“We have our cousin.”
“Wilson? You can’t tolerate him.”
He held his silence. Nothing, not even his title, was more important than the woman lying in his bed.
Catherine wrapped her arm around him and pressed her head against his shoulder. “You know, Sterling, I feel as though you’ve come home at last.”
Chapter 22
Sterling had to admit that he looked every bit the ruffian. Not shaving or sleeping had given him a roughened look. The not shaving had been Dodger’s idea. The lack of sleep had come from hours of sitting with Frannie. He desperately wanted her to wake up, but at least he didn’t have to lie to her. He knew she wouldn’t approve of what he was going to do, but he had to do it. For her sake. And maybe a little for his.
He didn’t ask where the bedraggled clothes that Swindler had brought him came from. They made him itch. He didn’t look like a beggar, but neither did he look like a man whose clothes normally came from one of the most exclusive tailors in London.
Word had come through Feagan that Mr. Knight should take a corner table at the designated gin palace at ten. Someone would meet him.
“It probably won’t be Sykes,” Swindler said as he, Dodger, Claybourne, and Feagan stood in a darkened alley awaiting the arrival of the appointed hour. “It’ll be one of his lackeys. You insist that you’ll only deal with Mr. Sykes. Try to roughen up the cadence of your speech a bit.”
“I’d planned to imitate you.”
“Actually, you probably want to go a bit rougher,” Dodger said. “Remember, we’ve all been educated to a certain degree.”
“I ken bloody well talk ’owever I damn well want to,” Sterling said.
Dodger flashed a grin. “Not bad. We’ll make you one of Feagan’s lads yet.”
“No, thank you. This is a one-night performance.” He shifted his gaze to Swindler. “By the by, Frannie is convinced that Sykes murdered Nancy. She’d given Frannie his son to take care of.”
“The hell you say.”
“We were keeping him at my residence, but the boy ran off. His name is Peter; he calls himself Jimmy, though God knows why. When this is over, you should try to find him. It’ll mean everything to her.”
“Find him yourself.”
“I don’t plan to see her again when we’re done here.”
Swindler grabbed Sterling’s borrowed jacket and hauled him back away from the others. He lowered his face until it was inches from Sterling’s. “She loves you.”
“Yes, well, that’s her misfortune. As I recall you told her that I wouldn’t marry her and you were up for the honor. So take good care of her and do all in your power to see that she’s happy.” He shouldered his way past Swindler, taking juvenile satisfaction in almost knocking him to the ground. He strode out of the alley before any of the others could react.
He’d just given his most difficult performance of the night, pretending that Frannie meant nothing to him. The remainder should go fairly easily.
Frannie’s head was pounding, the light hurt her eyes. She recognized the canopy. She was in Sterling’s bed. Why did she ache so badly?
“She’s awake,” she heard a soft voice say; then Catherine was leaning over her. “Hello, how are you feeling?”
“Like an eggshell that’s been cracked.”
“Do you remember anything?” Bill asked as he brought a lamp nearer and looked into her eyes. She tried to turn away but he brought her gaze back to his by clamping her chin. “Hold still and answer me.”
“Oh, uh.” She tried to think. “We were looking for…Jimmy…Peter.”
“So the last thing you remember is being at the orphanage?”
“No, we were here.”
“Where’s here?”
“Don’t you know where we are?”
He grinned. “I do, but you took a blow to the head and I want to make certain that you know where you are.”
“Sterling’s. Where is he?”
Bill cleared his throat and set the lamp on the table. “You’ve been asleep for almost twenty-four hours. I’d like for you to try to eat some warm broth. Catherine, will you see to that?”
“Yes, of course.” She headed out of the room.
Frannie felt a sense of rising panic. “Where’s Sterling?”
Bill sat on the edge of the bed. “Do you remember what happened?”
She sat up so fast and gripped Bill’s hand that her head almost split in two. “Is he dead? Oh, my God, no. No!”
“No, no, he’s all right.” He squeezed her hand and set some pillows behind her and eased her back. “He’s fine. You were attacked. Do you remember that?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“Do you remember Sykes?”
“Of course. Who could ever forget that monster?”
“He wants you dead, Frannie.”
“He killed Nancy.” She suddenly remembered that fact with startling clarity.
“I don’t know about that. I only know he has it in for you. So the others are trying to lure him out.”
“The others?” She squeezed her eyes tightly, trying to think of their names. How could she not remember their names? “Luke, Jack, Jim.” Nodding, she opened her eyes. Yes, the three of them. She remembered thinking that Luke wasn’t part of them anymore, but she’d been wrong. He still was, when one of them was in trouble.
She looked at Bill, who was unusually quiet. She’d seen him examine others. He always asked lots of questions. “So where is Sterling?”
“With the others.”
This was making no sense. “And where are the others?”
“As I told you: trying to find Sykes.”
“Out on the street? In the rookeries?”
“Yes.”
“No.” She tried to get out of bed and he held her back.
“Careful, Frannie, careful, girl. You’re going to hurt yourself.”
“He’s not one of us. He’s never—”
“Which is why he’s the perfect mark. Sykes won’t know him.”
She pounded her fist into his shoulder. He got off the bed and took a step back. “I see you’re feeling somewhat better.”
“What are they planning, exactly?”
“Frannie—”
“Tell me.”
She listened in horror as he explained things. Sterling wasn’t like them. At the last moment, he’d hesitate…and then he’d be killed.
Sterling sat in the darkened corner looking out. At least it was unlikely that anyone would come from the side without him seeing them. They might start there, but eventually, to take a seat, they’d have to come into his line of sight.
Of course it was crowded. The shiny bar that spanned the width of the place looked new. He sipped slowly on his ale so he wouldn’t stand out, but he knew it was imperative that he keep his wits about him. He carried a pistol in his jacket pocket. It occurred to him that if Sykes was the first to show, Sterling could simply take it out and shoot the fellow. If it weren’t so crowded in here, that’s exactly what he’d do, but as it was, he couldn’t put innocents at risk—although in this tawdry place, he doubted there were that many innocents.
Even as he thought that he cursed his narrow-minded attitude. He’d considered Catherine to be marrying beneath herself—and instead she’d married a man willing to deliver retribution regardless of personal cost. He’d considered Claybourne’s three friends to be little more than thieves, and he was discovering what Catherine knew: they were loyal to each other to a fault. Would Wexford do whatever necessary to protect Sterling? Or would he only tend to matters if it was convenient?
He knew it was unfair to judge Wexford against the standard set by scoundrels. It wasn’t as though their lives would ever carry the same dangers. Sterling had toured the world seeking thrills, and his heart had never pounded as hard as it did right now.
“Mr. Knight?”
He lifted his gaze to the blond-haired man standing before him. Blond. Not Sykes.
“Who’s ask
ing?”
“An associate of Mr. Sykes.” The man pulled out a chair and sat.
“Ye’ve wasted yer time taking a seat. I don’t deal with associates.”
“’n Mr. Sykes don’t deal with blokes ’e don’t know.”
“’e will if ’e’s interested in earning ten thousand quid.”
“That’s a lot o’ money.”
Sterling gave him a cocky grin and took a sip of ale.
“Wot’s the job?”
“Is yer name Mr. Sykes?”
The man glanced around. “Come back tomor—”
“No.”
The man looked at him as though he’d suddenly pulled the pistol on him. Sterling shrugged. “I need the boy tonight. I’m on a schedule.”
“Don’t sound loike ye’ve planned it well.”
“I’ve planned it very well. I’m doing it very fast. Less chance of discovery that way.”
“Yer a cautious man, Mr. Knight.”
“And about to become a wealthy one.”
Nodding, the fellow grinned and scratched his scraggly beard. “Awright. Meet me out in the alley behind the pub in ten minutes. I’ll take ye to Mr. Sykes.”
After the bloke left, Sterling downed the remainder of his ale. Out of habit he reached for his timepiece to check the time and remembered that he’d not brought it. The coat of arms might have given him away. He supposed that he could have claimed that he had stolen it, but had decided it was better not to risk it. If he survived, he wanted to hand it down to his son, and if he didn’t…he’d left it on his desk along with a note to Frannie.
Strange that only with his death would she learn how much he’d come to love her.
When he decided ten minutes had passed, he walked out the front door. Standing for a moment as though gathering his bearings, he turned up his collar against the chill of the night. It was the signal that contact had been made and that a meeting was arranged.
He walked around the corner and between the buildings to the alley. He’d barely stepped into it before he was grabbed and slammed face first against the brick.
“Easy, Mr. Knight,” a voice he recognized from ten minutes ago said. “We’re jest checking for weapons.”
“’n ’e’ got one.”
They turned him around and he found himself glaring at a giant. Wasn’t this just lovely?
“Surely ye don’t think I’m coming to this part of London unarmed. Ye struck me as being smarter than that,” Sterling said.
The man who’d approached him inside jerked his head. “This way.”
He followed him down the alley to some stairs where an ominously large man was sitting hunched over. He was dressed all in black, his black hair falling into his eyes. The likeness in Sterling’s art room wasn’t perfect, but it was close enough. Here at last was the dastardly Mr. Sykes.
“Hand it over, Tiny.”
The man who’d searched Sterling gave the pistol to Sykes.
Tiny? Sterling thought there had to be a joke between them, although Sykes didn’t strike him as the humorous sort.
In the dim light of the lantern hanging over his head, Sykes studied the pistol, turning it one way and then the other. “Nice.”
He looked up at Sterling and grinned an evil grin. “Take off yer hat, Mr. Knight.”
Sterling narrowed his eyes. “Why?”
“Cuz I loike to see a man’s face clearly when I’m doing business with ’im.”
Sterling shrugged as though it mattered little to him. He took off the hat.
“Jimmy!” Sykes yelled.
Out of the shadows beneath the stairs came a small, skinny boy. Jimmy, otherwise known as Peter.
So much for Sterling’s belief that he was the best choice for this ruse.
When Jimmy got near enough, Sykes put his arm around him and pulled him up against his knee. “Ever seen ’im before, boy?”
Jimmy looked up at Sterling and tilted his head from side to side as though looking for the perfect angle by which to view him. “No, sir.”
Sterling fought not to show relief. He knew he didn’t look the same, but did he look different enough that the boy didn’t recognize him?
“Can I go now?” Jimmy asked.
“Yeah,” Sykes said as though he wasn’t quite happy with Jimmy’s answer.
Jimmy ran past Sterling, who hoped to God that Swindler would see him and snatch him up.
“Me boy. I call ’im Jimmy. ’is mum named ’im Peter. Knew I didn’t loike the name. Did it anyway. Wot you gonna do with a woman who don’t do wot ye want?”
“Kill ’er,” Tiny said, and giggled.
Sterling had never known a man to giggle, much less one so large.
“Shut up, Tiny, or I’ll kill ye, too,” Sykes said, before homing his gaze back onto Sterling. “Ye see ’ow it is, Mr. Knight. I’m not someone ye want to upset. So tell me about this robbery yer planning.”
Sterling wished he could see into the shadows, wished he knew if the others were anywhere near. “Are ye familiar with the Koh-i-noor diamond on exhibit at the Crystal Palace? Largest diamond in the world?”
“Indeed I am.” Grinning, Sykes stood up. “Ye got a plan for lifting it?”
“I do.”
“Let’s ’ear it then.”
“Send these two on.”
Sykes seemed to hesitate.
“Ye’ve got me pistol. ’old it on me if ye want.”
Sykes nodded. “Ye two go back inside.”
Sterling listened as their footsteps retreated.
“Well?” Sykes prodded.
“It’s very simple. You go straight to hell.”
Sterling felt the fire before he heard the thunder. Not that it mattered. He’d flung himself at Sykes and taken him to the ground. His first jab to Sykes’s jaw must have numbed him, because he barely flailed.
Sterling didn’t know how many times he hit Sykes before someone was pulling him off. “Wait. He’s not dead!”
“You don’t have to kill him,” Claybourne said, kneeling beside him. “We heard him. Swindler says it’s enough to get him hanged.”
Sterling shook his head.
“No reason to kill him if the law will do it for you,” Claybourne said quietly. “Trust me on this, Greystone. You don’t want to kill him if you don’t have to.”
“He hurt Frannie.”
“She’ll be all right. She never looked at me quite the same after I killed Geoffrey Langdon. She carries the guilt too.”
Sterling nodded. If it was best for her—
He was suddenly aware of the pain rampaging through him. “Where’s Swindler?”
“Here.” He crouched beside Sterling. “We got the boy.”
Sterling grabbed his shirt, then cursed himself as he fell backward, bringing Swindler with him. “Never make her cry.”
He didn’t know if Swindler nodded, because his entire world went black.
Chapter 23
When Sterling awoke with his shoulder aching and his head pounding, the first thing he saw was James Swindler standing at the foot of his bed, his arms crossed over his chest, his face not nearly set in the rigid lines of distrust it usually was.
“Frannie. Is she all right?” Sterling croaked.
“You could ask her yourself,” a soft voice said.
He jerked his head to the side, and there she sat in a chair near his shoulder, in a place where any man with normal vision would see her. She combed her fingers through his hair, the way he’d seen her touch so many of the boys she would willingly die to protect. Slipping her hand around his, she raised his hand to her lips and pressed a kiss against his knuckles while her tears splashed against his skin.
“Don’t cry,” he rasped.
“You could have been killed. You silly, silly man.” She buried the fingers of the hand that had been so gentle at first into his hair as though she intended to hold him there forever. She turned her head to the side, looked at the man who Sterling knew loved her. “Will you bring him i
n?”
Swindler left.
“Who?” Sterling asked.
“Peter. He’s been so worried about you.” Fluffing some pillows behind him, she helped him sit up.
“How long?” he asked.
“Three days. Your fever broke last night. You were fortunate. You lost a great deal of blood when the bullet went through your shoulder, but nothing was damaged that Bill couldn’t repair.”
He nodded. He was exhausted. Holding Sterling’s head, she brought a glass of water to his lips. It felt good going down his throat.
He heard the door open and the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps. The boy came into view and Frannie grabbed him before he leaped on the bed.
“Ye gonna be awright?” Peter asked.
Sterling nodded. “You lied to Sykes.”
Peter bobbed his head. “He ain’t a dragon.”
Sterling grinned. “No, he’s not. You’re not to run off again.”
“I wouldn’t ’ave before, but they come fer me.”
“They won’t come for you again. Will they, Swindler?”
Standing at the foot of the bed again, Swindler said, “No. We’ve got Sykes in gaol. He’s not getting out.”
And Sterling heard the determination in his voice. Even if the court found Sykes not guilty, he’d never again walk the streets. Swindler would see to it. If he didn’t, Sterling would. He hoped he never came to regret not finishing Sykes off when he had the chance.
Frannie hugged Peter close. “Say goodbye to the duke now.”
“Bye, sir.”
“Be good, Peter.”
“Jim, will you take him, please?” Frannie asked.
Jim gave a brusque nod, turned to go, then looked back at Sterling. “You weren’t half bad for a bloke not raised on the streets. It was my honor to fight at your side.”
Before Sterling could return the compliment, Swindler ushered Jimmy from the room, closing the door in their wake.
Sterling turned his attention back to Frannie. She was so beautiful. He wished he could believe she was safe, but his Frannie continued to live in a very dangerous world. “You’ll continue to go to the rookeries, won’t you?”
She looked down at her clasped hands and nodded. Lifting her gaze to his, she said, “That’s where the children are.”
Surrender to the Devil Page 22
