Shaking his head, Adam skimmed over a report from his man-of-business and dictated a letter to one of the clerks. Then he gathered his things and proceeded to his next stop.
At five o’clock, Adam’s carriage glided to a stop in front of a large, four-story Italianate building on a tiny lane in Covent Garden. His driver, Thompson, had required no instruction to bring him here for it was part of his routine. For years, he’d made this monthly Friday night visit.
“Wait here, Thompson,” Adam said as he alighted. “My visit will be short this eve.”
“Yes, sir.”
Adam headed for the private entrance at the rear of the property. The guard there greeted him deferentially, unhooking the velvet rope barrier to let him in. Adam headed up the stairs reserved for workers; along the way, he passed several whores wearing short sateen robes, their faces painted and hair still tied in rags. He nodded coolly to their cooed hellos.
Reaching his destination on the third floor, he knocked.
The door opened, revealing a tall, statuesque blonde, dramatically framed by the scarlet boudoir behind her. She was dressed in a black corset made of leather, her arms encased in black satin gloves and legs in black silk stockings. A coiled leather whip dangled from one hand.
“Adam,” Jeannette Wilde said in rich, sultry tones. “You’re early tonight.”
“I can’t stay long,” he replied.
Her red lips curving, she widened the door. “Then don’t just stand there, love. Come in.”
7
That night,the sky was dark and clear above the Thames, the air bearing the crispness of autumn. A constellation of lights winked along the shore, and there was a disorientating seamlessness between water, land, and sky. Due to the lack of fog cover, Adam ordered his men to drop anchor a safe distance away from the warehouse where the battle with Sweeney was to take place.
As the boat rocked, Adam steadied himself against the railing, memories flooding him.
Don’t fight it, you li’l bastard. I’m just following your father’s orders. I’ll drown you like a kitten—you won’t feel a thing.
Wiley’s menacing laughter muffled his own desperate pleas. He felt those icy dark waves closing over his head, the brine gargling his cries. He fought to free his hands and legs from the binding rope, the bricks in the sack dragging him down, down, into the suffocating deep…
Keep your eyes on the target. You cannot change the past, but you can make sure those who are responsible pay for their sins. Take care of the business at hand.
Inhaling deeply, he shut out the memories.
“How many guards, Kerrigan?” he asked.
Standing at the prow of the lighter, the guard had a telescope aimed at the warehouse. “From the lamps, I’d count maybe a dozen guards doing the rounds.”
Adam consulted his pocket watch. “There’s half an hour until the exchange. Keep monitoring.”
“Yes, sir.”
As he was about to close the cover of the watch, Adam paused, seeing the inscription inside.
On the occasion of our seventh wedding anniversary. Your loving Gabriella.
He rubbed his thumb over the script. A familiar warmth unfurled, chasing away some of the chill. He frowned at himself. It wasn’t like him to get distracted, yet his thoughts had grown increasingly unruly. At unexpected times, he found himself ambushed by thoughts of Gabriella…and his old life. If he were honest with himself—and he made it a policy to be—he could trace this phenomenon back to a few months ago, when The Gilded Pearl, an infamous brothel, had gone up in flames, taking with it a piece of his revenge.
Cold rage rushed into his veins.She got off too easily. She deserved to suffer more.
He snapped the pocket watch shut. What was done was done. And if the punishment hadn’t quite compensated for the crime, he reminded himself that the most important part of his vengeance was yet to come.
The moment was nearing when De Villier’s financial jugular would be exposed. The blade was in Adam’s hand, and he couldn’t wait to strike. To have his justice at last…and with it, peace.
Stay in command. The prize is nearly yours.
Footsteps sounded on the steps from the lower cabin, and Murray emerged onto the deck. Like Adam, he wore a caped greatcoat. The wool warded off the damp chill, and the pockets were convenient. Adam had a pair of pistols stowed in his and a blade in each boot for good measure.
You could take a man out of the stews but not the stews out of the man.
