She came, and he felt it. Even though the sensation was pleasurable, another feeling churned inside him: shame. A sense that what he was doing was wrong. But why? Lottie was his…his wife, his love. He was too far gone, the climax overtaking him…
She pushed him away and twisted to look at him with glittering green eyes.
“Never spill inside me, you jackanapes! We cannot be discovered?—”
Jack’s eyes flew open. His heart was racing, his hands knotted in the bedclothes. Sweat dripped off his brow, and to his mortification, the sheets were sticky with more than perspiration. He sat up, raised his knees, and dropped his head into his arms, waiting for his gut to stop roiling. Willing the sickly feeling to subside.
The memories pierced his brain like a red-hot spear. The biggest mistake of his life. The mistake he could never come back from, no matter how hard he tried to atone or outrun it. His disgrace stained every fiber of his being, and he felt it every time he looked in the mirror. Every time someone called him by a name that he had no right to. Every time he wanted to go back in time, change history, do everything differently with Lottie.
He scrubbed his palms over his eyes, trying to focus. To think. Last night, he’d fallen asleep on a euphoric cloud. It wasn’t just the climax Lottie had given him, splendid as that had been. It was the fact that she’d trusted him enough to play the game with him, and when he’d told her the truth, that he hadn’t been with another since her, she’dbelievedhim.
She’d obviously been shocked, which was understandable given how voracious his appetite had been with her. Yet she still had sufficient faith in him to believe that he’d honored their vows over the last dozen years. Broodingly, he considered that she likely hadn’t done the same; why would she, when she believed he was dead? When he’d staged his demise in such a way that no woman would wish to remain faithful to her philandering husband? If she’d fucked someone else on his freshly dug grave, he would probably deserve it.
Rationally, he knew this. Yet reason had never applied to Lottie, and it didn’t stop jealousy from gnawing at him. He couldn’t shove aside the question of how many she’d lain with. How many men he would need to beat to a pulp for touching his wife. This despite the damnable fact that he had no right to ask or care.
Yet he did bloody care, and he hated himself more for it.
He told himself that the encounter between him and Lottie last night meant nothing…to her, at least. She’d walked away without a word. Their sexual play didn’t mean that she would take him back. It didn’t mean that his deepest fantasy would come true: that he would win her love and hand again, this time forever.
There is no going back.
Primus was right. Even if Jack could go back, he wouldn’t, for Lottie’s sake. There was too much at stake, and the danger was rising with the tides of people flooding London. The best thing he could do for her was to stay away—and keep her out of the First Flame’s path.
Whilst he’d kept Lottie occupied last night, Delaney had followed his order to track Xenia Loveday. Delaney had caught snippets of a conversation between Miss Loveday and her partner-in-crime, Gilbert Quinton. They’d been searching for Anthony Quinton (Miss Loveday’s paramour and Gilbert’s younger brother) who’d gone missing. At the academy, they’d found an acquaintance of Tony’s, who’d mentioned that he had a friend in Hastings, and they were planning to go to the coastal town to look for him.
Jack would follow them, for Tony was the missing link to the First Flame.
Two months ago, Jack had picked up rumors about anarchists operating in Calais. Posing as a fisherman, he’d infiltrated the community. He’d had no luck getting anyone to talk…until a young Englishman showed up at the portsidebrasserie. The cove had been nervy, despondent, and clearly terrified. Jack had acted the part of the friendly local, inviting the other to share his table, buying drinks. He’d bided his time; eventually, the man’s tongue had loosened.
Tony had used an alias, claiming he was a sailor in town for a few days. The cove was a shoddy liar, which made it easy to sift out the pieces of the truth. After a few more drinks, he admitted that his fondness for gaming had landed him in terrible debt.
“Have you ever made one mistake after another”—Tony’s voice had hitched as he knuckled his reddened eyes—“until you’ve dug a hole so deep that there is no escape?”
Jack answered truthfully.“I have.”
His hole was a crater so vast that he’d lost himself completely. At times, he even forgot his real name, who he was. His mistakes had cost him his best friend and his wife.
“Then you understand.”Tony looked at him with glazed, desperate eyes.“I never wanted to hurt anyone. I am not a bad person.”
“We all make mistakes.”Experience guided Jack’s words.“But you can still redeem yourself.”
“I can’t.”Tony drained his glass.“It’s too late. They won’t let me.”
Despite his thudding pulse, Jack asked calmly,“They?”
“They’re everywhere. Watching. Listening.”Tony’s gaze jumped around the smoky room, panic piercing his inebriated state.“I shouldn’t be talking. I’ve said too much already?—”
“I can help you.”
“No, you can’t. No one can.”
“I can.”Jack leaned in, his voice low and urgent.“I have the power to protect you from the First Flame. If you are willing to do what is right—what I know is in your heart. For yourself and your country.”
Tony gawped at him.“Who…who are you?”
“A friend, if you’ll let me be.”
Jack had spent the rest of the evening gaining Tony’s trust. They’d stuck to lighter topics—their hobbies, interests, families—and even if the details were not real, the camaraderie was. By evening’s close, Tony had seemed hopeful and agreed to meet with Jack the following night. He’d said he would bring “evidence” that would help Jack bring down the First Flame.
