“I, uh, am looking for Lord Hawthorne if you know him,” she said, her voice scratchy. “Some of his acquaintances told me I would find him here.”
The man chuckled in amusement but pointed to a darkened alcove near the back of the establishment. Juliana followed the gesture, weaving through the crowd, hoping no one else would dare confront her. She had never felt the need to clutch her reticule so tightly that her nails dug into her palm. Men in shabby waistcoats and women with painted lips eyed her, perhaps judging the quality of her cloak. Still, she managed to cross the room to where her brother was purportedly located.
“The returns will be twofold,” Kit promised, sounding desperate and oddly energetic. “Or even threefold if we are even more fortunate. My grandmother will not hesitate to give her favorite grandson money for the investment.”
“Lord Hawthorne, I feel like we have had this conversation before,” the large man with two missing front teeth murmured. His voice was low, deep, and intimidating. Two other large men stood behind him, ready to pummel anyone if he ordered it. How could her brother be constantly dealing with people like this?
Juliana tried to come closer to her brother without being noticed, but she accidentally bumped into a table in a corner. The mug, which was placed on the edge, toppled and crashed to the floor.
All eyes turned to her. Kit’s head snapped up, and he saw her. His bloodshot eyes betrayed panic at the sight of her. He quickly composed his face, looking bored after being caught off guard.
“Kit,” she said awkwardly, waving a hand at him.
“Well, well,” the large man said, his gaze sliding over her with slow, deliberate appraisal. “What have we here, Hawthorne? Has a little high-born sparrow come to settle your accounts?”
Kit turned pale, his lips trembling. He could not look her in the eye and seemed fully aware of the threat looming over both siblings.
“I… No, I do not know her. I have never seen her before in my life,” the young baron stammered.
“Kit? It is me. What are you talking about?” Juliana asked, feeling like the walls were crowding her, too, just like it would when she was a little girl, when faced with things she did not expect. She could not breathe and, apparently, she could not think properly.
He kept staring at the table.
She understood, distantly, that he was frightened. That he was trying to protect her in the only clumsy, cowardly way available to him. She understood it, and it made no difference at all.
In that moment, a suffocating yet familiar sensation washed over her. It was as if she were eight years old again, lying about Kit’s whereabouts as he sneaked out again, even as their tutor waited. Even their Grandmama often overlooked his errors while being overly strict with her, unless it meant making her do something for her brother.
“Aha,” the leader of the thugs sneered as he stood. This was a man who had grown up in these neighborhoods, roughened by life. He walked toward her until his hand closed over the fine wool of her cloak. Earlier, she had thought she had made a wise decision by wearing one of her oldest clothes. Here, though, all her clothes were still fancy and noticeable. The man reeked of cheap ale and sweat, making Juliana’s stomach churn.
“If the baron don’t know ye,” he said softly, which was somehow worse than shouting. “Then ye’re fair game. Pretty cloak, sweetheart. Means there’s prettier things underneath it.”
“Let go!” Juliana swung her reticule.
It connected with his nose with a crack that shocked her nearly as much as it shocked him. The coins inside had been brought to buy Kit out of trouble. They served a different purpose tonight. The man let out a roar, his hands flying to his face, and Juliana ran.
She did not look back for her brother. Her heart already knew he was not coming, and grief was a luxury she could not afford at a dead sprint.
She hit the tavern doors with both hands and burst out into the night. The fog swallowed her immediately, dense and disorienting, muffling the shouting behind her as chairs scraped and something heavy fell. Her slippers found every wet cobblestone, every treacherous patch of filth, but she kept moving, her breath tearing at her lungs, the cold air like glass in her throat.
“Do not let the silk get away! Catch her!”
She turned into an unfamiliar alley, trying to hold back her sobs. She told herself that the more noise she made, the easier it would be for them to find her. The fog made everything disorienting as she ran blindly. There was no time to shudder at how her slippers had gotten wet from the gutter’s filth. Running was the only option, especially since her pursuers were quickly closing the gap.
She turned a corner and ran directly into something immovable.
She had just enough time to raise her hands before firm fingers closed around both her wrists.
“Is this little game over, Juliana?”
The voice was low, dangerous, and furious. It was also the most welcome sound she had ever heard. She nearly collapsed against him, her knees weak. She looked up into Cassian’s face. His eyes burned with a cold, controlled rage she had never seen in him. He looked capable of snapping men in two. It was not the time to argue when her chest was still wheezing from the effort of escaping.
She had accused him of keeping prisoners in his tower. She had defied him, lied to his servants, stolen his carriage, and led herself into the middle of a London rookery in the dead ofnight. She understood, looking at him now, that she would be answering for all of it.
Later.
“Someone… someone is following me,” she managed, her voice shaking more from cold than fear. “Three of them.”
His grip on her wrists softened. One hand moved to her neck, his thumb settling against her pulse point, and she felt her breathing slow despite herself. It was not a gesture she had expected from him. It was not a gesture she knew what to do with.
