A Measure of Deceit

by Jess Michaels

  Connor’s head spun. “Did Adrian take his things? When did he leave?”

  “It was the strangest thing. He loitered about for a while, then he told me he didn’t have a carriage to take the items after all and that he’d be back later. He said something odd.”

  “What did he say?” Connor asked, hoping for some clues to what was going through Adrian’s mind.

  “Something about going back to the beginning. He said it a few times, like he was trying to remember it or make me remember.” The boy shrugged. “And he left out the stable and started walking around the side. I wanted to tell him off for wasting my time, but I knew it weren’t my place, sir.”

  “When?” Jason asked.

  The boy jumped at being addressed by yet another very important man. “Just before Lady Jameswood needed her carriage, my lord.”

  Seth looked up from the injured driver and the three men exchanged a look.

  “Would your partner—” Jason began.

  “Former partner,” Connor interrupted.

  Jason nodded. “Former partner be of a mind to kidnap?”

  Connor swallowed back the bitter burn of vomit in his throat. “A month ago, six months ago, I would have said no, never. But now?” He shrugged. “Now I think it’s very likely he shot these men and took Grace.”

  “Why would he do such a thing?” Seth pressed.

  Connor shook his head. “I don’t give a damn why. I just know we need to find her. If he’s so desperate to kill, I fear what he has in mind for her.”

  He racked his mind as he tried to think where Adrian might have taken Grace. Then he thought of the boy’s assertion that Adrian had said something about going to the beginning.

  The beginning.

  He looked at the two men. “I think I know where he might have taken her, but I may need your help.”

  “Asked for or not, you have it,” Jason said. “So tell us your plan.”

  Grace stiffened as the carriage she had been riding in for close to an hour slowed and finally came to a stop. Smallshaw had been scribbling on a piece of paper for quite some time, which at least saved her from the screeching terror of the sound of his voice, but now he sat up straight and pulled back the curtain on the carriage window.

  “Excellent,” he said. “We’re here.”

  “Where is here?” she asked, but a thin smile was his only reply.

  The gun he had put in his pocket was produced again and he pointed it at her as the vehicle rocked while its driver came down.

  “Now, you may think you can run,” Smallshaw said as the door was unlocked and opened to reveal a huge hulk of a man. “And perhaps you could avoid being shot by me. But Anders here won’t hesitate to run you down and break your neck with his bare hands. Probably after he does unspeakable things to you.”

  The thug outside smiled as he looked her over, showing off his rotting teeth and accentuating the scar slashed across his face. Grace shuddered.

  “I’m not going to run,” she promised, though that was not necessarily true. Not if she could find a safe means to make her escape.

  “Good. Get out.”

  He motioned to the door with the gun and Grace edged toward the exit. Anders held out a meaty hand to steady her and Grace flinched at being touched by him. Once she was on solid ground, she looked around, trying to take in every detail of her surroundings that she could in case she could use them later.

  Unfortunately, there wasn’t much to see. They were still in the city, but there had been a fire here. Gutted buildings with dilapidated, falling walls surrounded her and the air was heavy with the still-smoky remnants of the destruction. The gathering dark of dusk drew great shadows across the empty street and abandoned buildings.

  “What is this place?” she breathed.

  Smallshaw looked up at the building directly in front of them. “This was once The Spotted Sow, a pub where Connor and I used to drink and dream. It’s where we decided to publish books. She burned down two years ago.”

  Grace jerked her face toward him, and he laughed.

  “I had nothing to do with it, I assure you. I loved this place. Connor hardly even flinched when I told him of its demise. You’d gotten your hooks into him by then, changed him.” He stepped closer and suddenly the gun was pressed painfully into her ribcage. “Step inside.”

  She staggered up what was left of the stairs and through the empty space where the door had once been. Inside, the stench of smoke was cloying and powerful, filling her nostrils and making her cough as her lungs adjusted to the soot.

  Across the room was a table and chair, clean and untouched by fire. She arched a brow as she looked at Smallshaw.

  “For me?” He nodded. As she crossed the room and took her place in the uncomfortable seat, she said, “You’ve obviously planned ahead.”

  “I had a few days to ponder this moment, yes,” Smallshaw agreed.

  He pulled the paper he had been writing on in the carriage from his pocket and set it before her, adding a bottle of ink, a quill and a fresh sheet to the pile. When he was finished, he set a candle before her and lit it so she could see.

  “Please copy what I’ve written onto this fresh sheet,” he ordered.

  She wrinkled her brow and read the scribbled note. Her lips parted. “This is an admission that I’m the Lady,” she breathed.

  “Continue.”

  She read further, saying the words out loud, “‘I know how much damage I have caused to Society and I cannot bear the guilt anymore. That is why I’m doing this. Goodbye’?”

  She lifted her head. “This is a suicide note?”

  He nodded. “Yes.”

  She shoved the chair back and staggered away from the table. Smallshaw lifted his gun, but did nothing to stop her as she slammed against what was left of the crumbling, burnt bar, covering herself with soot.

  “I’m not going to kill myself,” she said.

  “Of course not,” he said with a laugh. “I never expected you to.”

  He motioned behind her and she turned to see Anders. He was standing on a stool attaching a noose to what was an almost fully intact ceiling beam.

  “Obviously, I’m going to kill you,” Smallshaw said, and she felt his breath against her neck.

  When she turned, he was right behind her and she darted away from him, trying to put space between them.

  He sighed, as if he were put-upon by this. As if it were some unpleasant duty foisted upon him. “But it must look real. Which is why you must copy this over in your own hand, so that it isn’t suspicious. We’ve all learned how important handwriting can be in these situations, haven’t we?”

  “I’m not going to write that,” she said, motioning to the table with one hand. “You can’t force me.”

  He arched a brow. “Can’t I?”

  She bit her lip. He was so smug, so certain. “How?”

  “If you don’t write what I’ve told you to write, I will put a bullet in your skull. After Anders and I have deposited you into the river so that you will never be found, or at least identified, we will return to Connor, and I will allow Anders and a few of his very large friends to beat him to death. Slowly.”

  Grace stared at him, then to Anders, who had finished tying his noose and was simply standing grinning at her. She returned her gaze to Smallshaw.

  “He is your friend,” she whispered. “Kill me if you feel I corrupted him, but spare him.”

  “I will, if you write the note.”

  Grace caught her breath. She knew she couldn’t trust this man. If he intended to harm Connor, he still would whether she wrote her suicide note or not. But at least if she followed directions, she might have some chance of saving the man she loved.

  She sat at the table and swiftly copied the few lines Smallshaw had written. She signed her name at the bottom and pushed it toward her kidnapper.

  “No one will believe this farce,” she said.

  “Enough will,” he said, folding the sheet and propping it up on the
table. “Your friends will question it, of course, but there will be no evidence to back up their claims that you would never do this.”

  “And what about Connor?” she hissed. “He’ll go to the ends of the earth to uncover the truth.”

  Smallshaw nodded. “Yes, that’s true. The idiot loves you, after all. But I believe that is about to be taken care of as well.”

  In the distance she heard clattering hooves of a horse, which signaled the arrival of another party.

  “Who is that?” she whispered.

  Smallshaw motioned to Anders, who walked out to meet whoever had joined them. “It is Connor, I assume,” her captor said. “If he followed the clues that would lead him here,”

  Her lips parted. “Why?”

  “I told you that I wouldn’t kill him. You will. At least, that is how the guard and the world will see it.”

  She stood up. “What? No!”

  “Yes. In the eyes of the world, you will shoot your lover, the man who was part of your destructive reign over Society. Then you’ll kill yourself.”

  “What will that possibly accomplish, Smallshaw?” she asked, hoping to appeal to some version of reason that remained in this man. “You cannot think that you will gain anything from such a diabolical action.”

  “Won’t I?” He smiled. “Connor hasn’t yet signed papers eliminating me from the business, so I take it all in the event of his death. And since the scandal of the revelation of your identity and the crime surrounding it will likely increase sales of that blasted book of yours, I’ll take all those glorious profits and publish what I wish with them.” He laughed. “And perhaps buy myself a new horse. One must splurge a bit.”

  She shook her head. “You are a monster.”

  His smile fell. “Monsters are made, my dear. Now let’s welcome our other guest, shall we?”

  He turned just as Anders shoved Connor through the burned-out doorway. He had his hands up in front of him and immediately his gaze came to rest on Grace. The relief that flooded over him at seeing she was not harmed made her heart swell with all the love she felt for him.

  “Connor,” she whispered. “Please, this is a trap.”

  “Of course it is,” he said, looking at Smallshaw. All the gentleness, the softness faded. “You son of a bitch. If you wanted to come for me, you should have just done that.”

  “But I want you both,” Smallshaw said. “The plan really works best that way, so please don’t make a fuss about it.”

  “My servants,” she whispered. “Are they…?” She couldn’t bear to finish the question.

  Connor shook his head. “The footman is sadly dead, but the driver is only badly injured. When I left him, the best doctor in London was hard at work saving his life.”

  Grace shut her eyes.

  “Oh, poor Pierce.” She turned on Smallshaw. “He had a son, you heartless bastard! The mother died in childbirth and now he is orphaned—do you understand what you’ve done all the name of class warfare? You’ve destroyed the life of a man who had less than you.”

  Smallshaw shrugged and looked not a bit troubled. “Small sacrifices.”

  She tried not to vomit as she returned her attention to Connor. “He wants it to look like I killed you and then killed myself.”

  Connor jerked his gaze to his friend. “How is that going to work when I have servants who would testify they saw you lurking around before the death of the footman and the shooting of the driver?”

  Smallshaw smiled. “Evidence can be created that Her Grace paid to have the men killed in order to lure you here. My being there to collect my things will be seen as mere coincidence when all is said and done. I have very persuasive friends. Ones with a stake in my being free to publish what I see fit.”

  Connor shook his head. “You know, you might be correct that the word of servants might be overridden when compared with other evidence. A sensational murder followed by a suicide tied to The Ladies Book of Pleasures would likely be a headline that would wash away even reason. The Guard’s investigations aren’t particularly good, after all.”

  Grace’s heart sank with every word. Connor was correct. Often people saw what they wished to see, overlooking all other evidence that didn’t fit their theory. Her supposed suicide note and scandalous confession would be the prevailing word of the day, not the statement of a servant or two.

  Smallshaw could get away with this.

  “Except you have not counted on one thing.” Connor continued.

  “And what is that?” Smallshaw asked.

  Connor arched a brow and a slow smile turned up the corners of his lips. “That I didn’t come here alone.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  “Sometimes everything becomes starkly, almost painfully clear. Don’t ignore those moments.”—The Ladies Book of Pleasures

  Connor watched with great pleasure as Adrian’s face turned ashen. “What?”

  “Who is with you?” Grace asked, her voice filled with hope for the first time since he’d come into the room.

  Of course, they were still in terrible danger, but he was glad to have given that hope to her regardless.

  “I was meeting with Seth and Jason when we discovered the bodies,” he explained, then turned to Smallshaw. “That would be the Marquis Lyndham and the Earl of Northfield to you, Smallshaw. Two of the most respected men in Society and certainly not dismissible witnesses.” He looked at Grace with a smile. “You were right about them—they do come in very handy to have around.”

  She let out a breathy laugh. “I told you not everyone in my station was unworthy.”

  Connor’s attention returned to Adrian. “You cannot escape, Smallshaw. At this moment Lyndham awaits and likely Northfield has arrived with a very large contingent of the Guard. They know you took Grace. There is no way around that.”

  Connor moved toward Adrian. Smallshaw lifted the gun and Connor ignored it, letting it press into his chest as he came closer. Grace caught her breath, but he refused to look at her.

  Instead he focused only on his former friend. “The best thing you can do for yourself is to stop this madness. Release us and allow yourself to be taken by the Guard. I would be willing to testify on your behalf and encourage a more lenient hand for you, as I’m certain the Duchess of Jameswood would as well.”

  “Yes,” Grace whispered, though Connor could hear the doubt in her voice. Not that he could blame her.

  Adrian exchanged a brief look with his accomplice, who had taken a position in the corner of the room and was now staring, wide-eyed, at Adrian and Connor. Adrian paced off and the other man stepped forward.

  “I don’t want to die at the hands of the Guard, Smallshaw,” he all but whimpered. “Murder and mayhem in secret are one thing, but this is something else.”

  “I’m shocked at your lack of vision,” Adrian said, moving toward his accomplice. “As I was shocked by his. And it seems both must be handled the same way.”

  Without any further preamble, he raised the pistol and shot his thug once through the chest at close range. Connor gasped and moved toward him, but there was nothing that could be done. The other man’s eyes went buggy as he collapsed forward onto the floor and was still.

  “And now the Guard has likely heard that shot, so it means the time has come for this,” Adrian turned and made a motion to fire again, this time at Connor.

  He braced for the impact of the bullet, but just as the shot crackled through the air, he was hit from the side by Grace. Not ready for her body weight colliding with him, he staggered to the ground and watched in horror as the bullet meant for him struck her low in the left shoulder, dangerously close to her heart.

  She let out a pained cry as she hit the ground, but managed to scream, “Stop him! Get him!”

  Connor shook the horror away and launched himself at Adrian. The other man had been busy reloading his pistol and they hit the ground together, sliding backward across the burnt floor of the old pub. The gun skidded away as Connor reared up to punch Ad
rian.

  Smallshaw took the blow without reaction and used the leverage of his hips to flip Connor over. He rained down a few punches until Connor grabbed his hands and they rolled a few more times across the floor.

  “Enough of this,” Adrian growled as he slammed a fist into Connor’s face, then reached into his waistband to withdraw a long knife. He stabbed downward and Connor just managed to dodge so that the blade barely sliced his cheek and instead hit the floor.

  Adrian cursed and caught Connor’s throat with one hand. Connor struggled, but his airway was being cut off and blackness began to creep in around his area of vision. He watched, all but helpless, as his former friend lunged up a second time with his knife. But just as he was about to stab into Connor’s skull, there was the sharp explosive sound of another gunshot.

  Adrian flopped forward immediately, the knife clattering uselessly away and his grip loosening on Connor’s throat. Connor shoved his limp body aside and slid away.

  Grace stood in the middle of the room, Adrian’s abandoned pistol in her hand. She had shot the bastard in the back. Connor pushed to his feet and came toward her. She was pale and sweaty, blood forming an ever-increasing spot on her dress.

  “Grace,” he said, reaching for her.

  “You have blood on your face,” she murmured, then she collapsed.

  He barely caught her before she hit the ground and just as the Guard rushed the room, with Seth and Jason close behind. Connor laid her on the ground and began to press his hand against her wound.

  “Grace!” he cried out, willing her to open her eyes. “Grace!”

  But she didn’t open her eyes. She didn’t even move. And he could do nothing about it but pray she wouldn’t die before she knew how much he loved her.

  Grace opened her eyes and looked around. The room was unfamiliar, sparse and white. She blinked up at the ceiling and tried to think of where she was.

  She could only remember the burned-out pub. Smallshaw moving to shoot Connor. The bullet hitting her with fiery, instantaneous pain. She remembered finishing reloading the gun and firing when the two men fought.

  She squeezed her eyes shut again and opened them. How she had gotten to this place, she didn’t know. She struggled to sit up and burning pain from her shoulder greeted her.