Love Unbidden: Tales of the Bedford Street Brigade

by Landon, Laura

  “And I told him obviously some irate father wants you dead,” Hugh teased. “That you probably broke some young female’s heart.”

  Roarke laughed, and so did his fellow investigators. But Millie didn’t find anything humorous in the possibility that someone might want Roarke dead. Something bothered her about the attack in the park that she couldn’t put her finger on. Something that didn’t make sense. Suddenly she knew what it was.

  Before she could stop her words, a question spilled out into the open. “What if Hugh is right?” she asked. “What if someone wants Roarke dead?”

  All eyes focused on her. And the humor died in each one of their gazes.

  “What are you saying, Miss Shaw?”

  Millie looked into Mack Wallace’s serious expression and knew she’d opened a box of secrets she’d intended to keep sealed. Now it was too late to put things back under lock and key.

  She felt the blood drain from her face. What if she was wrong? Millie stared at her clutched hands in her lap. What if she wasn’t?

  “Millie?” Roarke said.

  The way he said her name wasn’t a question. Nor was it an encouragement to explain. It was a demand.

  “What are you saying, Millie?” Roarke said again.

  She slowly lifted her head until her gaze locked with his. “Something has bothered me about the day you were attacked in the park.”

  “Did you see something? Recognize one of the men?”

  She shook her head. “It was nothing like that. It was…”

  She found it difficult to continue, but the men in the room gave her the time she needed. “How did you know the men were dangerous, Roarke?”

  “The way they sat. The way they moved. They didn’t look like three ordinary men relaxing in the park. They looked as if they were…nervous. Watchful. As if they were making sure others didn’t enter their area. Then there was the way they watched you and the children.”

  “What if they weren’t watching the children?” she said.

  There was a long silence as the investigators looked from one to the other.

  “Of course they were watching the children, Millie,” Roarke countered. “I should have realized that the children would be a target, but didn’t until it was too late.”

  “Then why didn’t one of the three men come after us?”

  “What?” Roarke asked.

  “There were three men. Why didn’t one of them come after us? They only grabbed Henry because he was running toward them, going after his ball. All three of them attacked you. Once the boys and I were away from you, not one of them even attempted to come after us. And it would have been easy to overpower me and kidnap Master Henry. But none of them made an attempt to come after me or the children.”

  No one spoke for several long, uncomfortable moments. Millie finally broke the silence. “I think someone hired those men to kill you.”

  Roarke stared at her as if she’d suddenly grown an extra head. His eyes widened in disbelief. His eyebrows shot up in astonishment. “That’s insane.”

  “I think they tried again last night,” she countered.

  He lifted his head and looked at Mack first, then shifted his gaze to Hugh, then to Jack. “That can’t be.”

  “What if it is?” Mack asked. “Who hates you enough to want you dead?”

  “Half the bloody universe, I suppose.”

  “Think, Roarke,” Jack said. “Who might want you dead?”

  Roarke slammed his clenched fist beside him on the bed. “I don’t know!”

  Millie swallowed past the lump in her throat. “I do.”

  CHAPTER 14

  All eyes focused on her.

  “Millie?” Roarke whispered. “No.”

  Millie felt tears well in her eyes and she swiped at her cheek when the first drop spilled over her lashes. She tried to speak. She tried to find the words that would explain the reason she believed Roarke had been shot again last night. But the pleading in his eyes begged her not to. His entreaty beseeched her to remain silent.

  “I’m sorry, Roarke. He wants you dead,” she whispered as another tear escaped from her eye and trickled down her cheek.

  “Who wants Roarke dead?” Mack said. The question was a gentle request for an answer.

  “It doesn’t matter, Millie,” Roarke said. He locked his gaze with hers. “Leave it be.”

  “Why does someone want Roarke dead?” Mack asked. This time his voice was louder. The demand in his tone unmistakable.

  “He won’t give up until you’re dead,” Millie said on a sob. “You know he won’t.”

  “Who won’t, Miss Shaw?”

  Millie broke eye contact with Roarke and looked at Mack. His harsh gaze swam before her.

  “Rogers,” she whispered.

  “The butler?” Mack’s tone indicated his incredulity at such a suggestion. “What does Rogers have to do with the theft of the papers Lord Strothum has in his possession?”

  Millie shook her head. “I’m not sure he has anything to do with that. I can’t believe he would. I think he’s using what’s happened here to exact revenge on Roarke.”

  Mack pulled one of the empty chairs near Millie and sat so he faced her. “I think you need to start at the beginning, Miss Shaw. And don’t leave anything out.”

  Millie forced herself to look at Roarke. She saw how desperate he was for her to remain silent. His face was drained of all color. His lips were pinched tightly together. And there was a hollow look in his eyes. He seemed to look through her instead of at her.

  “Brian—that’s Rogers’ Christian name—was born in Wallingford. His father was the local schoolmaster and everyone thought he would follow in his father’s footsteps. But he didn’t. He left one day for London because he said he wanted to make something more of his life.”

  “How did you know him?” Mack asked.

  “Wallingford was where my family lived. My father was the vicar in Wallingford. He and Brian’s father were close friends and our families visited back and forth often.”

  “So you grew up together,” Jack said.

  “Yes. Brian was a few years older, but we were friends.”

  “Is that how you acquired your position here?” Mack asked.

  Millie nodded. “Rogers informed me of a position that was opening as nursemaid for Lord and Lady Strothum. Father had just died, and Mother was taking in washing and mending to put food on the table, but we could barely get by. The opportunity to provide for them was a blessing I couldn’t pass up.”

  “How is Roarke involved in this?” Mack asked when she paused for a moment.

  Millie closed her eyes and took in a breath to ease the ache in her breast. “My sister—Rose.”

  She forced her gaze to move to where Roarke sat on the bed. She watched for a reaction at the mention of Rose’s name—any reaction. What she saw caused a lump to drop to the pit of her stomach.

  A frown furrowed his forehead, a confused look filled his eyes. But there was no recognition. He had no idea who she was talking about.

  More tears formed in Millie’s eyes and ran down her cheeks. Poor Rosie. She’d loved a man who didn’t even remember her name.

  “I started to put money aside as soon as I got the position as Lord Strothum’s nursemaid. I wanted my mother and sister here with me. We’d never been separated and I needed to make sure they were being cared for. That’s when Brian came to me. He said he’d located a place for them to live and had put money down on it. He wanted them to come right away.”

  A frown deepened across Mack’s forehead. “Is there a reason Rogers took such an interest in your family, Miss Shaw? Does he perhaps have feelings for you and is jealous because he realizes there’s a special connection between you and Roarke?”

  Millie was quick to answer his accusation. “There isn’t a connection between Mr. Livingston and me.”

  An incredulous expression covered Roarke’s fellow investigators’ faces. They didn’t believe her. She lowered her gaze. S
he didn’t believe herself.

  “I wasn’t the one Rogers had feelings for. He was in love with my sister Rose.”

  Millie lifted her gaze and watched to see if this time there’s be a reaction from Roarke. But she was disappointed again. The expression on his face was frozen as if chiseled from granite. And there wasn’t a hint of emotion in his eyes. It was as if he was far removed from anything that was being said.

  “Brian had been in love with Rose for years. That was why he found a place for them here in London. He wanted her close.”

  “Was your sister in love with him?” Mack asked.

  Millie shook her head. “She liked him. Everyone in Wallingford liked Brian. Every female in Wallingford was in love with him. Every female except Rosie.”

  Millie twisted her hands in her lap. This was so hard to explain. So difficult to relive.

  “Where is your sister now?” Mack asked.

  “She’s…dead.”

  “I’m sorry, Millie,” Mack said and from the expression on his face, as well as the expressions on the other investigators’ faces, they were truly sorry.

  “My mother died within the first year after she and Rosie moved to London. Her death wasn’t unexpected. She and Father had such a close relationship that after he died she lost her will to continue without him. She died less than a year after he did. Then, it was just Rosie and me.”

  Millie paused to gain her composure. The rest of her story was the most difficult to tell. “Rosie found a job in a small candy shop on King Street. That’s where she met him.”

  “Who?” Mack asked.

  She swallowed past the lump in her throat. “Roarke. Mr. Livingston.”

  A long, uncomfortable silence followed as all eyes in the room shifted to where Roarke sat.

  His expression didn’t change. There was still no recognition in his eyes. In his features.

  “He was all Rosie talked about. At first I found her infatuation humorous. She was so smitten with him that one couldn’t help but be happy for her. Rosie had always been afraid that she would never find anyone to love and that she’d be forced to marry Brian Rogers. She was fearful that there wasn’t anyone out there who she would love—and who would love her in return. That she would be trapped in a loveless marriage.”

  “And she thought Roarke loved her?” Mack asked.

  “She said he told her he did. She said he even talked about marriage.”

  Millie wasn’t sure she could continue. She couldn’t bear the condescending looks the investigators turned on Roarke. The accusatory expressions on their faces. They were condemning him as severely as she had when she first saw him all those weeks ago.

  Millie rose from her chair and walked to the window. She stood with her back to the men and looked out the window, but saw nothing but the dark cloud of the bitter moment.

  “What happened then?” Mack asked.

  “Mr. Livingston walked Rosie home one night from an outing. They were elated, euphoric, brimming with a secret they couldn’t wait to share. Later Roarke left and… and he never returned.”

  There was a long silence. She prayed Roarke would say something. Would offer at least a hint of an excuse for why he’d left Rosie that night. Why he’d given her the impression that he loved her—that he intended to marry her. Yet left her and never returned. But he didn’t.

  Roarke sat in stoic silence while everyone in the room condemned him with their harsh expressions.

  “How did your sister die, Millie?”

  Millie wasn’t sure which one of the investigators asked the question. The voice sounded like Jack’s, but she couldn’t tell for sure, and it didn’t really matter. All she knew for certain was that the voice didn’t belong to Roarke. And he was the only one she wanted to care enough to ask. The one who didn’t.

  “She died in childbirth.”

  The admission came out as a whisper. The revelation of a child born out of wedlock wasn’t something she was terribly proud to admit. Even if that child was Robbie, and she loved him as much as if she’d given birth to him herself.

  “And the child?”

  Millie turned. She wanted to see Roarke’s face when he realized he had a son. When he discovered that his son was Robbie. “He’s… He’s here. With me. Robbie is Rosie’s son.”

  Finally, a reaction. Slight though it was, the look in Roarke’s eyes changed. There was a small twitch in his expression.

  “When Robbie was born, I submitted my resignation, but Lord and Lady Strothum refused to accept it. They allowed me to bring Robbie here, with the stipulation that I not tell anyone of his parentage. They explained his presence to anyone who asked by telling them that Robbie was an orphaned relative. The only people who know the truth about him are Miss Jane, because she knew about Rosie’s condition, and of course, Rogers, who never lost contact with Rosie. Who never stopped loving her.”

  “And you think that Rogers holds Roarke responsible for your sister’s death?”

  Millie nodded. “He’s always blamed himself for not watching her closer. For not stopping her involvement with Roarke the moment he found out about them. And…” Millie hesitated to say this last part. It would be the accusation that would convict Rogers of wanting Roarke dead.

  “And,” she continued, “Rogers not only blames Roarke for taking Rosie away from him. He blames him for her death.”

  “You said you didn’t think Rogers was involved in Jimmy Jamison’s death, or with our investigation. Do you have any proof as to why you think that?” Mack asked.

  Millie thought for several seconds. She had no proof that he wasn’t involved, just a hope that he wasn’t. A desire that Rogers’ hatred for Roarke hadn’t hardened his nature so severely that he’d turned to crime.

  Finally, Millie slowly shook her head. “I pray he isn’t involved, but I can’t say with any certainty that he isn’t.”

  “Thank you, Miss Shaw. I know that telling us this was very difficult for you.”

  Millie lowered her gaze when the men in the room shifted their focus to where Roarke sat. Other than the slight movement in his features when she’d mentioned Robbie, Roarke hadn’t reacted to anything she’d said. He’d stared ahead like an accused man with no defense.

  “Roarke?” Mack said, his voice containing a plea for an explanation.

  Millie knew that Mack Wallace and the other investigators didn’t doubt her account of what happened to her sister. Nor did they doubt that Rogers wanted Roarke dead. Too many attempts verified that. But they also trusted Roarke enough to know that he’d have a good explanation for his involvement with Millie’s sister. They knew there had to be some reason he’d let Rose believe he loved her, then abandoned her.

  Millie was as eager to hear his excuse as they were. More. She’d waited nearly five years to hear why Roarke had ruined Rosie then left her.

  The silence stretched on forever and Roarke didn’t answer. Finally Mack repeated his demand for an answer.

  “Roarke?”

  At last, Roarke took a breath that sounded as if it had come from the depths of hell. He looked first to Mack, then to each of the investigators in the room. Finally, his gaze rested on her, and Millie knew she was going to hear why he’d let Rosie think he loved her, then abandoned her.

  But nothing she imagined prepared her for what he said.

  “I’m not Roarke Livingston.”

  CHAPTER 15

  Roarke had imagined what his friends’ reaction would be if they ever found out that he wasn’t who they thought he was, but nothing came close to the wide-eyed gapes of disbelief he saw on their faces. In their eyes. But he’d surprised Millie the most.

  He was going to yell for someone to catch her, but Jack saw her sway. He caught her and led her to a chair before her legs gave out beneath her. When she was seated, Hugh filled a glass with water and handed it to her. She tried to take it, but her hands shook so badly she finally refused his offer.

  Roarke fought the regret that ate at him, but he�
��d lived this lie for so long, there were times when he forgot he wasn’t Roarke. Times when he wanted to be someone other than who he really was with such desperation that he refused to remember his real identity. Times when he’d fooled himself into believing that he could live his whole life without the world realizing he wasn’t Roarke.

  The determined glare Mack leveled in his direction, told him his lie was at an end.

  Mack rose from his chair and filled four glasses with the whiskey Lord Strothum had sent up the night before to help with the pain when the doctor had removed the bullet from his arm. He handed one to each of his investigators, then handed the last one to Roarke.

  “You’ve got a lot of explaining to do,” Mack said after he’d taken a sip from the glass he’d poured for himself. “If you’re not Roarke Livingston, who the hell are you?”

  Roarke lifted the glass to his lips and downed the contents in one swallow. “My name’s Reid. Reid Livingston. Roarke was my brother. My twin brother.”

  Roarke. He’d been Roarke so long he found it almost impossible to think of himself as Reid.

  He slowly turned his head until his gaze locked with Millie’s. “I’m sorry, Millie,” he whispered. “I didn’t know. I didn’t have a clue that your sister was the woman my brother loved. And he did love her. With all his heart.”

  Her eyes filled with tears and one by one they spilled down her cheeks. He wanted to rise from the bed and gather her in his arms, but he wasn’t sure she would allow him to hold her. Not yet. Maybe never.

  He saw her swallow hard, then she waited for him to begin. It was time for him to tell the world what had happened.

  “My brother and I were as close as any two brothers could be. Maybe closer, because we were twins. We knew each other’s thoughts in ways other siblings couldn’t understand. But that didn’t mean we had the same personalities. Or the same temperaments. Roarke—the real Roarke—was mild mannered, and perfect in every way. He never got into trouble.”

  “But you did?” Mack interrupted.

  “Constantly,” he answered. “We were opposite in that respect. I don’t know how I managed, but when I didn’t go in search of trouble, it came in search of me.” He paused. “And Roarke always found me and slayed my dragons.”