Bombshell

by Sarah MacLean

  “For a blade.”

  He slid a look to her. “I wondered how your blades come and go so quickly.”

  “Reticules are not handy in a pinch,” she explained. “But the leather . . . inspired.”

  “The story goes the way all stories go.”

  “Except it doesn’t,” she pointed out.

  “No, I suppose it doesn’t.”

  He’d never told anyone this story, and there was something about telling this woman, in this rocking carriage, the air from outside blowing past them, carrying his secrets away after he’d spoken them, that set him free.

  “It was the two of us against the whole world. And we did all we could to keep her from him.” He stopped. The memory of the evening playing out in his mind. Jane, shaken, but unharmed. The pair of them, suddenly on the run. “I did what I had to to keep her safe.”

  She didn’t push him, and he was grateful for the way she understood, even though she could not possibly understand. “She was lucky to have you.”

  He met her eyes, so blue and so honest. “She didn’t have me for long. I ran.”

  “What other option did you have?”

  It sounded so simple on her lips. As though it were what anyone would do. Leave their sister. Alone. Go make a fortune across the sea.

  “She didn’t go with you.”

  “No. I knew we were more likely to be caught if we were traveling together. And I knew that if we were caught, I’d be hanged, and she’d be alone with no one to protect her.”

  She nodded, understanding in her eyes. No judgment. Nothing like what he felt every day for the choices he’d made a lifetime earlier.

  “There was a house in Yorkshire—a place the girls at the estate whispered about. A place that would take Jane in if she could get there. And so I gave her everything I had—every penny I’d saved—and put her on a mail coach.”

  “And what of you?” She touched his leg, her grip on his thigh strong and sure. Certain.

  “I went the other way,” he said. “I knew that if Coleford ever found me . . . it wouldn’t only be me at the end of a rope. The things I’d seen him do . . . I knew he’d take Jane, too. Within months, he’d killed his wife to marry another. To secure a new heir.”

  She shivered in his hold, and he pulled her closer. Loving the feel of her, safe with him after the afternoon’s events. “But you escaped.”

  Barely. “I was sure he would have screamed murder and gone straight to Bow Street. Poured money into runners’ pockets to ensure they found me.”

  Sesily nodded. “Difficult to scream murder when you’re planning one yourself. So he announced a tragic accident and . . .”

  “And vowed to hunt me,” he finished for her. This brilliant woman who always saw the whole field. “Peter Whitacre stowed away on the ship. Caleb Calhoun disembarked in Boston. I knew that to survive . . . I had to start fresh. I sent money and a letter to the house in Yorkshire when I’d found a position. Scrubbing pots at a tavern for Yanks.”

  Sesily smiled at that. “And look at you now, a Yank yourself.”

  “Boston was a good place to get lost. And I was lucky enough that there were people there who found me.”

  “Brilliant boy,” she whispered, and he warmed at the praise, so welcome even now, decades later. “So brave. Now Caleb Calhoun, owner of a dozen of the most successful taverns between Baltimore and Boston. Wealthy American businessman with all his teeth and a full head of hair and legs that go all the way down to the floor.”

  His brows rose. “Is that what they do?”

  “You’ve a lovely set of legs. I always wondered if that was just how they came in America. Imagine my excitement to discover they are home grown.” He couldn’t help a small laugh. “And how long before you came back to see Jane and Peter?”

  The smile disappeared.

  Sesily looked up when he turned to stone. “What is it?”

  “You know his name.”

  “Peter? Yes. He looks like you. He has your eyes. Your smile.”

  “You . . . spoke with them?”

  “I . . . did . . .” The words came out cautious, as though she knew something was happening, but couldn’t sort it out. A dozen emotions flashed across her face, her brow furrowing as she attempted to understand what was happening. “Caleb—are you saying—have you never—” She sat up and turned to face him. “When was the last time you saw her?”

  “I’ve seen her,” he said. “Peter, too.”

  But it wasn’t everything and she knew it. “How long since they’ve seen you?”

  “Eighteen years.”

  The sadness that filled her eyes was almost unbearable to watch, the tears that turned them liquid, like the sea. “Caleb,” she whispered, and the ache in the word matched the one in his chest.

  “Coleford has been watching her since she returned to London. When she married Peter’s father the banns were posted. He’s watched her since then.”

  “Waiting for you.”

  He nodded. “But as long as he sought me, she was safe.”

  “His only hope of finding you.”

  He nodded. “Coleford has poured every penny he has into hunting me, and watching this house, in the hope I would slip up. Return.”

  And he had.

  “But vengeance is expensive. Watchmen cost money, and a viscount who mistreats his tenants cannot find enough of it in the estate,” she said. “So he sinks himself into debt and, to get himself out of it, steals from the Foundling Hospital . . . adding yet another reason why he can’t get near Scotland Yard. Because if he did, they’d discover his fraud.”

  “Enter Sesily Talbot,” he said, softly.

  “They’re going to discover his fraud either way, I’ll have you know.”

  He looked out the window to keep himself from kissing her. They were on the bridge, the sunset in the distance setting the Thames aflame. “He was certain I would make a mistake.”

  “You went as far away as you could to avoid it,” she said. “I cannot imagine how difficult that must have been. How you have lived a lifetime to protect them.”

  Nearly impossible.

  No. Absolutely impossible.

  “He knew I cared. Knew I was sending money when I could. Making sure that she and her husband and Peter had everything they needed. I covered my tracks. The funds come via a half dozen accounts, none of which can be traced to me. And still . . . he knew I would slip up and show my face, eventually.” He reached for her, running the backs of his fingers over her cheek. “And he was right. I couldn’t stay away forever.”

  Her brow furrowed. “Why would you ever set foot in Brixton? Knowing what would happen if they saw you? When they reported back to him? Why would you put yourself in danger?”

  Don’t admit it. Some secrets weren’t meant to be discovered.

  Too late. She was already there. “Because of me.”

  “You changed everything by coming here.”

  “So you followed me. You showed your hand.”

  “I knew Jane was safe. But you”—his thumb stroked over her bottom lip—“you’d go to war.”

  She clasped his wrist in her hand, holding him tight. “Caleb. He cannot have this. He cannot take it from you. Your sister. Your nephew. The people you love.”

  “He has done,” he said. “After what he lost—”

  “A wretched son who deserved what happened to him a dozen times over?”

  This woman, full of rage and fire. He adored her. And still, “This is his punishment. And only because he could not find a way to mete out anything worse.”

  But now, Coleford could mete out something worse. He could come for Sesily. And that meant everything had changed. It meant Caleb could no longer run.

  Sesily stiffened, seeing the whole play. That Crouch would report that she’d been in Brixton. With Caleb. That, after the dinner earlier in the week, after the scene Adelaide had made, after the enemy she’d made, Coleford would know that Sesily’s presence was not coincidence.
She’d be suspect. And so would Caleb.

  And everything would unravel.

  “You cannot turn yourself in.” She grasped for something. A way out. “He might not find you.”

  Of course he would. “Sesily—”

  “No! He might not make the connection between you then and you now.” She was speaking so fast, her mind turning over the facts. Considering the outcomes. Planning. He couldn’t believe he’d once thought her reckless. She was brilliant. Calculating every possible scenario.

  But he’d been calculating them for eighteen years. And this one ended in only one way. “Sesily.”

  “No! Listen. Johnny saw you at The Place. You were with me. You carried me out of there. You protected me.”

  Of course he had. And he would again. He would do everything he could to keep her safe. Forever. “Sesily.”

  He didn’t want to plan. He wanted to hold her.

  He wanted to love her for just a little bit.

  Just a taste of it. Maybe it would be enough.

  But she was frantic. “There’s no reason for them to believe that you had anything to do with Jane.”

  “Shh.” He reached for her, taking her hand in his and pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “You’re not wearing gloves.”

  “I don’t like them when I’m working.” The words were clipped, distracted. Her mind was turning over and over, trying to find another end to this journey that had begun long before she’d been a part of it. “Caleb, you cannot—”

  He ignored her, placing another kiss at her knuckle, red from her blow. “Does this hurt? You delivered one of the Talbot sisters’ famous facers?”

  “I taught them all how to deliver a facer, I’ll have you know.”

  His brows rose. “Impressive.”

  Her other hand came to clasp his. “Caleb,” she said, the words urgent. “Listen to me. They don’t have to know about you. You didn’t see her. You didn’t go to the house. This doesn’t change anything.”

  He lingered at her knuckles, pressing little soft kisses along them, knowing the truth. “Of course it does. Johnny Crouch saw me.”

  “Johnny Crouch is a cabbagehead good for nothing but muscle. The Bully Boys aren’t welcome at the Sparrow. There’s no guarantee he even recognized you.”

  It wasn’t true. Crouch was a respected lieutenant of The Bully Boys. Had come up through the gang running pickpockets and now managing bruisers for money. “Sesily. A minute ago, you were passing me off as your savior because he did recognize me. He knocked over The Place. I watched you crack his skull. I was there. And even if I hadn’t been . . . he recognized me.”

  “Fine. But it’s been eighteen years,” she argued. “There’s no guarantee Coleford will.”

  That much was true, but Coleford had been waiting for this for eighteen years. And he might be a monster, but he knew the score. Caleb and Sesily in Brixton on the same day was too much of a coincidence to do anything but ring the viscount’s bell.

  It was over.

  Caleb didn’t stop the soft kisses. Didn’t want to. Didn’t want to sacrifice even a moment of time at her skin now that he saw the way the end would play out. He pulled her closer, across his lap. Wanting her close. “Even if he didn’t recognize me, Coleford will come after you. Now. Not later. The moment he hears you were here. He is ruthless and relentless and he will scent me on you, even if Crouch never whispers my name. He will destroy you to get to me. To get his vengeance.”

  She hesitated.

  “How did you find the house?”

  She was still lost in thought, half answering. “He’s running a scheme—people are taking money from mothers looking for the children they left long ago at the Foundling Hospital. Promising to find the lost children and pocketing the cash. A percentage is going to Coleford.”

  Caleb swore. Taking money from women who left their children because they couldn’t care for them. Like father like son. A fucking monster.

  “He’s using the funds he steals from children and the desperate mothers who’ve surrendered them to pay The Bully Boys to watch Jane. To watch for you. It’s all in the ledger pages I stole.”

  “And so you took yourself to investigate. Put yourself in danger.” He hated it.

  “Not for him,” she whispered to the fast dimming carriage. “For you.”

  Christ, he hated that more. Hated that he’d been the reason she was in danger now. “Sesily—Johnny Crouch might be stupid, but he’s not stupid, you understand? It will take him no time to get word to Coleford that you were there. At Jane’s. And that I was there, too.”

  “So, we fight them.”

  Alone, he might have. But not now. Not with her safety at risk. “No, love. We can’t. There’s no winning on this front.”

  “Because you killed a man who needed killing twenty years ago?”

  “Not just any man. Son of a viscount. A viscount with enough power and madness to make sure that justice is served.”

  “Justice was served,” she said, the words urgent. Familiar. Furious.

  “Gorgeous girl,” he whispered to her curls, unmoored in the wind. “So angry.”

  “I am angry. This isn’t how it goes, Caleb. This isn’t how it ends. He’s not the only one with power. I have it, too. And money. And friends.” She turned her fierce gaze on him, unwilling to free him from the conversation. “Whatever you think Coleford can do—to me, to you, to Jane . . . The world is changing and these men—wealthy and titled and privileged and monstrous—they do not always win.”

  “And what of me? Am I not a monster?”

  Had he not endangered her? His sister? His nephew? Had he not demolished the structure built of spun sugar, protecting them all? Was it not smashed to dust?

  She set her hands to either side of his face, staring into his eyes. “No. No. There is nothing bad about you. You are good and kind and so decent and I . . .”

  She was killing him. Destroying him with her words and her passion and he knew what she was about to say, and he wanted it. Caleb had lived a life of want, and never wanted anything like he wanted to hear Sesily complete that sentence.

  But he knew that if she did, he’d never be able to leave her.

  And that was the only way he could keep her safe.

  “Caleb, I—”

  He kissed her to stop her from telling him that she loved him. Pulled her tight against him, loving the way her hands slid beneath his coat, flat and warm against his chest as though she owned him.

  Which of course she did.

  She owned him even as he pulled her close, reveling in the feel of her, soft and lush and beautiful as she opened for him, and he licked into her, long and slow and reverent, as though they were anywhere but there, in her carriage, and he were anything but racing the clock, and they had forever to explore each other.

  And for a moment, he let himself believe they did. He let himself think that he might spend a year investigating the swell of her lip and the taste of her tongue and the curve of her hip in his hand, and the softness of her hair in his fingers.

  She sighed, and he deepened the kiss.

  Loving her. Silently.

  And when he lifted his lips from hers, and she opened her eyes, slow and sinful, he reveled in her beauty, in the way it promised him an eternity when all they had was a carriage ride.

  She pressed her forehead to his, and he tightened his fingers in her hair and closed his eyes, breathing her in, tempting and perfect. “Why did you come back?” she whispered. “To London?”

  His heart pounded, and he bit back the truth. “Your sister wanted to open the Sparrow.”

  He should have known it wouldn’t work. Sesily would never allow falsehood here. Not between them in this carriage full of truth. “And after that?”

  He closed his eyes.

  Don’t tell her.

  “Oliver’s christening.”

  She nodded. “And this time, for the babe.”

  It would hurt them both.

  “Yes.” No.r />
  “Liar.”

  No good would come of it.

  And even knowing that, he couldn’t stop himself. He looked at her, her gorgeous eyes on his, refusing him escape. The carriage had slowed, and Caleb knew that their time was nearly up. That when the vehicle stopped, and they parted, it would be the end.

  Maybe because of that, it mattered very much that she hear the truth. “I come back because I cannot stay away.”

  She was close enough that he could feel the way her breath hitched in her throat. “Stay away from what?”

  He brushed a curl from her face, tucking it behind her ear. Marveling at her. At the fact that, for a moment, he’d had her, perfect and his. He whispered her name, and it was the closest thing he’d ever spoken to a prayer. “From you.”

  She went still in his arms, and the words hung between them, heavy and honest. She raised a hand and touched his lips, her fingers like a kiss. “You put yourself in danger for me.”

  “Sesily.” He took her hand in his, holding her firm. Needing her to understand. “I would walk into fire if it meant seeing you one last time. And I would not hesitate.”

  Her eyes slid closed, her forehead bowing to his lips as the carriage came to a stop. And then he couldn’t say more. Couldn’t tell her all the ways he was tethered to her. All the ways she consumed his thoughts. All the ways he adored her.

  The drive was over.

  It was all over.

  Except it wasn’t, because she whispered, “Come inside.” And then, before he could say no, she whispered, “Please. I—”

  He could have kissed her again. Stopped the words. But he wanted them too much. And though he knew that hearing them would wreck them both, the knowledge was not enough to stop him.

  He wanted them. Almost as much as he wanted her.

  But she didn’t give them to him. Instead, she said, soft and perfect, “Caleb . . . I need you.”

  Somehow, it was worse than he’d expected. Because love might have reminded him that he should leave her. That he should keep her safe. But need . . . need made leaving her impossible.

  Because he needed, too. He ached with it. And he was hers. He always had been. From the moment he’d laid eyes on her.