“Cilia, just listen. Think of how we met. How I happened to have a residence in Jamaica. My ease of getting on a military frigate to return us to London.”
Shaking my head like it would fall off. “No.”
“I kept going on missions. I resigned in December, right before you left. I was in the dark, when I could’ve used the Department of War and the Colonies’ resources to find you. I’m telling you the truth.” He put his hands to my chin. “I can give you what you want, and make sure you’re not at risk.”
All I had to do was go with Felton, then the man who destroyed my sister’s life would pay. Noah would truly be safe. It should be an easy thing to avenge Helena. Gladstone killed my sister. He needed to die.
But would Felton actually train me how to do it?
He closed his eyes for a moment. “I’ve been a political assassin when it was necessary. I can help you do this. Ready for our new bargain, Cilia? This is the adventure you always wanted.”
Before I talked myself out of it, I brought his hands to my heart. “Yes, make me a killer.”
Helena’s murderer would die. With his help, I could do it.
Felton embraced me like I’d drift away, and maybe I would. I’d put my soul once again on the path to killing Gladstone.
CHAPTER41
FELTON—PACK THEWIFE, THECHEESE, AND THEGUNS
Cecilia was sound asleep on the carriage seat by the time Watson had driven to his Town residence. There was a chill in the air and Felton put his greatcoat on top of her.
She curled into it and he wished it was his arms.
“I’ll be right back, Cilia. You stay here.”
Only a soft snore answered. He was tempted to see if she really slept or only pretended, like he had on the floor of her flat.
The Widow’s Grace was a bunch of amateurs. The vase thing only works once at best, and not with cheap pottery. The first had knocked him flat. It blurred everything, until he saw Lady Ashbrook and the Duchess of Repington leave.
He should be warmed that the sisters were reunited, but this was his chance to reconcile with Cecilia. Had he heard a baby before Lady Ashbrook dropped the second vase?
Tucking his coat about her, he smoothed it along her abdomen. Had she borne his child?
Anger at Gladstone boiled. The man was somehow responsible for Helena’s death. How? Why? Gladstone had to be a smuggler to get to Demerara during the blockades? But how had Helena become his target?
Felton kissed her brow. “Won’t be long. Then I’ll fix everything.”
He bounced from the carriage and stormed inside to pack a few things.
This felt a little like old times, running to meet Johnson on the docks of Portsmouth, then they’d be off on Liverpool’s latest mission.
Watson followed behind. “So, you and Lady Gantry . . . is the gang back together?”
“No, she’s on loan. Can you pack up a few shirts, stockings, and my case of weapons?”
His dark bronze cheeks drained of their rich color. He looked ashy and in need of lotion. “You’re joking. Surely, you and the missus aren’t getting along that poorly? Widowhood or suicide is not necessary. Just let her leave.”
“The weapons are not to do harm to my wife or myself.”
His man nodded. “But they are to do harm to someone.”
“Just get them, Watson.”
He went up to the attic and in a few minutes returned with the special case. Watson met him in his bedchamber and laid it on the bed.
Felton ran his hand along the leather box made of the smoothest finish. He never took an assignment without his lucky portmanteau. The night Johnson died, these guns were back at their hideout. Breaking into the government building was supposed to be easy, not an ambush.
