"The one I hired to help me find Primrose. Burke Skinner claimed he did contract work for Bow Street, but I engaged him privately—I wanted as much discretion as possible." She gave a scornful laugh, but Ambrose could see the agitated cadence of her breath. "How could I have been such a fool?"
Ambrose went to her, took her chin in his hand. Though her eyes flashed at him, he saw beneath the anger to the fear. The glittering facets of helplessness.
"What did Skinner do, Marianne?" he said.
"He kept me dangling for months. Though I later learned he'd discovered clues to Primrose's disappearance early on, he doled out the information, made me pay through the nose for it. Then one day," she said bitterly, "he wanted more than money."
Skinner had saw fit to make sexual advances upon a desperate, grieving mother? Skinner was going topay. Ambrose vowed to see to it.
"What happened?" he rasped.
"He wouldn't take no for an answer. So I shot him." Her chin lifted. "I didn't kill him, but scared him into revealing all that he had discovered. Those facts led me to Kitty Barnes."
A faint memory resonated.You're not even the first man I've shot...Despite the dire situation, Ambrose's chest warmed with pride. Though she struggled, he wrapped his arms around his brave girl and held on. How had one woman survived so much?
"You did exactly the right thing, sweetheart," he murmured against her ear. "He deserved to be shot. I wish I could have done it myself."
He could hear her uneven breaths. After a few moments, she stopped trying to get away. Her voice emerged muffled against his chest.
"You won't let me down, will you, Ambrose?" She tipped her head to look at him, and the sheen in her eyes devastated him. Ratcheted up his guilt. "I swore I'd never depend on anyone again. But I think with you... I could make an exception."
The muscles of his chest stretched as if he were upon the rack. Only his instrument of torture was made not of steel and wood, but of conscience and desire. As much as he wanted to confess the truth to her, he knew the result if he did: she'd shut him out for good. Hadn't she nearly done so because he'd investigated Leach's clerk without informing her first? Her trust was a fragile thing. After all she'd suffered at the hands of men, he couldn't blame her.
But he also couldn't allow her to continue this perilous quest on her own. Sheneededhis help, his protection—she was facing a powerful enemy. Conflict tore at him.
"Will you help me get my daughter back, Ambrose?" Her gaze searched his face.
And his decision was made.
"I vow to you, I won't rest until Primrose is safe in your arms once more," he said.
He'd do whatever it took to help her—his guilt and honor be damned.
She smiled through her tears, looking so angelic that his breath dammed in his throat. She tugged his head down for a kiss, and the hot, open sweetness of her mouth made his blood pound, drowning out his thoughts. She fitted her body to his, her eyes heavy-lidded with want, and her surrender made him hunger to give her everything he could. His kiss, his cock… mayhap even a piece of his soul.
As he tumbled her back onto the bed, he made a silent vow.
I'll find a way to make this work. I'll prove worthy of her trust. I won't let her down.
25
The smoke risingfrom the stacks cast a purplish haze over the night sky. As Ambrose strode along Cheapside, his way lit by the candlelight spilling from windows, he drank in the familiar sights and sounds of his neighborhood. The smells of hops and roasting meat filled the air. The bells of St. Mary-Le-Bow church clanged with timeless insistence, signaling the nine o'clock curfew which saw the release of the apprentices from the toils of the day. Young men garbed in ubiquitous brown thronged toward the taverns, more than ready to make use of the night's freedom.
Despite the day's labors—which had included the search of several vessels and the eventual apprehension of a trio of smugglers—Ambrose moved with energy. He turned off Throgmorton Street toward his apartment, his steps quick and impatient. Before bed tonight, he planned to review the profiles he'd put together on Pendleton and Boyer. He and Marianne would be meeting tomorrow to discuss the progress of the investigation. Whilst she was finding out all she could about the peers through discreet queries in theton's drawing rooms, Ambrose was doing the same in less rarefied realms.
As the first order of business, he'd tapped a man named Willy Trout to look into the suspects' financials. He'd met Trout a while back when he and his crew had put a stop to an extortion racket that had targeted boatmen on the Thames, including Trout's brother. Since then, Trout had proved a staunch ally. A discreet and free-thinking individual, the man could get information on most anything—for the right price.
For once, Ambrose was not limited by the Thames River Police's budgetary constraints; Marianne had made it clear that he hadcarte blanchewhen it came to conducting the search for Rosie. Ambrose had drawn the line, however, at her offer to payhim.
He'd compromised many things, but he'd be damned if he took money from the woman he was sleeping with. The woman for whom he had feelings. Feelings that bewildered him, shook the very tenets of his beliefs about himself and the world. And that made him feel more alive than he'd ever felt before. He blew out a breath. Told himself it was just a combination of powerful physical attraction and a primal need to protect her, to give her the justice she deserved.
On his own coin—he'd managed to add to his meager supply by securing a few extra hours at Wapping and had sent most of the money to his family—he'd also asked Trout to be on the lookout for Burke Skinner, the Runner who had betrayed Marianne. Despite Marianne's expedient handling of the bastard, Ambrose didn't trust that she'd heard the last from Skinner. He wanted to make certain that the blighter would never step foot near her again.
Tomorrow night, Ambrose thought that he and Marianne might make love again. Mayhap even fall asleep in each other's arms. Such was his optimism that he'd made a discreet stop at a Covent Garden shop to purchase more means of contraception; 'twas as much his responsibility as hers, after all. As he turned the corner toward his tenement, his loins tightened in anticipation—at the same time that his conscience picked up its berating refrain.
You can't go on deceiving her. A lie is a lie, even if it only lasted five days. You have to find a way to tell her about your stint with Bow Street.
But how? Once he'd made the decision to omit the truth, it became more and more difficult to bring it into the open. He knew she'd never trust him again, and the thought of her continuing her mission on her own… He quelled his scruples with iron resolve. He had to stay close, to watch over her and help her reunite with her girl. Until he could figure out a better solution, Marianne's welfare took precedence over his honor.
