Only, the angel was no angel at all. She was the last woman he could trust.
None of that mattered when she took him in her rose-scented embrace and wrapped her arms around him. The terror clawing at him from the inside out lessened. His heart slowed down.
“Breathe, Felix,” she said. “I am here. Your daughter will be safe. Just breathe.”
And somehow, he was holding her back in a tight embrace, this woman of so many faces and roles, this stranger, and his face was buried in the silken cloud of her hair. He inhaled slowly, then exhaled, hoping she was right.
The panic slowly subsided to a dull ebb.
By the time his butler returned to announce the carriage awaited him, he was calmed sufficiently enough that he could function. But though he could not explain why, he knew he still needed Johanna at his side. He wanted her there. He clasped her hand in his.
“Come with me,” he said, the words an anguished plea, but he did not care. There was no room for pride in this moment, and he needed to stay strong for his daughter’s sake.
Johanna did not hesitate. She gave a single nod. “Let’s go.”
Johanna sat by Felix’s side in his carriage, just as they had the day before. But unlike their luncheon ride to Markham’s Hotel, there was no levity or passion between them. There was only desperation and fear. She had never seen a man look graver than the Duke of Winchelsea did as the carriage swayed through the howling wind and battering rains, rumbling over slick roads as they made their way toward his home.
His true home, a place he had never invited her to.
But she would not dwell upon that distinction now.
Because his daughter was in grave danger. And if they did not find her before it was too late…
No. She would not allow herself to entertain such an unthinkable notion.
“You will find her,” she reassured him, the words spoken as much for his benefit as for hers.
The change that had come over him earlier had been terrifying, as if he had been struck a fatal blow as he struggled for breath. The shock of the news had rattled him badly, and understandably so. He had already lost a wife. He could not bear to lose a daughter as well.
Once more, they were drawn together by the commonality—they were both parents, both people who had loved and lost. And she wanted with all her heart for his daughter to be safe.
He squeezed her fingers, his grip almost painful. “Thank you.”
“Everything will be well. Have faith, Felix.”
Of course, having faith in the face of life and death was not always effortless, particularly when death could come so easily. So suddenly. But if there was any way she could bring him peace, help to calm him as they bolted through the night to find his daughter, she would gladly do it.
“If anything happens to her…”
“Nothing will,” she insisted, though she, too, battled the rising fear within.
The butler had said there had been an explosion. Likely, it would have been caused by a faulty gas line. However, the word had triggered a reaction in Johanna as well. For she knew what her brother had been planning in London. She had the evidence of it hiding in a trunk back at her hotel.
In the time since the initial revelation, she had been able to shake the fear Drummond would have somehow been responsible for such an egregious crime. He was aiming for large public gatherings and symbolic buildings, not personal residences. She had yet to betray him, so he could not have laid a bomb in some sort of retaliatory measure if he had someone following her.
He had told her he would, that his eyes and ears were everywhere.
And while she had not seen anyone tracking her movements, she believed Drummond. She knew him. She feared him. It was one of the reasons she had not sought out authorities immediately upon her arrival in London. She was terrified he would watch her every movement and take action before she had a chance to defend herself.
But there was nothing for him to fear from her being wooed by a duke. She had shown her brother he could trust her from afar by delivering the documents as he had asked. She stopped, however, at the dynamite. Before she handed the trunk over to anyone, she would be delivering it to Scotland Yard, along with all her knowledge of her brother. Then, she would flee to Paris before anyone was the wiser.
“I should not have been away from her tonight,” Felix was saying, breaking into her troubled musings. The guilt weighing down his voice cut into her heart. “I should have been there. If I had been, this never would have happened. She would have been safe.”
“The Fire Brigade and this horrible deluge of rain will go a long way toward putting out the flames,” she soothed. “You must not blame yourself for this. Even if you had been at home, there is nothing to say you would have been any more capable of rushing her to safety than others. Perhaps you would have been injured or trapped yourself.”
“Ah, Johanna.” He slid an arm around her shoulders and hauled her into his side in a crushing embrace. “I do not know what I would do if you were not here. You have helped me to battle my demons, to remain as calm as possible, and you have my endless gratitude for that.”
She did not know what to say to his raw expression of thanks. So she held him back, every bit as tightly as he held her. Held him as she wished someone had her after Pearl’s death, when she had been so devastated that every breath she had taken had threatened to break her. But there had been no one for her then, and it was why, she thought, she wanted to be here for the Duke of Winchelsea now.
If, God forbid, something had happened to his daughter Verity, Johanna would hold him just like this. She would hold him all through the night, and the next day as well if need be. She would cry with him. Rage with him. Chase away the pain as best as she could.
She hoped, oh how she hoped, she would not need to do so.
The carriage came to a halt after what seemed the most interminable ride ever. It had felt like years, but it must have only been minutes. Felix jerked away from her and threw the carriage door open. The acrid scent of charred beams and plaster hit her as she struggled to follow in his wake. The street lights were lit, but the tremendous downpour of rain and dampness in the air rendered their effect lackluster.
Smoke filled the air, curling around her as she raced down the street toward the imposing edifice, making it more difficult to see. Fire brigade members were scattered about, along with an assemblage of people she could only assume were the duke’s servants. The downpour refused to relent, and her skirts were heavy and sodden by the time she reached the gathering.
The duke was speaking to a woman who was sobbing wretchedly.
“Simmonds, please tell me you have found her,” he was begging, his voice breaking.
“I am so sorry, Your Grace. I looked for her everywhere until the smoke was too thick, and I had to flee,” the woman said. “No one has seen her. No one knows where Lady Verity went.”
An inhuman cry of sheer agony tore from him.
Johanna pressed a hand to her lips to stifle her own cry of pain on his behalf. She had hoped and prayed ever since first learning of this disaster that Felix’s daughter would have been found by the time they arrived. That all his worry and fear would have been for naught.
He turned away before she could call out to him, and she knew, instinctively, he was going to go inside the home to search for his daughter. She also knew she could not allow him to undertake such a task alone. If his daughter were indeed within, and something had happened to her, Felix would be destroyed. Summoning all her strength, she gathered her soaked, heavy skirts in her hands, and ran after him.
Shouts erupted in their wake, and one of them was the chief of the Fire Brigade, she was sure, alerting them to the dangers within. Felix threw open the front door, and she followed, slipping on the slick marble floor as she did so. The combination of the darkness, the rain, and the smoke outside had made it impossible for her to tell which area of the home had been affected by the damage the most.
�
��Felix,” she called, feeling as if she must be the voice of reason. “Wait for me! You must take care, or you will injure yourself, and then you will be of no use to Verity.”
But there was no reasoning with a desperate man, and she recognized the futility of her attempts as he refused to pause. Onward he stalked, a man determined. And after she chased, terrified for him. For his daughter. Equally unwavering in her need to help in whatever manner she was able.
Thankfully, the fire had not reached much of the house, it would seem, for lights were still lit deeper within the main hall. Though smoke hung in thick clouds, Johanna could at least see where she was going. Could see Felix’s broad back and long legs disappearing as he headed for a grand staircase up ahead.
She grabbed her skirts in her fists, raised them high, and ran after him. Halfway up them, he snarled over his shoulder, “Johanna, you should not be here. Go back to where you are safe. I will find her myself.”
“No,” she denied, every bit as vehement. “I am not allowing you to do this alone.”
Because if his daughter had indeed been claimed by the smoke and flames, he could not face that agony on his own. She would not let him. Could not bear to contemplate such a nightmare.
“Verity!” he began calling. “Papa is here! Verity!”
There was no answer save the echo of his voice, laden with desperation.
“Here now, we have only just gotten the flames out here below,” called a male voice from the floor. “You should not go up there. It may not be safe.”
“I don’t give a damn if it is or if it isn’t,” Felix growled. “Nothing is going to keep me from searching for my daughter.”
“Madam, if you would please come down, at least,” entreated the voice, presumably speaking to Johanna.
“No,” was all she said, getting quite breathless now from the exertion of chasing after the duke.
She did not care. She followed resolutely in Felix’s wake, adding her voice to the calls. He did not bother to convince her to leave. Instead, he told her to peruse the rooms on the right of the hall while he checked those on the left.
They worked in concert, traveling in and out of rooms, opening doors, searching beneath tables and chairs, seeking out every darkened corner. But it was all to no avail. By the time they reached the end of the hall, they had still not uncovered a sign of her. But they were both coughing, and Johanna suspected the smoke was burning Felix’s lungs every bit as much as it was burning hers.
“Where is the nursery?” she asked. “It is possible she is still there.”
“Her governess said she searched for her.” Felix began taking the next flight of stairs two at once.
“Do you trust her?” Johanna asked, trailing in his wake, for it was a question which needed to be posed.
They could not afford to dally, for each minute they spent in fruitless search was one minute more during which Verity could succumb to the thick smoke afflicting the home.
“I did,” he bit out. “But perhaps you are right. We will go there next.”
On the next floor, the smoke was not nearly as thick, perhaps not having had the time to rise as high just yet. Johanna thought it a good sign as she and Felix ran into the nursery, both of them calling out to Verity as they went. There were no lights lit in the chamber, and they had to rely upon the gaslights burning in the hall to see through the shadows.
“Papa?” croaked a terrified little voice from somewhere within the murk.
“Verity?” The relief in Felix’s voice set off a similar burst within Johanna’s heart.
“Is that you, Papa?” asked the girl, a sob in her words.
“Of course it is me,” he said. “Are you hurt, my darling? Can you come to Papa?”
“I’m not hurt.” She coughed then. “But everyone was running away, and yelling. Someone said there was a fire. I tried to follow Simmonds, but then I lost her. So I came back here.”
Johanna could discern faint movement through the shadows at the far end of the chamber. And then, there was a small figure running forward, arms outstretched. In the next moment, Felix was hoisting her in his arms and holding her tight, burying his face in her hair.
“Verity, thank God,” he breathed. “I prayed I would find you, the entire way here. I cannot lose you.”
“I was afraid, Papa.” The girl’s arms were wrapped around Felix’s neck every bit as tightly. She sobbed. “I was so scared without you.”
“I am here now,” he assured her. “I am here.”
Johanna watched the tearful union through a sheen of her own tears and through her own silent prayer of gratitude.
Hours later, after the Fire Brigade had inspected the damage to Felix’s townhome and after they had been certain the flames had all been doused, and after the servants had been accounted for and arrangements for them to spend the evening in a myriad of other places had been arranged, Johanna found herself once more inside Felix’s carriage. This time, there was a slumbering, smoke-scented girl tucked between them.
His devotion to seeing his staff safely settled for the night had impressed her. Especially given the undeniable fact that they had all escaped unscathed whilst leaving a terrified little girl behind. But he was a fair man, and she had seen evidence of that tonight, along with evidence of just how much he loved his daughter.
He was an excellent father, Johanna thought, casting him a sidelong glance now. And his daughter’s love for him had been evident in the way she had clung to him as if she were a vine twisting about a tree. As if she feared he would disappear if she let go of him. The sight had made Johanna’s heart swell and yet ache all at once.
“Please, Johanna,” he said suddenly, reaching out to her. “Stay the night with us. I promise nothing untoward will happen. You will have your own chamber. My daughter will be beneath the same roof. It will be entirely proper.”
She looked down at the sleeping girl who was nestled so trustingly against her, soot streaking her cheeks. Not for the first time, she wondered what Pearl would have looked like, had she lived. What she would have sounded like.
Something inside her shifted, her heart warming. She felt a connection to this child, though she knew she should not. That she had no right to, in fact. But in this moment, the rain lashing the world beyond, and the three of them safe within the dry, warm cocoon of Felix’s carriage, she recognized a kinship with Verity.
Johanna was a mother without a daughter.
Verity was a daughter without a mother.
“She will need a bath when we arrive,” Johanna found herself saying, her mind switching, with such ease, into the maternal. As if it had never left her.
When she had been a mother, her every day had revolved around Pearl. What she would eat, when she would sleep, who would look after her. For a long time after her daughter had died, Johanna had still sworn she heard Pearl’s cry in the small flat they had shared. She had gone to answer it, only to find emptiness where her crib had been.
Sometimes, she heard it in her dreams.
Less now than she once had.
But seeing Verity, holding the little girl in her arms, had brought it all back.
“She smells of smoke and is covered in soot,” Felix observed, passing a loving hand over his daughter’s head. “I expect you are right. But without Simmonds, I fear I am lost.”
He was asking her, without forming the question, to bathe his daughter. After the upheaval of the night, she knew just how much of a concession this was for him. He was entrusting her with his beloved daughter, the one person he loved more than any other in the world.
“Not lost, surely,” she said. “You are a commendable father. But I can well understand there are certain matters to which a man will necessarily look to a female. I can assist her if you like.”
“I sacked Simmonds,” he said, shocking her with the admission. He passed a hand over his face. “She left Verity behind. Never bothered to look for her. I cannot keep a woman in my employ who only cares for herself a
nd not for her charge.”
“I do not blame you,” she said softly. “I would have done the same, were I in your position.”
He took her hand in his suddenly, raising it to his lips for a kiss, his stare intense. “Thank you, Johanna.”
“For being truthful?” The smile she sent him was rueful, for she was thinking she had not been entirely honest with him from the start. Indeed, there remained facts she was still hiding. “You need not thank me for that.”
“No.” He shook his head slowly, his gaze never wavering, and she could not miss the sparkle of admiration there. “For being you. For staying by my side and snatching me from my demons when I needed it most. For following me into danger. For helping me to find her. For staying with her whilst I attempted to sort out this horrid mess. For everything. I know if Hattie were here now, she would be every bit as appreciative of you as I am.”
The mentioning of his dead wife—for surely that was who Hattie was—caught her off guard. It seemed, at once, an insult and a compliment. A reminder of who she was in his life, a woman so insignificant he had not brought her to his true home until a fire had nearly burned it down. And yet also an encomium, coming from this man, who had clearly loved his wife so.
So she grasped his hand in return, and she said the only thing she could. “You do not need to thank me for any of that, either, Felix.”
Chapter Seven
Dynamite.
Fenians.
Bomb.
The words churned in his mind, a sea of unwanted knowledge he could not escape as Felix’s carriage carried him away from Scotland Yard. The fire at Halford House had been no accident. The explosion which had sparked the blaze in the entry hall and front salon had not, as he had hoped and assumed, been caused by a faulty gas line. But rather, lignin dynamite.
Colonel Olden, the Home Office Chief Inspector of Explosives, had broken the news to him first thing that morning when he had answered the summons taking him away from his home. The summons which had left Verity behind in Johanna Beaumont’s care.
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