Ruined

by Jess Michaels

  Jack’s lips pursed. “War told you of our past.”

  She nodded slowly. “I’m not trying to use that secret against you, Jack. You wanted to protect your brother and I admire that. But that means you have a sense of the abject terror I feel about what my daughter is going through. Will go through the longer she’s under Aston’s control.”

  He hesitated for a moment, and then he nodded. “I’m sorry, my lady. I would not wish that life on any child.”

  Claire fought to remain calm, not to go too far. “You track Aston. I know you do. You know what he’s doing. I would wager you know exactly where he is too. Perhaps you even know about my child.”

  Jack let out a sigh. “He hid you well, Claire. There were rumors of a woman, but not much more. I never knew he’d had a child at all. But you are right that I know what he’s up to. Where he is.”

  “Tell me,” she whispered, her hands clasped together almost in prayer.

  He leaned away, and a hint of his smug smile replaced the understanding he had shown her. “What will you give me for that secret? Because I know what I want.”

  His eyes moved over her, and she jumped up and backed away. “No!” she declared. “I won’t be in your bed.”

  His brow wrinkled. “Pretty as you are, that isn’t what I meant, my lady. Even if I wanted to, my brother doesn’t share and I could only imagine how many teeth he would knock out if I demanded as much. Still, what I want does have to do with War.”

  Her heart began to pound as she looked down at him. “What is it?”

  “Seeing him again, it reminds me how well we used to work together,” Jack said. “How useful he was to me. He is wasting himself slaving away for your…is it your brother?” When Claire nodded, he continued, “I want him back to work for me. But he won’t. So if you want me to help you, you will have to convince him to do just that.”

  Claire’s mouth dropped open. “You want me to sell War to you in order to get your help?”

  His smile widened slightly. “A crude image, but yes, I suppose that is true. What do you say, Claire? A man for a child. My brother for your daughter.”

  For a brief moment, joy rushed through her. But it was quickly followed by crushing defeat. She shook her head. “We both know War does just what he likes.”

  “He came here,” Jack said with an arched brow. “You have already influenced him. I have no doubt you could do it again.”

  She considered it. With Jack’s help, she just might get her daughter back. But if the cost to that was selling War…could she do that? Could she live with knowing that she had turned the man she loved back over to a life he abhorred?

  She shut her eyes slowly. “I can’t do that, Jack. I’ve sold enough of myself. If selling War is what you require, then I will have to find my daughter another way.”

  He lifted his eyebrows. “Interesting.”

  She jerked back at his tone. Had he been…testing her? She drew a breath and tamped down her hope. “But I think I still have much more to offer you. I will trade information, Jack. I will most happily help you bring Aston down.”

  He leaned back in his chair. “All right. Aston is in London.”

  “Where?” she burst out. “He has several lairs I know of in the city.”

  “There are spies in my organization, you said. Name one. Describe him or her.”

  She nodded. So this is how they would do it. He would give, she would give. That she could live with. “Your first informant is a man called Winters. But I think you’ll know him by his nickname, Hook. He’s missing his left hand.”

  Jack’s lips thinned. He was angry, she could see that even though he tried to manage his response. Claire could tell he knew exactly to whom she referred. She had just made herself useful. And for the next half an hour they traded information. Without trading War.

  Just as he had been for what seemed like an eternity, War paced outside the parlor in the dark, musty hallway, clenching his fists reflexively. For the past ten minutes, he had been debating whether or not he should simply break the door down. Each passing moment brought him closer to doing that very thing.

  He spun toward the door, fist raised to pound on it, when it opened of its own volition and Jack and Claire stepped out. Claire was smiling. Actually smiling. Worse, Jack was laughing.

  A sizzle of jealousy jolted through War at their chummy attitude. He tried to rein it in, but it was impossible as Jack turned on Claire with another of his famously seductive smiles.

  “Thank you ever so much, my lady. You’ve been a great help.”

  “As have you,” Claire returned.

  “Good luck on your quest,” Jack said, and his voice was at last more sober. He turned on War. “Come in for a moment, won’t you? You don’t mind, do you, Claire?”

  Claire cast a quick glance in War’s direction and she must have seen the frustration, the anger on his face. She stepped away from the door.

  “I can wait out here,” she said, speaking to War now. “Assuming you’d like a moment.”

  He shrugged. “Fine,” he ground out, and glared at his brother before he entered the parlor a second time.

  Jack shut the door behind him and War drew in a long breath. He was now alone with his brother for the first time in almost a decade. He had no idea how to respond to that reality.

  “Your Claire is most interesting,” Jack said.

  War flinched and kept walking until he reached the fireside. He stared into the flames. “She isn’t mine.”

  “Isn’t she?” War turned to glare at his brother again, but found Jack leaning on the door, smiling at him. “She’s a good girl.”

  War wrinkled his brow. “Too good for the likes of us.”

  Jack’s smile faded away like dust in the wind. “You and I are no longer two of a kind, War. Her type might be too good for me, but you? You are very ready to be someone’s white knight.”

  “You’re an idiot,” War growled.

  “I tested her. She passed.”

  “Tested?” War repeated, utterly confused now. “What does that mean?”

  At last Jack pushed away from the door. “Oh, it doesn’t matter.”

  “You are talking in riddles,” War said, frustrated by his brother’s words but also intrigued. Jack would never tell, but what did he mean by test?

  “I always did that,” Jack said, laughing again briefly before he grew serious. “You have changed.”

  “You’re the same,” War said, not meaning it as a slur in any way.

  Jack shrugged. “Not on the inside.”

  War blinked at that admission, uncertain how to reply. “You like her so much, does that mean you’ll help her?”

  “Yes,” Jack said. “But not for her. Though I do feel for her regarding the loss of her child, as I said, I am not interesting in domestic politics.”

  War tilted his head. “Why then?”

  “I’ll help her because I owe you, Warrick.” War sucked in a breath, but Jack continued, “I know that.”

  Their eyes met, and for a brief moment War saw his brother’s pain. In the years that he had been rebuilding himself, remaking himself, Jack had continued to fight the same old fight. Only he’d done it alone. They’d both been so alone.

  In that moment, War wanted to reach out to him. To forgive him for the acts that had driven them apart. To ask for forgiveness of his own. He wanted to do it so badly.

  But he didn’t. Instead, he turned away. “I’m sure her information about your enemy, Aston, doesn’t hurt either.”

  “Indeed not.” Jack’s tone was light again, as if he hadn’t reached out to War. As if War hadn’t rejected him. If his brother was stung, he didn’t show it as he moved to the sideboard and poured himself a drink. “I’ve already told the lovely Lady Claire where she can find her mark tonight. She’ll reveal all to you, I’m sure, and has some kind of plan already stewing in that sharp mind of hers.”

  “No doubt,” War s
aid. “But what do you want in return?”

  “You already said, she’s giving me intelligence about Aston’s organization and his encroachment into my own.”

  War folded his arms. “No, Jack, what do you want from me?”

  Jack’s mouth twitched and he set his untouched drink aside. “I—just remember who I was, War. Who we were once.” The seriousness left Jack’s eyes. “You better go. Don’t want to keep fair lady waiting. I have a feeling she’s the type who would get restless and steal your carriage.”

  War hesitated, once more strangely drawn to the idea of reconnecting with Jack. But he couldn’t. He didn’t know how. So he turned on his heel and did as his brother suggested. He left.

  But even though he could ignore his desire to repair his relationship, it was far harder to ignore the sick feeling in his chest when he walked away.

  Claire gripped a fist on the carriage seat and shook her head. “He’s back at it,” she said, her voice trembling. “Aston is setting up an all new deception, it seems, inserting himself back into Society with a new name. He’s even courting a new lady, some rich, lonely widow, your brother says, who can’t see through his charms.”

  War nodded, and that was enough response for her in that charged moment. She rushed to continue, “Oh, he is daring. But then again, Jack said the party he’ll be attending tonight is a masquerade at the home of some snooty duchess. That actually plays into our hands, though. My mother said earlier today that she would have my gowns sent over to your home. I can wear one of those so I won’t stand out too much. We’ll need masks, though.”

  She glanced over and realized she had been talking nonstop since War exited his brother’s parlor, and War had not responded once. The only words he’d said were a direction to his driver to take them back to his home.

  “War?”

  He blinked, jolting like he hadn’t been attending and forgotten she was there. “Yes, of course,” he said, though clearly not responding to anything she had said particularly.

  She stared at him more closely this time and saw the raw emptiness on his face. She knew it so well. She had felt that horrible sensation, herself, so many times.

  She moved over to his side of the carriage. Slowly, she covered her hand with his. “Oh, War. I did this to you.”

  His brow wrinkled. “Did what?”

  “I made you see him when I know it was painful. I blathered on without thinking for a moment that you are likely suffering the after effects.”

  “No. It’s nothing. I’m fine.”

  “Lies,” she whispered. “Do you not trust me?”

  He swallowed. “Jack said he tested you and you passed. What does that mean?”

  She pursed her lips. “Interesting that he shared that tidbit with you.”

  “Hardly, he gave me no details. Will you?” His gaze was intense now. Focused, especially this close up.

  She shifted with discomfort. She owed War honesty. “Jack offered his help to me almost immediately today. Only he had a price. He wanted me to convince or force or trick you into going back to work for him.”

  War drew back. “What?”

  She nodded. “He told me that he would be at my utter disposal in regards to Francesca if I did so.”

  “But you didn’t try to convince me,” he said, shaking his head.

  “No. I told Jack I wouldn’t do that.” She squeezed his hand gently. “I wouldn’t sell you, War.”

  “Even for Francesca?” he asked.

  She hesitated. “I won’t say I didn’t think about his terms. But I knew I had other things to negotiate with. Information that your brother wants, but also needs if he is to counter Jon’s threats against him. I prayed that would be enough. But I also hope I have not fallen so far that I would betray someone I-I care about so deeply.”

  “I wouldn’t have blamed you had you betrayed me,” he said softly, his hand coming up to cup her chin. “For her.”

  She caught her breath, looking up at him and loving him so impossibly much. He was everything she had ever wanted, all she had hoped he would be in those innocent fantasies she wove as a girl.

  “Will you please kiss me?” she asked.

  He smiled, the first smile she’d seen on his face since long before they’d left to meet with his brother. Then he dipped his head and kissed her. At first the kiss was about comfort, but as she wound her arms around his neck, it deepened into something more. Yes, there was sexual energy in it. There always was with them. She knew there always would be, no matter what happened next.

  But there was more. She felt the pulsing, gentle insistence of the love she felt for him. And the answering whisper of the love she recognized he felt for her. It made her ache inside to feel that winding, binding connection that she knew was likely never to be fulfilled.

  But she had him now. She loved him now and she would cling to these stolen moments like the thief she was, imprinting them for later when she would need to recall them.

  Finally, he pulled away. “As much as I would like to gather you into my arms and make love to you, we have much to plan if you want to seek out Aston tonight.”

  She nodded, removing herself from his embrace with much reluctance. “That you are right about. So let us discuss a plan, shall we? A plan on how to best approach the terrible Mr. Jonathon Aston.”

  Chapter Twenty

  War stepped to the bottom of the stairs to find the maid, Eliza, waiting for him there. She bobbed out a badly done curtsey and handed him two cloth masks.

  “These ain’t too fancy,” she said, “But they were the best I could manage in such short time.”

  He examined the silky black mask intended for him and the fancier one made of a brocade fabric for Claire. “They are perfect. Thank you, Eliza.”

  “Mrs. Dayton is upstairs finishing up the preparations for Mrs. Aston,” Eliza continued. “They should be down shortly.”

  As if on cue, the door above shut and Claire came around the corner to the top of the stairs with Mrs. Dayton right behind her. War caught his breath as she began to descend.

  Claire had always been beautiful. A woman who haunted his dreams for far too long. Since her return to his life, though, she had been dressed the part of another woman.

  Now, thanks to the dresses her family had returned earlier in the day, she was Claire again. The same Claire who had been out of reach a decade ago. Claire, a lady, not the driven woman who had come to his bed. He could hardly swallow, he couldn’t breathe—she was just too perfect.

  Her dress was a soft cream color with a golden pelisse that draped over the under skirt. It had gently puffed sleeves with spun gold through the fabric. Mrs. Dayton had fashioned her hair perfectly, curling it around her cheeks to accentuate her slender, high cheekbones and piling it high like a goddess.

  “It doesn’t quite fit anymore,” Claire said as she reached him at the bottom of the stairs. “I’m a bit thinner through the waist and a tiny bit wider in the hips.”

  War blinked. “I see nothing but perfection, Claire. You are beautiful beyond words.”

  Her lips parted at his compliment and she blushed. “You flatter. But look at you! This will never work—all the women in the room will stare at you and draw far too much attention to you, mask or not.”

  War shrugged. He had trimmed his beard and pulled his hair back to keep it out of his face. He still felt out of place, even in his formal clothes.

  “Your cravat is crooked,” she said softly, lifting to her tiptoes to straighten it. “There.”

  He shifted. “I haven’t worn this since Evan and Josie’s wedding at the country estate.”

  Her smile faded. “How I wish I’d been there.”

  He reached up to trace her cheek with a fingertip. “I know.”

  She bent her head, breaking the contact of their skin. “Well, we should go if we want to be fashionably late.”

  He nodded and said his goodbyes to the servants, all of whom w
ere watching him far too closely as he followed Claire out to the carriage. The ride was not a long one, but it felt interminable as they weaved through traffic.

  “You look nervous,” Claire said, her own voice shaky and belying her calm expression.

  “You too.”

  “I’ve not been to a ball in London for…well, a very long time,” she admitted.

  “I’ve never been,” he said. “I certainly do not belong there.”

  Her lips pursed, as if his statement troubled her, but then she shook her head. “We’ll be in your masks,” she said. “That will help us both. We will simply avoid talking to anyone if we can.”

  War leaned back. “You think you’ll recognize Aston even with a mask?”

  She frowned. “Yes,” she said softly. “I’ll know him.”

  Jealousy reared up instantly in War as he recalled how well Claire did indeed know the criminal. She had been the other man’s long before she was War’s. He hated that fact, even though now he understood what had driven her to Aston.

  “Claire, I think it’s best if we simply observe Aston tonight,” he said. “See his attitude, who he is speaking to. Watching from the shadows may give us a sense of him. And when he goes, we can follow and perhaps determine where he’s hiding.”

  She shook her head. “War, I can’t just sit by. Francesca has been in his care for over a month now. I can’t let her stay with him even a day longer if there is a chance to act now.”

  “Claire,” he said, his tone sharp. “If you approach him, you’ll only endanger yourself and potentially make him run. You said you would let me lead, please do so.”

  She folded her arms. “Fine,” she ground out.

  He nodded as the carriage came to a stop, though he didn’t fully trust her expression, which she sweetened as they were helped from the vehicle and joined the line of those waiting to get in to the soiree.

  As the servants made the announcements, Claire took his hand and quietly swept him around the edge of the waiting guests, behind a woman whose mask was a beaded, feathered thing at least three feet tall. As everyone looked at her, Claire and War slipped in without anyone noticing or stopping to find their name on an invitation list.