“Stay here,” Luke ordered. He opened the door and leapt out of the coach before his footman could assist him. He strode into Dodger’s, a man with a purpose. He spotted Jack straightaway.
The man known as the Dodger turned away from a gaming table and smiled brightly.
“Ah, there you are. Have you put matters—”
Luke smashed his balled fist into Jack’s face, sending him tumbling to the floor, overturning the table in the process. There were gasps from the gentlemen customers, squeals from the ladies who were trying to entice them up to their rooms.
“Get up!” Luke demanded.
Jack wiped the blood from his mouth, looked at the back of his hand, before peering up at Luke. “I’m not quite certain—”
“Get. Up.”
Jack pushed himself up until he stood straight, and Luke punched him in the stomach.
Jack staggered back, and Luke pounded his fist into his chin, snapping his head back and sending him sprawling to the floor.
“Luke!” Frannie cried from somewhere behind him. “What are you doing?”
She knelt beside Jack and looked up at Luke, horror in her eyes.
“It’s all right, Frannie,” Jack said. “I’m sure he has a good reason for punching the bloke who saved his arse on more than one occasion.”
Luke took a step forward, taking satisfaction in Jack’s flinching. “You found me hiding behind that garbage in the alley, because you followed me. You followed me from where my parents were attacked. All these years, you knew the truth. You knew I was the old gent’s grandson, but you held your silence because to do otherwise would reveal your part in the murder of my parents. You knew my torment and yet you left me to suffer with my doubts. I should bloody well kill you.”
It was as though a veil had dropped from Jack’s eyes. Luke saw the truth there, saw that what he’d remembered was exactly what had taken place.
“Please do,” Jack snarled. “By all means. Ever since that night we were in gaol and I offered myself up to those blighters so they’d spare you, I’ve prayed for death. So do it.
You killed your uncle. So kill your friend! I bloody well dare you!”
Luke was suddenly aware of the cane in his hand, the sword unsheathed. He’d not remembered bringing it with him, but it would serve him well now. He took another step forward, felt a hand squeezing his arm, looked back—
Catherine. With tears swimming in her blue eyes. “You’re not a murderer.”
“I killed my uncle. Let there be no doubt.”
“He took a young girl’s innocence. But you are not a murderer.”
He pointed at Jack. “He led us to the alley. He was the urchin who claimed his mother was dying. He’s the one—”
“I’ll not let you give up the last bit of your soul. I will stand in front of you if I must.”
But it was enough that she stood beside him. He looked back at Jack. “What did he pay you?”
Jack just glowered at him.
“Damn you! Answer me.”
To his surprise, Jack didn’t avert his gaze in shame. “Sixpence.”
Luke slammed his eyes closed.
“I didn’t know what he had planned,” Jack said quietly. “You have to believe that, Luke, I didn’t know.”
Luke opened his eyes. He’d been blind with rage, and only now did everything around him come into focus. Chesney and Milner staring at him, mouths agape. Other lords and common gentlemen—vice made them equal.
Frannie staring up at him as though she didn’t know him.
