by Pamela Cayne
Seeing how close the carriage was, Lady gave one last desperate attempt at escape and drove her knee toward Sebastian’s genitals. He managed to dodge aside at the last second, but still flinched from the glancing blow. His grip never relaxed, only slid down to her wrist. When he straightened back up, the crazed cheerfulness of his face became a flat rage in the time it took him to blink. She opened her mouth to scream, praying King would hear her.
In a blur, Sebastian backhanded Lady across the mouth, wrenching her shoulder as her upper body was driven away from his hold on her arm. The coppery taste of blood and the cramping pain of a twisted shoulder was nothing new to a woman who’d been in the business for over a decade, nor was the knowledge there might be more to come. What scared Lady more than anything was the dawning realization that she was facing her future. Sebastian might say pretty words and offer her nice things, but with the certainty of knowing the sun would rise in a few hours, once she left with Sebastian, willing or not, she would be with him until she died.
“No,” she cried, pulling against Sebastian as hard as she could. She would not go without a fight. She started to reach for the pistol again when she saw a flicker of movement behind her captor. Seeing who caused it, she stopped struggling. Fighting tears, Lady tried to sound as calm and rational as she could when she said, “Jonathan, please help me. I don’t want to go with him, I don’t.”
Sebastian looked over his shoulder, his face once again the picture of happiness. “Ah, Jonathan. How good to see you. Listen, I know you got the short end of winning the fight, King playing dirty and all, but believe you me, I’ll put him right. You of anybody should know not to cross me.” He chuckled like they were sharing a joke.
Jonathan smiled and nodded. “No problem, Mr. Collins. All’s well and such, right?”
“That’s my boy. Now, do me one last favor and help me get Lady in the carriage. She’s getting cold feet, but you know women.” He gave that shrug saying all men understood how flighty all women could be.
“No, no,” Lady cried. “That’s not true. I never said I’d go with him. I don’t want to go. You know that, Jonathan. Don’t make me go with him.” She started to struggle and call for help again.
“You must stop being so troublesome, Lady,” Sebastian said through gritted teeth. He slapped her openly this time, and a savage part of Lady wished he’d cut her so she wouldn’t be pretty to look at anymore.
“I think the lady doesn’t want to go, Mr. Collins,” Jonathan said softly.
“It doesn’t matter what she wants. She’s going.” Sebastian reached under his suit jacket at the small of his back and pulled out a knife as long as Lady’s forearm. He held it up and to the side, turning it back and forth so the blade flashed with the reflections from the streetlights. “And I always get what I want, don’t I, Jonathan?”
Lady, already hypnotized by the instrument of her wished-for disfiguration, could do no more than watch in stunned silence as Jonathan deftly plucked the knife from Mr. Collins’s hand. Sebastian, looking startled, turned to face the man he’d saved from the hangman’s noose in Australia at the same time Jonathan pushed the knife forward, planting it deep in Mr. Collins’s gut. Lady saw the back of his coat flare out and realized Jonathan had driven the blade completely through Mr. Collins and out the other side.
Sebastian’s hand tightened on her wrist. Even as Jonathan sawed the knife upward, Sebastian’s only reaction was to bend forward a little and make a deep, guttural noise. Jonathan caught Mr. Collins by the shoulder with one hand, making the murder an obscene embrace.
“Not today, Mr. Collins. Not today,” Jonathan said, the last words coming out in a whisper as Sebastian fell to the street. Jonathan still held the knife, now free from Mr. Collins’s body, and after a second, bent down and wiped the blade on the dead man’s pants. He slipped the knife into his boot, and with a deft flick of his wrist, reached into Sebastian’s coat and pulled out his wallet. He took a few notes out and slipped the wallet into his pants pocket, as though it had been his all along.
“Lady, if you’d like to get in the carriage, I’ll see you safely home,” he said gently and opened the door for her. There was something about his eyes that let her know she could trust him. The demons were at bay.
She let him hand her up and was thankful he used his unbloodied arm. He shut the door and told the driver, “Here’s a little extra on top of what the first bloke paid you. Now take us where I tell you, then forget everything, savvy?” She felt him climb up front and it started to sink in that she might be safe.
In a blink they were at her place, and not seeing any evidence of Shade or Mr. Adams, Lady knew the same relief as before. Jonathan helped her out of the carriage and Lady headed straight for her door, but before opening it, she stopped and turned to face this odd man. He was standing at the carriage with a small smile on his lips, like he’d just had a swallow of exquisite brandy. She nodded at Jonathan, silently offering a prayer for this strange guardian angel of hers, then entered her house to discover she hadn’t left danger behind after all.
Chapter Thirty
King felt something thick in his throat, in his head and in his memory. There was a sharp, pungent taste in his mouth, like somebody mixed vinegar and honeyed brandy in there, and he couldn’t form a thought to save his life. He’d been foggy after fights before, but this fog was binding him, smothering him.
He rolled onto his back and, by the roughness of the sheets and pattern of lumps to the mattress, determined he was in his bed wearing nothing but his drawers. He reached out and touched the smooth cotton of Lady’s quilt and smiled. The thought of her caused a brief flash of memory, the plan to escape. He focused on the sweet vision of Lady and his future, and pushed himself to a sitting position, feet on the floor. He rubbed his face with his hands, trying to clear the last of the cobwebs, but if he didn’t get this taste out of his mouth soon, he was going to be sick.
Gingerly, the injuries from his fight now demanding he remember them, King poured a glass of water from the pitcher he always kept on a counter in the small kitchen area. After rinsing his mouth and throat, he spat into the sink and poured himself a fresh glass. He drank that and poured the remaining contents of the pitcher over his head. The cloying taste and feeling were going away, but there was still something bothering him, something he couldn’t place.
King heard a muted noise from his front room and looked around the corner. Something stirred in the bed and King saw a mass of blond hair on the pillow. He smiled. That’s what had been off. He didn’t remember Lady getting here. Now that he knew what was going on, King strolled back to the bed, coaxing his mind to remember the evening. He’d won the fight, but then the cops busted things up. He sat on the edge of the bed and brushed Lady’s arm, his mind replaying Mr. Collins’s getting him out, but then...
“If you’re up for a tumble, I’m ready.”
The high-pitched voice with the cockney accent was like a slap to King, and even as the woman rolled over, he knew who he’d see. He pushed himself off the bed and stumbled several feet away as Jenny faced him, smiling like she’d been given a diamond.
“I’ve been waiting for you to wake up, luv. Time to celebrate your grand winnings, eh?” She propped herself up on her elbows so the sheet caught her right above the nipples.
“What are you doing here, Jenny? Where’s Lady?” King was feeling something else choke him now, but it had nothing to do with the taste in his mouth and everything to do with fear.
“I’m ’ere for you, King.” Jenny rose naked from bed and came toward him with a cheap whore’s sway. “Don’t be thinking of her. She was ’ere earlier and left. She don’t want you, not like I want you.” She draped her arms around his neck and raised up to kiss him, but King grabbed her and held her immobile.
“What do you mean, she was here? When? Did you say anything to her? Tell me, Jenny.” H
e was shouting and was taking great pains not to shake her.
“She was ‘ere, maybe ten minutes ago.” Jenny’s face crumpled. “I didn’t say naught to her. She just saw me and left.”
“Bloody hell,” King muttered and let go of Jenny. He reached for his pants, knowing what Lady had seen and what she had thought. He needed to get to her, tell her what had happened. He stopped in the motion of buttoning. He couldn’t remember anything after the fight, so for all he knew he had invited Jenny in. He had to find out exactly what happened.
“Jenny, how did you get in my room?” King asked softly, slowly pulling on his shirt. She looked away, her face upset. “It’s okay, you can tell me. It’ll be our little secret.”
She looked back at him, a hesitant hope in her eyes. “Mr. Collins came and got me. Paid me to stay with you, though I told ’im I would’ve done it for free,” she added hesitantly.
Suddenly King could remember the flask Mr. Collins had given him. American bourbon, he’d called it. An acquired taste. King could now pick out the ribbon of laudanum lacing whatever liquor Mr. Collins had in his flask. Christ, how he’d ended up with Jenny in his bed was crazy enough he hoped Lady could believe him.
He grabbed the quilt and rolled it into a tight bundle, packing it into a satchel with a change of clothes. “Goodbye, Jenny.” King slipped into his boots and coat. He was glad to feel the stash of pound notes in his left boot was still there. “Take care of yourself.”
“No, King,” she cried and clasped his arm to her chest. “Stay ’ere with me. I love you. I can care for you. You don’t want Lady. She...she stole your money when she left.” Jenny pointed at the counter. The leather wallet with his fight winnings was gone. For the first time, he smiled.
“Good for her,” he said to himself and left, shutting Jenny’s wailing out with the closing of the door. He looked up and down the street and saw a dark shape marring the murky glow of the cobblestones in the fog-dimmed streetlights. Living the kind of life King had, he recognized a body passed out or dead, and this was definitely of the dead category. He refused to let loose his fear until he saw whose body it was, though.
He approached...quickly first, then slowed. He had to know but he didn’t want to find out. Before he could tell himself what a bad idea it was, he reached down and pushed it over, splaying Sebastian Collins flat on his back. His eyes were open, but this man was a corpse. Blood had soaked into his clothes, pooled in the cracks between the stones. King touched his face just long enough to tell there was still a trace of warmth to the body. He hadn’t been dead long, and the questions about what had happened, who’d killed him, were just starting.
King left the body there and started running to Lady’s. He didn’t care if she’d killed Collins—hell, he’d buy her a new frock if she did—just let her be all right. The minutes it took him to get to her place became one bad scenario after another chasing through his head. It hadn’t taken him long to remember Adams was still in the picture. With Shade at his command, he could be as deadly as whoever had killed Collins.
King ran faster.
* * *
Lady slowly opened the door, her mind still on the bizarre occurrences with Jonathan and Mr. Collins. She saw Nessie coming from the kitchen with a tea tray and opened her mouth to greet her when the woman’s frantic expression pierced Lady’s thoughts. Nessie set the tray on a narrow hall table and pulled Lady into the parlor by the arm.
“Mr. Adams is here, Shade with him. They’re upstairs, waiting for you, and I don’t think it’s good,” she whispered and cautiously slid the pocket doors halfway shut. “I haven’t been able to slip away. Shade follows me or sneaks up on me when I’m not expecting it, but I think I can get rid of them. Whatever you do, stay in here and be quiet.”
The fear and urgency in Nessie’s voice triggered something equal in Lady. She’d barely gotten out of Mr. Collins’s clutches, but he didn’t scare her like the knowledge that Mr. Adams and Shade were here now. Collins was crazy, but he seemed like he had wanted her alive. Mr. Adams cared for her, but if he had the slightest hint of what she’d been up to, she’d be in that little graveyard by sunup. Escaping with Nessie was the priority now, and it would be a more difficult task without King here to help, but if Nessie said she could get Mr. Adams and Shade out, Lady believed her. She touched her hand to Nessie’s cheek, more familiar to her than her own.
“Be careful, Nessie,” she whispered.
Nessie laid her hand over Lady’s and slipped out of the parlor, sliding the doors completely shut behind her. Through the frosted glass panel, Lady watched the blurry form of Nessie jump when Mr. Adams yelled from upstairs, a few creaks from the staircase indicating Shade’s check of where the housekeeper was.
“Coming, coming,” Nessie yelled back. “It were just a boy at the door, wanting to know if I needed more firewood since you were here. He saw your fine carriage around back and knows I like to keep the house nice and warm for you.”
Lady could hear Nessie pick up the tea tray and go upstairs. She had to see what was going on, even a peek, but she wasn’t in a good position and couldn’t see much beyond the etched designs framed in the top half of the door. She prayed Shade had followed Nessie and inched the door open the width of two fingers, then got down on her hands and knees and looked out. She could see the stairs and entry now, but the voices were still unclear. There were murmurings, then something changed. Mr. Adams’s voice got louder and Nessie started speaking faster, her tone almost imploring. Lady bit her lip and thought about what to do. She looked around the parlor for something, anything that could be used as a weapon, but with Shade, anything short of a shotgun would be batted aside.
There was a scream, then the sound of dishes shattering. A second later, a loud slap reverberated down the stairs, followed by a cry of distress. Lady heard something she almost thought was thunder, but even as her mind was telling her that wasn’t what it was, a bundle in a faded cotton dress tumbled down the stairs.
Nessie didn’t scream or shout as she was falling, but grunts escaped her as though expelled by the force of how hard she bounced down the stairs. The relative silence made the cracks and crunches of her body obscenely loud. When momentum carried her around the corner and threw her on the floor of the entry, Lady saw Nessie was beyond words, beyond painful cries. Seeing her friend, her confidant, her guardian angel, lying there broken and bleeding, turned off almost everything in Lady’s head. Her heart was screaming, but her mind was deadly quiet.
A masculine chuckle floated down as measured footsteps thumped softly after. Lady looked through the crack in the door and saw Mr. Adams coming down the stairs, wiping his hands off on a handkerchief. Shade followed behind, making as much noise as his namesake.
“Ah, Mrs. Nesbitt, I told you not to lie to me,” Mr. Adams gently scolded, like a mother would tell her children not to have sweets before dinner. “You brought this on yourself, you know. For years you’ve been working for me. You know what I require. What is that, Shade?”
“Loyalty. Honesty. Obedience.”
Mr. Adams sat on one of the stairs, high enough his head was on level with Shade’s, who’d come all the way down to stand next to Nessie. She was moaning, her body held in a fetal position toward Lady.
“Loyalty, honesty and obedience,” Mr. Adams repeated, tucking his handkerchief back into his vest pocket. “Is that too much to ask?” He trailed off for a few seconds, and if it were anybody else, Lady would have said there was pain on Mr. Adams’s face, but she knew better. Pain at having to replace a spy perhaps, but not for what he’d done. “Well, since you’ve obviously turned your back on me, there’s only one thing I can do. Shade?”
Shade stepped over Mrs. Nesbitt so he had one foot on either side of her. Nessie opened her eyes and met Lady’s, and Lady reached up for the door handle until she saw the negative motion Nessie was making with her head. Shade nud
ged Nessie’s hip with his boot, forcing her on her back and wringing a gasp of pain from her. She looked up at her tormentor and whatever was on his face, in the bleakness of his eyes, made her give a hitched cry, like she couldn’t get enough air in to properly scream. She started to push herself away from him, inching along the floor by sheer willpower alone.
Lady became frantic. There was nothing in the parlor that could take on Shade and Mr. Adams, no way out except into the foyer and Mr. Adams’s sadistic grip, but she couldn’t sit here and do nothing. So she wouldn’t start throwing things in frustration, she gripped her thighs and felt something. The pistol! Dragging up her skirts, she pulled Nessie’s pistol from her garter and held it up to the meager light. It was small, but it could do the job. Lady felt a glimmer of hope until she turned the gun on its side and saw how slim it was. As she looked at the pistol, she remembered Nessie saying it only had one bullet. But one bullet wouldn’t help. If she shot Shade, and that was a big if, Mr. Adams would probably beat her to death. If she shot Mr. Adams, Shade would kill her slowly. If she tried to be merciful and shoot Nessie, she would be at Shade’s and Mr. Adams’s mercy, and that would go against everything Nessie was doing for her right now. Plus, she didn’t think she could pull the trigger on Nessie. As much as it hurt her to realize it, Lady knew she was going to have to wait and pray for a miracle.
Her mouth pressed shut, tears streaming down her cheeks, Lady watched as Shade stepped on Nessie’s dress, stopping her painful progress. He slowly lowered himself to his knees, straddling Nessie and pinning her hips with his. She silently writhed as he settled his weight onto her, her hands pounding at him as feeble as a baby bird. It didn’t stop him from pulling a large blade out from his waist and grasping it in his right fist. With his free hand, he held Nessie’s shoulder down and as he bent forward, slowly slipped the knife just below her breasts.
