“You want me to kill someone.”
“Oh, yes. Quite.” She’d almost forgotten what had brought her to his door. It was sometimes easy to forget—when Winnie wasn’t bruised. When she seemed happy.
Was Catherine’s solution a rash one?
As often as she’d lain awake at night pondering solutions before she’d approached Claybourne, she didn’t see any other way. And yet sometimes her decision seemed extreme. If only two of Avendale’s wives hadn’t died mysteriously. If only he didn’t take his fists to Winnie.
“Tell me about the rescued lambs,” she said, needing a distraction from the discomfort of her thoughts and aching hand.
He groaned low as though irritated—or maybe embarrassed—by the question and she thought he would leave it at that. Finally his low voice filled the coach, lulling her with its purring resonance.
“Each of us has our weakness. For Frannie, it’s children. For me, it’s unmarried mothers.
It began innocently enough. One of my servants had a friend who found herself with child, and she was let go. I suspect the babe’s father was the lord of the manor, but he wouldn’t claim it. So I sent her to one of my lesser estates. I wasn’t using it. I’ve sent rescued lambs there ever since.”
He made it seem so unimportant.
“Your good works must cost you a fortune.”
“You say that as though you find me generous. If you’ll not consider me a braggart, I’ll confess that I’m in possession of a fortune, a very nice fortune. What I give is nothing.
The truly generous man is the one who gives away his last ha’penny when he can ill afford to do so.”
Or one who gives away the last of his soul, she thought desolately, when it’s all that remains to him. Was she asking too much?
When they arrived at Catherine’s residence, the coach came to a halt in the alleyway.
Claybourne didn’t stop at the gate, but escorted her all the way to the servants’ entrance, his hand sturdy beneath her elbow as though she needed the support. Perhaps she did.
Sometimes she felt like she was floating, that everything was at a great distance—and then suddenly it would be before her.
“Will you be all right?” he asked.
She nodded. “I’ll see you at midnight tonight. Or is it tomorrow? I’m never quite sure how to refer to the upcoming night when dawn has not yet taken this one away.”
Cradling her chin, he rubbed his thumb over her lips. It was so dark and foggy that she couldn’t determine what he was thinking.
“Do you think you’ll be up to teaching Frannie?” he asked.
His question surprised her. She’d expected something a bit more intimate after all they’d shared tonight.
“Yes.” She sounded breathless. It irritated her that he had such power over her.
“Good. Tonight then.”
He quickly disappeared into the fog, like a phantom. Opening the door, she slipped inside, then pressed her back to the wood. She’d not expected to like Claybourne. She’d wanted only to use him, then forget him.
But she knew now that no matter what the outcome of their arrangement, she would never forget him. Never.
Luke listened to the sounds of the city coming to life as his coach traveled toward its destination. He’d always enjoyed the hustle and bustle of London, but particularly in the early hours of the morning. As a lad, he’d always felt that it offered the promise of opportunity: pockets to be picked, food to be stolen, tricks to be played on the unsuspecting. And always there was Frannie.
From the first night that Jack had taken him to Feagan’s, the first night when he had spotted the little girl sitting by the fire, the first night when she had crawled onto the mound of blankets, tucked her small hand in his, and told him not to be afraid, he had loved her.
He remembered nothing of his life before Jack found him. Marcus Langdon and his attempt to claim the title had Luke trying to remember what he could of his past. But there was nothing there. All his memories were of the streets.
Perhaps he should return to them, return to them with Frannie. Let Langdon have the title. Luke certainly didn’t need the income. Because of his partnership with Jack, he was a man of wealth in his own right. But he couldn’t quite bring himself to give up the title that the old gent had assured him belonged to him. He’d grown to care for the old gent, in his own way, and a part of him thought it would be a betrayal to the one who had saved him from the gallows and looked after him so well.
The coach came to a halt in front of a house that Luke seldom visited. He stepped out onto the cobblestone drive and strode up the steps. He didn’t knock or wait for admittance, but simply opened the door and went inside.
