by Zoë Archer
That thought niggled him again. Was she using the attraction between them to keep him controllable? The closer they got to Rockley, the more Jack wanted his blood. But when Eva kissed him, touched him, thoughts of everything but her fled. He’d be willing to do anything, if only to taste her again.
She wouldn’t rook me like that.
“Coming, Jack?”
“Aye,” he grunted. He stepped down and nodded at the driver before the hackney rolled on.
As Eva unlocked the door to the chemist’s shop fronting the headquarters, Jack stood on the curb, watching her, hands in his pockets. Her back was straight, as if she expected an attack. No, not an attack. An escape.
The door to the shop opened, and they walked inside, passing the rows of silent bottles and the scale.
She really was like Dunmoor Prison, closed up tight, containing walls within walls. It was herself she kept locked away. Afraid of what might happen if she were to break free.
Tonight, he wore a gentleman’s evening clothes, but that hadn’t changed who he was: an escaped convict. He was glad of that. Glad he knew how to break out of prison. It meant that he could help her escape her own. But she was strong, an unknown to him in plenty of ways. She had to demolish her own walls.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Marco stalked into the parlor and threw a newspaper onto the table.
“It’s over,” he snapped, pacing.
Eva set aside her tea then picked up the paper and read aloud for the benefit of Simon, Jack, and Lazarus, also drinking their morning tea. “‘QUEEN TO MAKE RARE PUBLIC APPEARANCE.’”
“Page four,” said Marco curtly.
Turning to the appropriate page, Eva scanned the columns. What she saw made her curse softly.
“What’s happened?” Jack demanded, getting to his feet.
Eva continued reading. “‘John Gilling, a barrister of the Inner Temple, was discovered early this morning near his chambers, cruelly murdered. The poor gentleman had been stabbed to death.’” She gazed up from the paper, stunned.
Everyone made noises of shock and disbelief. Her heart pounded in her ears as she went on. “‘Mr. Gilling’s corpse was discovered in an alley by one Harry Peele, dustman, as Mr. Peele went about his morning circuit. Though Mr. Peele has been taken into custody for questioning, the chief suspect is the notorious criminal Jack Dalton, who has recently escaped from Dunmoor Prison.’”
“Does it say any more?” Simon asked.
She quickly looked over the rest of the article. “Only some editorializing about the sad state of our fair city, where respectable men could be murdered near their place of business by fugitives from the law, et cetera.” She flung the paper onto the floor.
Jack, who had joined Marco in pacing the floor, kicked the offending newspaper, though it didn’t travel far. “Rockley.”
“So it appears,” Eva said. She rubbed at her tired eyes.
Sleep had been scarce last night, her mind and body both too stimulated to allow her any rest. Thoughts of the evidence against Rockley had crashed against remembering Jack’s hands, his mouth, the honeyed ferocity of his kiss. She’d ached everywhere, craving his touch, wishing she’d taken him back to her rooms where they could have stripped out of their evening finery and finally given in to their mutual desire. But she’d made the right decision by refusing him. Or so she’d told herself as she drifted into fitful slumber.
He hadn’t shaved this morning, and he looked so dangerously alluring with stubble darkening his hard jaw, it had taken considerable self-control not to drag him up the stairs to his bed. To save her sanity, she’d kept her gaze away from him, their conversation to a minimum.
Yet she couldn’t stop watching him pace like a caged animal, seething with brutal fury.
“Rockley killed Gilling?” Lazarus wondered, frowning. “When?”
“Sometime last night,” Eva answered. “After Jack and I left Rockley’s place.” She knocked the side of her fist against the table, making the teacups rattle. “Damn it, we should’ve stayed.”
“And done what?” Simon asked. “You would’ve seen Rockley go into his home, but there wouldn’t have been any way to know he’d murder Gilling. Or any way to stop it. It’s easy enough to sneak a body out of a house under cover of night, and if you’ve got men of criminal reputation in your employ. Which Rockley has.”
“But why would he kill Gilling?” Lazarus pressed.
“On account that Gilling went to Rockley and told him about me,” Jack said, still stalking up and down the parlor. “Just as we wanted. We light a fire under them both, and get Gilling to put the squeeze on Rockley. Gilling’s more afraid of what the government will do to him than he is of Rockley.”
“But to Rockley, the weak link becomes Gilling,” Eva added. “He knows about the government contract, knows about the evidence, which makes him a liability to Rockley. Since he can’t get to Jack, he can silence Gilling. So he does.”
“He’s ruined women and killed a prostitute,” Marco said, “but we don’t have any evidence that he’s killed a man before.”
“Now he has,” Lazarus said, shaking his head. “Jesus.”
“Could have been done by one of his bodyguards,” Simon suggested.
“Thugs would beat a man to death, not use a blade,” Jack said. “If it came to it, a bodyguard would shoot a man. We don’t go for knives. But Rockley,” he added with a snarl, “he’s fond of ’em. Seems to be his preferred way of killing.”
The truth of this sank in, and everyone looked appalled.
“He pins it on you,” Eva said, “and gets the Metropolitan Police to do his dirty work.” She picked up her teacup, then set it back down. She’d no desire for tea. Or anything else.
Marco swore in extravagant Italian, his favorite tongue for foul language. “With Gilling’s death, we’ve lost our way to strike at Rockley. Worse, security around Rockley and the evidence is going to be impenetrable. He’ll throw everything he has at keeping his person and the documentation secure.”
“This whole operation is fucked,” muttered Lazarus.
Cursing viciously, Jack spun around and threw his fist into the wall. Reverberations shook the parlor.
At that moment, the door opened to reveal a young woman in a cloak and bonnet. She stared at Jack, her eyes wide, a gloved hand raised in shock.
“Mr. Byrne downstairs recognized me and said I should go up. Perhaps,” she said weakly, “I ought to come back another time.”
Eva jumped to her feet and hurried to the girl. “No, no, please come in, Miss Jones.”
Jack pulled his fist back, revealing the hole he’d punched in the plaster, and a new web of cracks marring the wall. Despite the plaster dust coating his hand, he appeared to be fine. The wall, however, was not. He hid his hand behind his back as Miss Jones took a few tentative steps into the room.
“We’re, ah, making excellent progress on your case,” Eva said, guiding the young woman to a chair. “Might I get you a cup of tea?”
Miss Jones shook her head. “No, thank you.” She made no move to take off her bonnet or cloak. No plans to stay long. She sent Jack a few cautious glances as she sat.
“This is Mr. Dutton,” Eva said quickly. “He’s assisting us with your case.”
“That’s precisely why I’ve come.” Miss Jones picked at a loose thread on the tablecloth, studiously avoiding everyone’s eyes. Which prevented her from seeing the looks of concern shared by the Nemesis operatives.
“Are you certain you wouldn’t like some tea?” Eva pressed, knowing that the delay in fixing the girl a cup would give her time to collect herself.
“All right.” It was a capitulation, not an agreement. Though Miss Jones had come to Nemesis a somewhat timid creature, she seemed even more so now, her shoulders slumped, her hands trembling as they rested on the table. Her skin was paler, too.
Eva went into the kitchen to prepare tea. No one in the parlor spoke, and in the strained silence, it felt as though she w
ere banging on a timpani drum rather than stirring milk into a delicate china cup. When she finally emerged from the kitchen, she set the cup down in front of Miss Jones and took a seat beside her.
The girl picked up her tea, but her hand shook so much the liquid spilled over the rim and onto the tablecloth. “I’m sorry.” She blinked back tears as she set her cup back down with a clatter.
Oh, this wasn’t good. Eva laid her hand over Miss Jones’s. “It’s all right,” she murmured.
“It isn’t!” The young woman looked martyred as she stared at Eva. “It’s terrible! Worse than terrible. Disastrous.”
“We’ll soon make everything right with Lord Rockley.” Simon gave Miss Jones a reassuring, kind smile, which only made the girl appear even more miserable.
Miss Jones took a shuddering breath, as if steadying herself, then spoke in a rush. “Whatever it is you’re doing to get me justice, however you plan on extracting recompense from Lord Rockley—I want you to stop.”
Stunned silence followed. Eva could only blink her astonishment, seeing equally baffled expressions on everyone else’s faces.
“Why?” she finally asked.
“Lord Rockley … he…” Miss Jones covered her mouth with her hand.
Rage poured through Eva. “Did he hurt you again?”
Eva’s anger must have shown in her countenance, for the girl said quickly, “Not physically, no. But,” she added, “he’s been making threats. Warning me that if I try to take any further action against him he’ll make my life even more hellish than it already is. I won’t be accepted anywhere. My father’s business will be ruined.”
“Does Rockley know about Nemesis’s involvement?” Marco asked.
The young woman shook her head. “He knows only that I’ve made allegations against him. And that I haven’t left London. Yet that is exactly what I intend to do. Leave the city. Perhaps even leave England. I just want to disappear, to bury it all.”
“You’ve spoken of this to your father?” Eva said.
“Papa thinks I’m having tea with a friend today. He’s no idea I’m here, or what I’m asking you to do. But, please,” she said, turning imploring eyes to Eva, “stop pursuing Lord Rockley. No good can come of it.”
Fury the likes of which Eva had never known surged through her. Only the presence of Miss Jones kept her from unleashing a torrent of foul language. She had a strong urge to throw her fist into the wall, just as Jack had done. What she truly wanted to do was beat Rockley into a syrup. Bad enough that he’d ruined Miss Jones, but now he intimidated and threatened her into silence.
He had the blood of at least two people on his hands. Jack’s sister, and now Gilling.
“We cannot stop,” Eva said. “Rockley must be brought down. He’ll just keep hurting more girls, girls just like you.”
“If I demand it?” Miss Jones pressed, her voice quavering.
Frustration and sympathy warred within Eva. Words tried to form, words that would give Miss Jones the necessary strength to continue in their pursuit of Rockley. But the young woman was fragile, and anything Eva could think to say might sound bullying and cause the girl to crumble even more. Judging by the silence from the other members of Nemesis, they were struggling with what to say, as well. None of them wanted to abandon the case.
Jack suddenly grabbed a chair and pulled it near Miss Jones. He turned it around to straddle the chair, bracing his arms on its back. The girl looked startled, almost ready to flee, until he gentled his expression to something verging on kindness.
“Did you have plans for yourself before this business with Rockley?” he asked.
His question caught her off guard. After a moment, she answered, “My parents wanted me to marry. They were hoping to find me a respectable tradesman and see me settled as a wife and mother.”
“And what did you want for yourself?” He asked this softly.
She cast her gaze down to the floor. “I … wanted to be a teacher. It didn’t matter to me if I married or not. But I’d hoped to find some mill town school where I could teach the children of the workers. Give them a chance at life outside of a mill. It doesn’t matter anymore.” She dabbed the corners of her eyes with her sleeve. “No one will hire a ruined girl. And now Lord Rockley threatens not only me, but my family. I’ve lost my dream, but I can’t let my parents suffer for my mistake.”
Eva’s heart contracted, feeling the sharp loss of the girl’s dream and her desire to do good.
“It wasn’t your mistake,” Jack said. “Never say that. This Nemesis lot brought me on board because I’ve got information on Rockley that no one else has.” Fortunately, he made no mention of Nemesis blackmailing him into cooperating. “More than that, I’ve got my own reason for wanting to ruin that bas—that scoundrel. He harmed someone important to me. More than harmed her. He stole her life. Killed my sister with his own hands.”
Miss Jones gasped. “Did you go to the police?”
He smiled bitterly. “The police don’t bother when the victim’s a whore. And Rockley had ’em all in his pocket. They’d never touch a bloke with so much power.”
“What did you do?” the young woman asked.
“Tried to get my own justice. It didn’t work, not the first time, but that don’t mean I won’t stop trying. See, Miss Jones,” he continued, his dark eyes serious, “men like Rockley think they can do whatever they want. Hurt whoever they want. Girls like you and Edith. That’s why we can’t stop going after him.”
Miss Jones’s forehead pleated with concern. “I don’t know,” she said doubtfully.
“His threats now are a storm that’s got to be weathered,” Jack went on. “Ultimately, he won’t be able to do you any more harm. You and your family will be safe. Me, and the others here, we’re fighting for you. For Edith, for all the girls Rockley’s harmed. If we don’t bring him down, he’ll just go on, using and throwing away women. Taking their reputations, their lives.”
He shook his head, raw anguish etched into his features. “I couldn’t save Edith, but there are so many other girls I can help. That you can help. But that’ll only happen if you let us get on with our work.”
Eva, watching all this, felt the hot knife of sorrow in her own chest. She remembered what he’d said last night, about failing to protect his sister. He carried the pain with him always.
Outside in the street a wagon rolled by and two women stopped to converse in brisk, cheerful voices—the noises of everyday life. Within the Nemesis headquarters the fire in the grate popped. Miss Jones stared at Jack, her hands clenching in her lap.
Eva held her breath. So did everyone else in the room.
“All right,” Miss Jones said after a long, long silence. Her shoulders straightened, her back drew up taller, and she lifted her chin. “All right. We’ll go on. We’ll ruin that bastard.” She blushed at her own crudeness, but kept her gaze steady.
Eva didn’t sigh in relief, though she felt like it. Once Nemesis was on a mission, almost nothing kept them from pursuing it to the very end. A villain like Rockley had to pay for his crimes, whether Miss Jones wanted vengeance or no. They wouldn’t have stopped in their quest for justice. But it made their role less difficult when they had their client’s support.
“There’s a lass,” Jack said, patting Miss Jones’s hand.
The girl blushed again. And no wonder. The warm approval in Jack’s gaze was a potent thing.
“You’ve made the right decision, Miss Jones,” Eva said.
The young woman blinked, as if she’d forgotten that Eva, or anyone else besides Jack, was also in the room. His words had held her spellbound.
She rose, and Jack and the other men also stood. Though she still looked pale, a new resolve shone in her face and revealed itself in her upright posture. “I ought to go. Papa will be expecting me soon.”
Eva got to her feet and walked Miss Jones to the door. “We will keep you apprised of any new developments.”
The girl gave a small laugh. “I think
it best if I don’t know the details of your methodology.”
Smiling, Eva said, “Probably safer that way.” She opened the door. “Thank you, Miss Jones.”
“It’s I who owe you my thanks.” She looked past Eva to Jack. “You’ve given me a new courage, Mr. Dutton.”
“It was always in you,” he answered. “Just got a little shaken, is all.”
Miss Jones ducked her head, his compliment making her shy. “I’m sorry about your sister.”
“Me, too,” he answered. “But we’ll make it right, you and me.”
The girl gave Jack a tentative smile, then turned and walked down the stairs.
Eva closed the door and leaned against it. She couldn’t take her eyes from Jack. He’d done what she and the other Nemesis operatives hadn’t been able to accomplish—convince Miss Jones to push past her fear. And he’d done so without raising his voice, without frightening or coercing. The strength of his words and conviction alone had done it.
Marco, Simon, and Lazarus looked at him as if he’d just calmed a herd of stampeding horses.
“Commendably done,” she said. “And you’ve a new admirer. She looked at you as if you rode in on a white charger, holding a lance and shield.”
Jack gave an unchivalrous snort. “A knight in rusty armor.”
She wondered if he’d ever see himself as anything more than that.
“That was well done,” Simon allowed. He picked up the discarded newspaper. “But whether or not Miss Jones agreed to continue with the case is irrelevant. We’re still at an impasse with Rockley now that Gilling’s dead; security is even tighter than before and the police are on the lookout for Dalton. So long as Rockley knows Dalton’s out there, we won’t be able to make any progress.”
Jack crossed his arms over his chest. “What was your plan for me when the job against Rockley was finished? Throw me back into Dunmoor?”
“God, no,” she answered, appalled. Although Nemesis hadn’t precisely been forthcoming about their intentions. The way they’d been treating him, he’d expect them to toss him aside like so much rubbish. “We were going to counterfeit your death and give you a new identity.”
