“With Miss O’Tiernen?”
She shrugged. “Probably not, but I would like it very much.”
The woman simply couldn’t not flirt.
“I shall keep that in mind,” Peck replied before tipping his hat at her, then Caleb, and heading off to wherever he had to be next, chasing information no one would give him willingly.
Sesily watched him disappear into the darkness before saying, softly, “He seems a decent fellow. Pity he’s a Runner.”
“What do you want, Sesily?” The question came out harsher than Caleb intended.
She looked to him, as though she was surprised he was there. As though she hadn’t been the one to chase after him. “Right! Yes.” She looked about for a moment before making her way to a dark doorway several yards away. When he did not follow, she turned back. “Mr. Calhoun. If you don’t mind?”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “I do mind, in fact. I’m not in the mood to be strangled.”
“Oh, is strangulation an option? If only I’d brought my garrote.”
“After seeing what you can do to men, I’m surprised you don’t keep it on your person at all times.”
She shot a dangerous look in his direction. “Follow me.”
Whether curiosity or self-preservation, he did, approaching the narrow space where Sesily had already pressed her back to the door. “You shouldn’t be out here alone.”
“I’m not alone.”
“You would be, if I weren’t here.”
“But you are, and I am perfectly safe.”
“Are you sure? I hear I’m a losing proposition in a fight,” he replied without thinking. Without realizing how it would sound.
One side of her pretty mouth rose in amusement, making the quiet of the cold street ear-splitting. “You didn’t like that.”
Of course he hadn’t. But he’d never admit it.
“I wasn’t about to tell Peck he wasn’t a winner,” she said. “You catch more flies with honey. Not that you’ve ever tried that with me.”
“I’ve no intention of catching you, Sesily.”
“Yes, yes, you’ve made that abundantly clear,” she said, and for a heartbeat he thought he heard an edge in the words, before she flashed him a bright smile. “Though I can’t imagine why not. I’m a lovely fly.”
Lord, this woman would try a saint. “And what makes you interested in catching Peck?”
“A body would have to be deceased not to notice Thomas Peck, Caleb. He’s a legend.”
Something hot and angry flared in him. “I should have guessed. Poor Peck, pegged for your favorite game.”
“And what game is that?”
“Scandalous nonsense. What fate will he meet?”
“Whatever fate I decide for him. I rarely hear complaints.”
It was too much. “I think the Earl of Totting might have one or—”
She reached out and placed her palm over his mouth, stopping his words with her soft skin. Why wasn’t she wearing gloves?
“I’d be more concerned about your own fate, American,” she whispered harshly in the darkness, “catting around with a Scotland Yardsman. I don’t care for the idea of your Mr. Peck learning about what you saw the other evening.”
She couldn’t possibly believe he’d turn her over to Peck. Of course, he didn’t tell her that. Instead, he waited for her to lower her hand and said, “I assure you, Peck is not interested in your nocturnal activities.”
“Good. I suggest you follow his lead. They’re none of your business.”
It was his turn to be annoyed. “They’re absolutely my business.”
“How?”
“Leaving aside my responsibility to your sister, my friend—”
She rolled her eyes. “Spare me the misplaced masculine honor. I do not require it.”
“She’s also my business partner—”
“Which has nothing to do with—”
“Reputations paint wide swaths, Sesily.”
She laughed at the ridiculous statement. “Even if we weren’t discussing a tavern owned by my sister who divorced and then remarried the same man, I do believe the horse has left the barn on my reputation, Calhoun. The lion’s share of London calls me Sexily.”
He gritted his teeth at the name, full of lewd humor and loathsome disdain. “They shouldn’t.”
“And why not?” Was she . . . affronted? “Truly, you wound me.”
“Why? I don’t call you that.”
“Yes. I’m aware. And what a pity, as it is the truth.”
Of course it was.
“Which brings us back to the matter at hand.”
What was the matter at hand? It wasn’t the kissing.
It couldn’t be the kissing.
A shout sounded in the distance, reminding him that they were out in the open on a London street, and he shouldn’t be thinking about kissing.
“No one can know what happened. Not your friend Peck—”
“He’s not my friend.”
Surprise flashed in her eyes at his immediate denial. “You vouched for him when you walked through the door with him.”
He sighed his frustration. “I didn’t have a choice.”
“Why not?” The question was too quick. Too curious.
He answered with a half-truth. “Because I’d rather have Scotland Yard owe me a boon than decide it owes me something else entirely.”
She raised a brow at that. “Worried about your illegal bourbon?”
Every tavern worth its salt poured illegal bourbon, but it was a better answer than the truth. “Exactly that.”
“I don’t think so,” she said, and a thrum of irritation coursed through him. “You are keeping truths of your own, Caleb. And if I have to learn them to keep mine safe, I will.”
It was not bravado, but a promise, and Caleb didn’t care for it. He didn’t want her near any of his secrets. Proximity to his past was not a lark, and the idea of her tied up in it made him want to rage. But he could not show her the nerves she had made raw. It would be a red flag to a bull.
Instead, he forced a laugh and said, “I am an open book.”
“You are the very opposite of that and we both know it,” she replied, casually, “but there are worse things than Scotland Yard owing you a favor. And you’re collecting boons this week, it seems.”
“What does that mean?”
“I mean, I owe you one, too. For condescending to hide me in the gardens.”
There’d been nothing condescending about that moment, when she’d wound herself around him and stolen his breath even as he collected her against him and took everything she offered.
She stepped closer to him. He did not back away, adoring the temptation of her even as he loathed himself for not being more responsible. For not remembering that she was his friend’s sister. That she was off-limits. “Are you offering me a boon?”
“Name it.” She settled one hand to his chest, and he wondered if she could feel his heartbeat through the wool of his topcoat.
He shook his head. “No.”
“Shall I name it?”
“You think you know me well enough to know what I want?”
“I know precisely what you want. But I am willing to wait for you to discover it yourself.”
“And what is it?”
She smiled, a cat with cream, and though she didn’t reply, he could hear it nonetheless.
Me.
Forthright. Arrogant. Bold and perfect and true. Because he did want her. He’d wanted her for long enough to know that he’d likely never not want her.
He’d also never have her, and that was the truth that roared through him. Frustrated and angry and unwelcome and familiar. How many times had he heard that roar riot through him as he thought of this woman, who tempted him beyond reason, and whom he could never have?
Except this time, she heard it, too, her gaze sharp and clear on the tavern behind him, where the door had burst open, scattering women into the street.
The roar wasn’t in his head. It was inside The Place.
And Sesily was already pushing past him, headed for it.
Chapter Five
Ignoring Caleb’s shout—he couldn’t honestly believe she’d listen, could he?—Sesily pushed through the crowd of women pouring out the front door of The Place, desperate to get inside . . . and to take on whatever she’d find within.
Inside, a half a dozen men with ugly faces and uglier clubs had entered the tavern through the rear entrance beyond the kitchens. They had destruction in mind—destruction aided by the absolute mayhem they’d caused when they’d come through the door.
She looked to the table where she’d been sitting with her friends. Empty.
A quick glance around the room found Adelaide and the duchess, tall above the crowd at the far end of the space, headed straight for a bruiser on the way to an oil lamp high on the wall. If he was planning to burn the place down, the duo were more than capable of stopping him.
“Imogen,” Sesily whispered, looking for the last of her group. It didn’t take long to find her—atop a chair at the center of the taproom, offloading items from her ever-present reticule.
Sesily couldn’t be certain Imogen wasn’t also at risk of setting the place on fire, but at least she wouldn’t do it on purpose. Before Sesily could consider that possibility, a scream nearby had her reaching to extract her best knife from where it was strapped to her thigh, beyond the fake pocket in her silk skirts.
Before she could get into the fray, a heavy hand stopped her, fingers curling around her arm. She spun, eager to face her captor, knife already raised and ready to strike. Caleb wasn’t a slouch, however, and he was ready for her, even as his eyes went wide at the sight of her wickedly sharp blade.
He caught her wrist, barely preventing the knife from slicing into his cheek. “We’re going to talk about a few things when this is over. Not the least of them will be the fact that if I were any slower, you’d have taken out an eye.”
“Hesitation in battle is for dramatic novels and play fighting,” she replied.
He released her, admiration in his green eyes, and Sesily promised herself she’d savor the memory of that look the next time she was alone. More screams sounded, and Imogen cried “Ha!” from her tabletop, which meant she’d found whatever terrifying tool she’d been searching for.
“What else?” Sesily asked, as she considered her next move, her grip tightening on her knife.
“What else what?” he snapped, turning to face another man with a wicked looking club. He caught the blow and delivered a brutal one of his own.
Impressive.
“What else are we going to talk about when this is over? Besides my nearly taking out your eye?”
He kept fighting, as though it were perfectly ordinary to converse while under attack. “We’re going to talk about the fact that you ran into the place out of which everyone else was running.”
She watched as he landed a handsome uppercut. “Nicely done.”
“Thank you,” he replied. “Looks like I can win a bout after all, doesn’t it?”
She swallowed her smile at his lingering affront. “What did you expect me to do, run away?”
“That’s exactly what I expected you to do,” he said as he caught his opponent’s club-hand and smashed it against a wooden column twice, until it dropped to the floor.
It was a pity he was wearing a coat. Really. She’d like to see his muscles working.
She barked a little laugh. “Tell me, American, when was the last time you knew me to run away?”
“This isn’t a horse loose in a barn, Sesily. This is serious.”
“First, I would absolutely never run toward a barn.” A mighty crash sounded behind her, along with a collection of screams, and Sesily turned away from Caleb to find an enormous man sending a table flying into a group of women huddled nearby.
Rage filled Sesily as she clutched the handle of her blade tight in her palm. “Second, if you think I can’t see how serious these men are, you haven’t been paying much attention.”
She raised her voice in the direction of the melee. “Oy! Why not try someone who is armed, you great ox?” The man rounded on Sesily, who shot him her most dazzling smile and said, “Or are you afraid a woman might take you down?”
Her soon-to-be opponent came for her, tossing another table aside like kindling, but behind him, several of The Place’s regulars leapt in to help the women he’d threatened. Mithra Singh, a brilliant lady brewmaster who was quietly taking the West End pubs by storm, hurried them from the building.
At the same time, Lady Eleanora Madewell and her beautiful Norwegian partner—known only as Nik to most of the Garden because she ran with the best smugglers in Britain—took to the far corner, where Duchess and Adelaide required reinforcements.
Sesily crouched, weapon in hand. “Shall we get on with it?”
The enormous man grunted, and she wondered if he had the capacity for complex language.
“Sesily—” Caleb warned, throwing another punch. “Don’t you dare take on—” The words were lost as he took a blow with a heavy thud. “Goddammit.”
He was in the fight again, which suited Sesily just fine, as she was watching the brute heading for her, waiting for the right moment to strike. What she lacked in muscle she made up for in unexpected skill, but the element of surprise was critical.
“You are an ideal-looking brute,” Sesily said cheerily as her opponent approached. “Truly, Drury Lane ought to put you on the stage.”
The man’s brow knit in confusion.
“Sesily—” Caleb again.
“Honestly, Caleb, you should see him. Like a storybook ogre.”
“I don’t need to see him, dammit! Do not incite—”
The rest of the instructions were lost as her opponent threw his punch. Sesily ducked and, while he was off-kilter, struck, putting a long gash in his side. He shouted at the pain and she called out, “Sorry!” as she reached down, lifted a chair leg and, using the momentum of the movement, cracked him in the jaw before he could take hold of her.
His head snapped back and she turned away, knowing she’d done the job before he collapsed onto another table, the force of his body crushing the wood to the ground like a pile of matchsticks.
“Dammit,” Sesily said. “Now I’ve broken a table, too.”
“What did you do?”
She turned to look at Caleb, who was staring at her, his own opponent doubled over in pain. “Men never know what to do with women who fight. They always forget critical information.”
“What’s that?”
“That when we enter the fray, we do so to win.” She lifted a chin in the direction of the man he’d been fighting. “Do you require assistance?”
His eyes narrowed. “Absolutely not. Goddammit, Sesily. This place is in danger. You’re in danger. You ran toward it, like a madwoman. Without waiting for me.”
“And if I had waited, would you have let me enter?”
“Of course not.”
“Men are ridiculous.”
“For wanting to keep you safe?”
“For believing that you aren’t the thing from which we are most in danger.” She spread her arms wide. “Look around you.”
The words landed, but Caleb didn’t have time to dwell on them, as his opponent righted himself and lumbered toward him. With a scowl, he turned away from her, shouting over his shoulder, “I’m calling in my boon. I want you out of here. I’m sure you know a half dozen ways to exit this building.”
“I do, in fact,” she said, “but I’m not going anywhere.”
“So much for favors,” he replied. “Infernal woman.”
She couldn’t help her laugh.
“Goddammit, Sesily—”
His retort was punctuated by a shout that was followed by a mighty crash. Her gaze flew to Maggie, tall and strong behind the bar, but outflanked—two men coming for her, menace in their eyes.
“Didn’t hee
d the lesson we taught you last time, did you?” one of the thugs said, and Sesily could hear his loathing from the distance she was already closing. As she neared, she recognized him. Johnny Crouch, a local bruiser who ran with The Bully Boys. Word was that he’d been seen at several of the recent raids.
“Sesily!” Caleb shouted at a distance from the midst of his bout, no doubt wanting her to stop. To wait for him, or some nonsense.
“I never was very good at lessons, Johnny,” Maggie retorted, reaching for a bottle of whiskey—the nearest weapon.
“Too bad, that,” he replied. They were nearly on Maggie now. “This time, you won’t have a chance to remember. Bringing Peelers into it weren’t smart. Can’t have the detective inspector sniffing ’round.”
Sesily clenched her teeth at the words. The Bully Boys had been watching The Place. They’d seen Caleb and Peck enter earlier. And it didn’t matter that Maggie hadn’t said a word—she’d be punished for nothing more than the fact that her door had opened.
Anger flared, hot and full, as Sesily reached the trio. “Have you ever noticed, Maggie,” she began, peeling back her skirts, revealing the trousers she wore beneath them, designed for ease of movement. She stepped up onto a chair and onto the bar without hesitation. “That the more a thug talks, the easier he is to take on?”
The villain in question turned to face her, his twisted nose revealing multiple breaks, alongside a wicked scar across one beady eye. She smiled. “Hello, Johnny.”
Crouch’s gaze lingered on her full chest. “Who’re you?”
Resisting the urge to flinch beneath the disgusting inspection from the man who was clearly leader of this vile crew, Sesily said, “Truly, I’m disappointed you don’t remember me. But never mind that. You were teaching Maggie a lesson?”
“Sesily!” Caleb’s roar carried through the din of battle, and Sesily ignored it.
“You’re damn right we’re going to teach ’er a lesson. She’ll think twice before opening this place again. Women ought to know their place.” He reached for her slipper on the bar, his hand sliding over her ankle. “That includes you.”
Close.
Swallowing down the bile that rose in her throat at the leering words, Sesily tested the weight of the table leg she held behind her skirts. “Has no one ever told you that you shouldn’t touch women without their permission?”
Bombshell Page 7
