It wasn’t all a mask, he thought, and the truth of it leached the growing heat from his body. His arm tightened around her body, drawing her close until they lay side by side, heart to heart.
But the distance between them would remain until he offered up everything.
“There are some things you should know about me before you decide to stay,” he said quietly, despising how hard the words were to get out.
She laughed. “A little late now, Your Grace. What more must I know? You have a secret passion for tennis? You want a whole household of cats? Lord Pickles is still young. We’ll find her a worthy tom and have kittens before spring.”
He smiled at her light tone, praying the weight of his past wouldn’t take that from her. His duchess didn’t balk at his bed sport or his skills to fell a man in a dark alley. It was a leap of faith for him—a miracle in and of itself—to believe she wouldn’t recoil at the rest of his unsavory life. “I lived on the streets before I went into the army.”
Danny’s expression turned serious, no doubt remembering their brief and unwelcome reception in St. Giles. “I meant what I said, Percy. You don’t need to speak of it if you don’t wish to.”
He ran a hand through his hair. He’d never told anyone of the years after his father had died. They were ugly and unfit for innocent ears. But she had never scoffed at his admissions, never admonished his actions—after determining he wasn’t a hardened criminal—and if she could offer unfailing loyalty to a fiend like him, then he’d return it in kind without cowardice. Hewantedto tell her.
“I went to public school until I was eight,” he said, unable to keep the nostalgia from his voice. Aside from the normal teasing between boys, the time spent trading off between school and his shifts at the local cotton mill was the happiest of his life, until now.
“My school in Southwark was behind the times, still using the old system to teach the younger kids with assignments from the older, but I knew my letters and numbers when I started at age five, and when the headmaster made me a monitor, I took pride in teaching my peers.” He smiled, remembering. “But the best was when we’d be allowed time outside to play. The idea was ridiculous. Time to play? What did the school expect us to do? Of course, it wasn’t long before the boys figured out increasingly hard games for us all to play.”
Danny tilted her head up at him. “You learned football from the schoolyard?”
Percy nodded. “Those of us who’d only known work embraced the time to stretch our newfound brains and bodies. Some of the older boys had transferred from private schools, their families suffering setbacks. But they brought all kinds of games. Things for the older boys to try and the younger ones to imitate.” He’d thrived on teamwork and strategy, easily showcasing his skills and earning a spot on the bigger boys’teams. It was in those few glorious years of youth Percy had known he’d been destined for something bigger than himself.
“Then my father died.” His gut clenched, that same sinking feeling he had when he’d been told the fire had trapped dozens of workers in the factory. There’d been no more time for games or learning. It was all he could do to pass as an older boy and work longer shifts. But the fire that had taken his father and destroyed the textile mill had also displaced near a hundred other able-bodied workmen, men who’d been worth more to a cotton mill than a child half their size.
He skipped over the weeks of cold and hunger when he’d been dumped into the streets, unable to remember much except agonizing pain and fear. “I fell into a gang soon after, one that taught the skills I needed to survive.”
The scars across his palms from where the other members had struck him with a switch until he could pick a pocket without a single brush of fabric was a reminder of how surviving didn’t equate to living. But it was a lesson he’d taken to heart.
“I had a tough time. My father had raised me to know the difference between right and wrong. Those same older boys who’d been like brothers to me at school were now my targets.”
“Oh, Percy.” Danny clutched his hands, her expression a mixture of sadness and anger. “Did no one look out for you?”
Percy nodded, coldness creeping into his chest. “There was another boy my age, Nic. He’d been there a good year before me. He showed me how to use my size and brains to corner a mark without them realizing how the clever could outmatch the stronger.
“When the other members got frustrated with my conscience, that same boy stood up for me. He was my only friend.” He paused, collected himself. “As soon as were able to pass as young men, we enlisted, stealing the stash the gangkept and buying ourselves commissions and setting off to camp before the rest were any the wiser.”
Percy’s fingers clenched into fists, the knuckles turning white. “What fools we were. We’d traded one battlefield for another. The things we saw, things we did, the blood of my enemies was in my hair, my eyes, my soul. That sense of wrong and right I clutched so diligently was lost in the trenches. We distinguished ourselves with the hard missions, taking the ones no one else wanted for bigger rations.” His smile was self-deprecating. “A kid from the streets always appreciated food, if nothing else.
“We were recruited after the second Anglo-Marri War by a man who claimed he worked in the Home Office. He offered food, training, prestige, shelter. At first, we couldn’t believe our luck.” Percy shook his head. How naive they were. “They knew exactly what to use to make us comply.” The only person he’d ever truly trusted besides Nic had been his handler.
Agents were asked to do unspeakable things, horrible acts necessary for the safety of their country in the name of patriotic loyalty. Percy had killed in the name of that loyalty: women and countless men. With every death on his hands, his soul had slipped farther and farther away until he had no longer been the one wielding the blade, gun, garrote, his bare hands. The method didn’t matter. Only the body. He’d forgotten so many of the faces.
“I did what I was asked: murder, espionage, arson. We were an unstoppable force, but that didn’t stop me from questioning. When I had doubts, I was commended. When I returned from a particularly bloodthirsty mission, I was given a medal. Now, I see the manipulation for what it was. But he—”
Remembering hurt like a knife to the gut. His friend, his comrade, his partner, with whom he’d shared hardship, fear,triumph, and valor. If Percy clung to the remnants of his rotting soul, Nic had lost his completely.
“Nic became a liability to the Office. He stopped caring about collateral damage, leaving a trail of bodies wherever he was sent. I castigated him repeatedly to take care. I wouldn’t believe he was unreachable.”
But it hadn’t been up to him.
Percy had sunken so deep by that time, he hadn’t blinked when the order had come. The coldness in his chest spread, leaving him numb. “His termination came down from the highest order. At the end of our current mission, I was to dispose of my partner.”
Danny gasped. “Those bastards!”
The overwhelming chill thawed just enough for her outrage on his behalf to warm his heart. But the heat vanished upon his next statement. “We were in enemy territory when the missive arrived via our contact.”
Deep in France, lying in wait to assassinate a local government official. Assassinations like those were not uncommon, but Percy had felt a nagging sense of misplacement even then. The Home Office didn’t encroach on the Foreign Office’s missions without explicit communication and designation of duties, all of which had been absent.
The politician hadn’t been their usual type of target, and their vantage point at the Hotel Saint-Jacques had been far too conspicuous. But Percy hadn’t questioned it. Preparing to kill his best friend, they’d settled in for their usual surveillance and Percy had acted, pulling his knife and sinking it into Nic’s back.
