by Darcy Burke
“I always win. At least I did until I had to flee London.” Now his tone darkened and the fury she’d glimpsed in the hall resurfaced. “I told you I was ruthless, Audrey. I told you that you deserved better.”
Yes, he had. But she’d clung to her belief that he wanted to change, that he’d been trying to. There was so much more to him than what he showed on the outside.
He looked at Philippa, his expression taking on a hint of remorse. “The only thing I regret is bringing Swan with me when I came for the fight. I had no idea he’d planned to abduct Philippa—something he never would’ve done if not for me. Without me, he wouldn’t have even known of her existence, let alone had occasion to be in her presence.”
Audrey shook her head. She was glad he regretted that, but it couldn’t be the only thing. He had at least half a lifetime he should want to repent, shouldn’t he?
Audrey was vaguely aware of Philippa stroking her back. It was supposed to be comforting, but her mind was in too much turmoil to relax. She locked eyes with Ethan, who’d gone back to appearing detached. “You told me Gin Jimmy was a bad man. But so are you.”
His stare was unrelenting. “Yes, I am.”
And there it was. The cold, stark truth from him at last.
She shouldn’t have been surprised, and maybe she wasn’t, but hearing him say it brought reality into the cocoon she now realized she’d constructed around them—or at least around herself where he was concerned. She looked away from him, unable to bear her foolishness in trusting him another moment. “Philippa, will you take me up to my room?”
Philippa gently guided her the way they’d come. Audrey paused as they passed by Ethan. “Thank you for bringing me here. I’m sure you’ll understand when I say it’s best if I remain while you continue on. Our association is finished.”
Chapter Thirteen
Years ago, when Ethan had taken to the streets, his life had gotten darker. Since then, he’d lived in a constant state of gray where there was no clarity, no right or wrong, just existence. But with Audrey, he’d glimpsed a brightness he’d never known, a glimmer of hope, of happiness. Now, hours after she’d ended their ... whatever it was, total blackness threatened.
Ethan looked around the small, sparsely furnished room Sevrin had consented to give him. Though it was lit only by the dying fire and a single candle, Ethan could still catalog its modest furnishings: bed, armoire, chair. It didn’t even have a view of the bay—but it was all Ethan deserved from him. Actually, it was probably more than that.
Dinner had been simple, but delicious, delivered to him by the housekeeper, Mrs. Oldham, three hours ago. Ethan had asked her where he might go for a bath. She’d pursed her lips at him, indicating she’d already judged him a scoundrel, and told him that her son, Ned the footman, would take care of it. After dinner, he’d brought up enough water for Ethan to bathe himself in a better fashion than he had since Bassett Manor.
Ethan had spent the intervening time lying on the bed, contemplating his next move. He’d leave for London tomorrow after sending an advance letter to Jason—provided he could even convince Sevrin to do it. Ethan had foolishly underestimated the power of the man’s memory—and more importantly, that of his wife.
Lady Philippa held him in the lowest of opinions. Could he blame her? He’d given her no reason to like him and certainly no reason to trust him. In retrospect, he should’ve perhaps chosen someplace else to go, but no, this was the best place for Audrey. Sevrin would keep her safe, and she was as far from London as he could get her without putting her on a boat that would take her across the world.
Ethan jumped up from the bed, where he’d been staring at the ceiling. He needed a drink.
He grabbed the candlestick and made his way downstairs to the great hall. A fire still burned in the huge grate at the end of the room opposite the staircase. Ethan glanced around, but the room appeared to be empty.
He went to the sideboard and poured himself a glass of whisky and downed half of it in one gulp. He tucked the bottle beneath his arm, and carried his candle and glass through the great hall to a smaller chamber with expansive windows. The night was dark, but Ethan dropped onto a settee and stared at the blackness, thinking it mirrored what he felt inside.
He wasn’t sure how long he sat like that, but on his third glass of whisky, Sevrin came into the chamber. “I see you helped yourself to my liquor,” he said.
Ethan gestured toward the bottle, which sat on a low table before him. “Join me.”
“How magnanimous of you to invite me.” He left and came back with a glass, which he promptly filled. He picked up Ethan’s candlestick from the table and lit two lamps, then took a chair near Ethan’s settee. “You oughtn’t drink too much. You want to be on the road early, don’t you?”
“Yes,” Ethan said. They’d discussed his departure earlier.
Sevrin sipped his drink. “I won’t try to detain you, but you should know that I’ve written to Lockwood and informed him of your arrival. My footman took the letter into town to be posted first thing tomorrow.”
Ethan was mildly surprised, but shouldn’t have been. Everyone would, of course, treat him like the criminal he was. “I wish I’d known. I was going to ask you if I could post a letter to him. I’d like him to be aware of my return before I arrive.”
Sevrin arched his brow. “You’re actually going to go back to London? I admit I didn’t believe you when you told me earlier.” He shook his head. “A murder charge ...”
Ethan shrugged and tried to appear nonchalant, though his insides were an anxious mess. He didn’t remember the last time he’d felt as if he wasn’t in absolute control of his life. “I told you, I didn’t murder Wolverton; Gin Jimmy did. There has to be a way to prove it.”
Sevrin rested his elbows on the arms of his chair. “If you’re vindicated, will you go back to your life of crime?”
Strangely, this line of inquiry made Ethan more uncomfortable than discussing the murder charge. Maybe because this was what meant most to him. Or, because he doubted his dream would come to pass. “I’d prefer not to. I’d rather resume my place as Ethan Locke.”
“Does Lockwood know this?”
“Yes.” It had been a source of conflict between him and Jason, though Ethan believed he’d finally convinced his brother that he was trying to lead a new life. Granted, that had only been after he’d told him the truth about what he’d been trying to do—bring down Gin Jimmy so he could leave his criminal life for good. Would his plan have worked if he’d trusted Jason sooner, as he’d repeatedly asked Ethan to do? Ethan downed a healthy swig of whisky.
Sevrin was watching him guardedly, like a hawk circling its prey, or a thief identifying his mark.
Ethan took a deep breath and then a massive leap of faith. “I lured Gin Jimmy out of the rookery so that Bow Street would arrest him as the mastermind of several theft rings, including one run by the Marquess of Wolverton. I made sure Jimmy learned that Wolverton had told Bow Street that he was behind the rings and that he’d orchestrated the deaths of Lord and Lady Aldridge.”
Sevrin’s eyes widened briefly. “He killed Lady Aldridge? I thought she died of laudanum poisoning.”
“She did, but it was due to Gin Jimmy. He wanted me to make sure she died, but I couldn’t do it.” He looked out at the black night, regret swirling in his gut.
Sevrin leaned slightly forward. “You couldn’t kill Lady Aldridge?”
Ethan shook his head. “I tried to save her.” He’d worked to persuade her to leave London, but she’d refused to leave the house she and Aldridge had spent most of their time together in. She’d been devastated by his death last spring. Though Ethan hadn’t caused the earl’s demise, he also hadn’t been able to stop it, which served to bring out every shred of guilt Ethan had worked to bury over the years. It was perhaps this guilt that was driving him to face Bow Street. That, and Audrey. He wanted to deserve her, though he feared he never would.
Sevrin settled back against his ch
air. “What changed? You were—to use your own word—ruthless, in our dealings with you. I still want to punch you every time I see you.”
Ethan didn’t doubt it. “I wouldn’t try to stop you, despite your deadly hook.” Sevrin had hit him once, and it had been enough for Ethan to want to never be on the receiving end of his fist again.
Sevrin fixed him with a direct stare. “What happened? You were a king—or so it looked to me when you brought me to your den. Why would you want to leave that?”
Ethan laughed, but it sounded empty, even to his own ears. “Everyone licks my feet because they’re afraid. I never know who my friends are.” He couldn’t bear Sevrin’s scrutiny another moment so he studied his whisky. “I don’t have any friends. When you agreed to fight for me, I thought ... I imagined we might’ve been friends. If things had been different.” He looked up at Sevrin. “I regret what I did to you—and even more what I did to Philippa. Seeing you together ... your love for each other.” He took a fortifying drink. “I didn’t want to be alone anymore.”
“A criminal with a heart.” There was a touch of something in Sevrin’s voice—disbelief, wonder? “I didn’t know such a thing existed.”
Ethan scowled. “I don’t have a heart, just a growing conscience. I don’t like doing what I have to do. I never really liked doing it, but I didn’t have much of a choice.” He lifted his gaze to Sevrin’s and stiffened his spine. “Besides, I was bloody good at it.”
“There’s the Jagger I know,” Sevrin said softly.
Anger sparked through Ethan. He banged the glass down on the table in front of him, his body quickening into fight mode. “You know nothing. I’ve more wealth than I can spend, and I command the respect and admiration of a good many men.”
Sevrin set his glass down also, and he leaned forward, his nostrils flaring. “Do you want that, or do you want to be a gentleman? You can’t have both—at least not the way you’ve made yourself.”
“Don’t you think I fucking know that?” Ethan stood as he shouted, fury grinding through him. He went to the window and rested his forehead against the cool glass. It soothed the ragged edges of his temper. He closed his eyes. “I don’t want to be a criminal anymore. Problem is, it won’t let me go.”
“Because of this charge from Bow Street.”
Yes and ... “No. The things I’ve had to do since I took Audrey out of London.” He turned from the window and released the anguish stored deep in his bones. “I’ve had to steal. I’ve had to kill. To keep her warm and well and safe.”
Sevrin’s eyes glittered. “That’s not being a criminal. I would do anything to protect Philippa.” He dropped his gaze for a second. “Though I understand feeling guilty. I’ve spent many years battling that emotion and I still wonder if I’ll ever truly defeat it.” He looked up again. “Fortunately, I have Philippa at my side to help me.”
Nothing he said could’ve gutted Ethan more. He turned back to the window. It was ironic that he’d finally found someone he wanted to trust, who he wanted to trust him, and that her importance caused him to commit acts that ensured she never did.
“Are you in love with her?” Sevrin’s question hit Ethan in the back like a dagger.
Ethan tensed, but didn’t turn. He had no idea what romantic love felt like. He’d loved his mother and his father, but in an adoring, childish way. “I don’t know. I don’t love anyone.”
“Not even your brother?”
He’d grown very fond of Jason in the past few weeks. They’d reached a brotherly accord, a kinship Ethan had never imagined, but love? “I don’t know. Maybe.”
“You said you stole and killed for Audrey in order to keep her safe. She’s clearly important to you. Would you have done those things if she hadn’t been at stake?”
Ethan tried to think but couldn’t find an answer. He honestly couldn’t imagine being without her now. Consequently, he couldn’t answer the question. So he said the only thing that filled his mind. “I don’t want to leave her.”
Sevrin came to the window and stood a few feet away. “I left Philippa once because I thought it was the right thing to do for her. I made a decision that affected her without discussing it with her first. It was the worst decision I ever made. Thankfully she’s much smarter and braver than I am and came after me.”
What was he saying, that he should talk to Audrey first? Just like he should’ve talked to Jason weeks ago, shared his plan, solicited his aid. But that took trust, something he never gave. Yet he’d have to give it to Audrey if he wanted any kind of future with her. If she’d even have him. “You heard Audrey. She doesn’t want anything more to do with me.”
“Then go back to London and see how leaving her feels. I’m willing to wager you’ll figure it out by the time you hit Plymouth.” Sevrin shot him a look that clearly told him he was an idiot if he left. “Whatever you decide, I promise we’ll keep Miss Cheswick safe.”
Ethan wanted to fix him with his most imperious glare, one that wouldn’t brook any failure, one he used on his men all the time. But he was too overwhelmed with trepidation and uncertainty. All he could manage was to say, “Thank you.”
***
Audrey dismissed the young maid Philippa had sent to help her prepare for bed. She’d almost forgotten what it was like to have assistance with her clothes and her hair—such as it was. Thankfully, her curls were in much better condition since taking a bath. The maid had brushed the heavy mass until it was nearly dry. It ought to have relaxed Audrey, but she was as tightly wound as she’d been hours ago when she’d left Ethan downstairs.
She’d known he was a criminal, had seen him kill firsthand. However, the things he’d revealed tonight had been far more personal. He’d hurt people she knew and cared about. It made everything he’d done, everything he was, far more real.
A slight rap on her door made her tense even further. She got up from the chair by the fire, her legs feeling like brittle wood, and made her way slowly to the door. “Yes?”
“It’s Philippa. May I come in?”
Audrey opened the door. “Please.”
Philippa offered a warm smile, then came in to give her a swift but strong hug. “How are you?”
“Better after a bath. Thank you for loaning me your maid.” Like Miranda and Fox at Bassett Manor, they kept a relatively small staff and didn’t have a spare ladies’ maid. “And this dressing gown and nightrail, and ... I could go on, but I’ll stop.”
“Of course.” She closed the door and walked with Audrey into the bedchamber. “Have you given any thought to what you’d like to do?”
“I’m not sure. Can I just stay here forever?” She smiled weakly as she perched on the edge of her bed. “Not really.”
“You could if you wanted to,” Philippa said, sitting beside her. “Will your parents mind?”
Philippa was a good enough friend to know that Audrey’s parents gave little thought to her other than to be disappointed by her failure to attract a husband—a failure her father had been assured of for years, which only made his disappointment both puzzling and frustrating. Would they mind if she disappeared? Given the way they’d stopped her from running to America two years prior, she supposed so. Still, removing herself to quiet spinsterhood in Cornwall might just be acceptable to them. The question was—would it be acceptable to Audrey? It would have to be. The dream she’d had of running away with Ethan was dead.
“Ethan and I pretended we were eloping to America.” She wasn’t sure why she shared this, but her emotions just seemed too great.
Philippa’s eyes widened. “Oh.” Then her gaze narrowed shrewdly. “Is that all it really was, pretend?”
Audrey recalled the kisses they’d shared in his bedchamber, the waltz outside the assembly, the spirited evening with Fox and Miranda. Those had been the happiest two days of her life. “Somewhat.”
“You didn’t know what sort of man he was then.”
Audrey looked at her friend. “I did. But I believed he was trying to change.
I still think he is. He doesn’t want to return to his criminal life. Philippa, if you only knew what he was forced to endure. He was left alone to fend for himself at a young age.”
Philippa’s gaze was kind. “I’m sure he’s had a difficult life, and I can’t fault him for trying to change. Lady Jocelyn Carlyle told me something last month when we were in London. We were talking about Lydia and Jason. Jocelyn asked if I knew Mr. Locke—Ethan. The manner in which she asked led me to believe she might know him as I’d known him—as Jagger.”
“And did she?”
“Yes. He’d been involved somehow in a theft ring that had stolen something of Jocelyn’s. Her husband—Lord Carlyle is a former magistrate—helped to recover the item. Apparently Lord Aldridge had been behind the theft. He’d given the piece to his wife, which is how Jocelyn had discovered it. Facing exposure, Aldridge had tried to find a way to avoid any charges against him. However, his criminal cohorts prevented him from going to the authorities by killing him. Jocelyn said she and her husband witnessed the entire thing.”
Audrey inhaled sharply. “How awful.”
Philippa nodded. “Indeed. Jagger was there too, and he stopped the criminal from killing Jocelyn and Carlyle.”
Audrey’s chest expanded. “See, he is trying to change.”
“Maybe, but it’s going to be a long while before I’ll forgive him. I can’t forget what he’s done.” She touched Audrey’s hand. “Can you?”
No, but neither could she forget his touch, his kiss, the way he looked at her. All of it was intertwined to make him the complicated gentleman criminal known as Ethan Jagger Locke Lockwood.
Philippa gave her hand a pat and stood. “Sleep on it. Jagger plans to leave in the morning. Audrey, what sort of life would you have had with him?”
Was he really going to leave? Though she’d told him he should—without her—the reality of it cut into her heart. “What sort of life do I have now? I have no idea what awaits me in London. What’s more, I’m not certain I care. I chose to leave with him. I preferred an unknown adventure to known tedium. I had no marriage prospects. My father won’t finance any more Seasons for me. He wants me to become a lady’s companion. He says it’s the best I can do.”
