, after everything he’d revealed about himself, she wasn’t so sure. He sounded very convincing and yet…it also felt as though he was trying to hide something from her.
His cat leapt into her lap, halting her thoughts. Regina smiled in response to the loud meow and instinctively stroked its back. “What’s his name?” she asked while considering the feline’s clumpy fur. The poor thing could do with a fair bit of grooming.
“Ralph.”
She nodded. “I like that name. It suits him.”
Guthrie snorted. “Just as well since it’s the only one he’s got.” He pushed her legs from his lap and stood. “I’ve got to go out fer a while and probably won’t be back until late.”
Unsure of what to say, she watched as he strode to the door. Reaching it, he turned back to face her. “There are writin’ materials in that box over there – the one on the bottom shelf of the bookcase. Feel free to use them fer the letters ye want to write yer brother an’ Fielding.” He paused, then added, “I’m leavin’ Patrick outside this room, so if ye need anythin’ else, just let ’im know and he’ll fetch it fer ye. All right?”
“All right.” He opened the door and she hastened to say, “Thank you for sharing your past with me. It means a great deal.”
Without responding, he left her.
6
Carlton woke the next day to the sound of furniture scraping across the floor. He opened one eye and stared at the room. Belly down on the sofa with his left cheek pressed into a pillow, his right arm dangled over the side so his knuckles rested against the floor. Ralph, who’d sensed his wakefulness, leapt up onto his back and began a slow march along the length of his spine. A loud squeak pierced the air and Carlton groaned. He’d returned at four in the morning without discovering anything new about Scarlet. It was almost as if she’d been swallowed up by the ground itself.
Screaaaaaaaaach. Thump, thump.
He muttered a curse, swatted Ralph away with a backward swipe, and stood. Christ almighty! It felt like he’d jammed his head straight into the ceiling it hurt so bad. He cursed again, strode to his bedchamber door and gave it an angry knock.
Silence took over.
Then the door opened to Regina’s bright and beautiful face. Her eyes were sparkling and her cheeks were a rosy hue that compounded her youth and vitality. Stray locks hung around her face in haphazard disarray that only made her more stunning.
She cleared her throat and averted her gaze for a moment before looking back at him more directly. “You’re up,” she said.
“An excellent observation,” he muttered. The color in her cheeks deepened, and she stared at him as if she’d never seen a man before in her life, which was something of an odd experience.
But then it occurred to him that in his annoyance over the noise, he’d gone straight to the source without stopping to think of how he was dressed. Since sleeping in his waistcoat, jacket, and cravat would be deuced uncomfortable, he’d removed all those articles and left them on a chair. Which meant that he only wore his shirt, which gaped open to the middle of his chest, and the trousers he’d had on last night.
“Why are ye makin’ such a ruckus?” he asked. If she wanted to look her fill, he’d let her. And savor her interest in the process.
“I um…I was trying to clean up a bit.” Her eyes were fixed on the spot right beneath his collarbones and it took every ounce of restraint Carlton had not to reach out and grab her and…what? She was a lady. Too good for the likes of him, no matter her father’s transgressions. He squared his shoulders on that thought. She was first and foremost a means to an end, not a woman with whom he could have a liaison.
The fact that she chose to lick her lips next did not help in the slightest. On the contrary, his body began responding in ways that he very much doubted she’d find appropriate.
“An’ to do so ye needed to make more noise than a regiment out on the march?” Speaking was the only solution – the only way for him to distract his brain from what he wanted.
“I thought it best to be thorough, which meant moving some things about.”
The pitch of her voice and the speed with which she spoke made him question her honesty. Something was up, and that caused unease to settle like rocks in the pit of his belly. “Let me see.”
She sniffed and then promptly sneezed, forcing him back a step. “Pardon me, but I doubt this room has been properly dusted since you moved in. Not that I’m surprised. It’s not easy to clean when you have as many things as y
ou do.” She shoved a stray lock of hair behind her ear, leaving a smudge next to her eye. “But I’ve made good progress and…” Her eyes widened as he leaned in to try and get a better look of the room. “You really don’t have to come in here right now. I promise to be more quiet and—”
Carlton pushed his way past her and almost tripped over a box that wasn’t where it was supposed to be. Recovering his footing, he regained his balance and straightened his posture. “Good God.” He stared at the mountain she’d built on the bed. There were pictures that he’d never gotten around to hanging, a lap desk he hadn’t used in years, papers of varying importance, three clocks, a couple of music boxes, an extraordinary amount of knickknacks, and at the very top, a crimson garter with black lace trimming.
As if she knew precisely what he was looking at, Regina said, “I wasn’t aware that such scandalous underthings existed.”
“Weren’t ye?” The question sounded raspy to his own ears, which wasn’t surprising when the next thing he noticed was a pile of newspaper clippings spread out on his dresser. Those had not been lying about but carefully hidden away in the bottom of a drawer.
“I found it under the bed,” she said, in reference to the garter. “Which is probably a good thing since it looks quite pricey and will no doubt be missed by its owner.”
Carlton gritted his teeth. “You went through me things.”
“I had to in order to clean. But don’t worry. I promise to put it all back where I found it.”
He turned to her then and she must have noticed that he wasn’t the least bit pleased, for her smile disappeared as if slapped from her face. “Explain to me how this,” he reached out and snatched up the clippings, “includes cleanin’?”
“Well um…” Her eyes seemed to dart around frantically in her head. “I was looking for a cravat to tie around my mouth and nose so the dust—”
“Don’t lie to me.”
Her eyes settled on his face and for a long moment he watched her brain work to conjure up other excuses. His annoyance continued to grow, not only because she’d invaded his privacy but because of what she had found.
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