by Ava Rose
It was a woman, small in stature and dressed like a woman of the night. Her face was stunning despite the garishness of her cosmetics, with kohl-rimmed eyes, a powder that gave her a sallow pallor, and the rouge that had been drawn over the boundaries of her thin lips beginning to smear. She was quite a sight.
But she didn’t frighten Anna.
“What do you want?” Pen asked coolly, shielding Anna with his large powerful frame.
“I heard you talking to Deaf Billy over there,” she slurred. “I think I can help.”
“What do you know?”
She looked around conspiratorially before leaning forward and whispering, “Follow me.”
Pen turned to Anna. “What do you think?”
“She might have some valuable information.”
He took hold of Anna’s hand and they followed the woman into the alley.
Once they were out of view, she held her hand out. “Pay first.”
“What?” Anna was surprised. Pen, however, was not moved by her request. “You said you wanted to help.”
“Not freely, Mister.” She eyed Pen. “If you don’t have money, we could come to some other arrangement.” A coquettish smile tipped the corners of her mouth up as she batted her lashes at him. “What do you say, my lord?” She ran a finger with a long red-tinted nail down the lapel of his coat.
Anna wanted to slap her hand away. How dare she?
“You will do well to remove your hand from my person,” Pen warned, his voice cold and menacing.
She quickly drew her hand away as if burned.
“I am not telling until you pay.”
He placed three silver coins in her hand. "Now talk."
"I saw a man that looks like the one you described to Deaf Billy. He was here with a woman yesterday."
"What did the woman look like?" Anna asked, trying not to get hopeful.
"She's pretty." The woman shrugged and made a face. "Dark hair. Dressed nicely like you."
"Is this her?" Pen showed her Libby's portrait.
"I didn't look very well but she looks like that. Yes, I think it is her."
"Did you see where they went?"
She held out her hand, palm open, the greedy wench.
"You're going to have to pay for that, sir."
Grudgingly, Pen placed another three coins in her hand. The woman knew how to make money, Anna would give her that.
"You'd want to ask Arthur Pelham about this because they got into his carriage." She paused as if in thought. "And the woman was drunk. I think she was drunk."
Anna found that odd because Libby never got drunk, at least not to the point where it was obvious to people that she'd imbibed too much.
"Where do we find Arthur Pelham, then?" she pushed.
The woman waved her hand in the direction of the cluster of carriages. "He should be out there somewhere."
Anna looked up at Pen just as he looked down at her. The shared moment felt good. "We have something," she whispered and he smiled.
"It was nice doing business, my lord!" The woman called after them as they exited the alley.
Anna groaned, disgusted by the attention and wanton looks the woman had been giving Pen. It was rather relieving to know that he did not give such women his attention.
Looking down at her hand in his, she smiled inside. In jumping to her rescue—even though it was not required—Penforth had given her a glimpse of himself that he kept concealed from the world; the part of him he would never admit existed—not even to himself. The part that cared.
The sun was going down and fog was stealing in with the dusk, making the hairs on the back of Anna's neck stand on end. Time was passing and Libby was yet to be found.
They approached a group of drivers clustered together, and every one of them straightened in readiness, no doubt assuming they wanted to be conveyed somewhere.
"We're looking for Arthur Pelham," Pen said.
"He just left. Took some passengers up north," one of the drivers responded.
"Where north?"
He shrugged and shook his head. "I don't know."
"I think I heard him say Lexington," another driver said.
"Lexington is not too far," Anna said to Pen. "We could be there in three hours."
Pen shook his head. "We're not going there."
CHAPTER EIGHT
“Why not?” Anna asked.
“We are not sure we will find him there.” Pen explained. “He will be back.”
Anna looked exhausted and not just physically. He couldn't drag her all the way to Lexington to hunt down a man who probably didn’t have the information they needed. Pelham would return to the crossroads and they would be here to question him when he did.
“Can I have a minute?” Pen said to the driver who had told them of Pelham's supposed whereabouts. A short, skinny man. Skittish, too, from the look of him.
They stepped to the side, out of the others' earshot.
"What's your name?" Pen asked him.
"Clayton," he replied.
"Here's what we're going to do, Clayton. I want to hire you to watch for Pelham."
Clayton instantly became nervous and looked from Pen to Anna and back. "Is he wanted for a crime?"
"No. We want some information from him, that's all."
Visibly relieved, Clayton sighed. "Pelham is my friend. I should hate to see him in trouble."
Pen decided to use the men's friendship to his advantage. He placed his hand on the man's shoulder.
"But he might be in trouble if we don't find him. We need your help, and he needs your help."
Clayton took a deep determined breath. "What do I do?"
"When does he return?"
"Oh, likely in the early hours of the morning."
"Good. When he returns, tell him not to go anywhere. We will be back tomorrow morning. Say, eight o’clock."
Pen gave him a handful of silver dollars. "There will be plenty more tomorrow," he said, looking gravely into the man's eyes to show him his sincerity while silently warning him of the consequences should he trifle with them. "Pelham will get a reward too if he complies."
"Of course, sir," Clayton replied with alacrity. "He will be here tomorrow. We both will be here."
Pen smiled. Who didn't want to make quick money? He'd put in place a measure that would ensure they met Pelham when they returned tomorrow. And if that prostitute had indeed told them the truth, then they would know where Sir Anthony had taken Libby.
Anna was smirking when his eyes found her. "What?" he asked.
"I am quite impressed."
"And here I thought I'd be reprimanded by you."
"I'll admit it's not something I would have done, but I nevertheless appreciate your tactful employment of deception and bribery."
"Well, I am no noble soul." He offered her his arm.
"Are we going home now?" She took his arm and they began to walk toward their waiting carriage.
"Yes."
"We've made some progress today, haven't we?"
He looked down at her and was struck by the play of light and shadow on her face. The light from the street gas lamps made her eyes sparkle and highlighted her soft mouth, while the shadow contoured her face and neck in an artlessly bewitching way.
"Yes, we have." He could remain here, staring at her all night, but he had to get her home safely. "I rather liked that quaint performance you put on for Deaf Billy."
She poked his shoulder playfully. "At least I made an effort to make him understand. What did you do?"
"I made sure Pelham will be here to meet us in the morning. And I paid that woman who told us about Pelham."
"I paid the landlord," she defended.
"Is this a competition, Anna?" They stopped in front of the Wrexford carriage and the driver readied the reins.
"It is when you keep challenging me," she replied with great feeling.
He raised his brows. "Pray, tell me, how I've been challenging you."
"You
think I am not capable because I am a woman."
"I—"
"I am good at solving problems!" She cut him off. "You said so yourself. And even though you were being ironic, I know there is some truth to it."
He sighed. Anna exhausted him. "Are you done speaking?"
"Yes." She jutted her chin out and her eyes flashed like they always did when she was riled.
"I do know how capable you are and you did remarkably well today," he conceded in as soft a tone as he could muster. "There is no basis for you to compare yourself to me."
"You're saying we cannot be equals, then?"
Good Lord!
"Anna, I am not saying that." He half laughed and half scolded. "I am not going to let you rope me into that debate." He wagged a finger at her. "No."
She was annoyed, the set of her mouth and that fire swirling in her eyes said as much.
Pen handed her into the carriage and instead of sitting where he'd sat before, he settled beside her in the front-facing seat. The urge to dismiss his desire to be near her was matched and subsequently vanquished by the urge to sate that desire.
Anna made him feel, and he could no longer deny it.
Beside him, he felt her shift slightly and sigh, reminding him of his own weariness—he'd not slept in days—and hunger. As if to echo his thoughts, his stomach growled.
She smiled—he sensed it more than saw it in the darkness. "It's nice to know I am not the only one starving," she murmured.
"All that's keeping me is a few fingers of whiskey."
She chuckled. "At least I had a scone and a cup of chocolate."
His stomach gave a protesting rumble at the mention of scones and chocolate. He glanced out the window at the passing scenery, mentally counting the time until they reached home.
"I hope she's all right," came Anna's whisper. He could feel her disquietude because it mirrored his.
For the first time, he regretted the time he'd not spent with his sister. The time he'd spent brooding and wallowing in anger instead of loving his family. This event had shown him how little he knew of Libby. And Mary? Mary was all but a stranger to him. The realization hit him hard in the solar plexus.
"So do I," he replied, deeply ashamed.
No wonder Anna thought him cold and unfeeling, a man with no regard for people's sensibilities. He had pushed everyone away after his retirement from the Navy.
Despite the choice to end his naval career being entirely in his own hands, its premature end had taken a toll on him; knowing he would never stand on the deck of a ship with his men ready to make the seas safe had been unmanning.
He'd not been officially dismissed. After his injury, he'd come home to convalesce, and just when he'd beaten the odds and regained the mobility of his leg, fate had dealt him a blow. His father died, forcing him to take up the reins as head of the family.
And so far, it seemed, he'd not done a good job of that.
"You are very quiet. What's on your mind?" Anna asked softly.
"I am always quiet," he replied, unsure what to tell her.
"This quiet feels like you're deep in thought."
"How would you know that?"
"I can see it on your face,” she said. “Despite the lack of daylight."
"Have you been staring at me?" He turned to look at her.
"Mhmm." She nodded.
"In the darkness."
"It's not entirely dark. There's a little light from the carriage lamps streaming in."
"And did you see anything you like?" Yes, this should keep her from prying his mind.
He couldn't see her face well enough to determine the color, but he could tell she was embarrassed by the way she sucked in her lips.
"I was not looking that hard."
He chuckled wryly. "Of course you weren't. You were only staring."
"I-I meant...I wasn't looking for anything to like." She turned her face to the window, away from his view.
"You don't have to tell me what you're thinking, but say something...anything," she said after some time had passed. "I don't like the quiet. It makes me think of things."
"The curse of the wandering mind," he murmured.
"Yes. Tell me something about yourself."
Pen took a moment to reply. He had to filter his thoughts first.
"Whenever we visited our relatives in Eskoania when I was a boy, my cousins and I would play pirates. I was a pirate named Captain Striker, feared by merchants and disliked by my fellow pirates."
Anna laughed. "Let me hazard a guess, you looted both parties."
"Yes." His mouth curved up into a smile.
"How did you end up becoming a naval officer then?"
"I grew up and realized what a fantasy it was. The stories make pirates heroic, inciting young boys like myself to tie handkerchiefs on their heads and carry around wooden swords. The sea called me, but I couldn't answer that call as a pirate."
"That's quite noble of you."
“No, it had more to do with the possibility of my father disowning me if I did. I’m not directly in line for the throne—there’s a lot of other family members ahead of me in the queue—but a pirate? Oh, that would be a disgrace to everyone."
"How was it? The sea."
A sliver of bitterness curled in his chest, constricting the small space. "It gives you a sense of freedom, like you can do anything, go anywhere." He managed a wan smile, hoping it would conceal what he was truly feeling.
"I think I understand. That feeling of standing on the deck of a ship with the wind in your hair and the song of the sea in your heart. The stormy nights that awaken you to your mortality."
"You make it sound romantic. Yes, there is nothing quite like it."
She smiled up at him. "I suppose I am a romantic. I love sea travel."
"Imagine doing it perpetually."
"The change must have been very hard for you," she said gently. He could feel her commiseration and although he appreciated the empathy somewhat, he was disinclined to accept it.
Doing so would be akin to exposing weakness.
He had shared quite a bit with her already and was not in possession of enough generosity to share more.
Silence enshrouded them and as Anna turned again to stare out the window, ostensibly becoming engulfed in her thoughts, Pen allowed himself to close his eyes and clear his mind. It was a meditation of sorts, heightening his focus and hardening his resolve. If he was to bring his sister home safely, then distractions must be done away with and he'd been much distracted lately.
It was just his luck that Anna's head fell against his shoulder right then. Pen looked down to find her sleeping, and the urge to wrap his arm around her and hold her close overtook him.
Since there appeared to be a perpetual battle raging inside him, the temptation to remove her and scoot to the side or even relocate to the seat opposite clashed with the need to hold her.
And neither won, for he remained in his position, stiff and tightly wound.
***
"Anna," he called softly.
"Hmmm?" She snuggled closer.
He could allow her to sleep longer—and he wanted to—but he was exhausted and famished.
"Anna, wake up," he called again, this time giving her shoulder a little nudge.
"Are we home?" she asked, stretching beside him.
“We are.” He disembarked and handed her from the carriage before walking up the short steps to the front door of Wrexford House.
“I’ll come for you tomorrow. If we leave at seven, we should be there close to eight.”
She nodded as the door was opened by the butler. It appeared as though he’d been watching for them. Without thinking, he picked up her gloved hand and raised it to his lips. “Be sure to eat something before you retire for the night,” he said, kissing her knuckles.
Instead of climbing back into the carriage to be taken home, he opted to walk. The light rain, the damp, leaf-littered Beacon Street, and the heavy fog that had settled, tem
pted him to continue walking down to Boston Common, the park that delighted the Brahmins during the day and became creepy at night. But he had to at least try to get some sleep. And he needed to eat.
Much like the Wrexford butler, Antoine opened the door before he could lift the heavy brass knocker.
"How is my mother?" he asked as Antoine took his coat and hat.
"She has remained in her chamber all day. Dr. Poole was by to see her in the afternoon. She complained of a bad headache."
"How is she now?" he asked, tugging his leather gloves loose.
"I believe she is asleep."
He nodded. "And my sister?"
"She had Lady Caroline over until after dinner. She is still aware of nothing seriously amiss."
"Good." He made for the staircase. "Get me something to eat," he called over his shoulder.
Pen strode down the hallway of the third floor, past his chambers to his mother's. The door opened soundlessly on well-oiled hinges and he stepped in. The rooms were gravely silent save for the echoes of his mother's even breathing as she slept. He nodded, satisfied that she was fine, and strode downstairs to his study. He was crossing the room toward the banked fire when a movement caught his eye. On closer inspection, he found Treacle, Mary’s entitled brown cat, on the hearth rug. The animal opened one amber eye that caught the light and shone like an ominous jewel, then the other, and stared at Pen, presumably expecting him to fawn over it as everyone else did.
When it didn't get the attention it wanted, it stretched with languid abandon and rolled a few times, purring. That trick did not work either, and it slowly wagged its tail before rubbing itself on his leg.
He didn't understand this sudden show of affection; the only thing Treacle loved more than hissing at him was a herring meal. Either it was growing old and demented, or it was planning something sinister. Pen had great cause to believe the latter given how many times he'd been scratched in the past.
Antoine returned soon with a tray laden with a cold repast, which he lay on the small table between the two wingback chairs in front of the fireplace.
“Feed this thing. I don’t like it following me,” he ordered, giving Treacle a sidelong glance.
