by Galen, Shana
“I want to go,” he said. “But can I say goodbye to everyone first?” He looked at Bridget.
“Of course. Tell them you’ll write and send presents from your travels.”
He smiled. “I will! I’ll be right back. Don’t leave without me.”
She sat in one of the chairs. “I won’t move from this seat.”
He ran up the stairs, his shoes clomping loudly, and Lady Julia shook her head. “I’ll go pack his things.” She wiped one eye. “I’ll miss him, and if anything ever happens, know that you can bring him back with no questions asked.”
“Thank you. And thank you for taking such good care of him.”
Lady Julia nodded and left Bridget alone. Bridget pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and wept.
Chapter Eight
HE’D FOUGHT AS HARD as he could until Bridget was safely away, and then he’d fought more. In the end, he was no match for four men. They’d bound him and dragged him away, all while startled grooms watched.
“I haven’t done anything to you,” Caleb argued as they shoved him inside a coach. “Let me go.”
“You’ve got a price on your head,” one of the men said. “And we all get a portion once you’re delivered.”
“I’ll pay you,” he offered as they wrestled him inside the conveyance.
“How much?”
“A guinea each.”
“We’ll make ten each when you’re delivered.”
They drove him to a house. He didn’t see where, as the coach’s curtains were drawn, but he knew they hadn’t traveled long enough to be out of London. They hauled him out, marched him through the empty house, shut him in an empty room, and locked the door.
Caleb sat on his heels and reached his bound hands into his boot, drawing out the knife there. The hired men hadn’t searched him, and that was their mistake. He had a few hours to make the most of their oversight, because the men who were coming for him wouldn’t make mistakes. He’d be dead by morning.
As Caleb struggled to turn the knife to a useful position, he studied the light coming through the drawn curtains. It was late afternoon now. Had Bridget found the orphanage? Had she found their son?
He finally had the blade in position and began to work it against his bindings. The rope was thick, and it would take time to cut through it. It was time he didn’t have. He desperately wanted to meet his son, to see Bridget again, to board that ship to Canada. The government might come looking for him, especially if what the grooms saw in the West End was made public. But by the time they tracked him down, he’d have washed up on the side of the Thames.
He had to cut these ropes. He sawed with renewed vigor, his fingers growing sweaty, until he dropped the knife.
JAMES—JIMMY HAD HELD her hand all the way back to the academy. It had seemed the most natural thing in the world to walk with his hand in hers, keeping him close to her side and safe from the coaches on the streets.
She carried his valise, which she didn’t think was his at all. It looked very much like the sort a lady of the ton might own. And that was just another kindness Lady Julia had done them.
“Will my father be waiting for us at this school?” Jimmy asked.
“I hope so, but I don’t know. He was a hero during the war, and now London is dangerous for him. That’s why we hope to go to Canada.”
“My father is a hero?”
“Yes. He was very important during the war. He might not be able to meet us if it’s too dangerous. In that case, we’ll stay in London. I have a room and enough money to buy us food and clothing and pay for your schooling.”
“I have clothing,” he said. “Lady Julia always made sure we had clothing. This shirt used to be Michael’s. I don’t know who the trousers belonged to. The shoes are new, though. Lady Julia says we boys are hell on shoes.” He squeezed her hand. “But don’t tell her I said the H-word. I’m not allowed to say it.”
Bridget squeezed his hand back. “I won’t tell.” As she looked down at him, a wave of love swept over her. He was so sweet, so good, so beautiful. She’d never thought she’d have him back, but now that she did, she would never, never let him go.
Finally, just before dusk, they reached the academy. She led Jimmy inside and took him straight to the kitchens. Mrs. White was counting the silver, but her eyes widened when she saw Jimmy. “And who’s this love?”
“Mrs. White, this is my son, James Lavery.”
“You can call me Jimmy,” he said, sitting in a chair at the servants’ table.
“Well, you’re welcome, Jimmy. Are you hungry?”
“A little.”
“Of course you’re hungry. A growing boy like you. Let me get you some bread and soup.”
“Jimmy, I’ll be right back,” Bridget told him. “I want to check on something.”
She ran upstairs and into the drawing room, where girls were sitting about, either studying or doing needlework or practicing picking locks. Bridget leaned inside and gestured to Valérie. The two ladies stepped outside. Bridget couldn’t help peeking through the windows, where darkness was rapidly falling.
“Did you find him?” Valérie asked.
“He’s in the kitchens.”
“Oh, I want to meet him!”
“You should. Has anyone come looking for me?”
Valérie shook her head. “If someone does come, your bags are ready to go. Are you really going to Canada?”
“I don’t know. I hope so. I left Caleb fighting off four men. I don’t know what’s happened to him.”
Valérie took her hand. “Surely if any man can escape, it is he.”
Bridget prayed that was true.
CALEB FELT THE ROPE give. His shoulders burned, and sweat dripped from his forehead. He’d dropped the knife more times than he could count, but finally he’d made progress. He yanked on the ropes, fraying them further, then slipped one hand free. He brought both hands to his chest, wincing in pain as numb muscles came awake again. He wanted to run out of the house as soon as possible, but he forced himself to wait until his arms ceased shaking and he had control of them again.
Caleb went to the window, pulled the curtains aside, and looked out into a dark lane. He tried lifting the window, but it was sealed shut. He’d have to break the glass. The problem was that in doing so he would alert his captors. He hadn’t heard them since they’d locked him in, but that didn’t mean they’d left the house.
Taking the knife in his hand, he stepped back and rammed the window’s glass with his boot. The thick glass cracked but didn’t break, and he rammed it again. This time, it shattered. Caleb ignored the sound of footsteps rushing toward the room, clearing the glass and punching out more until he could fit through. When he heard the key in the door’s lock, he stood behind the door.
One of his captors crashed through. Caleb jumped on his back and wrestled him to the floor. He slammed the man’s head into the wood until he stopped fighting, then Caleb was on his feet again. No others came.
Caleb looked at the knife and at the man, then slid the knife back into his boot. He’d done enough killing for one lifetime.
He wiggled through the window and began to run for Marylebone.
BRIDGET ROSE FROM THE kitchen table where she and Jimmy were looking at pictures in a book. She heard footsteps on the stairs, and her heart pounded. But it was only Valérie.
“Still no one?”
“I’m sorry,” Valérie said.
“The girls have all gone to their rooms. It is too late to walk through Covent Garden. Stay here with me tonight. We can share my bed, and Jimmy can have your old one.” She smiled at Jimmy.
Bridget looked at her son and saw his eyes droop as he stifled a yawn. “You’re right.” She gathered Jimmy and followed Valérie out of the kitchen. It felt like a betrayal to go to bed. It felt like leaving Caleb all over again. She’d tuck Jimmy into bed, and once he was asleep, she’d come back down. She wouldn’t be able to sleep anyway. She was far too worried.
But
as they started up the stairwell to the upper floors, someone pounded on the door. Everyone jumped, and then Valérie and Bridget locked eyes. “Take him upstairs,” Bridget said as one of the footmen moved to open the door. Bridget stood back. She prayed it was Caleb, but she couldn’t be certain one of the men after him hadn’t searched for her and found her.
“How may I help you?” the footman asked whomever had knocked.
“I’m here to see Bridget Lavery.”
Bridget didn’t wait for the footman to respond. She pushed him aside and ran into Caleb’s arms. “I thought I’d never see you again,” she cried, pressing her face against his shoulder. He was really there, solid and strong and in her arms.
“I managed to escape.”
“I was so worried.”
“I was worried about you. I—” His body stiffened. “Is that him?”
Bridget turned to see Jimmy on the stairs. “Yes. Jimmy, this is your father, Caleb Harris.”
Jimmy stood for a long moment, then rushed down the stairs and threw himself into both of his parents’ arms.
IT HADN’T TAKEN LONG for the soft rocking of the sea and the sound of waves lapping against the ship to lull Jimmy to sleep. Caleb had sat beside his son, one hand on the boy’s chest and the other holding Bridget’s hand. It was a bit chilly on the deck, but they’d all huddle together and be warm enough under their blankets.
Bridget rose and went to the railing, and after another long look at his son, Caleb followed. “I can hardly believe he’s mine. I don’t know what I did to deserve so much good fortune.”
“We’re both fortunate,” she said, leaning against him. “Fortunate to have found each other again, fortunate to have found Jimmy.”
“Fortunate to be starting a new life. Are you sorry to leave London behind?”
“A little. Are you?”
“Not in the least. You’re my home, Bridget, and I’ll be happy wherever you are.”
She put her arms around his neck and kissed him, and indeed, he was home.
About Shana Galen
SHANA GALEN IS A THREE-time Rita award nominee and the bestselling author of passionate Regency romps. “The road to happily-ever-after is intense, conflicted, suspenseful and fun,” and RT Bookreviews calls her books “lighthearted yet poignant, humorous yet touching.” She taught English at the middle and high school level off and on for eleven years. Most of those years were spent working in Houston’s inner city. Now she writes full time, surrounded by three cats and one spoiled dog. She’s happily married and has a daughter who is most definitely a romance heroine in the making.
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Books by Shana Galen
IF YOU ENJOYED THIS story, read more from Shana.
The Scarlet Chronicles series continues with Traitor in Her Arms.
The Survivors series begins with Third Son’s a Charm.
Covent Garden Cubs series begins with Earls Just Want to Have Fun.
The Lord and Lady Spy series begins with Lord and Lady Spy.
The Jewels of the Ton series begins with When You Give a Duke a Diamond.
The Sons of the Revolution series begins with The Making of a Duchess.
The Misadventures in Matrimony series begins with No Man’s Bride.
The Regency Spies Series begins with While You Were Spying.
Other Anthologies
Keep reading for exclusive excerpts from upcoming publications by Theresa Romain and Shana Galen.
If you enjoyed this book, pre-order Theresa’s upcoming release,
Lady Notorious.
WHO KNEW LOVE WOULD be her secret weapon?
Cassandra Benton has always survived by her wits and wiles, even working for Bow Street alongside her twin brother. When injury takes him out of commission, Cass must support the family by taking on an intriguing new case: George, Lord Northbrook, believes someone is plotting to kill his father, the Duke of Ardmore. Decades before, the duke was one of ten who formed a wager that would grant a fortune to the last survivor. But someone can’t wait for nature to take its course—and George hopes a seasoned investigator like Cass can find out who.
Cass relishes the chance to spy on the ton, shrewdly disguised as handsome Lord Northbrook’s notorious “cousin.” What she doesn’t expect is her irresistible attraction to her dashing employer, and days of investigation soon turn to passionate nights. But with a killer closing in and her charade as a lady of the ton in danger of collapsing at any moment, Cass has no choice but to put her life—and her heart—in the hands of the last man she ought to trust …
Chapter One
On night watch, this was the hour when anything seemed possible but nothing seemed likely to happen.
The longcase clock in the study had just struck one in the morning. Cassandra Benton heard it through the closed door, mere feet away from where she hid in the shadows beside the main staircase of Deverell Place.
This watch was a nightly ritual, one she’d adopted along with the guise of housemaid when she’d been hired a week ago under false pretenses. What with keeping up the daily duties of a maid and shadowing Lord Deverell each night until he went up to bed, she’d hardly slept since then.
Ah, well. One couldn’t expect infiltrating a Mayfair household to be effortless.
One could, however, wish something would happen to break up three to four hours staring at a shut door. Her twin brother, Charles, always got the more interesting parts of a job. Placed as a footman due to his height, he could move around anywhere in the house. Their employer had asked Charles to keep an eye on the safety of the ladies of the family: his lordship’s two half-grown daughters, plus her ladyship. In theory, this meant dignified vigilance.
In practice, Cass kept up the dignified vigilance in her maid’s garb, and Charles disappeared for long afternoons alone with pretty Lady Deverell, the earl’s much younger second wife.
She’d no idea where her fool of a brother was now, but finally, her own nighttime vigils had begun to yield results. The most interesting had been two nights before, when Lord Deverell, wearing worry like a mask on his dissipated features, had welcomed an associate to drink with him at midnight. Cass hadn’t recognized the caller, but from her hiding spot, she’d memorized his features before the two men closed themselves into the study. She’d risked listening at the door after that, catching only one word out of every few. But she had caught the hush, the worry, the change in mood as they’d mentioned the special term: tontine.
That was why Cass was here, and Charles, too. George, Lord Northbrook—son and heir of the Duke of Ardmore—had hired the Bentons privately to learn more about this tontine, a wager placed decades before. And to make certain nobody died as a result of it.
Privately, Cass thought it was likely to be no more dangerous than any of the wagers noblemen were constantly placing. But for the exorbitant fee of five pounds a week, she’d hold her tongue and keep her eyes and ears open for Lord Northbrook.
So far tonight, the darkness pressed heavy, and the silence in the house was a weight. There was nothing to see but the faint outline of the study door, traced by the light of the candles within, and the great snaking spiral of the staircase stretching up overhead. Nothing much to hear, either, save for the crystalline clink she knew to be decanter against glass, decanter against glass. The earl liked his spirits strong and plentiful. Though for a while now, there had been no sound at all. Perhaps his lordship had gone to sleep, the lucky old dog.
She shifted against the wall, easing creaks and pops out of her spine. Being a housemaid wasn’t a good cover identity. It was far more labor than investigating, and she didn’t even perform the work all that well. If she did, her nose wouldn’t be tickled with dust right now. But who had time to wipe down every baluster and newel post and bit of trim on the handrail—especially when there was an earl who needed to be observed?
She settled more deeply into the shadows, pinching at her nose to hold back a sneeze.
Then the screaming began.
Cass tipped her head. “That’s odd,” she murmured.
Screaming at one o’clock in the morning was always odd, but in this case, it was particularly so. The screaming was not coming from the study in which his lordship had sequestered himself, unaware of possible threats to his life. It was coming from upstairs.
And it was hardly the slurred baritone of a drunken lord faced with a pistol or stiletto. This scream was that of a woman, probably Lady Deverell from the timbre of it.
As Cass strained to hear, the scream changed from wordless panic into a call for help. He’s fallen, it sounded like the voice was shrieking. He’s fallen!
Oh. That meant the scream wasn’t odd at all. Cass blew out a breath, relaxing back against the wall.
All that had happened was that Charles had fallen out the window. Again.
She was certain of this not because of a miraculous connection between the minds of twins, but because of past experience. Her brother, sometime Bow Street Runner and incorrigible flirt, was notorious for conducting affairs in an impractical way. He fancied himself a Robin Hood, or Romeo, or some other disastrous creature starting with an R who pursued women he ought not and climbed about on the outside of buildings. Charles found it romantic—another disastrous R—to climb up and down ivy or trellises when conducting an assignation, instead of using stairs like a normal adulterer.
Lady Deverell’s calls for help hadn’t yet shut off, which meant that not only had Charles fallen and startled her, but he had probably hurt himself when he fell.
Hell.
By now footsteps were thumping as the servants were roused and ventured forth from their attic or basement rooms. A door opened at a distance, spilling anxious voices out, and then slammed shut again. The household jerked awake in startled fits.
Cass sidled along the wall, looking up into the dim nighttime heights of the first-floor landing, then back at the still-shut study door. His lordship was foxed, as usual; too foxed to respond to the panicked cries of his wife. This was good, since he wouldn’t call Charles out in a duel. Though if a threat on Lord Deverell’s life materialized, as Northbrook seemed certain it would, the old fellow wouldn’t be able to do much about it except offer brandy to his would-be killer.
