Brentwood's Ward (38 page)

“But de Villet had no idea Payne was already dead.” Ford grunted. “Interesting.”

At the mention of her father’s death, Nicholas stopped in front of Emily, searching for a quivering lip or any other kind of reaction. This turn of conversation might be more than she bargained for, yet she remained expressionless, giving no hint she wished to flee.

Ford must’ve noticed his blunder, for he reached over and patted her hand. “Sorry, my dear. I’m afraid my blunt ways are somewhat ingrained.”

“A Bow Street trait, I assume, for I have often noted Nicholas’s directness.” Her brown gaze lifted to his. “Have I not?”

“Frequently.” The smile they shared burned through him from head to toe, so warm, so intimate, a flush rose on her cheeks, and he was glad for the stubble darkening his.

Ford cleared his throat.

Nicholas resumed his pacing—it was either that or a cold bath. “You are correct, sir, that neither Sombra nor de Villet had any inkling Payne had been murdered. Quite the contrary. Because I rarely left Emily’s side, de Villet thought I was the man. But here’s the twist.”

He paused and faced the settee. Both the magistrate and Emily pinned their gaze on him. “All that explains Payne’s connection to Sombra and de Villet, but I suspect that when Payne first contacted Sombra, he used his partner’s name, Reginald Sedgewick.”

Ford cocked his head. “Why the deuce would he do that?”

“With Payne’s gambling debts so widely known, he wouldn’t have risked Sombra finding out his net worth wasn’t quite what he purported it to be. That would explain why de Villet first went to Sedgewick’s home for collection. I believe Sedgewick and de Villet found out together about Payne’s dubious dealings.”

The magistrate shook his head. “That must have been quite the conversation.”

“Yes, and de Villet couldn’t let Sedgewick live with that much information, so he killed him.” Once more he studied Emily’s face for signs of grief or remaining horror from that terrible night. Her lips pressed tight, and he waited for her slight nod before he began again.

“When de Villet paid a visit to the Payne household, only Emily was home. He made his threat quite clear—and if nothing else, he is a man of his word. Or was, rather. At any rate, he abducted Emily, held her for ransom, then sold her off while waiting for me to bring his chest full of money, which would have doubled his profits. He’d pay off Sombra and keep the rest for himself. My payment, however, was a little more than he bargained for.”

Ford lifted a hand. “Hence your appearance.”

“About that.” A ragged sigh rippled up from his lungs. The faded green walls of the room closed in on him, the exact color of the guilt squeezing his chest. He rolled his shoulders, wishing the words he had to say might as easily flow. “Flannery didn’t fare so well, sir. I never should have given him such a dangerous task. If only I’d devised a better plan. Something safer. His life hangs in the balance because of me.”

“Pish!” Ford’s stern tone stopped him cold. “Stop flogging yourself, man. Flannery knew the risks involved. Such is the life of an officer. Better he know that up front than find out after a commissioning. I expect nothing more nor less than you see to him and keep me posted.”

Of course Ford was right. Nicholas knew it in his head—but his heart would have none of it. Gritting his teeth, he methodically ground the remaining guilt into a thick paste and swallowed it. “Yes, sir.”

“Very well. You rescued the fair maiden, and so I find you, a little worse for the wear, eh?”

“Not quite.” Nicholas turned his gaze to Emily. “How did you end up here at the station?”

Two pairs of eyes focused on Emily. A bug beneath a magnifying glass couldn’t have been more exposed. Shifting on the settee, she ran both hands along her skirt, hoping to coax out enough information without having to go into great detail. “I don’t have Nicholas’s flair for story telling.” Ignoring his snort, she continued. “Suffice it to say de Villet sold me to a captain with whom I’d had previous dealings. After a lengthy conversation, he let me go.”

“Let you go?” The magistrate’s brows bounced upward. “You must be quite the conversationalist.”

“Persuasiveness is one of Miss Payne’s hallmarks.” Nicholas crossed from the hearth to stand before her, offering both hands. When his fingers wrapped around hers, warmth shot up her arms.

He pulled her to her feet, the green of his eyes deepening to a storm-tossed sea. “Forgive me for not asking immediately, such was my relief at finding you here. Are you all right? The captain didn’t hurt you, did he?”

“I am fine.”

The worry puckering his brow hinted he wanted to know everything—and the thought of reliving the awful situation here and now added a whole new depth to her exhaustion. Her lips curved into a smile she didn’t feel, and she gave his hands a light squeeze. “The captain was too far into his cups to have hurt me, so truly, I am fine, though I should like to go home now. It’s been a long night.”

For an unguarded moment, his shoulders sank, and an unexplained sadness pulled at the lines near his mouth. Then it was gone. Just like that. Leaving her to wonder if she’d seen the breach of emotion or not.

Dropping her hands, Nicholas turned to the magistrate. “The lady speaks truth. It has been a very long night indeed. If you are satisfied, sir, may we take our leave?”

Ford rose, tugging loose the neck cloth at his throat. “Your long night was nothing compared to that courtroom full of reprobates downstairs. But yes, I think we can officially say this case is closed, though I assume you’ll help the future Mrs. Brentwood settle her father’s estate?” Nicholas nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“I suppose you’ll be wanting some time off as well?”

Emily held her breath. How Nicholas answered might very well be a clue as to where she lined up in his queue of priorities. Would he choose his job over her?

He leveled his gaze at her yet spoke to Ford. “If you don’t mind.”

“And if I do?”

Nicholas shrugged, and she breathed in all the love she read in the lines of his face.

“Bah.” Ford shook his head and turned to her. “For all his rough edges, Nicholas Brentwood is a good man. If he cares for you half as much as his sister, you will be well tended indeed.”

Behind him, Nicholas stiffened at the mention of his sister. An almost imperceptible movement in anyone else, but one she now recognized as a serious sign of something important. Something bad. A monster swam beneath his cool exterior, and her own stomach tightened in response.

“…wish you all the best, my dear.”

She snapped her gaze back to the magistrate. How much of what he’d said had she missed? Playing it safe, she flashed him a smile and defaulted to a polite, “Thank you.”

“Good day to you both.” The magistrate strode from the room.

As soon as Ford’s coattails disappeared out the door, she turned to Nicholas. “What’s wrong? It’s about Jenny, isn’t it? I know it. What’s happened?”

A halfhearted smirk lifted his lips. “Perhaps you ought think about becoming a Bow Street officer.”

His attempt to lighten the heaviness filling the room fell flat. Dread of what he might be covering up squeezed her chest, making it hard to breathe. She reached for him, resting a light touch on his sleeve. “Nicholas, do not dodge the question.”

He shook his head, looking older, worn, beaten. She could only imagine all the death he’d seen in his lifetime, more than any human should be asked to bear, but this…Her throat clogged.

Oh God, please, not his sister. Not Jenny
.

“There was none sweeter than Jen.” His voice broke on his sister’s name, crushing her heart with the sound.

Tears pooled in her eyes. A few slipped free and slid down her cheeks, landing on her lips. The salt tasted like bitter loss. “I am so sorry.”

“As am I.” He pivoted and strode to the window, each step carrying him farther away, the space between them an eternity. How to reach him, to console, to comfort? All her years of mourning the lack of love from her father paled in comparison to the heavy weight bending Nicholas’s head. She stood in place, clutching handfuls of her skirt, unable to grasp the full nature of his pain.

“I am an officer, Emily.” He stared out the window, his voice husky. “There’s no guarantee you won’t have to shoulder a grief like the one I now bear should I meet as untimely a death as my sister.” When at last he turned toward her, the intensity of his gaze weakened her knees. She grabbed the back of the settee for support.

“I won’t hold it against you should you decide to change your mind.” His face was a mask, as if the real Nicholas had departed and nothing but a shell remained. “I once advised you to think carefully before running headlong into a marriage, and so I do now. Are you certain I am the man for you?”

Was he? This demanding, rugged, by-no-means-wealthy man who’d barged into her life and taken over her world? She walked over to him, aware that her decision would mark them both to their dying day. Reaching for his hand, she lifted his knuckles, bruised and battered, to her lips. He flinched—or was that a tremor?

“My best.” She moved her mouth to the next knuckle, speaking against his skin. “My dearest.” She kissed another. “My only choice.” She lifted his palm to her cheek, all callouses and strength, and leaned into it. “Is you.”

Her name was a whisper, wrapping as tightly around her as his arms. It was a distinct possibility this man’s days would be cut short on London’s streets. But for now, she nuzzled into his chest. It had taken a long time for love to come her way, and she intended to memorize every beat of Nicholas Brentwood’s heart.

Chapter 34

D
escending from the hackney, Nicholas reached into his pocket and flipped the driver a coin before both his boots hit the cobbles. Then he fished around once more to retrieve his watch. Not that he needed to. The morning sun peeking over Dr. Kirby’s rooftop said it all.

He was late.

The minute hand stood at attention, which should have indicted him all the more. Instead, a bittersweet smile curved his mouth. The golden needle on the watch face pointed straight up at Adelina’s portrait—leastwise, what had been. Nothing but a ghostly collection of watery lines remained of her sweet face. He rubbed his thumb over her memory one last time, breathed out his final regrets, then released at last what could never be undone.

With his nail, he pried out the worn parchment. Holding it up to a gust of wind banking in from Bowler Street, he whispered, “Good-bye,” and let her go. Adelina hovered for a moment, caught between earth and sky. He watched, mesmerized. How well he knew that feeling, the in-between and not yet. She spiraled once, twice, then rode a swift up-current toward heaven.

Nicholas turned from the sight. His own heaven on earth waited for him at Portman Square, packed and ready to go. The sooner he finished this errand, the better.

Ahead, Dr. Kirby emerged from his shop, bag in hand and hat on head. He pulled shut the door then stopped, wide-eyed. “Well, well, Brentwood. Aren’t you the dapper fellow today.”

“More like uncomfortable.” Nicholas tugged at his cravat. He’d rather go hand-to-hand with a back-lane thief than choke and swelter in a suit. Thanks be to God, he’d only have to go through this once.

Kirby snorted. “I’ve seen you slit-eyed, bled out, and unconscious, and yet you always spring back. Surely a little culture won’t hold you down.”

“At least not for long, if I have anything to say about it.” He nodded toward the doctor’s bag. “I see you’re leaving. Mind if I step in and check on Flannery?”

Kirby shook his head. “Too late, I’m afraid.”

Nicholas sucked in a breath. The doctor’s blunt statement rattled through him as chill as the next gust of wind.
Oh God, not Flannery
. He’d seen the Irishman only two days ago. Noticed the first sprouts of new eyebrows growing back. The angry burnt skin on his neck and cheek had cooled into a waxy red patch, and he’d claimed it didn’t hurt so much. How could he be gone, just like that? So quickly?

He worked his jaw, forcing words past the tightness in his throat. “Was he…did he…suffer much?”

“Pah!” Kirby’s mouth pulled downward. “The only one suffering around here was me. Ever since I unwrapped Flannery’s face and freed his lips, it was all ‘oh for the bonny green isle’ and tales of his mother’s cooking. I couldn’t stomach it anymore, so I let him go home yesterday. I’m about to check on him, though. Care to come along—say…you feeling a’right?” The doctor paused, narrowing his eyes. “You look a bit pale, though admittedly I’ve never seen you without bruises or blood coloring your face.”

“I’m fine, or rather I was until you scared the life out of me.” He straightened his cuffs then nailed Kirby with a glower. “Your bedside manner, Doctor, is lacking.”

“Yes, so you frequently tell me.” The next windy draft knocked Kirby’s hat to a rakish tilt. With a swipe of his free hand, he straightened it then stepped away from the shop. “I’m off. You coming?”

Nicholas shook his head. “Just give Flannery my regards, would you? I…uh…have a more pressing engagement that I ought not miss.” He scrubbed his neck, hoping the doctor would not detect the rising heat burning a trail clear up to his ears.