by Deb Marlowe
“Ah,” Hestia stopped and squeezed Callie’s hand. “Look, there is Mr. Lawrence McConnell. His part is crucial tonight. I must be sure he is ready.” They exchanged meaningful grins. There was a delicious taste of irony to this particular bit of the plan to thwart Marstoke. “Why don’t you wander a bit back here and get acclimated? I’d especially like you to become familiar with the two servant’s entrances close to the ballroom, just in case. One of them is just down there.” She pointed.
“You get to have all the fun,” she griped. But Callie dutifully went off where she’d been bid. She could see the green baize of the door she wanted ahead, past several other doors and a connecting passage or two.
Ahead, a gentleman turned a corner and headed in her direction.
Her step faltered. “Tru.”
He looked as surprised as she.
Her chin went up. “Lord Truitt.” She had the mad thought that she could push past and ignore him.
He was having none of it. He approached, never taking his eyes off of her for a second. Just before he reached her, he opened a nearby door and pulled her inside. A storage area, it had been packed with furniture removed to make room for tonight’s guests. Sofas and settees were pushed against the walls. One open spot remained, between a pedestal and urn and a stack of chairs. Tru pushed her into it, against the wall. He looked her up and down. “My God. You are exquisite.”
“And you are full of nerve!” She pushed against his chest. “What are you doing?”
The answer became obvious. He was kissing her. And fool that she was, she was kissing him back. So much between them and it was all there in the complex dance they were doing with lips, teeth, and tongues. Frustrated passion, accusation, hope, desire . . . and love. They said it all with panting breaths and wandering hands and insistent mouths.
But she wasn’t going to let him off so easily. She pulled back. “Nothing has changed.”
He disagreed, the message flaring hot and bright with the press of his body against hers. “Everything has changed. Everything.”
He continued on, kissing her again, making her tremble with the force of their wanting. Her body knew. Knew that she was coming home when she burrowed deeper into his embrace. But she was who she was. Her mother’s child. Hestia’s friend. She knew what she deserved. He had to convince her heart.
He knew it too, thank heavens. He pulled back. “You are thinking,” he accused.
“Worse than that,” she informed him. “I’m waiting.”
“We’re both going to be waiting.” He pulled her close and she felt him, hard and ready. “Because there’s work to be done tonight. We’ll do it together, too. But before anything else happens tonight—I have things to say to you.”
“I’m all ears.”
He ran an appreciative finger along the edge of her bodice. “Thank God that’s not true.”
She rolled her eyes, and couldn’t help but laugh a little too. But she couldn’t let herself slide back into that ease with him, as much as she craved it.
He’d grown sober. “There will be things that we both must get used to, moving forward. I’ll grow used to the fact that you are occasionally going to scare me spitless, like you did when you saw past my carefully crafted facade and realized that only a hollow man lived there.”
She frowned. “That’s too harsh a—”
“It isn’t.” He silenced her with a finger brushing across her lips. Back and forth, as soft as the touch of a breeze. “You made me think, made me take a long look at myself. You were right. There is a lot of empty space back there, but there are a few bricks to my foundation. My love for my brother. A few friendships I treasure. A quick turn of phrase and a damned good bowling action.” He made a face. “It’s a piss poor showing for a man of my age and position.”
She pressed her lips into a kiss for the end of his finger. “It sounds like a lovely start.”
“I vow to you,” he whispered, “that a hollow man is not what you’ll have to get used to. I mean to add to that foundation, Callie. The first brick comes tonight—when I ensure Letty’s safety and freedom. I’m going to do what I should have done before. No matter what happens tonight, I’ll move heaven and earth to return your sister to your side.”
Tears tried to well up, but she blinked them back. She’d waited so long, hadn’t known if the day would ever come that someone would want to put her needs ahead of his own. She should be thrilled. And yet . . .
“With you by my side,” he assured her.
Some of the tightness eased from her shoulders. He did know. He understood. This time she let the tears come.
“The empty spaces will get filled every day, I hope, with you as my partner.” He raised his brows. “You made me promise to challenge you, and I will. But I want you to be my tempest, Callie, and my port in a storm too. With you, only one will never do. I have to have them all.”
She flushed. “I will—”
The door opened. “Russell? There you are.” Stoneacre stood at the door. “Miss Grant, good. You must come at once, both of you.”
“What is it?” Irritation bloomed in Tru’s voice.
Everyone stopped as Penrith pushed in past the earl.
“I couldn’t wait.” The man’s eyes were wild, his breath coming fast and urgent. “He means to kill her!”
Callie gasped. “Letty?”
Tru stepped forward. “We have men here. Greater numbers. Many eyes to watch and react. We won’t let it happen.”
“That’s just it. It’s not going to happen here.” He glanced at Callie, then at Stoneacre. “He’s sent them off to Half Moon House. Rackham is to slit her throat and leave her broken body out front for all to see.”
“Oh, my God.” Callie’s heart pounded in panic and denial.
“Tru—head out there. Go!” Stoneacre barked the order. “I’ll get Penrith ready for his part.”
She was already moving forward when Tru reached for her hand.
“Miss Grant!” Stoneacre was still barking. “You stay here.”
“She goes.” Tru met her gaze. “She goes where I go.”
Stoneacre didn’t waste breath arguing. He started calling for carriages.
Together, they set off at a run.
Chapter Twenty-Two
I thought and thought about my options, my future. I looked at those broadsheets and I thought about my family and about Lord M--- and about the man he’d sent looking for me.
--from the Journal of the infamous Miss Hestia Wright
For once, London had been blessed with a clear night, with nary a drop of rain or wisp of fog. There might even be a star or two visible overhead in the darker areas.
But though the stars were clear, the streets were not. And Tru had no time for stargazing. He and Callie pressed through the streets in a delivery cart, as it had been the only vehicle rigged and ready to go when they emerged. Every turn, every haul on the reins sent fire tearing through his chest and side. He gritted his teeth and drove on.
“Cut through this alley and it will get us nearly to the Strand.” Callie sat, tense and balanced upon the bench. Her fists were clenched over the edge and her knee bounced unceasingly.
He made the turn, praying that they would make it in time.
“Isaac knows everything that goes on in and around the House.”
“The butler? The big one?”
“Yes. He’ll never let anything happen to Letty.”
Traffic on the Strand was crowded, but moving along. After just a few minutes, Tru pointed with his chin. “Isn’t that Craven Street, ahead?”
“Yes. Almost there.”
They drove quickly down the quiet street. Nothing else moved over the cobblestones, though the houses were brightly lit. As they drew closer, Tru saw a carriage pulled to the side. It had been left a ways before Half Moon House and turned to face the Strand, not the river at the end of the street. In preparation for a quick departure?
Yes. Once they moved past it, he spotted them
. Rackham was pulling Letty along the pavement, toward the House.
She wasn’t making it easy for him. As they drew closer, he could see that she was dressed as if for the ball. Jewels in her hair caught the faint light as she struggled. She dug her heels in and when Rackham forced her along, she tangled her feet with his.
Callie was climbing down and out of the cart even before he could get it parked. He pulled over.
“No! Not here!” Letty was cursing and crying. “It’s too cruel.”
Tru sucked in a breath as he pulled the break.
“Letty!” Callie was in the street now, and heading toward them.
He leaped down. His shirt grew damp as he started to bleed through his bandages.
“Callie!” Letty struggled anew and began to smack Rackham with her reticule.
Tru fished for his pistol, but he could barely hold it with his shooting hand. “Let her go,” he shouted.
“Chaput?” Rackham peered towards them. He yanked Letty closer and Tru saw that he had a pistol too. “Russell, I mean, don’t I?” He shook his head. “Marstoke is not going to be happy to hear that you are alive.”
“I don’t give a damn what Marstoke thinks.” He gestured toward Letty. “If this is what he asks of you, then I’m not sure why you do.”
“What choice do I have?”
“Don’t do this. Make the right choice, at last, Rackham. Easy enough not to blight your life. Let the rest take care of itself.”
Rackham laughed. “You don’t even know. The duns are called in, the creditors at the door. My family cast me out rather than pay my debts again. Marstoke bought me some breathing room, but this German princess is my last, best chance. And I owe him.”
“You don’t owe him this,” Callie said.
“I don’t want to hear a word from you,” Rackham sneered. “I watched you almost kill the old man.”
“He deserves to die. He is a disease, spreading pain and turmoil. Letty is innocent.” She was watching her sister closely. Some silent message was passing between the two of them.
Rackham kept going. They were nearly at the iron gate at Half Moon House.
Tru transferred the pistol to his other hand and stepped closer. “That’s far enough. You are not going to do this.”
“I am,” Rackham spat. “And I’m going to reap the reward for loyalty that you and Penrith were too stupid and weak to claim.” He waved his own pistol. “I’m supposed to cut her throat,” he growled, “but I don’t mind putting a bullet in her first. Now back away!”
He only laughed as Tru raised his pistol. “I just watched you switch hands.” He gestured towards the blood seeping through Tru’s linen shirt. “Your good hand is useless. Can you aim with the other?” He jerked Letty so that she stood between them. “Do you want to try?”
The bastard was right. He held his finger ready, but not on the trigger, thinking, searching for his next move.
“I do.” Callie stepped forward. Her hands were at her side, but one of them held her knife.
Rackham sneered. “And just what do you think—”
“Letty—low!”
Tru held his breath as Letty jerked free and ducked down. Callie sent the knife spinning toward her. Just as he’d seen Callie do, mere weeks ago, Letty plucked the blade out of the air. In one smooth motion she stood and plunged it into Rackham’s chest.
The man shrieked. His gun clattered to the pavement as his arm fell useless. Letty brandished the blade again and he fell back.
Tru could not find words. He stared at the spectacle before him and then back at Callie. “Under his clavicle?” he asked.
“I told you it worked,” she said smugly.
“But you . . . But Letty . . .”
She shrugged. “Who do you think I practiced with?”
* * *
The next hour flew by. Callie let Isaac deal with Rackham and his wound. The man was currently bandaged and tied to a chair in the wide and spacious entry hall. Callie spent her time in tearful reunion with Letty, catching up and sharing stories.
And she watched Tru.
He was anxious. He started up every time the door opened, as if he could will the news of what was happening with Marstoke to come quickly. She finished drying Letty’s tears, tucked her up in her own bed, left Peggy to sit with her, and searched him out.
He was pacing and watching Rackham exchange sneers with the girls of the house. The bravest of them were gathered in groups in the two parlors off of each end of the main hall, whispering and shaking their heads.
Callie slipped into his arms and held him tight.
“There, but for the grace of God, go I,” he said quietly, indicating Rackham.
Giving him her most ferocious stare, she gripped his arms. “Enough of that. You are entirely too hard on yourself.”
“I rather think it is the opposite—”
“Nonsense. You faced the same test he did—and you passed yours in flying colors when you stole away that manuscript of the Love List rather than let it spark an international incident—and ruin all of us here. You’ve proven yourself again and again since then too, so no more of that.”
She ran her hands along his arms and took up his. “Again and again, I’ve met men who wish to ignore me, conquer me, or treat me like a soap bubble. None of them could take the time to pay attention, to believe and trust in me. And trust leads to trust. You are the first man who ever tempted me into letting go, who allowed me to loose the reins and still feel safe and accepted.”
“Until I made the huge mistake of being like all the rest.”
“Yes.” She tilted her head. “But I expect you to see the error of your ways.”
“Yes, Madame.” He looked so beautifully meek.
She stepped in close and ran a finger over his scar, creased again by that wrinkle of tension. “I never gave you an answer to your question.”
He frowned.
“Yes—I will be your tempest and your port—if you will be my anchor?”
He took her face in his hands. The look he gave her—it made her clutch his wrists. They stood a moment, sharing breath and space and want, and then he leaned in—
And Stoneacre burst through the door. “Is everyone all right?”
Several men poured in after him.
Girls shrieked. A few looked interested.
“No!” Rackham groused loudly. “That jumped-up whore might as well have put that knife in my heart. I’m a dead man anyway—”
Callie gave Isaac a look and the big man stuffed a kerchief in Rackham’s mouth before he just tilted the man’s chair and began to drag it away.
“Marstoke?”
Callie hated hearing the strangled note of tension in Tru’s tone.
Stoneacre shook his head and the whole room deflated. The earl approached and took Callie and Tru aside.
“What the hell happened?” Tru demanded.
“Mr. Lawrence McConnell performed beautifully. Marstoke was struck with true fear, at least for a few moments.”
“Penrith?” asked Tru.
“He did well, too. Wherever Marstoke is now, I’m sure he believes that Penrith saved his life.”
“But how could he slip your net? All of those men?” Tru’s bleakness was growing.
“He was prepared,” sighed Stoneacre. “He was in the midst of the presentation he meant to make when McConnell interrupted.”
“What was it?” Callie interrupted. “We knew it wasn’t to be Letty. Was it something dangerous, as we feared?”
The earl shook his head. “It was . . . art. A sculpture.” He sounded disbelieving. “A piece of art that he meant to present to the hostess.”
Callie knew how he felt. “Sculpture?”
“Did you examine it closely?” Tru sounded skeptical. “Check for a poison coating or a hidden compartment?”
“I called in an antiquities expert and left it in his hands. Jack Alden has only had a quick look at it but he says it appears to be only a piece of art.” St
oneacre faced Callie. “Whatever the message it was meant to deliver, Hestia Wright understood it. She is there still, asking questions of Lady Pilgren, her staff and those of Marstoke’s cronies who we detained.”
Callie’s heart fell. She didn’t know the particulars, but only one subject could have kept Hestia away from Half Moon House on this night.
“Marstoke never made the presentation, but slipped away in the chaos after the McConnell’s shooting.”
“And who knows where or when we’ll ever find him again,” Tru bit out. “Likely not until he’s ready to hit us with his next bit of mischief.”
“We might still get him. We were prepared, too. There are troops at the city gates and along the port roads.”
“He’ll know that. Odds are that he’s found a hiding hole in Town. He’ll wait for the attention to wane—and then he’ll likely head straight for that cursed maze of chalk tunnels in Dover. He’ll be untouchable then, damn it all.”
“Chalk tunnels?”
“Under the Castle, in the cliffs.” Tru told her how close he’d come to catching Penrith and Rackham before they’d joined Marstoke. “Smuggling gangs and ruffians control parts of those tunnels now. Even Stoneacre couldn’t get me in.”
“He has contacts with them, obviously. We’ve made no headway. I don’t even know anyone to go to for information.” The earl looked tired and sounded worse.
“Chalk,” Callie said. “Chalk tunnels.” Her mind had gone away, back to that night in Dover. Birch and Cobb, with white dust in their hair and on their shoulders, turning into streaks in the rain. She looked wildly at Tru and then at Stoneacre. “I know who to ask. And I think I know where Marstoke has gone to ground!”
Chapter Twenty-Three
I decided that if the world wished for me to be a whore, then I would be the best, most dazzling, most influential whore that England—and the world—had ever seen.
--from the Journal of the infamous Miss Hestia Wright
A different city with a different sort of sky, but many things were similar to that fateful night in Dover. The lanes were just as narrow, the alleys just as filthy. The soft sound of small feet scurrying away ahead of them was the same, as was the feeling of helplessness hanging in the air.
