A Secret Surrender Page 24

  “He was right.” Now there was the barest thread of anguish in his voice.

  “Because of Rafe, I had the opportunity to be something other than a prostitute. When I had the chance to become a governess, I was so happy, so relieved. It was more than I’d ever dreamed.” She clutched her hands together, her muscles tensing. “But then my employer did what the other man couldn’t. He made me a whore.”

  “No.” Harry’s eyes turned fierce, his brows pitching down his forehead. “He did not.”

  “I ran away and fetched Beatrix from the school—she was incredibly unhappy there and had nowhere else to go. We had no means, no family. I’d lost touch with Rafe, and I was too afraid to come back here.” It had taken her years of building her confidence and regaining her self-worth before she could return. “We lived the only way I knew how, and I thank God for that, because without my ability to steal and scheme, we would have starved. Or worse—we would have been at the mercy of men.” She straightened her shoulders. “I swore I would never depend on anyone ever again.”

  “I take it you were never actually married.”

  She hated that he had to—rightfully—question everything she’d ever told him. “No.”

  He stared at her, but she couldn’t read him. She wanted so badly to touch him, to heal him.

  “I’ll try to find Luther,” she said. “But he may be trying to avoid me. I kept refusing his advances.”

  “Please don’t put yourself in any danger. Promise me?”

  She would promise him anything. “Yes. Luther wouldn’t hurt me.”

  “Because he loves you.”

  She hated his dispassion. “But I don’t love him.”

  “Let me know what you find out.”

  Selina couldn’t stop herself from edging closer to him. “I will. There are people I can talk to. From…the past.”

  He nodded. She reached up and barely grazed her fingertips against his jaw. “I’m so sorry, Harry. I wish things were different, but I don’t know how they could be.” She stood on her toes and brushed her lips over his. Then she stepped back.

  Harry seemed completely detached. Good. He was better off that way.

  Without a word, Harry turned and left. Selina stared after him while her knees melted to water. After she heard the front door close, she wobbled to the nearest chair and wilted onto it.

  “Why did you let him leave like that?” Beatrix strode into the sitting room and stood with her hands on her hips.

  Selina looked up at her while her body fought to calm itself. “Were you eavesdropping?”

  “Yes. Why did you let him leave?”

  “Why would he stay?”

  “Because you love him, and he loves you.” Beatrix looked at Selina as if she were mad. “You belong together.”

  “He does not love me.”

  Beatrix let out a breath of pure exasperation. “Of course he does. Weren’t you listening?”

  “Yes, and I was standing right in front of him as he stared at me with the coldest expression you can imagine.” Selina shivered.

  Beatrix rolled her eyes and dropped her hands from her hips. “It was obvious to me, and I was just listening outside.”

  “How can you possibly tell?”

  “He is clearly jealous of Luther. And when he stopped you from saying what Boyer did—” Beatrix clamped her lips together. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to say his name.” They’d agreed long ago to never say it again. Beatrix came forward and squatted down in front of Selina. “Harry cares for you. I can tell. You forget that for a time—a time I remember quite clearly—I had two parents who loved each other. Even if they weren’t married,” she added. “Unlike you, I know what that looks and sounds like.”

  Yes, Selina did forget that sometimes. Beatrix had memories Selina couldn’t imagine. She was so bloody deficient in every way! “How could Harry possibly care for me? Or want me? Or love me?”

  “Why does there have to be a reason? You’re an amazing woman who would captivate any sane, intelligent man.”

  Selina shook her head. “That’s not me.”

  Beatrix stood and threw her hands up. “It is you. Or it should be anyway. You are the strongest person I know, and yet you so often fail to truly believe in yourself. You don’t even think you can love, but you can. You do.”

  She did. She loved Harry so much. Shouldn’t that make her feel good? It sure as hell shouldn’t make her feel weak or defeated.

  Selina pushed herself out of the chair. “I should fight for him.” It came out sounding a bit like a question.

  “Yes, you should,” Beatrix said firmly. “You have never shied away from risk. It’s time for you to take the biggest one.”

  Beatrix was right. Selina wanted him. She wanted a future with him. First, she had to tell him everything, every horrid detail of her background.

  She should also tell him that her brother and the Vicar were one and the same, but she didn’t want to endanger her brother’s plans. Not after everything they’d been through since their parents had died.

  Selina had known fear before, but not like this. She’d experienced joy and hope—and love—which would make the loss of it that much harder to bear.

  * * *

  Harry threw himself into a chair in one of the offices at the Magistrates’ Court. It had been a grueling day, during which he’d gone to a wedding in Mayfair and arrested the bloody groom for extortion. Yesterday, a friend of a friend, the Viscount Colton, had come to report the extortion.

  The tale had been rather involved, but it included the Vicar, who’d loaned money to the viscount. The groom, Chamberlain, whom they’d arrested, was the one who’d put the viscount in touch with the Vicar. Unfortunately, the groom could only say the Vicar lent money from St. Dunstan-in-the-West, which was of no use to Harry since he already knew that.

  Furthermore, Selina hadn’t sent any word about Frost. Harry had to accept she’d probably lied to him again. Except he knew she was still in London. He’d checked last night, standing across the street from her house like some sort of prowler.

  He might be a fool, but he believed everything she’d told him the other day. Every horrible, heartbreaking detail.

  A clerk knocked on the door before opening it. “Mr. Sheffield? There’s a…girl here to see you.”

  Weary, Harry waved his hand. “Have her come in.” He straightened in the chair.

  The girl walked slowly into the office, her head turning this way and that as she surveyed her surroundings. She shifted her weight nervously before looking at Harry.

  He recognized the basket weaver from Saffron Hill immediately. “Maggie, it’s good to see you.”

  She tucked an errant strand of dark hair behind her ear. She ought to have a bonnet. Harry would see to that.

  He stood and went to stand near her, then offered an encouraging smile. “How can I help you?”

  “You said I should come see you if I needed anything. I need my brother to stop being a thief. ’E’s going to get caught and end up on a convict ship.”

  That was all too possible, unfortunately. “What would you like me to do?”

  “You wanted information about the man who started the fire. If I tell you, will you ’elp ’im?”

  “I will do my very best.” Harry knew that would only happen if the boy wanted to be helped. “I could also help you find an apprenticeship. Would you like to learn to make hats?”

  She shrugged. “I already know how to make baskets.”

  “Hats may not be so different.” He lowered his voice conspiratorially. “Sometimes I think women’s hats could be used as baskets.”

  This elicited a smile from Maggie. It was gone too soon, however. “The man who told us to say the Vicar started the fire—’e was like you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “A gentleman.”

  Harry wondered if it could have been Frost. The man had demonstrated his ability to play a role. “Was it Frost?”

  A look of constern
ation crossed her face. “I don’t think so, but I can’t say for sure.”

  “Your brother would know if it was Frost, wouldn’t he?”

  She nodded.

  “And where can I find your brother?” She’d been vague when Harry had spoken to her before, but he believed her story would change. She was motivated now.

  “You can find ’im at the Lantern—it’s in a court off Saffron Hill—most nights.”

  Harry knew precisely where that was of course. He realized he hadn’t asked Maggie about Frost’s whereabouts. “Do you know where I can find Frost? I understand he has lodgings on Peter Street, but he hasn’t been seen there of late.”

  “’E and the boys—like my brother—’ave a place they ’ide. An alley off Chick Lane.”

  Brilliant. Harry would go there straightaway. “Thank you, Maggie. Would you like me to see you home?”

  She hesitated, but eventually nodded shyly.

  Harry smiled at her again. “Wonderful.” He picked up his hat and went to open the office door. “What’s your brother’s name?” Harry would do what he could to help the boy. If he wanted it.

  “Elias Dwight,” she said as Harry gestured for her to precede him.

  Downstairs, he was intercepted by another clerk, who said he needed to take care of some paperwork regarding Chamberlain—the man he’d arrested earlier.

  “Damn.” Harry ran his hand through his hair.

  Remy approached him, a line running across his forehead with concern. “What’s the trouble?”

  “I was just about to leave. I need to see this young woman back to Saffron Hill.” Harry looked around for Maggie, but didn’t see her. Where had she gone?

  “Mr. Sheffield?” the clerk prodded.

  “I got a lead on Frost,” Harry said to Remy. “He may be hiding out on Chick Lane. I was going to go now, but I have some urgent paperwork.”

  “Want me to go for you?” Remy offered.

  “Would you?” Harry was disappointed he couldn’t go, but it was more important to make some bloody progress.

  “Not a problem. You mentioned a young woman?”

  “Yes, I was going to see her home—she lives in Saffron Hill. But she seems to have disappeared. You go on.”

  Remy clapped him on the shoulder. “I’ll find you later. Hopefully, with news.”

  Anticipation surged in Harry. He turned to the clerk and followed him to fetch the paperwork.

  The clerk who’d showed Maggie upstairs approached Harry again. “Mr. Sheffield?”

  Harry was glad to see him. “Have you seen the girl you showed upstairs?”

  Shaking his head, the clerk held out a missive. “No, but a message was just delivered for you.”

  Opening the parchment, Harry caught his breath as he recognized Selina’s handwriting. She knew where to find Frost—Chick Lane—and said she’d meet Harry there this evening. Harry checked his pocket watch. She’d be there soon.

  Dammit! Harry frowned at the clerk. “Does this need to be done right now?”

  “Yes, sir.” Scowling, Harry took the paperwork from the clerk, intent on finishing it as quickly as possible so he could follow Remy.

  So he could get to Selina.

  She hadn’t lied to him. Still, he wasn’t sure he could ever trust her. Her confessions from the other day had weighed heavily on him. Maybe she’d been right that he couldn’t forgive himself for trusting her, for allowing himself to be a fool.

  A fool blinded by love. Was he still?

  No, he knew what she was. He also knew why. What he didn’t know was if he could accept her. But, oh, how he wanted to.

  Chapter 20

  Chick Lane was incredibly narrow, with wood-and-brick buildings three stories tall that made the street feel even more close. The Fleet Ditch ran nearby, providing a permeating stench of offal and damp.

  Selina couldn’t imagine Luther living here. Actually, she could. What she couldn’t imagine was living here herself. Which surely would have happened—or somewhere similar—if she hadn’t left London.

  Or perhaps Rafe would have been able to protect her. He’d certainly come out all right. Better than she could have dreamed. But what had it cost him? She wasn’t sure and didn’t know if he’d ever reveal the truth to her.

  He had, however, helped her find Luther, and she was most grateful. It was a small thing to do this for Harry, but she was glad for the chance. She knew nothing could ever erase her betrayal. Hopefully, this would help him. That was all she wanted.

  Rafe, who’d tracked down Luther’s hiding spot, had offered to come with her this evening, but she’d said Harry would meet her. Besides, if Rafe came, it was likely that Harry would find out he was the Vicar. Since Rafe had decided to permanently retire his other identity, they’d agreed it was best he stayed in Mayfair as Raphael Bowles.

  The Duck and Swan backed up to the Fleet Ditch. A covered porch jutted into the street, making the space in front of it even narrower than the rest of the lane. Prostitutes loitered outside. One had just snagged a customer and drew him inside with a leer.

  Selina felt the familiar weight of her pistol in her reticule and took a deep breath. She wasn’t afraid, just a bit nervous. Though she’d dressed in plain, serviceable clothes—the black she wore as Madame Sybila—she still felt as though she stuck out.

  She walked inside, where lanterns illuminated the busy common room. It was barely dusk, but it would have been quite dark in here without them. The ceiling was low, and there were no windows. There were also a great many people. Some sat in groups laughing or arguing. Others stood together, tankards dangling from their fingertips.

  Selina moved to the side so she could survey the room to see if Luther was present. It was likely he was upstairs somewhere if he was trying to remain out of sight. Which it seemed he was, since Harry hadn’t been able to find him. Did Luther know Bow Street was looking for him?

  “What are you doing here?”

  Turning sharply, Selina saw Luther frowning at her, his dark brows forming a vicious V on his wide forehead. He’d come from a doorway that was just behind him.

  “Looking for you,” she said.

  He grinned at her. “That’s the best thing I’ve heard all day. Still, you shouldn’t be here. It’s not the safest of places. Let us get out of the main room.” He put his arm around her waist and led her to the door he’d come from. “Do you need another favor?”

  She extricated herself from his embrace and moved into the room. “No. What I need is to understand what happened four years ago, when my brother supposedly died.”

  Luther grimaced as he joined her inside. “Rafe made me promise not to tell you.”

  “So he said.” She didn’t hide her irritation. “Did you start the fire?”

  Glancing furtively into the common room, Luther pulled her farther into the small private dining chamber, to the other side of the table. Like the common room, it was windowless but also lit with lanterns, two to be precise. “Careful what you say around here, Lina.”

  She took her hand from his. “Please don’t call me that.” She was Selina now. Or Lady Gresham, and only because she had to be if Beatrix were to achieve her goal. Lina and Madame Sybila were dead.

  “Your wish is my command.” He held out a chair at the rectangular table.

  She didn’t want to sit. Moreover, she didn’t want to give the indication she was staying. Where the devil was Harry?

  She clasped her hands together, her reticule hanging from her wrist against her thigh. “Tell me about the fire.”

  Luther exhaled, and he let go of the chair. “Yes, I started the fire. Partridge was a menace—Rafe wasn’t the only one who wanted him dead.”

  “But you knew Rafe was going to kill him.”

  He slowly nodded. “I had a chance to improve my lot, and I took it. A gentleman of influence asked me to kill Partridge by starting a fire.”

  Selina took a step toward the table and put one hand on the back of a chair. “If you knew
Partridge was going to be dead already, why start a fire that would kill innocents?” The boy she’d known would never have willingly hurt innocent people—children. But maybe he wasn’t the boy she’d known. None of them were the same, and why would they be?

  His eyes hardened. “The Runner paid me a hefty sum to burn it down.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he wanted me to take over Partridge’s territory. Partridge refused to pay him a protection fee, and I had no problem doing so. The fire also covered Rafe’s act, which was an added bonus—one I would think you would appreciate.”

  She gripped the chair, the wood biting into her palm. “How can I be grateful for that when children died?”

  He stared at her coldly. “Children die every day, and we were always grateful it wasn’t us, weren’t we? You’ve forgotten what it’s like to live here.” He sneered. “What it takes to survive.”

  Maybe she had. What he’d said a moment ago finally sunk into her brain. “Did you say a Runner paid you to start the fire?”

  “Did he?”

  The answer came from behind Selina. She turned to see a man standing just inside the room as he pulled the door shut.

  “We don’t have a meeting,” Luther said, his eyes narrowing.

  “No, we don’t. Nevertheless, I’m here for a payment. And to inform you that one of my comrades is keen to find you. You need to better your hiding place.” The man inclined his head toward Selina. “Who’s the trollop?”

  Luther snarled. “Watch your mouth, Remington.”

  Remington? Selina had heard that name… Her stomach clenched. He was a Runner. He was also Harry’s friend. This was the man who’d paid Luther? And now he was collecting payments from Luther. He was utterly corrupt. “It was you,” was all Selina could manage to say.

  But Remington ignored her as he kept his eyes fixed on Luther. “I think you’re the one who needs to watch his mouth.” Remington tsked. “You can’t be telling people about me. Or about the fire. The Vicar started it, if you recall.”

  Luther scoffed. “Only because you said so. What difference does it make now?”

  “It makes every difference if you’re going to say I paid you to do it. Now we have to kill this poor chit.” Remington moved around the table toward Selina.