She forced a smile. “Do you know me so well, War?”
He nodded. “Maybe. I think so.”
“I was thinking about what you said to me earlier in the carriage. That Jon would have taken what he wanted from me, but he wouldn’t have given me Francesca. I know you’re right.” She scrubbed a hand over her face and scooted down so she was laying flat on the bed to stare at the ceiling. “He won’t ever give me my daughter. She’s his power. His one link to me. If he lets her go now, he knows I’d have no reason to stay.”
War moved closer, resting a hand on her bare belly. “We won’t let him keep her,” he said. “We’ll come up with a plan. We’ll go back to Jack for a start.”
She turned on her side to look at him. “You would do that for me?”
“You know I would, Claire.”
She bit her lip, pain rushing through her as she stared at him. For so long she’d convinced herself he didn’t want her. Then when it became clear he did, she’d told herself she’d have to run once she had Francesca back, that she could offer him nothing when their work together was over.
Now she knew they wouldn’t be together for another reason entirely.
“Why are you so sad?” he asked, tracing her cheek. “I know we can do this, Claire. I won’t rest until your daughter is in your arms again.”
She slid her hand down to cover his and then moved his fingers to her breast. His eyes went wide in surprise, but she also saw his need there.
“Just touch me,” she murmured.
He leaned in, his lips brushing her throat as he flipped her on her back in one smooth motion. As he covered her, she wrapped her arms around him and held tight. But even as desire overwhelmed her, it didn’t do anything to lessen her sadness. Because she already had a plan. The only plan that could truly save her daughter.
And once War realized what it was, he was going to hate it. And possibly despise her just as much.
Chapter Twenty-Two
As War and Claire were led down the winding halls back to Jack’s hideout, she noticed the tension in War’s shoulders was less than it had been the previous night. She wouldn’t say he was looking forward to this second meeting with his brother by any means, but the horror and anxiety of the first time they’d come here was far less obvious on his face.
That was progress, at least. It gave her hope for him. When she was gone, he might need a friend. Her own brothers might not be able to offer that service.
Jack met them at his parlor door, welcoming them in with that charming smile Claire now knew hid surprising depths.
“How did it go?” he asked. He sounded genuinely interested, though his expression was unreadable.
Claire and War exchanged a look. “I approached Aston,” she admitted, flashing back to the ball the night before. “Against War’s wishes.”
War said nothing, just folded his arms and let her talk. He claimed he was no longer angry at her refusal to include him in her plans, but she knew it still bothered him. He wanted to be her partner in her troubles. He wanted to help. God, how she loved him for that, even if she knew in her heart that it couldn’t last. Not anymore. It had always been a fantasy anyway, not a reality.
Jack arched a brow. “I see. I assume your approach didn’t go well since you are not presenting me with a bouncing baby to kiss. One I can only guess you will rename Jacqueline to honor me for my great assistance.”
“Jack,” War said, his tone warning in the face of Jack’s mocking.
Jack shrugged, as if to dismiss it all. “What do you want me to do about it? You approached him, he did what…?”
“Aston made it clear that he has no intention of giving me my daughter back,” she admitted. “Though I don’t think that is out of love or hopes he could provide her with a future.”
“It’s a power play,” Jack said. “I could have told you that.”
“He threatened me,” she continued.
“And?” Jack pressed.
She moved closer to him. “You told me where he was last night and you were right. I can only assume that means you know where he is at all times. He has several spots in London, I know that. But searching them will take time I just might not have, given our exchange last night. I want you to tell me where he is, Jack. Tell me where he’s hiding.”
Jack leaned back, exploring her face. “You are singular.”
“If you had a child, you would understand,” she choked, trying to hold back the tears that a man like this would only see as weakness. She could afford none of that now.
“Perhaps you are right,” he said, his voice gentler now. “Look, you’ll figure this out eventually. Aston is holed up in an abandoned shipping facility by the docks.”
“The fishery?” she whispered, unable to stop herself from wrinkling her nose.
She had been to that hole before. Aston thought the rancid smells hilarious in a juvenile way. She had hardly been able to keep food down in the place. Or course, she’d had other reasons for that at that time.
“Is the baby with him?” she asked.
Jack nodded. “I did some looking into that when you left last night. There is a woman there who has a young child.”
“Older?” she whispered. “A grandmotherly sort?”
“So my reports say. You know her, I suppose?”
She breathed in relief. “Yes. I hired her to watch out for Francesca when Aston forced me to go out with him, to work on his swindles after our daughter was born.”
Jack’s eyebrows lifted. “You worked with him too? Wait, that means you are the Swan.”
“What?” Claire repeated, shaking her head.
Jack grinned. “There were rumors Aston had a woman in his employ. A beautiful one who was as talented at fleecing as he was. They called her the Swan. I never believed she existed. I used to tease the boys that she was probably a man in women’s clothing.”
“Clearly I’m not that.”
“Clearly,” Jack said, his eyes moving up and down her body with appreciation.
“Enough,” War said softly, coming closer to Claire.
She felt the warmth of his breath on her neck and just barely fought the urge to lean into him. The time for that was over. She had to remember.
Clearing her throat, she continued, “Melly actually helped me with my plans of escape. I would guess Aston doesn’t know that fact if he’s allowed her to stay with Francesca rather than, er, disposing of her. What else do you hear?”
“Aston seems to have little interest in the child according to my spies,” Jack said. “But the baby is said to be well. She is unharmed, Claire.”
She almost sagged in relief and War caught her elbow, holding her steady. She glanced up at him in thanks before she forced strength back into herself.
“Tonight is a Saturday,” she mused. “Aston always sent his men out and about for pickpocketing and stealing from empty houses.”
War nodded slightly and Jack suddenly glared at them. “Just what do you intend to do with this information?”
“What do you think?” War asked.
Jack’s eyes widened. “You’re sneaking in tonight? With only, what? A few hours to plan your attack?”
“We will only have a few hours,” Claire said, folding her arms. “By tomorrow morning the place will be crawling with dozens of Aston’s underlings, all fighting to find a place of honor and display their wares to him for inspection. If we don’t move tonight, we could lose our chance.”
“I don’t like it,” Jack said, pacing away from them. “It’s dangerous enough to do something so foolhardy. Add to it your obvious desperation, Claire, and it’s a recipe for disaster.”
“I don’t recall asking for your opinion,” Claire said, daring to defy him as she had hesitated to defy Aston. She could see what different men they were now.
Jack pursed his lips. He turned his attention to War. “Let me help then. I could send men or even come myself.”
War moved f
orward. “No.”
Jack drew away from his brother as if shocked by that one word dismissal. “No? Just no?”
“Too many men and Aston could be alerted. And I don’t trust that your people will go in there with the right intentions. Our only focus must be retrieving Francesca safely. We have no room to do damage to an enemy.”
“You think I would endanger a child to get my way?”
Claire stepped between them before their argument could escalate further. “Aston saw War last night, Jack. He was enraged that I had a champion.”
Jack’s face paled. “He assumes War is your lover.”
“I must guess he knows,” she conceded. “War staked his claim quite loudly with the blows he struck.” The brothers exchanged an almost prideful look and Claire rolled her eyes. “Before you two start congratulating each other on that fact, keep in mind that Aston is already jealous enough. If he realizes War is your brother, Jack, he could be in even more danger. Even far past tonight. You coming with us will make that connection very clear.”
“And what makes you think War won’t be in danger after he helps you kidnap Aston’s child?” Jack snapped.
She turned her gaze away. “He won’t. Aston will be handled.”
War glanced at the clock on the mantel. “Come, Claire. If we’re going to do this tonight, we have to get moving. There is much to do.”
She nodded and War moved to the door first. She trailed behind him, but as she reached the exit, Jack caught her arm. His grip was not gentle as he dragged her closer to him.
“If you get him hurt, Claire…” he growled.
She tugged her arm away and stared up at him. “I won’t.”
He held her gaze for a long moment, then pulled away, his expression surprised. “Claire…what are you planning? What are you doing?”
She bit her lip as she looked down the hall at War’s retreating back. Her love for him swelled and she tamped it down along with her panic and her sadness.
“Just be there for him when it’s over. Even if he tells you he doesn’t need you,” she said, and walked away.
“Claire!” he called out behind her.
She ignored him and hurried to catch up with War.
The abandoned fishery smelled just as terrible as War had imagined it would. Worse, actually. It was the kind of smell that wound into a man’s soul and would never be forgotten. It was a combination of the decaying bodies of the animals that had once been caught and processed here and the desperation that accompanied the kind of people who would make a half-burned-out place such as this their hideout.
Claire shifted at his side and he glanced over at her. She was flat against the ground in the low brush, watching the fishery through a spyglass. Her face was focused, her expression intent as men streamed in and out of the old factory. As the hour grew later, more flowed out than in, sent on their way to do whatever bidding Aston asked of them in the inky night.
War rolled on his side in the brush and took the spyglass from her. “What do you think?”
She sighed. “I’ve counted twenty men coming out in the past hour. That has to be the lion’s share of who he has inside, based on earlier comings and goings.”
He nodded as he pushed the spyglass closed and deposited in his inside pocket. “Shall we chance it?”
She nodded. “The living quarters are mostly on the second floor if I remember the building correctly.”
“When was the last time you were here?”
Her gaze went distant. “Six months after I left with Aston. He brought me back to London and I knew my family was just…what? A few miles away? I wanted to go to them so very badly.”
“But you couldn’t,” he said softly.
“No. I was pregnant by then and Aston had just discovered my condition. He put me under lock and key.” She pointed up at a window on the second floor of the building that had a light on. “In that room. I wonder if my daughter waits for me there now.”
He gritted his teeth, angry at what Claire had endured, desperate to get her that one thing, that only person, she desired so much. He feared he would fail and the entire plan would backfire.
But he loved her, so he would do anything to save her from her own desperation now.
“Let’s find out.” He pushed to his feet and helped her up. They had changed into dark clothing earlier. Claire had returned to her man’s trousers and a dark shirt. Neither hid the womanly curves he so adored. Curves he knew were just as much a temptation to another man, a very dangerous man, within. If they were caught tonight, War recognized he would have no way to protect her from Aston’s intent or his anger.
They faded into the shadows together, moving through the inky night in tandem silence. He was surprised how easily they worked together, without having to instruct each other on their intent. He supposed after so many nights making love, they just knew the other’s body well enough to guess their shared objectives.
They reached the large building and War lifted his forearm to his nose. “God,” he grunted beneath his breath.
She nodded, her nose scrunched up rather adorably to keep the smell at bay. “It’s better upstairs. Or it was,” she said. “Let’s go.”
There was a huge wooden door about ten feet from them along the outer wall of the fishery and she led the way, gliding along the soiled wood, her back flat to the wall so she had the least chance of being seen. They didn’t expect the perimeter guard who had been circling the place to come back for another quarter hour, but it was best to be safe.
She reached the door and pushed on it. The old, rusty hinges squeaked a little as it swung open, and she froze. He gathered closer to her, ready to throw himself in front of her if anyone came running to inspect the sound.
After a moment that seemed to last forever, no one did. She slowly let out breath and moved forward and into great hall of the fishery. A fire had damaged some of the area here. There was a wall on the right that had collapsed, and the smell of soot and old fish made War’s nostrils flare out of control.
“Where are the stairs?” he asked.
She motioned with her head to the left, toward another large door. He led the way this time, moving through the darkened room, listening for voices, for people. He heard a few footsteps above, a few voices drifted through holes in the rotting ceiling as well, proving Claire was correct that the rooms upstairs were being used.
That Francesca was in one of them was proven a moment later when the thin wail of a baby floated in the air above them. Claire came to a complete halt, her fists clenching at her sides, her face contorting in a mask of pain so powerful that War felt as though he had been punched in the chest by it.
“Francesca,” she murmured. She closed her eyes, drew in a breath.
He waited, allowing her the space to process what was happening. To get through the initial reaction so that she could focus again on their plan.
But when she opened her eyes, it wasn’t renewed focus he saw there. It was something else. It was fear. It was determination.
It was guilt.
“Claire?” he whispered.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly. Then she cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted, “Aston! Jonathon Aston! I’m here!”
Her loud, clear voice filled the empty space, echoing in the breeze that blew in through a broken window. It was evident that voice had also been heard in the environs above, for thundering footsteps echoed, indistinct shouts came from the rooms on the second floor. Every noise moved toward them.
“What are you doing?” War barked, staring at her in disbelief.
She took his hand a moment, just a moment, squeezing gently. Then she released him and backed away. “I’m saving my daughter, War. And if you’re quiet, don’t fight and follow my lead, I’ll also be saving you.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
The men who came to them were some of Jonathon’s larger guards. They bypassed her and went straight for War
. Aston’s orders, she was certain. She tensed, ready to intervene if he fought or if they made a move to hurt him. But War just stared at her, his eyes steady on hers as they yanked his arms behind his back and tied them there. His stare was filled with betrayal. God, she wished she could erase that. But perhaps it would make it easier for him if he hated her rather than loved her.
“’ello Claire,” one of the men growled as two others dragged War forward.
“Smudge,” she said coolly.
“’e’s been waitin’ for you,” Smudge said with a toothless grin. “Didn’t think you’d come tonight or bring a friend, though.”
She tensed. “Angry, is he?”
“Not pleased,” Smudge admitted. “Now I have to search you, you know.”
She cast another glance at War, willing him not to react as Smudge moved on her, sliding his hands along her body with an appreciative sigh. He laughed as he pulled the stiletto from her boot and then squeezed her backside.
“You always were somethin’ Claire,” he said. “Come on, boys, let’s get these two to the boss.”
As Claire walked with Smudge, War was half-dragged by the two behind her. She so wanted to look at him, but forced herself not to. She had to focus on matters at hand now. One wrong move, one furtive glance, and she could get War killed.
They walked up the stairs and down the hall. Her gaze flitted to the end of the hall where she had once been kept. That was the general direction from which she had heard Francesca’s cry. Her daughter was somewhere in this hellhole. That had to be her focus now.
Smudge stopped at a closed door and shot her a quick grin before he opened it. “Nice to have you home, Claire,” he said, then all but shoved her inside.
She staggered, struggling to keep her feet beneath her as she skidded into the room. Aston was sitting at a desk and looked up, glaring at her as she caught herself on the back of a chair. He had a black eye from his previous encounter with War. She almost smiled at that fact, but didn’t. War had damaged him, and that made him especially dangerous.
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